History of Tom Jones, a Foundling
past errors, as not to defeat my wisest machinations by your blunders.
Indeed, brother, you are not qualified for these negociations. All
your whole scheme of politics is wrong. I once more, therefore,
insist, that you do not intermeddle. Remember only what is past.”----
“Z--ds and bl--d, sister,” cries the squire, “what would you have me
say? You are enough to provoke the devil.”
“There, now,” said she, “just according to the old custom. I see,
brother, there is no talking to you. I will appeal to Mr Supple, who
is a man of sense, if I said anything which could put any human
creature into a passion; but you are so wrongheaded every way.”
“Let me beg you, madam,” said the parson, “not to irritate his
worship.”
“Irritate him?” said the lady; “sure, you are as great a fool as
himself. Well, brother, since you have promised not to interfere, I
will once more undertake the management of my niece. Lord have mercy
upon all affairs which are under the directions of men! The head of
one woman is worth a thousand of yours.” And now having summoned a
servant to show her to Sophia, she departed, bearing the key with her.
She was no sooner gone, than the squire (having first shut the door)
ejaculated twenty bitches, and as many hearty curses against her, not
sparing himself for having ever thought of her estate; but added, “Now
one hath been a slave so long, it would be pity to lose it at last,
for want of holding out a little longer. The bitch can't live for
ever, and I know I am down for it upon the will.”
The parson greatly commended this resolution: and now the squire
having ordered in another bottle, which was his usual method when
anything either pleased or vexed him, did, by drinking plentifully of
this medicinal julap, so totally wash away his choler, that his temper
was become perfectly placid and serene, when Mrs Western returned with
Sophia into the room. The young lady had on her hat and capuchin, and
the aunt acquainted Mr Western, “that she intended to take her niece
with her to her own lodgings; for, indeed, brother,” says she, “these
rooms are not fit to receive a Christian soul in.”
“Very well, madam,” quoth Western, “whatever you please. The girl can
never be in better hands than yours; and the parson here can do me the
justice to say, that I have said fifty times behind your back, that
you was one of the most sensible women in the world.”
“To this,” cries the parson, “I am ready to bear testimony.”
“Nay, brother,” says Mrs Western, “I have always, I'm sure, given you
as favourable a character. You must own you have a little too much
hastiness in your temper; but when you will allow yourself time to
reflect I never knew a man more reasonable.”
“Why then, sister, if you think so,” said the squire, “here's your
good health with all my heart. I am a little passionate sometimes, but
I scorn to bear any malice. Sophy, do you be a good girl, and do
everything your aunt orders you.”
“I have not the least doubt of her,” answered Mrs Western. “She hath
had already an example before her eyes in the behaviour of that wretch
her cousin Harriet, who ruined herself by neglecting my advice. O
brother, what think you? You was hardly gone out of hearing, when you
set out for London, when who should arrive but that impudent fellow
with the odious Irish name--that Fitzpatrick. He broke in abruptly
upon me without notice, or I would not have seen him. He ran on a
long, unintelligible story about his wife, to which he forced me to
give him a hearing; but I made him very little answer, and delivered
him the letter from his wife, which I bid him answer himself. I
suppose the wretch will endeavour to find us out, but I beg you will
not see her, for I am determined I will not.”
“I zee her!” answered the squire; “you need not fear me. I'll ge no
encouragement to such undutiful wenches. It is well for the fellow,
her husband, I was not at huome. Od rabbit it, he should have taken a
dance thru the horse-pond, I promise un. You zee, Sophy, what
undutifulness brings volks to. You have an example in your own
family.”
“Brother,” cries the aunt, “you need not shock my niece by such odious
repetitions. Why will you not leave everything entirely to me?” “Well,
well, I wull, I wull,” said the squire.
And now Mrs Western, luckily for Sophia, put an end to the
conversation by ordering chairs to be called. I say luckily, for had
it continued much longer, fresh matter of dissension would, most
probably, have arisen between the brother and sister; between whom
education and sex made the only difference; for both were equally
violent and equally positive: they had both a vast affection for
Sophia, and both a sovereign contempt for each other.
Chapter v.
In which Jones receives a letter from Sophia, and goes to a play with
Mrs Miller and Partridge.
The arrival of Black George in town, and the good offices which that
grateful fellow had promised to do for his old benefactor, greatly
comforted Jones in the midst of all the anxiety and uneasiness which
he had suffered on the account of Sophia; from whom, by the means of
the said George, he received the following answer to his letter, which
Sophia, to whom the use of pen, ink, and paper was restored with her
liberty, wrote the very evening when she departed from her
confinement:
“Sir,
“As I do not doubt your sincerity in what you write, you will be
pleased to hear that some of my afflictions are at an end, by the
arrival of my aunt Western, with whom I am at present, and with whom
I enjoy all the liberty I can desire. One promise my aunt hath
insisted on my making, which is, that I will not see or converse
with any person without her knowledge and consent. This promise I
have most solemnly given, and shall most inviolably keep: and though
she hath not expressly forbidden me writing, yet that must be an
omission from forgetfulness; or this, perhaps, is included in the
word conversing. However, as I cannot but consider this as a breach
of her generous confidence in my honour, you cannot expect that I
shall, after this, continue to write myself or to receive letters,
without her knowledge. A promise is with me a very sacred thing, and
to be extended to everything understood from it, as well as to what
is expressed by it; and this consideration may, perhaps, on
reflection, afford you some comfort. But why should I mention a
comfort to you of this kind; for though there is one thing in which
I can never comply with the best of fathers, yet am I firmly
resolved never to act in defiance of him, or to take any step of
consequence without his consent. A firm persuasion of this must
teach you to divert your thoughts from what fortune hath (perhaps)
made impossible. This your own interest persuades you. This may
reconcile, I hope, Mr Allworthy to you; and if it will, you have my
injunctions to pursue it. Accidents have laid some obligations on
me, and your good intentions probably more. Fortune may, perhaps, be
some time kinder to us both than at present. Believe this, that I
shall always think of you as I think you deserve, and am,
Sir,
your obliged humble servant,
Sophia Western.
“I charge you write to me no more--at present at least; and accept
this, which is now of no service to me, which I know you must want,
and think you owe the trifle only to that fortune by which you found
it.”[*]
[*] Meaning, perhaps, the bank-bill for £100.
A child who hath just learnt his letters would have spelt this letter
out in less time than Jones took in reading it. The sensations it
occasioned were a mixture of joy and grief; somewhat like what divide
the mind of a good man when he peruses the will of his deceased
friend, in which a large legacy, which his distresses make the more
welcome, is bequeathed to him. Upon the whole, however, he was more
pleased than displeased; and, indeed, the reader may probably wonder
that he was displeased at all; but the reader is not quite so much in
love as was poor Jones; and love is a disease which, though it may, in
some instances, resemble a consumption (which it sometimes causes), in
others proceeds in direct opposition to it, and particularly in this,
that it never flatters itself, or sees any one symptom in a favourable
light.
One thing gave him complete satisfaction, which was, that his mistress
had regained her liberty, and was now with a lady where she might at
least assure herself of a decent treatment. Another comfortable
circumstance was the reference which she made to her promise of never
marrying any other man; for however disinterested he might imagine his
passion, and notwithstanding all the generous overtures made in his
letter, I very much question whether he could have heard a more
afflicting piece of news than that Sophia was married to another,
though the match had been never so great, and never so likely to end
in making her completely happy. That refined degree of Platonic
affection which is absolutely detached from the flesh, and is, indeed,
entirely and purely spiritual, is a gift confined to the female part
of the creation; many of whom I have heard declare (and, doubtless,
with great truth), that they would, with the utmost readiness, resign
a lover to a rival, when such resignation was proved to be necessary
for the temporal interest of such lover. Hence, therefore, I conclude
that this affection is in nature, though I cannot pretend to say I
have ever seen an instance of it.
Mr Jones having spent three hours in reading and kissing the aforesaid
letter, and being, at last, in a state of good spirits, from the
last-mentioned considerations, he agreed to carry an appointment,
which he had before made, into execution. This was, to attend Mrs
Miller, and her younger daughter, into the gallery at the play-house,
and to admit Mr Partridge as one of the company. For as Jones had
really that taste for humour which many affect, he expected to enjoy
much entertainment in the criticisms of Partridge, from whom he
expected the simple dictates of nature, unimproved, indeed, but
likewise unadulterated, by art.
In the first row then of the first gallery did Mr Jones, Mrs Miller,
her youngest daughter, and Partridge, take their places. Partridge
immediately declared it was the finest place he had ever been in. When
the first music was played, he said, “It was a wonder how so many
fiddlers could play at one time, without putting one another out.”
While the fellow was lighting the upper candles, he cried out to Mrs
Miller, “Look, look, madam, the very picture of the man in the end of
the common-prayer book before the gunpowder-treason service.” Nor
could he help observing, with a sigh, when all the candles were
lighted, “That here were candles enough burnt in one night, to keep an
honest poor family for a whole twelvemonth.”
As soon as the play, which was Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, began,
Partridge was all attention, nor did he break silence till the
entrance of the ghost; upon which he asked Jones, “What man that was
in the strange dress; something,” said he, “like what I have seen in a
picture. Sure it is not armour, is it?” Jones answered, “That is the
ghost.” To which Partridge replied with a smile, “Persuade me to that,
sir, if you can. Though I can't say I ever actually saw a ghost in my
life, yet I am certain I should know one, if I saw him, better than
that comes to. No, no, sir, ghosts don't appear in such dresses as
that, neither.” In this mistake, which caused much laughter in the
neighbourhood of Partridge, he was suffered to continue, till the
scene between the ghost and Hamlet, when Partridge gave that credit to