History of Tom Jones, a Foundling
behind, saw this, and immediately galloped up to her assistance. As
soon as he came up, he leapt from his own horse, and caught hold of
hers by the bridle. The unruly beast presently reared himself an end
on his hind legs, and threw his lovely burthen from his back, and
Jones caught her in his arms.
She was so affected with the fright, that she was not immediately able
to satisfy Jones, who was very solicitous to know whether she had
received any hurt. She soon after, however, recovered her spirits,
assured him she was safe, and thanked him for the care he had taken of
her. Jones answered, “If I have preserved you, madam, I am
sufficiently repaid; for I promise you, I would have secured you from
the least harm at the expense of a much greater misfortune to myself
than I have suffered on this occasion.”
“What misfortune?” replied Sophia eagerly; “I hope you have come to no
mischief?”
“Be not concerned, madam,” answered Jones. “Heaven be praised you have
escaped so well, considering the danger you was in. If I have broke my
arm, I consider it as a trifle, in comparison of what I feared upon
your account.”
Sophia then screamed out, “Broke your arm! Heaven forbid.”
“I am afraid I have, madam,” says Jones: “but I beg you will suffer me
first to take care of you. I have a right hand yet at your service, to
help you into the next field, whence we have but a very little walk to
your father's house.”
Sophia seeing his left arm dangling by his side, while he was using
the other to lead her, no longer doubted of the truth. She now grew
much paler than her fears for herself had made her before. All her
limbs were seized with a trembling, insomuch that Jones could scarce
support her; and as her thoughts were in no less agitation, she could
not refrain from giving Jones a look so full of tenderness, that it
almost argued a stronger sensation in her mind, than even gratitude
and pity united can raise in the gentlest female bosom, without the
assistance of a third more powerful passion.
Mr Western, who was advanced at some distance when this accident
happened, was now returned, as were the rest of the horsemen. Sophia
immediately acquainted them with what had befallen Jones, and begged
them to take care of him. Upon which Western, who had been much
alarmed by meeting his daughter's horse without its rider, and was now
overjoyed to find her unhurt, cried out, “I am glad it is no worse. If
Tom hath broken his arm, we will get a joiner to mend un again.”
The squire alighted from his horse, and proceeded to his house on
foot, with his daughter and Jones. An impartial spectator, who had met
them on the way, would, on viewing their several countenances, have
concluded Sophia alone to have been the object of compassion: for as
to Jones, he exulted in having probably saved the life of the young
lady, at the price only of a broken bone; and Mr Western, though he
was not unconcerned at the accident which had befallen Jones, was,
however, delighted in a much higher degree with the fortunate escape
of his daughter.
The generosity of Sophia's temper construed this behaviour of Jones
into great bravery; and it made a deep impression on her heart: for
certain it is, that there is no one quality which so generally
recommends men to women as this; proceeding, if we believe the common
opinion, from that natural timidity of the sex, which is, says Mr
Osborne, “so great, that a woman is the most cowardly of all the
creatures God ever made;”--a sentiment more remarkable for its
bluntness than for its truth. Aristotle, in his Politics, doth them, I
believe, more justice, when he says, “The modesty and fortitude of men
differ from those virtues in women; for the fortitude which becomes a
woman, would be cowardice in a man; and the modesty which becomes a
man, would be pertness in a woman.” Nor is there, perhaps, more of
truth in the opinion of those who derive the partiality which women
are inclined to show to the brave, from this excess of their fear. Mr
Bayle (I think, in his article of Helen) imputes this, and with
greater probability, to their violent love of glory; for the truth of
which, we have the authority of him who of all others saw farthest
into human nature, and who introduces the heroine of his Odyssey, the
great pattern of matrimonial love and constancy, assigning the glory
of her husband as the only source of her affection towards him.[*]
[*] The English reader will not find this in the poem; for the
sentiment is entirely left out in the translation.
However this be, certain it is that the accident operated very
strongly on Sophia; and, indeed, after much enquiry into the matter, I
am inclined to believe, that, at this very time, the charming Sophia
made no less impression on the heart of Jones; to say truth, he had
for some time become sensible of the irresistible power of her charms.
Chapter xiv.
The arrival of a surgeon.--His operations, and a long dialogue between
Sophia and her maid.
When they arrived at Mr Western's hall, Sophia, who had tottered along
with much difficulty, sunk down in her chair; but by the assistance of
hartshorn and water, she was prevented from fainting away, and had
pretty well recovered her spirits, when the surgeon who was sent for
to Jones appeared. Mr Western, who imputed these symptoms in his
daughter to her fall, advised her to be presently blooded by way of
prevention. In this opinion he was seconded by the surgeon, who gave
so many reasons for bleeding, and quoted so many cases where persons
had miscarried for want of it, that the squire became very
importunate, and indeed insisted peremptorily that his daughter should
be blooded.
Sophia soon yielded to the commands of her father, though entirely
contrary to her own inclinations, for she suspected, I believe, less
danger from the fright, than either the squire or the surgeon. She
then stretched out her beautiful arm, and the operator began to
prepare for his work.
While the servants were busied in providing materials, the surgeon,
who imputed the backwardness which had appeared in Sophia to her
fears, began to comfort her with assurances that there was not the
least danger; for no accident, he said, could ever happen in bleeding,
but from the monstrous ignorance of pretenders to surgery, which he
pretty plainly insinuated was not at present to be apprehended. Sophia
declared she was not under the least apprehension; adding, “If you
open an artery, I promise you I'll forgive you.” “Will you?” cries
Western: “D--n me, if I will. If he does thee the least mischief, d--n
me if I don't ha' the heart's blood o'un out.” The surgeon assented to
bleed her upon these conditions, and then proceeded to his operation,
which he performed with as much dexterity as he had promised; and with
as much quickness: for he took but little blood from her, saying, it
was much safer to bleed again and again, than to take away too much at
once.
Sophia, when her arm was bound up, retired: for she was not willing
(nor was it, perhaps, strictly decent) to be present at the operation
on Jones. Indeed, one objection which she had to bleeding (though she
did not make it) was the delay which it would occasion to setting the
broken bone. For Western, when Sophia was concerned, had no
consideration but for her; and as for Jones himself, he “sat like
patience on a monument smiling at grief.” To say the truth, when he
saw the blood springing from the lovely arm of Sophia, he scarce
thought of what had happened to himself.
The surgeon now ordered his patient to be stript to his shirt, and
then entirely baring the arm, he began to stretch and examine it, in
such a manner that the tortures he put him to caused Jones to make
several wry faces; which the surgeon observing, greatly wondered at,
crying, “What is the matter, sir? I am sure it is impossible I should
hurt you.” And then holding forth the broken arm, he began a long and
very learned lecture of anatomy, in which simple and double fractures
were most accurately considered; and the several ways in which Jones
might have broken his arm were discussed, with proper annotations
showing how many of these would have been better, and how many worse
than the present case.
Having at length finished his laboured harangue, with which the
audience, though it had greatly raised their attention and admiration,
were not much edified, as they really understood not a single syllable
of all he had said, he proceeded to business, which he was more
expeditious in finishing, than he had been in beginning.
Jones was then ordered into a bed, which Mr Western compelled him to
accept at his own house, and sentence of water-gruel was passed upon
him.
Among the good company which had attended in the hall during the
bone-setting, Mrs Honour was one; who being summoned to her mistress
as soon as it was over, and asked by her how the young gentleman did,
presently launched into extravagant praises on the magnanimity, as she
called it, of his behaviour, which, she said, “was so charming in so
pretty a creature.” She then burst forth into much warmer encomiums on
the beauty of his person; enumerating many particulars, and ending
with the whiteness of his skin.
This discourse had an effect on Sophia's countenance, which would not
perhaps have escaped the observance of the sagacious waiting-woman,
had she once looked her mistress in the face, all the time she was
speaking: but as a looking-glass, which was most commodiously placed
opposite to her, gave her an opportunity of surveying those features,
in which, of all others, she took most delight; so she had not once
removed her eyes from that amiable object during her whole speech.
Mrs Honour was so intirely wrapped up in the subject on which she
exercised her tongue, and the object before her eyes, that she gave
her mistress time to conquer her confusion; which having done, she
smiled on her maid, and told her, “she was certainly in love with this
young fellow.”--“I in love, madam!” answers she: “upon my word, ma'am,
I assure you, ma'am, upon my soul, ma'am, I am not.”--“Why, if you
was,” cries her mistress, “I see no reason that you should be ashamed
of it; for he is certainly a pretty fellow.”--“Yes, ma'am,” answered
the other, “that he is, the most handsomest man I ever saw in my life.
Yes, to be sure, that he is, and, as your ladyship says, I don't know
why I should be ashamed of loving him, though he is my betters. To be
sure, gentlefolks are but flesh and blood no more than us servants.
Besides, as for Mr Jones, thof Squire Allworthy hath made a gentleman
of him, he was not so good as myself by birth: for thof I am a poor
body, I am an honest person's child, and my father and mother were
married, which is more than some people can say, as high as they hold
their heads. Marry, come up! I assure you, my dirty cousin! thof his
skin be so white, and to be sure it is the most whitest that ever was
seen, I am a Christian as well as he, and nobody can say that I am
base born: my grandfather was a clergyman,[*] and would have been very
angry, I believe, to have thought any of his family should have taken
up with Molly Seagrim's dirty leavings.”
[*] This is the second person of low condition whom we have recorded
in this history to have sprung from the clergy. It is to be hoped
such instances will, in future ages, when some provision is made for
the families of the inferior clergy, appear stranger than they can
be thought at present.
Perhaps Sophia might have suffered her maid to run on in this manner,
from wanting sufficient spirits to stop her tongue, which the reader
may probably conjecture was no very easy task; for certainly there
were some passages in her speech which were far from being agreeable