History of Tom Jones, a Foundling

they have no character at all, at least none which appears. I will venture to say the highest life is much the dullest, and affords very little humour or entertainment. The various callings in lower spheres produce the great variety of humorous characters; whereas here, except among the few who are engaged in the pursuit of ambition, and the fewer still who have a relish for pleasure, all is vanity and servile imitation. Dressing and cards, eating and drinking, bowing and courtesying, make up the business of their lives. Some there are, however, of this rank upon whom passion exercises its tyranny, and hurries them far beyond the bounds which decorum prescribes; of these the ladies are as much distinguished by their noble intrepidity, and a certain superior contempt of reputation, from the frail ones of meaner degree, as a virtuous woman of quality is by the elegance and delicacy of her sentiments from the honest wife of a yeoman and shopkeeper. Lady Bellaston was of this intrepid character; but let not my country readers conclude from her, that this is the general conduct of women of fashion, or that we mean to represent them as such. They might as well suppose that every clergyman was represented by Thwackum, or every soldier by ensign Northerton. There is not, indeed, a greater error than that which universally prevails among the vulgar, who, borrowing their opinion from some ignorant satirists, have affixed the character of lewdness to these times. On the contrary, I am convinced there never was less of love intrigue carried on among persons of condition than now. Our present women have been taught by their mothers to fix their thoughts only on ambition and vanity, and to despise the pleasures of love as unworthy their regard; and being afterwards, by the care of such mothers, married without having husbands, they seem pretty well confirmed in the justness of those sentiments; whence they content themselves, for the dull remainder of life, with the pursuit of more innocent, but I am afraid more childish amusements, the bare mention of which would ill suit with the dignity of this history. In my humble opinion, the true characteristic of the present beau monde is rather folly than vice, and the only epithet which it deserves is that of frivolous. Chapter ii. Containing letters and other matters which attend amours. Jones had not been long at home before he received the following letter:-- “I was never more surprized than when I found you was gone. When you left the room I little imagined you intended to have left the house without seeing me again. Your behaviour is all of a piece, and convinces me how much I ought to despise a heart which can doat upon an idiot; though I know not whether I should not admire her cunning more than her simplicity: wonderful both! For though she understood not a word of what passed between us, yet she had the skill, the assurance, the----what shall I call it? to deny to my face that she knows you, or ever saw you before.----Was this a scheme laid between you, and have you been base enough to betray me?----O how I despise her, you, and all the world, but chiefly myself! for----I dare not write what I should afterwards run mad to read; but remember, I can detest as violently as I have loved.” Jones had but little time given him to reflect on this letter, before a second was brought him from the same hand; and this, likewise, we shall set down in the precise words. “When you consider the hurry of spirits in which I must have writ, you cannot be surprized at any expressions in my former note.--Yet, perhaps, on reflection, they were rather too warm. At least I would, if possible, think all owing to the odious playhouse, and to the impertinence of a fool, which detained me beyond my appointment.----How easy is it to think well of those we love!----Perhaps you desire I should think so. I have resolved to see you to-night; so come to me immediately. “_P.S._--I have ordered to be at home to none but yourself. “_P.S._--Mr Jones will imagine I shall assist him in his defence; for I believe he cannot desire to impose on me more than I desire to impose on myself. “_P.S._--Come immediately.” To the men of intrigue I refer the determination, whether the angry or the tender letter gave the greatest uneasiness to Jones. Certain it is, he had no violent inclination to pay any more visits that evening, unless to one single person. However, he thought his honour engaged, and had not this been motive sufficient, he would not have ventured to blow the temper of Lady Bellaston into that flame of which he had reason to think it susceptible, and of which he feared the consequence might be a discovery to Sophia, which he dreaded. After some discontented walks therefore about the room, he was preparing to depart, when the lady kindly prevented him, not by another letter, but by her own presence. She entered the room very disordered in her dress, and very discomposed in her looks, and threw herself into a chair, where, having recovered her breath, she said--“You see, sir, when women have gone one length too far, they will stop at none. If any person would have sworn this to me a week ago, I would not have believed it of myself.” “I hope, madam,” said Jones, “my charming Lady Bellaston will be as difficult to believe anything against one who is so sensible of the many obligations she hath conferred upon him.” “Indeed!” says she, “sensible of obligations! Did I expect to hear such cold language from Mr Jones?” “Pardon me, my dear angel,” said he, “if, after the letters I have received, the terrors of your anger, though I know not how I have deserved it.”--“And have I then,” says she, with a smile, “so angry a countenance?--Have I really brought a chiding face with me?”--“If there be honour in man,” said he, “I have done nothing to merit your anger.--You remember the appointment you sent me; I went in pursuance.”--“I beseech you,” cried she, “do not run through the odious recital.--Answer me but one question, and I shall be easy. Have you not betrayed my honour to her?”--Jones fell upon his knees, and began to utter the most violent protestations, when Partridge came dancing and capering into the room, like one drunk with joy, crying out, “She's found! she's found!--Here, sir, here, she's here--Mrs Honour is upon the stairs.” “Stop her a moment,” cries Jones--“Here, madam, step behind the bed, I have no other room nor closet, nor place on earth to hide you in; sure never was so damned an accident.”--“D--n'd indeed!” said the lady, as she went to her place of concealment; and presently afterwards in came Mrs Honour. “Hey-day!” says she, “Mr Jones, what's the matter?--That impudent rascal your servant would scarce let me come upstairs. I hope he hath not the same reason to keep me from you as he had at Upton.--I suppose you hardly expected to see me; but you have certainly bewitched my lady. Poor dear young lady! To be sure, I loves her as tenderly as if she was my own sister. Lord have mercy upon you, if you don't make her a good husband! and to be sure, if you do not, nothing can be bad enough for you.” Jones begged her only to whisper, for that there was a lady dying in the next room. “A lady!” cries she; “ay, I suppose one of your ladies.--O Mr Jones, there are too many of them in the world; I believe we are got into the house of one, for my Lady Bellaston I darst to say is no better than she should be.”--“Hush! hush!” cries Jones, “every word is overheard in the next room.” “I don't care a farthing,” cries Honour, “I speaks no scandal of any one; but to be sure the servants make no scruple of saying as how her ladyship meets men at another place--where the house goes under the name of a poor gentlewoman; but her ladyship pays the rent, and many's the good thing besides, they say, she hath of her.”--Here Jones, after expressing the utmost uneasiness, offered to stop her mouth:--“Hey-day! why sure, Mr Jones, you will let me speak; I speaks no scandal, for I only says what I heard from others--and thinks I to myself, much good may it do the gentlewoman with her riches, if she comes by it in such a wicked manner. To be sure it is better to be poor and honest.” “The servants are villains,” cries Jones, “and abuse their lady unjustly.”--“Ay, to be sure, servants are always villains, and so my lady says, and won't hear a word of it.”--“No, I am convinced,” says Jones, “my Sophia is above listening to such base scandal.” “Nay, I believe it is no scandal, neither,” cries Honour, “for why should she meet men at another house?--It can never be for any good: for if she had a lawful design of being courted, as to be sure any lady may lawfully give her company to men upon that account: why, where can be the sense?”--“I protest,” cries Jones, “I can't hear all this of a lady of such honour, and a relation of Sophia; besides, you will distract the poor lady in the next room.--Let me entreat you to walk with me down stairs.”--“Nay, sir, if you won't let me speak, I have done.--Here, sir, is a letter from my young lady--what would some men give to have this? But, Mr Jones, I think you are not over and above generous, and yet I have heard some servants say----but I am sure you will do me the justice to own I never saw the colour of your money.” Here Jones hastily took the letter, and presently after slipped five pieces into her hand. He then returned a thousand thanks to his dear Sophia in a whisper, and begged her to leave him to read her letter: she presently departed, not without expressing much grateful sense of his generosity. Lady Bellaston now came from behind the curtain. How shall I describe her rage? Her tongue was at first incapable of utterance; but streams of fire darted from her eyes, and well indeed they might, for her heart was all in a flame. And now as soon as her voice found way, instead of expressing any indignation against Honour or her own servants, she began to attack poor Jones. “You see,” said she, “what I have sacrificed to you; my reputation, my honour--gone for ever! And what return have I found? Neglected, slighted for a country girl, for an idiot.”--“What neglect, madam, or what slight,” cries Jones, “have I been guilty of?”--“Mr Jones,” said she, “it is in vain to dissemble; if you will make me easy, you must entirely give her up; and as a proof of your intention, show me the letter.”--“What letter, madam?” said Jones. “Nay, surely,” said she, “you cannot have the confidence to deny your having received a letter by the hands of that trollop.”--“And can your ladyship,” cries he, “ask of me what I must part with my honour before I grant? Have I acted in such a manner by your ladyship? Could I be guilty of betraying this poor innocent girl to you, what security could you have that I should not act the same part by yourself? A moment's reflection will, I am sure, convince you that a man with whom the secrets of a lady are not safe must be the most contemptible of wretches.”--“Very well,” said she--“I need not insist on your becoming this contemptible wretch in your own opinion; for the inside of the letter could inform me of nothing more than I know already. I see the footing you are upon.”--Here ensued a long conversation, which the reader, who is not too curious, will thank me for not inserting at length. It shall suffice, therefore, to inform him, that Lady Bellaston grew more and more pacified, and at length believed, or affected to believe, his protestations, that his meeting with Sophia that evening was merely accidental, and every other matter which the reader already knows, and which, as Jones set before her in the strongest light, it is plain that she had in reality no reason to