History of Tom Jones, a Foundling
protest,” cries the aunt, “you frighten me in your turn. Is it Mr
Jones, and not Mr Blifil, who is the object of your affection?” “Mr
Blifil!” repeated Sophia. “Sure it is impossible you can be in
earnest; if you are, I am the most miserable woman alive.” Mrs Western
now stood a few moments silent, while sparks of fiery rage flashed
from her eyes. At length, collecting all her force of voice, she
thundered forth in the following articulate sounds:
“And is it possible you can think of disgracing your family by allying
yourself to a bastard? Can the blood of the Westerns submit to such
contamination? If you have not sense sufficient to restrain such
monstrous inclinations, I thought the pride of our family would have
prevented you from giving the least encouragement to so base an
affection; much less did I imagine you would ever have had the
assurance to own it to my face.”
“Madam,” answered Sophia, trembling, “what I have said you have
extorted from me. I do not remember to have ever mentioned the name of
Mr Jones with approbation to any one before; nor should I now had I
not conceived he had your approbation. Whatever were my thoughts of
that poor, unhappy young man, I intended to have carried them with me
to my grave--to that grave where only now, I find, I am to seek
repose.” Here she sunk down in her chair, drowned in her tears, and,
in all the moving silence of unutterable grief, presented a spectacle
which must have affected almost the hardest heart.
All this tender sorrow, however, raised no compassion in her aunt. On
the contrary, she now fell into the most violent rage.--“And I would
rather,” she cried, in a most vehement voice, “follow you to your
grave, than I would see you disgrace yourself and your family by such
a match. O Heavens! could I have ever suspected that I should live to
hear a niece of mine declare a passion for such a fellow? You are the
first--yes, Miss Western, you are the first of your name who ever
entertained so grovelling a thought. A family so noted for the
prudence of its women”--here she ran on a full quarter of an hour,
till, having exhausted her breath rather than her rage, she concluded
with threatening to go immediately and acquaint her brother.
Sophia then threw herself at her feet, and laying hold of her hands,
begged her with tears to conceal what she had drawn from her; urging
the violence of her father's temper, and protesting that no
inclinations of hers should ever prevail with her to do anything which
might offend him.
Mrs Western stood a moment looking at her, and then, having
recollected herself, said, “That on one consideration only she would
keep the secret from her brother; and this was, that Sophia should
promise to entertain Mr Blifil that very afternoon as her lover, and
to regard him as the person who was to be her husband.”
Poor Sophia was too much in her aunt's power to deny her anything
positively; she was obliged to promise that she would see Mr Blifil,
and be as civil to him as possible; but begged her aunt that the match
might not be hurried on. She said, “Mr Blifil was by no means
agreeable to her, and she hoped her father would be prevailed on not
to make her the most wretched of women.”
Mrs Western assured her, “That the match was entirely agreed upon, and
that nothing could or should prevent it. I must own,” said she, “I
looked on it as on a matter of indifference; nay, perhaps, had some
scruples about it before, which were actually got over by my thinking
it highly agreeable to your own inclinations; but now I regard it as
the most eligible thing in the world: nor shall there be, if I can
prevent it, a moment of time lost on the occasion.”
Sophia replied, “Delay at least, madam, I may expect from both your
goodness and my father's. Surely you will give me time to endeavour to
get the better of so strong a disinclination as I have at present to
this person.”
The aunt answered, “She knew too much of the world to be so deceived;
that as she was sensible another man had her affections, she should
persuade Mr Western to hasten the match as much as possible. It would
be bad politics, indeed,” added she, “to protract a siege when the
enemy's army is at hand, and in danger of relieving it. No, no,
Sophy,” said she, “as I am convinced you have a violent passion which
you can never satisfy with honour, I will do all I can to put your
honour out of the care of your family: for when you are married those
matters will belong only to the consideration of your husband. I hope,
child, you will always have prudence enough to act as becomes you; but
if you should not, marriage hath saved many a woman from ruin.”
Sophia well understood what her aunt meant; but did not think proper
to make her an answer. However, she took a resolution to see Mr
Blifil, and to behave to him as civilly as she could, for on that
condition only she obtained a promise from her aunt to keep secret the
liking which her ill fortune, rather than any scheme of Mrs Western,
had unhappily drawn from her.
Chapter vi.
Containing a dialogue between Sophia and Mrs Honour, which may a
little relieve those tender affections which the foregoing scene may
have raised in the mind of a good-natured reader.
Mrs Western having obtained that promise from her niece which we have
seen in the last chapter, withdrew; and presently after arrived Mrs
Honour. She was at work in a neighbouring apartment, and had been
summoned to the keyhole by some vociferation in the preceding
dialogue, where she had continued during the remaining part of it. At
her entry into the room, she found Sophia standing motionless, with
the tears trickling from her eyes. Upon which she immediately ordered
a proper quantity of tears into her own eyes, and then began, “O
Gemini, my dear lady, what is the matter?”--“Nothing,” cries Sophia.
“Nothing! O dear Madam!” answers Honour, “you must not tell me that,
when your ladyship is in this taking, and when there hath been such a
preamble between your ladyship and Madam Western.”--“Don't teaze me,”
cries Sophia; “I tell you nothing is the matter. Good heavens! why was
I born?”--“Nay, madam,” says Mrs Honour, “you shall never persuade me
that your la'ship can lament yourself so for nothing. To be sure I am
but a servant; but to be sure I have been always faithful to your
la'ship, and to be sure I would serve your la'ship with my life.”--“My
dear Honour,” says Sophia, “'tis not in thy power to be of any service
to me. I am irretrievably undone.”--“Heaven forbid!” answered the
waiting-woman; “but if I can't be of any service to you, pray tell me,
madam--it will be some comfort to me to know--pray, dear ma'am, tell
me what's the matter.”--“My father,” cries Sophia, “is going to marry
me to a man I both despise and hate.”--“O dear, ma'am,” answered the
other, “who is this wicked man? for to be sure he is very bad, or your
la'ship would not despise him.”--“His name is poison to my tongue,”
replied Sophia: “thou wilt know it too soon.” Indeed, to confess the
truth, she knew it already, and therefore was not very inquisitive as
to that point. She then proceeded thus: “I don't pretend to give your
la'ship advice, whereof your la'ship knows much better than I can
pretend to, being but a servant; but, i-fackins! no father in England
should marry me against my consent. And, to be sure, the 'squire is so
good, that if he did but know your la'ship despises and hates the
young man, to be sure he would not desire you to marry him. And if
your la'ship would but give me leave to tell my master so. To be sure,
it would be more properer to come from your own mouth; but as your
la'ship doth not care to foul your tongue with his nasty name--“--“You
are mistaken, Honour,” says Sophia; “my father was determined before
he ever thought fit to mention it to me.”--“More shame for him,” cries
Honour: “you are to go to bed to him, and not master: and thof a man
may be a very proper man, yet every woman mayn't think him handsome
alike. I am sure my master would never act in this manner of his own
head. I wish some people would trouble themselves only with what
belongs to them; they would not, I believe, like to be served so, if
it was their own case; for though I am a maid, I can easily believe as
how all men are not equally agreeable. And what signifies your la'ship
having so great a fortune, if you can't please yourself with the man
you think most handsomest? Well, I say nothing; but to be sure it is a
pity some folks had not been better born; nay, as for that matter, I
should not mind it myself; but then there is not so much money; and
what of that? your la'ship hath money enough for both; and where can
your la'ship bestow your fortune better? for to be sure every one must
allow that he is the most handsomest, charmingest, finest, tallest,
properest man in the world.”--“What do you mean by running on in this
manner to me?” cries Sophia, with a very grave countenance. “Have I
ever given any encouragement for these liberties?”--“Nay, ma'am, I ask
pardon; I meant no harm,” answered she; “but to be sure the poor
gentleman hath run in my head ever since I saw him this morning. To be
sure, if your la'ship had but seen him just now, you must have pitied
him. Poor gentleman! I wishes some misfortune hath not happened to
him; for he hath been walking about with his arms across, and looking
so melancholy, all this morning: I vow and protest it made me almost
cry to see him.”--“To see whom?” says Sophia. “Poor Mr Jones,”
answered Honour. “See him! why, where did you see him?” cries Sophia.
“By the canal, ma'am,” says Honour. “There he hath been walking all
this morning, and at last there he laid himself down: I believe he
lies there still. To be sure, if it had not been for my modesty, being
a maid, as I am, I should have gone and spoke to him. Do, ma'am, let
me go and see, only for a fancy, whether he is there still.”--“Pugh!”
says Sophia. “There! no, no: what should he do there? He is gone
before this time, to be sure. Besides, why--what--why should you go to
see? besides, I want you for something else. Go, fetch me my hat and
gloves. I shall walk with my aunt in the grove before dinner.” Honour
did immediately as she was bid, and Sophia put her hat on; when,
looking in the glass, she fancied the ribbon with which her hat was
tied did not become her, and so sent her maid back again for a ribbon
of a different colour; and then giving Mrs Honour repeated charges not
to leave her work on any account, as she said it was in violent haste,
and must be finished that very day, she muttered something more about
going to the grove, and then sallied out the contrary way, and walked,
as fast as her tender trembling limbs could carry her, directly
towards the canal.
Jones had been there as Mrs Honour had told her; he had indeed spent
two hours there that morning in melancholy contemplation on his
Sophia, and had gone out from the garden at one door the moment she
entered it at another. So that those unlucky minutes which had been
spent in changing the ribbons, had prevented the lovers from meeting
at this time;--a most unfortunate accident, from which my fair readers
will not fail to draw a very wholesome lesson. And here I strictly
forbid all male critics to intermeddle with a circumstance which I
have recounted only for the sake of the ladies, and upon which they
only are at liberty to comment.
Chapter vii.
A picture of formal courtship in miniature, as it always ought to be
drawn, and a scene of a tenderer kind painted at full length.
It was well remarked by one (and perhaps by more), that misfortunes do
not come single. This wise maxim was now verified by Sophia, who was
not only disappointed of seeing the man she loved, but had the