History of Tom Jones, a Foundling
home with you that she hath learnt romantic notions of love and
nonsense.” “You don't imagine, I hope,” cries the squire, “that I have
taught her any such things.” “Your ignorance, brother,” returned she,
“as the great Milton says, almost subdues my patience.”[*] “D--n
Milton!” answered the squire: “if he had the impudence to say so to my
face, I'd lend him a douse, thof he was never so great a man.
Patience! An you come to that, sister, I have more occasion of
patience, to be used like an overgrown schoolboy, as I am by you. Do
you think no one hath any understanding, unless he hath been about at
court. Pox! the world is come to a fine pass indeed, if we are all
fools, except a parcel of round-heads and Hanover rats. Pox! I hope
the times are a coming when we shall make fools of them, and every man
shall enjoy his own. That's all, sister; and every man shall enjoy his
own. I hope to zee it, sister, before the Hanover rats have eat up all
our corn, and left us nothing but turneps to feed upon.”--“I protest,
brother,” cries she, “you are now got beyond my understanding. Your
jargon of turneps and Hanover rats is to me perfectly
unintelligible.”--“I believe,” cries he, “you don't care to hear o'em;
but the country interest may succeed one day or other for all
that.”--“I wish,” answered the lady, “you would think a little of your
daughter's interest; for, believe me, she is in greater danger than
the nation.”--“Just now,” said he, “you chid me for thinking on her,
and would ha' her left to you.”--“And if you will promise to interpose
no more,” answered she, “I will, out of my regard to my niece,
undertake the charge.”--“Well, do then,” said the squire, “for you
know I always agreed, that women are the properest to manage women.”
[*] The reader may, perhaps, subdue his own patience, if he searches
for this in Milton.]
Mrs Western then departed, muttering something with an air of disdain,
concerning women and management of the nation. She immediately
repaired to Sophia's apartment, who was now, after a day's
confinement, released again from her captivity.
BOOK VII.
CONTAINING THREE DAYS.
Chapter i.
A comparison between the world and the stage.
The world hath been often compared to the theatre; and many grave
writers, as well as the poets, have considered human life as a great
drama, resembling, in almost every particular, those scenical
representations which Thespis is first reported to have invented, and
which have been since received with so much approbation and delight in
all polite countries.
This thought hath been carried so far, and is become so general, that
some words proper to the theatre, and which were at first
metaphorically applied to the world, are now indiscriminately and
literally spoken of both; thus stage and scene are by common use grown
as familiar to us, when we speak of life in general, as when we
confine ourselves to dramatic performances: and when transactions
behind the curtain are mentioned, St James's is more likely to occur
to our thoughts than Drury-lane.
It may seem easy enough to account for all this, by reflecting that
the theatrical stage is nothing more than a representation, or, as
Aristotle calls it, an imitation of what really exists; and hence,
perhaps, we might fairly pay a very high compliment to those who by
their writings or actions have been so capable of imitating life, as
to have their pictures in a manner confounded with, or mistaken for,
the originals.
But, in reality, we are not so fond of paying compliments to these
people, whom we use as children frequently do the instruments of their
amusement; and have much more pleasure in hissing and buffeting them,
than in admiring their excellence. There are many other reasons which
have induced us to see this analogy between the world and the stage.
Some have considered the larger part of mankind in the light of
actors, as personating characters no more their own, and to which in
fact they have no better title, than the player hath to be in earnest
thought the king or emperor whom he represents. Thus the hypocrite may
be said to be a player; and indeed the Greeks called them both by one
and the same name.
The brevity of life hath likewise given occasion to this comparison.
So the immortal Shakespear--
--Life's a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more.
For which hackneyed quotation I will make the reader amends by a very
noble one, which few, I believe, have read. It is taken from a poem
called the Deity, published about nine years ago, and long since
buried in oblivion; a proof that good books, no more than good men, do
always survive the bad.
From Thee[*] all human actions take their springs,
The rise of empires and the fall of kings!
See the vast Theatre of Time display'd,
While o'er the scene succeeding heroes tread!
With pomp the shining images succeed,
What leaders triumph, and what monarchs bleed!
Perform the parts thy providence assign'd,
Their pride, their passions, to thy ends inclin'd:
Awhile they glitter in the face of day,
Then at thy nod the phantoms pass away;
No traces left of all the busy scene,
But that remembrance says--_The things have been!_
[*] The Deity.
In all these, however, and in every other similitude of life to the
theatre, the resemblance hath been always taken from the stage only.
None, as I remember, have at all considered the audience at this great
drama.
But as Nature often exhibits some of her best performances to a very
full house, so will the behaviour of her spectators no less admit the
above-mentioned comparison than that of her actors. In this vast
theatre of time are seated the friend and the critic; here are claps
and shouts, hisses and groans; in short, everything which was ever
seen or heard at the Theatre-Royal.
Let us examine this in one example; for instance, in the behaviour of
the great audience on that scene which Nature was pleased to exhibit
in the twelfth chapter of the preceding book, where she introduced
Black George running away with the £500 from his friend and
benefactor.
Those who sat in the world's upper gallery treated that incident, I am
well convinced, with their usual vociferation; and every term of
scurrilous reproach was most probably vented on that occasion.
If we had descended to the next order of spectators, we should have
found an equal degree of abhorrence, though less of noise and
scurrility; yet here the good women gave Black George to the devil,
and many of them expected every minute that the cloven-footed
gentleman would fetch his own.
The pit, as usual, was no doubt divided; those who delight in heroic
virtue and perfect character objected to the producing such instances
of villany, without punishing them very severely for the sake of
example. Some of the author's friends cryed, “Look'e, gentlemen, the
man is a villain, but it is nature for all that.” And all the young
critics of the age, the clerks, apprentices, &c., called it low, and
fell a groaning.
As for the boxes, they behaved with their accustomed politeness. Most
of them were attending to something else. Some of those few who
regarded the scene at all, declared he was a bad kind of man; while
others refused to give their opinion, till they had heard that of the
best judges.
Now we, who are admitted behind the scenes of this great theatre of
Nature (and no author ought to write anything besides dictionaries and
spelling-books who hath not this privilege), can censure the action,
without conceiving any absolute detestation of the person, whom
perhaps Nature may not have designed to act an ill part in all her
dramas; for in this instance life most exactly resembles the stage,
since it is often the same person who represents the villain and the
heroe; and he who engages your admiration to-day will probably attract
your contempt to-morrow. As Garrick, whom I regard in tragedy to be
the greatest genius the world hath ever produced, sometimes
condescends to play the fool; so did Scipio the Great, and Laelius the
Wise, according to Horace, many years ago; nay, Cicero reports them to
have been “incredibly childish.” These, it is true, played the fool,
like my friend Garrick, in jest only; but several eminent characters
have, in numberless instances of their lives, played the fool
egregiously in earnest; so far as to render it a matter of some doubt
whether their wisdom or folly was predominant; or whether they were
better intitled to the applause or censure, the admiration or
contempt, the love or hatred, of mankind.
Those persons, indeed, who have passed any time behind the scenes of
this great theatre, and are thoroughly acquainted not only with the
several disguises which are there put on, but also with the fantastic
and capricious behaviour of the Passions, who are the managers and
directors of this theatre (for as to Reason, the patentee, he is known
to be a very idle fellow and seldom to exert himself), may most
probably have learned to understand the famous _nil admirari_ of
Horace, or in the English phrase, to stare at nothing.
A single bad act no more constitutes a villain in life, than a single
bad part on the stage. The passions, like the managers of a playhouse,
often force men upon parts without consulting their judgment, and
sometimes without any regard to their talents. Thus the man, as well
as the player, may condemn what he himself acts; nay, it is common to
see vice sit as awkwardly on some men, as the character of Iago would
on the honest face of Mr William Mills.
Upon the whole, then, the man of candour and of true understanding is
never hasty to condemn. He can censure an imperfection, or even a
vice, without rage against the guilty party. In a word, they are the
same folly, the same childishness, the same ill-breeding, and the same
ill-nature, which raise all the clamours and uproars both in life and
on the stage. The worst of men generally have the words rogue and
villain most in their mouths, as the lowest of all wretches are the
aptest to cry out low in the pit.
Chapter ii.
Containing a conversation which Mr Jones had with himself.
Jones received his effects from Mr Allworthy's early in the morning,
with the following answer to his letter:--
“SIR,
“I am commanded by my uncle to acquaint you, that as he did not
proceed to those measures he had taken with you, without the
greatest deliberation, and after the fullest evidence of your
unworthiness, so will it be always out of your power to cause the
least alteration in his resolution. He expresses great surprize at
your presumption in saying you have resigned all pretensions to a
young lady, to whom it is impossible you should ever have had any,
her birth and fortune having made her so infinitely your superior.
Lastly, I am commanded to tell you, that the only instance of your
compliance with my uncle's inclinations which he requires, is, your
immediately quitting this country. I cannot conclude this without
offering you my advice, as a Christian, that you would seriously
think of amending your life. That you may be assisted with grace so
to do, will be always the prayer of
“Your humble servant,
“W. BLIFIL.”
Many contending passions were raised in our heroe's mind by this
letter; but the tender prevailed at last over the indignant and
irascible, and a flood of tears came seasonably to his assistance, and
possibly prevented his misfortunes from either turning his head, or
bursting his heart.
He grew, however, soon ashamed of indulging this remedy; and starting
up, he cried, “Well, then, I will give Mr Allworthy the only instance