History of Tom Jones, a Foundling
degree scarce imaginable by those who have never been susceptible of
any other emotions than what have proceeded from appetite alone.
In return to all these concessions, I desire of the philosophers to
grant, that there is in some (I believe in many) human breasts a kind
and benevolent disposition, which is gratified by contributing to the
happiness of others. That in this gratification alone, as in
friendship, in parental and filial affection, as indeed in general
philanthropy, there is a great and exquisite delight. That if we will
not call such disposition love, we have no name for it. That though
the pleasures arising from such pure love may be heightened and
sweetened by the assistance of amorous desires, yet the former can
subsist alone, nor are they destroyed by the intervention of the
latter. Lastly, that esteem and gratitude are the proper motives to
love, as youth and beauty are to desire, and, therefore, though such
desire may naturally cease, when age or sickness overtakes its object;
yet these can have no effect on love, nor ever shake or remove, from a
good mind, that sensation or passion which hath gratitude and esteem
for its basis.
To deny the existence of a passion of which we often see manifest
instances, seems to be very strange and absurd; and can indeed proceed
only from that self-admonition which we have mentioned above: but how
unfair is this! Doth the man who recognizes in his own heart no traces
of avarice or ambition, conclude, therefore, that there are no such
passions in human nature? Why will we not modestly observe the same
rule in judging of the good, as well as the evil of others? Or why, in
any case, will we, as Shakespear phrases it, “put the world in our own
person?”
Predominant vanity is, I am afraid, too much concerned here. This is
one instance of that adulation which we bestow on our own minds, and
this almost universally. For there is scarce any man, how much soever
he may despise the character of a flatterer, but will condescend in
the meanest manner to flatter himself.
To those therefore I apply for the truth of the above observations,
whose own minds can bear testimony to what I have advanced.
Examine your heart, my good reader, and resolve whether you do believe
these matters with me. If you do, you may now proceed to their
exemplification in the following pages: if you do not, you have, I
assure you, already read more than you have understood; and it would
be wiser to pursue your business, or your pleasures (such as they
are), than to throw away any more of your time in reading what you can
neither taste nor comprehend. To treat of the effects of love to you,
must be as absurd as to discourse on colours to a man born blind;
since possibly your idea of love may be as absurd as that which we are
told such blind man once entertained of the colour scarlet; that
colour seemed to him to be very much like the sound of a trumpet: and
love probably may, in your opinion, very greatly resemble a dish of
soup, or a surloin of roast-beef.
Chapter ii.
The character of Mrs Western. Her great learning and knowledge of the
world, and an instance of the deep penetration which she derived from
those advantages.
The reader hath seen Mr Western, his sister, and daughter, with young
Jones, and the parson, going together to Mr Western's house, where the
greater part of the company spent the evening with much joy and
festivity. Sophia was indeed the only grave person; for as to Jones,
though love had now gotten entire possession of his heart, yet the
pleasing reflection on Mr Allworthy's recovery, and the presence of
his mistress, joined to some tender looks which she now and then could
not refrain from giving him, so elevated our heroe, that he joined the
mirth of the other three, who were perhaps as good-humoured people as
any in the world.
Sophia retained the same gravity of countenance the next morning at
breakfast; whence she retired likewise earlier than usual, leaving her
father and aunt together. The squire took no notice of this change in
his daughter's disposition. To say the truth, though he was somewhat
of a politician, and had been twice a candidate in the country
interest at an election, he was a man of no great observation. His
sister was a lady of a different turn. She had lived about the court,
and had seen the world. Hence she had acquired all that knowledge
which the said world usually communicates; and was a perfect mistress
of manners, customs, ceremonies, and fashions. Nor did her erudition
stop here. She had considerably improved her mind by study; she had
not only read all the modern plays, operas, oratorios, poems, and
romances--in all which she was a critic; but had gone through Rapin's
History of England, Eachard's Roman History, and many French _Mémoires
pour servir à l'Histoire_: to these she had added most of the
political pamphlets and journals published within the last twenty
years. From which she had attained a very competent skill in politics,
and could discourse very learnedly on the affairs of Europe. She was,
moreover, excellently well skilled in the doctrine of amour, and knew
better than anybody who and who were together; a knowledge which she
the more easily attained, as her pursuit of it was never diverted by
any affairs of her own; for either she had no inclinations, or they
had never been solicited; which last is indeed very probable; for her
masculine person, which was near six foot high, added to her manner
and learning, possibly prevented the other sex from regarding her,
notwithstanding her petticoats, in the light of a woman. However, as
she had considered the matter scientifically, she perfectly well knew,
though she had never practised them, all the arts which fine ladies
use when they desire to give encouragement, or to conceal liking, with
all the long appendage of smiles, ogles, glances, &c., as they are at
present practised in the beau-monde. To sum the whole, no species of
disguise or affectation had escaped her notice; but as to the plain
simple workings of honest nature, as she had never seen any such, she
could know but little of them.
By means of this wonderful sagacity, Mrs Western had now, as she
thought, made a discovery of something in the mind of Sophia. The
first hint of this she took from the behaviour of the young lady in
the field of battle; and the suspicion which she then conceived, was
greatly corroborated by some observations which she had made that
evening and the next morning. However, being greatly cautious to avoid
being found in a mistake, she carried the secret a whole fortnight in
her bosom, giving only some oblique hints, by simpering, winks, nods,
and now and then dropping an obscure word, which indeed sufficiently
alarmed Sophia, but did not at all affect her brother.
Being at length, however, thoroughly satisfied of the truth of her
observation, she took an opportunity, one morning, when she was alone
with her brother, to interrupt one of his whistles in the following
manner:--
“Pray, brother, have you not observed something very extraordinary in my
niece lately?”--“No, not I,” answered Western; “is anything the matter
with the girl?”--“I think there is,” replied she; “and something of
much consequence too.”--“Why, she doth not complain of anything,”
cries Western; “and she hath had the small-pox.”--“Brother,” returned
she, “girls are liable to other distempers besides the small-pox, and
sometimes possibly to much worse.” Here Western interrupted her with
much earnestness, and begged her, if anything ailed his daughter, to
acquaint him immediately; adding, “she knew he loved her more than his
own soul, and that he would send to the world's end for the best
physician to her.” “Nay, nay,” answered she, smiling, “the distemper
is not so terrible; but I believe, brother, you are convinced I know
the world, and I promise you I was never more deceived in my life, if
my niece be not most desperately in love.”--“How! in love!” cries
Western, in a passion; “in love, without acquainting me! I'll
disinherit her; I'll turn her out of doors, stark naked, without a
farthing. Is all my kindness vor 'ur, and vondness o'ur come to this,
to fall in love without asking me leave?”--“But you will not,”
answered Mrs Western, “turn this daughter, whom you love better than
your own soul, out of doors, before you know whether you shall approve
her choice. Suppose she should have fixed on the very person whom you
yourself would wish, I hope you would not be angry then?”--“No, no,”
cries Western, “that would make a difference. If she marries the man I
would ha' her, she may love whom she pleases, I shan't trouble my head
about that.” “That is spoken,” answered the sister, “like a sensible
man; but I believe the very person she hath chosen would be the very
person you would choose for her. I will disclaim all knowledge of the
world, if it is not so; and I believe, brother, you will allow I have
some.”--“Why, lookee, sister,” said Western, “I do believe you have as
much as any woman; and to be sure those are women's matters. You know
I don't love to hear you talk about politics; they belong to us, and
petticoats should not meddle: but come, who is the man?”--“Marry!”
said she, “you may find him out yourself if you please. You, who are
so great a politician, can be at no great loss. The judgment which can
penetrate into the cabinets of princes, and discover the secret
springs which move the great state wheels in all the political
machines of Europe, must surely, with very little difficulty, find out
what passes in the rude uninformed mind of a girl.”--“Sister,” cries
the squire, “I have often warn'd you not to talk the court gibberish
to me. I tell you, I don't understand the lingo: but I can read a
journal, or the _London Evening Post._ Perhaps, indeed, there may be
now and tan a verse which I can't make much of, because half the
letters are left out; yet I know very well what is meant by that, and
that our affairs don't go so well as they should do, because of
bribery and corruption.”--“I pity your country ignorance from my
heart,” cries the lady.--“Do you?” answered Western; “and I pity your
town learning; I had rather be anything than a courtier, and a
Presbyterian, and a Hanoverian too, as some people, I believe,
are.”--“If you mean me,” answered she, “you know I am a woman,
brother; and it signifies nothing what I am. Besides--“--“I do know
you are a woman,” cries the squire, “and it's well for thee that art
one; if hadst been a man, I promise thee I had lent thee a flick long
ago.”--“Ay, there,” said she, “in that flick lies all your fancied
superiority. Your bodies, and not your brains, are stronger than ours.
Believe me, it is well for you that you are able to beat us; or, such
is the superiority of our understanding, we should make all of you
what the brave, and wise, and witty, and polite are already--our
slaves.”--“I am glad I know your mind,” answered the squire. “But
we'll talk more of this matter another time. At present, do tell me
what man is it you mean about my daughter?”--“Hold a moment,” said
she, “while I digest that sovereign contempt I have for your sex; or
else I ought to be angry too with you. There--I have made a shift to
gulp it down. And now, good politic sir, what think you of Mr Blifil?
Did she not faint away on seeing him lie breathless on the ground? Did
she not, after he was recovered, turn pale again the moment we came up
to that part of the field where he stood? And pray what else should be
the occasion of all her melancholy that night at supper, the next
morning, and indeed ever since?”--“'Fore George!” cries the squire,
“now you mind me on't, I remember it all. It is certainly so, and I am