History of Tom Jones, a Foundling
the brother never foresaw anything at a distance, but was most
sagacious in immediately seeing everything the moment it had happened;
so the sister eternally foresaw at a distance, but was not so
quick-sighted to objects before her eyes. Of both these the reader may
have observed examples: and, indeed, both their several talents were
excessive; for, as the sister often foresaw what never came to pass,
so the brother often saw much more than was actually the truth.
This was not however the case at present. The same report was brought
from the garden as before had been brought from the chamber, that
Madam Sophia was not to be found.
The squire himself now sallied forth, and began to roar forth the name
of Sophia as loudly, and in as hoarse a voice, as whilome did Hercules
that of Hylas; and, as the poet tells us that the whole shore echoed
back the name of that beautiful youth, so did the house, the garden,
and all the neighbouring fields resound nothing but the name of
Sophia, in the hoarse voices of the men, and in the shrill pipes of
the women; while echo seemed so pleased to repeat the beloved sound,
that, if there is really such a person, I believe Ovid hath belied her
sex.
Nothing reigned for a long time but confusion; till at last the
squire, having sufficiently spent his breath, returned to the parlour,
where he found Mrs Western and Mr Blifil, and threw himself, with the
utmost dejection in his countenance, into a great chair.
Here Mrs Western began to apply the following consolation:
“Brother, I am sorry for what hath happened; and that my niece should
have behaved herself in a manner so unbecoming her family; but it is
all your own doings, and you have nobody to thank but yourself. You
know she hath been educated always in a manner directly contrary to my
advice, and now you see the consequence. Have I not a thousand times
argued with you about giving my niece her own will? But you know I
never could prevail upon you; and when I had taken so much pains to
eradicate her headstrong opinions, and to rectify your errors in
policy, you know she was taken out of my hands; so that I have nothing
to answer for. Had I been trusted entirely with the care of her
education, no such accident as this had ever befallen you; so that you
must comfort yourself by thinking it was all your own doing; and,
indeed, what else could be expected from such indulgence?”
“Zounds! sister,” answered he, “you are enough to make one mad. Have I
indulged her? Have I given her her will?----It was no longer ago than
last night that I threatened, if she disobeyed me, to confine her to
her chamber upon bread and water as long as she lived.----You would
provoke the patience of Job.”
“Did ever mortal hear the like?” replied she. “Brother, if I had not
the patience of fifty Jobs, you would make me forget all decency and
decorum. Why would you interfere? Did I not beg you, did I not intreat
you, to leave the whole conduct to me? You have defeated all the
operations of the campaign by one false step. Would any man in his
senses have provoked a daughter by such threats as these? How often
have I told you that English women are not to be treated like
Ciracessian[*] slaves. We have the protection of the world; we are to
be won by gentle means only, and not to be hectored, and bullied, and
beat into compliance. I thank Heaven no Salique law governs here.
Brother, you have a roughness in your manner which no woman but myself
would bear. I do not wonder my niece was frightened and terrified into
taking this measure; and, to speak honestly, I think my niece will be
justified to the world for what she hath done. I repeat it to you
again, brother, you must comfort yourself by rememb'ring that it is
all your own fault. How often have I advised--” Here Western rose
hastily from his chair, and, venting two or three horrid imprecations,
ran out of the room.
[*] Possibly Circassian.
When he was departed, his sister expressed more bitterness (if
possible) against him than she had done while he was present; for the
truth of which she appealed to Mr Blifil, who, with great complacence,
acquiesced entirely in all she said; but excused all the faults of Mr
Western, “as they must be considered,” he said, “to have proceeded
from the too inordinate fondness of a father, which must be allowed
the name of an amiable weakness.” “So much the more inexcuseable,”
answered the lady; “for whom doth he ruin by his fondness but his own
child?” To which Blifil immediately agreed.
Mrs Western then began to express great confusion on the account of Mr
Blifil, and of the usage which he had received from a family to which
he intended so much honour. On this subject she treated the folly of
her niece with great severity; but concluded with throwing the whole
on her brother, who, she said, was inexcuseable to have proceeded so
far without better assurances of his daughter's consent: “But he was
(says she) always of a violent, headstrong temper; and I can scarce
forgive myself for all the advice I have thrown away upon him.”
After much of this kind of conversation, which, perhaps, would not
greatly entertain the reader, was it here particularly related, Mr
Blifil took his leave and returned home, not highly pleased with his
disappointment: which, however, the philosophy which he had acquired
from Square, and the religion infused into him by Thwackum, together
with somewhat else, taught him to bear rather better than more
passionate lovers bear these kinds of evils.
Chapter ix.
The escape of Sophia.
It is now time to look after Sophia; whom the reader, if he loves her
half so well as I do, will rejoice to find escaped from the clutches
of her passionate father, and from those of her dispassionate lover.
Twelve times did the iron register of time beat on the sonorous
bell-metal, summoning the ghosts to rise and walk their nightly
round.----In plainer language, it was twelve o'clock, and all the
family, as we have said, lay buried in drink and sleep, except only
Mrs Western, who was deeply engaged in reading a political pamphlet,
and except our heroine, who now softly stole down-stairs, and, having
unbarred and unlocked one of the house-doors, sallied forth, and
hastened to the place of appointment.
Notwithstanding the many pretty arts which ladies sometimes practise,
to display their fears on every little occasion (almost as many as the
other sex uses to conceal theirs), certainly there is a degree of
courage which not only becomes a woman, but is often necessary to
enable her to discharge her duty. It is, indeed, the idea of
fierceness, and not of bravery, which destroys the female character;
for who can read the story of the justly celebrated Arria without
conceiving as high an opinion of her gentleness and tenderness as of
her fortitude? At the same time, perhaps, many a woman who shrieks at
a mouse, or a rat, may be capable of poisoning a husband; or, what is
worse, of driving him to poison himself.
Sophia, with all the gentleness which a woman can have, had all the
spirit which she ought to have. When, therefore, she came to the place
of appointment, and, instead of meeting her maid, as was agreed, saw a
man ride directly up to her, she neither screamed out nor fainted
away: not that her pulse then beat with its usual regularity; for she
was, at first, under some surprize and apprehension: but these were
relieved almost as soon as raised, when the man, pulling off his hat,
asked her, in a very submissive manner, “If her ladyship did not
expect to meet another lady?” and then proceeded to inform her that he
was sent to conduct her to that lady.
Sophia could have no possible suspicion of any falsehood in this
account: she therefore mounted resolutely behind the fellow, who
conveyed her safe to a town about five miles distant, where she had
the satisfaction of finding the good Mrs Honour: for, as the soul of
the waiting-woman was wrapt up in those very habiliments which used to
enwrap her body, she could by no means bring herself to trust them out
of her sight. Upon these, therefore, she kept guard in person, while
she detached the aforesaid fellow after her mistress, having given him
all proper instructions.
They now debated what course to take, in order to avoid the pursuit of
Mr Western, who they knew would send after them in a few hours. The
London road had such charms for Honour, that she was desirous of going
on directly; alleging that, as Sophia could not be missed till eight
or nine the next morning, her pursuers would not be able to overtake
her, even though they knew which way she had gone. But Sophia had too
much at stake to venture anything to chance; nor did she dare trust
too much to her tender limbs, in a contest which was to be decided
only by swiftness. She resolved, therefore, to travel across the
country, for at least twenty or thirty miles, and then to take the
direct road to London. So, having hired horses to go twenty miles one
way, when she intended to go twenty miles the other, she set forward
with the same guide behind whom she had ridden from her father's
house; the guide having now taken up behind him, in the room of
Sophia, a much heavier, as well as much less lovely burden; being,
indeed, a huge portmanteau, well stuffed with those outside ornaments,
by means of which the fair Honour hoped to gain many conquests, and,
finally, to make her fortune in London city.
When they had gone about two hundred paces from the inn on the London
road, Sophia rode up to the guide, and, with a voice much fuller of
honey than was ever that of Plato, though his mouth is supposed to
have been a bee-hive, begged him to take the first turning which led
towards Bristol.
Reader, I am not superstitious, nor any great believer of modern
miracles. I do not, therefore, deliver the following as a certain
truth; for, indeed, I can scarce credit it myself: but the fidelity of
an historian obliges me to relate what hath been confidently asserted.
The horse, then, on which the guide rode, is reported to have been so
charmed by Sophia's voice, that he made a full stop, and expressed an
unwillingness to proceed any farther.
Perhaps, however, the fact may be true, and less miraculous than it
hath been represented; since the natural cause seems adequate to the
effect: for, as the guide at that moment desisted from a constant
application of his armed right heel (for, like Hudibras, he wore but
one spur), it is more than possible that this omission alone might
occasion the beast to stop, especially as this was very frequent with
him at other times.
But if the voice of Sophia had really an effect on the horse, it had
very little on the rider. He answered somewhat surlily, “That measter
had ordered him to go a different way, and that he should lose his
place if he went any other than that he was ordered.”
Sophia, finding all her persuasions had no effect, began now to add
irresistible charms to her voice; charms which, according to the
proverb, makes the old mare trot, instead of standing still; charms!
to which modern ages have attributed all that irresistible force which
the antients imputed to perfect oratory. In a word, she promised she
would reward him to his utmost expectation.
The lad was not totally deaf to these promises; but he disliked their
being indefinite; for, though perhaps he had never heard that word,
yet that, in fact, was his objection. He said, “Gentlevolks did not
consider the case of poor volks; that he had like to have been turned
away the other day, for riding about the country with a gentleman from
Squire Allworthy's, who did not reward him as he should have done.”
“With whom?” says Sophia eagerly. “With a gentleman from Squire