History of Tom Jones, a Foundling
as any sour popish recluse, who buries all his social faculties, and
starves his belly while he well lashes his back.
To say truth, the wisest man is the likeliest to possess all worldly
blessings in an eminent degree; for as that moderation which wisdom
prescribes is the surest way to useful wealth, so can it alone qualify
us to taste many pleasures. The wise man gratifies every appetite and
every passion, while the fool sacrifices all the rest to pall and
satiate one.
It may be objected, that very wise men have been notoriously
avaricious. I answer, Not wise in that instance. It may likewise be
said, That the wisest men have been in their youth immoderately fond
of pleasure. I answer, They were not wise then.
Wisdom, in short, whose lessons have been represented as so hard to
learn by those who never were at her school, only teaches us to extend
a simple maxim universally known and followed even in the lowest life,
a little farther than that life carries it. And this is, not to buy at
too dear a price.
Now, whoever takes this maxim abroad with him into the grand market of
the world, and constantly applies it to honours, to riches, to
pleasures, and to every other commodity which that market affords, is,
I will venture to affirm, a wise man, and must be so acknowledged in
the worldly sense of the word; for he makes the best of bargains,
since in reality he purchases everything at the price only of a little
trouble, and carries home all the good things I have mentioned, while
he keeps his health, his innocence, and his reputation, the common
prices which are paid for them by others, entire and to himself.
From this moderation, likewise, he learns two other lessons, which
complete his character. First, never to be intoxicated when he hath
made the best bargain, nor dejected when the market is empty, or when
its commodities are too dear for his purchase.
But I must remember on what subject I am writing, and not trespass too
far on the patience of a good-natured critic. Here, therefore, I put
an end to the chapter.
Chapter iv.
Containing sundry curious matters.
As soon as Mr Allworthy returned home, he took Mr Blifil apart, and
after some preface, communicated to him the proposal which had been
made by Mr Western, and at the same time informed him how agreeable
this match would be to himself.
The charms of Sophia had not made the least impression on Blifil; not
that his heart was pre-engaged; neither was he totally insensible of
beauty, or had any aversion to women; but his appetites were by nature
so moderate, that he was able, by philosophy, or by study, or by some
other method, easily to subdue them: and as to that passion which we
have treated of in the first chapter of this book, he had not the
least tincture of it in his whole composition.
But though he was so entirely free from that mixed passion, of which
we there treated, and of which the virtues and beauty of Sophia formed
so notable an object; yet was he altogether as well furnished with
some other passions, that promised themselves very full gratification
in the young lady's fortune. Such were avarice and ambition, which
divided the dominion of his mind between them. He had more than once
considered the possession of this fortune as a very desirable thing,
and had entertained some distant views concerning it; but his own
youth, and that of the young lady, and indeed principally a reflection
that Mr Western might marry again, and have more children, had
restrained him from too hasty or eager a pursuit.
This last and most material objection was now in great measure
removed, as the proposal came from Mr Western himself. Blifil,
therefore, after a very short hesitation, answered Mr Allworthy, that
matrimony was a subject on which he had not yet thought; but that he
was so sensible of his friendly and fatherly care, that he should in
all things submit himself to his pleasure.
Allworthy was naturally a man of spirit, and his present gravity arose
from true wisdom and philosophy, not from any original phlegm in his
disposition; for he had possessed much fire in his youth, and had
married a beautiful woman for love. He was not therefore greatly
pleased with this cold answer of his nephew; nor could he help
launching forth into the praises of Sophia, and expressing some wonder
that the heart of a young man could be impregnable to the force of
such charms, unless it was guarded by some prior affection.
Blifil assured him he had no such guard; and then proceeded to
discourse so wisely and religiously on love and marriage, that he
would have stopt the mouth of a parent much less devoutly inclined
than was his uncle. In the end, the good man was satisfied that his
nephew, far from having any objections to Sophia, had that esteem for
her, which in sober and virtuous minds is the sure foundation of
friendship and love. And as he doubted not but the lover would, in a
little time, become altogether as agreeable to his mistress, he
foresaw great happiness arising to all parties by so proper and
desirable an union. With Mr Blifil's consent therefore he wrote the
next morning to Mr Western, acquainting him that his nephew had very
thankfully and gladly received the proposal, and would be ready to
wait on the young lady, whenever she should be pleased to accept his
visit.
Western was much pleased with this letter, and immediately returned an
answer; in which, without having mentioned a word to his daughter, he
appointed that very afternoon for opening the scene of courtship.
As soon as he had dispatched this messenger, he went in quest of his
sister, whom he found reading and expounding the _Gazette_ to parson
Supple. To this exposition he was obliged to attend near a quarter of
an hour, though with great violence to his natural impetuosity, before
he was suffered to speak. At length, however, he found an opportunity
of acquainting the lady, that he had business of great consequence to
impart to her; to which she answered, “Brother, I am entirely at your
service. Things look so well in the north, that I was never in a
better humour.”
The parson then withdrawing, Western acquainted her with all which had
passed, and desired her to communicate the affair to Sophia, which she
readily and chearfully undertook; though perhaps her brother was a
little obliged to that agreeable northern aspect which had so
delighted her, that he heard no comment on his proceedings; for they
were certainly somewhat too hasty and violent.
Chapter v.
In which is related what passed between Sophia and her aunt.
Sophia was in her chamber, reading, when her aunt came in. The moment
she saw Mrs Western, she shut the book with so much eagerness, that
the good lady could not forbear asking her, What book that was which
she seemed so much afraid of showing? “Upon my word, madam,” answered
Sophia, “it is a book which I am neither ashamed nor afraid to own I
have read. It is the production of a young lady of fashion, whose good
understanding, I think, doth honour to her sex, and whose good heart
is an honour to human nature.” Mrs Western then took up the book, and
immediately after threw it down, saying--“Yes, the author is of a very
good family; but she is not much among people one knows. I have never
read it; for the best judges say, there is not much in it.”--“I dare
not, madam, set up my own opinion,” says Sophia, “against the best
judges, but there appears to me a great deal of human nature in it;
and in many parts so much true tenderness and delicacy, that it hath
cost me many a tear.”--“Ay, and do you love to cry then?” says the
aunt. “I love a tender sensation,” answered the niece, “and would pay
the price of a tear for it at any time.”--“Well, but show me,” said
the aunt, “what was you reading when I came in; there was something
very tender in that, I believe, and very loving too. You blush, my
dear Sophia. Ah! child, you should read books which would teach you a
little hypocrisy, which would instruct you how to hide your thoughts a
little better.”--“I hope, madam,” answered Sophia, “I have no thoughts
which I ought to be ashamed of discovering.”--“Ashamed! no,” cries the
aunt, “I don't think you have any thoughts which you ought to be
ashamed of; and yet, child, you blushed just now when I mentioned the
word loving. Dear Sophy, be assured you have not one thought which I
am not well acquainted with; as well, child, as the French are with
our motions, long before we put them in execution. Did you think,
child, because you have been able to impose upon your father, that you
could impose upon me? Do you imagine I did not know the reason of your
overacting all that friendship for Mr Blifil yesterday? I have seen a
little too much of the world, to be so deceived. Nay, nay, do not
blush again. I tell you it is a passion you need not be ashamed of. It
is a passion I myself approve, and have already brought your father
into the approbation of it. Indeed, I solely consider your
inclination; for I would always have that gratified, if possible,
though one may sacrifice higher prospects. Come, I have news which
will delight your very soul. Make me your confident, and I will
undertake you shall be happy to the very extent of your wishes.” “La,
madam,” says Sophia, looking more foolishly than ever she did in her
life, “I know not what to say--why, madam, should you suspect?”--“Nay,
no dishonesty,” returned Mrs Western. “Consider, you are speaking to
one of your own sex, to an aunt, and I hope you are convinced you
speak to a friend. Consider, you are only revealing to me what I know
already, and what I plainly saw yesterday, through that most artful of
all disguises, which you had put on, and which must have deceived any
one who had not perfectly known the world. Lastly, consider it is a
passion which I highly approve.” “La, madam,” says Sophia, “you come
upon one so unawares, and on a sudden. To be sure, madam, I am not
blind--and certainly, if it be a fault to see all human perfections
assembled together--but is it possible my father and you, madam, can
see with my eyes?” “I tell you,” answered the aunt, “we do entirely
approve; and this very afternoon your father hath appointed for you to
receive your lover.” “My father, this afternoon!” cries Sophia, with
the blood starting from her face.--“Yes, child,” said the aunt, “this
afternoon. You know the impetuosity of my brother's temper. I
acquainted him with the passion which I first discovered in you that
evening when you fainted away in the field. I saw it in your fainting.
I saw it immediately upon your recovery. I saw it that evening at
supper, and the next morning at breakfast (you know, child, I have
seen the world). Well, I no sooner acquainted my brother, but he
immediately wanted to propose it to Allworthy. He proposed it
yesterday, Allworthy consented (as to be sure he must with joy), and
this afternoon, I tell you, you are to put on all your best airs.”
“This afternoon!” cries Sophia. “Dear aunt, you frighten me out of my
senses.” “O, my dear,” said the aunt, “you will soon come to yourself
again; for he is a charming young fellow, that's the truth on't.”
“Nay, I will own,” says Sophia, “I know none with such perfections. So
brave, and yet so gentle; so witty, yet so inoffensive; so humane, so
civil, so genteel, so handsome! What signifies his being base born,
when compared with such qualifications as these?” “Base born? What do
you mean?” said the aunt, “Mr Blifil base born!” Sophia turned
instantly pale at this name, and faintly repeated it. Upon which the
aunt cried, “Mr Blifil--ay, Mr Blifil, of whom else have we been
talking?” “Good heavens,” answered Sophia, ready to sink, “of Mr
Jones, I thought; I am sure I know no other who deserves--” “I