History of Tom Jones, a Foundling
He lamented, in very pathetic terms, the encouragement she had given
him, and made a high merit of the tedious hours in which he had
undergone her conversation.--What shall I tell you, my dear
Sophia?--Then I will confess the truth. I was pleased with my man. I
was pleased with my conquest. To rival my aunt delighted me; to rival
so many other women charmed me. In short, I am afraid I did not behave
as I should do, even upon the very first declaration--I wish I did not
almost give him positive encouragement before we parted.
“The Bath now talked loudly--I might almost say, roared against me.
Several young women affected to shun my acquaintance, not so much,
perhaps, from any real suspicion, as from a desire of banishing me
from a company in which I too much engrossed their favourite man. And
here I cannot omit expressing my gratitude to the kindness intended me
by Mr Nash, who took me one day aside, and gave me advice, which if I
had followed, I had been a happy woman. `Child,' says he, `I am sorry
to see the familiarity which subsists between you and a fellow who is
altogether unworthy of you, and I am afraid will prove your ruin. As
for your old stinking aunt, if it was to be no injury to you and my
pretty Sophy Western (I assure you I repeat his words), I should be
heartily glad that the fellow was in possession of all that belongs to
her. I never advise old women: for, if they take it into their heads
to go to the devil, it is no more possible than worth while to keep
them from him. Innocence and youth and beauty are worthy a better
fate, and I would save them from his clutches. Let me advise you
therefore, dear child, never suffer this fellow to be particular with
you again.' Many more things he said to me, which I have now
forgotten, and indeed I attended very little to them at the time; for
inclination contradicted all he said; and, besides, I could not be
persuaded that women of quality would condescend to familiarity with
such a person as he described.
“But I am afraid, my dear, I shall tire you with a detail of so many
minute circumstances. To be concise, therefore, imagine me married;
imagine me with my husband, at the feet of my aunt; and then imagine
the maddest woman in Bedlam, in a raving fit, and your imagination
will suggest to you no more than what really happened.
“The very next day my aunt left the place, partly to avoid seeing Mr
Fitzpatrick or myself, and as much perhaps to avoid seeing any one
else; for, though I am told she hath since denied everything stoutly,
I believe she was then a little confounded at her disappointment.
Since that time, I have written to her many letters, but never could
obtain an answer, which I must own sits somewhat the heavier, as she
herself was, though undesignedly, the occasion of all my sufferings:
for, had it not been under the colour of paying his addresses to her,
Mr Fitzpatrick would never have found sufficient opportunities to have
engaged my heart, which, in other circumstances, I still flatter
myself would not have been an easy conquest to such a person. Indeed,
I believe I should not have erred so grossly in my choice if I had
relied on my own judgment; but I trusted totally to the opinion of
others, and very foolishly took the merit of a man for granted whom I
saw so universally well received by the women. What is the reason, my
dear, that we, who have understandings equal to the wisest and
greatest of the other sex, so often make choice of the silliest
fellows for companions and favourites? It raises my indignation to the
highest pitch to reflect on the numbers of women of sense who have
been undone by fools.” Here she paused a moment; but, Sophia making no
answer, she proceeded as in the next chapter.
Chapter v.
In which the history of Mrs Fitzpatrick is continued.
“We remained at Bath no longer than a fortnight after our wedding; for
as to any reconciliation with my aunt, there were no hopes; and of my
fortune not one farthing could be touched till I was of age, of which
I now wanted more than two years. My husband therefore was resolved to
set out for Ireland; against which I remonstrated very earnestly, and
insisted on a promise which he had made me before our marriage that I
should never take this journey against my consent; and indeed I never
intended to consent to it; nor will anybody, I believe, blame me for
that resolution; but this, however, I never mentioned to my husband,
and petitioned only for the reprieve of a month; but he had fixed the
day, and to that day he obstinately adhered.
“The evening before our departure, as we were disputing this point
with great eagerness on both sides, he started suddenly from his
chair, and left me abruptly, saying he was going to the rooms. He was
hardly out of the house when I saw a paper lying on the floor, which,
I suppose, he had carelessly pulled from his pocket, together with his
handkerchief. This paper I took up, and, finding it to be a letter, I
made no scruple to open and read it; and indeed I read it so often
that I can repeat it to you almost word for word. This then was the
letter:
_'To Mr Brian Fitzpatrick._
'SIR,
'YOURS received, and am surprized you should use me in this manner,
as have never seen any of your cash, unless for one linsey-woolsey
coat, and your bill now is upwards of £150. Consider, sir, how often
you have fobbed me off with your being shortly to be married to this
lady and t'other lady; but I can neither live on hopes or promises,
nor will my woollen-draper take any such in payment. You tell me you
are secure of having either the aunt or the niece, and that you
might have married the aunt before this, whose jointure you say is
immense, but that you prefer the niece on account of her ready
money. Pray, sir, take a fool's advice for once, and marry the first
you can get. You will pardon my offering my advice, as you know I
sincerely wish you well. Shall draw on you per next post, in favour
of Messieurs John Drugget and company, at fourteen days, which doubt
not your honouring, and am,
Sir, your humble servant, 'SAM. COSGRAVE.'
“This was the letter, word for word. Guess, my dear girl--guess how
this letter affected me. You prefer the niece on account of her ready
money! If every one of these words had been a dagger, I could with
pleasure have stabbed them into his heart; but I will not recount my
frantic behaviour on the occasion. I had pretty well spent my tears
before his return home; but sufficient remains of them appeared in my
swollen eyes. He threw himself sullenly into his chair, and for a long
time we were both silent. At length, in a haughty tone, he said, `I
hope, madam, your servants have packed up all your things; for the
coach will be ready by six in the morning.' My patience was totally
subdued by this provocation, and I answered, `No, sir, there is a
letter still remains unpacked;' and then throwing it on the table I
fell to upbraiding him with the most bitter language I could invent.
“Whether guilt, or shame, or prudence, restrained him I cannot say;
but, though he is the most passionate of men, he exerted no rage on
this occasion. He endeavoured, on the contrary, to pacify me by the
most gentle means. He swore the phrase in the letter to which I
principally objected was not his, nor had he ever written any such. He
owned, indeed, the having mentioned his marriage, and that preference
which he had given to myself, but denied with many oaths the having
mentioned any such matter at all on account of the straits he was in
for money, arising, he said, from his having too long neglected his
estate in Ireland. And this, he said, which he could not bear to
discover to me, was the only reason of his having so strenuously
insisted on our journey. He then used several very endearing
expressions, and concluded by a very fond caress, and many violent
protestations of love.
“There was one circumstance which, though he did not appeal to it, had
much weight with me in his favour, and that was the word jointure in
the taylor's letter, whereas my aunt never had been married, and this
Mr Fitzpatrick well knew.----As I imagined, therefore, that the fellow
must have inserted this of his own head, or from hearsay, I persuaded
myself he might have ventured likewise on that odious line on no
better authority. What reasoning was this, my dear? was I not an
advocate rather than a judge?--But why do I mention such a
circumstance as this, or appeal to it for the justification of my
forgiveness?--In short, had he been guilty of twenty times as much,
half the tenderness and fondness which he used would have prevailed on
me to have forgiven him. I now made no farther objections to our
setting out, which we did the next morning, and in a little more than
a week arrived at the seat of Mr Fitzpatrick.
“Your curiosity will excuse me from relating any occurrences which
past during our journey; for it would indeed be highly disagreeable to
travel it over again, and no less so to you to travel it over with me.
“This seat, then, is an ancient mansion-house: if I was in one of
those merry humours in which you have so often seen me, I could
describe it to you ridiculously enough. It looked as if it had been
formerly inhabited by a gentleman. Here was room enough, and not the
less room on account of the furniture; for indeed there was very
little in it. An old woman, who seemed coeval with the building, and
greatly resembled her whom Chamont mentions in the Orphan, received us
at the gate, and in a howl scarce human, and to me unintelligible,
welcomed her master home. In short, the whole scene was so gloomy and
melancholy, that it threw my spirits into the lowest dejection; which
my husband discerning, instead of relieving, encreased by two or three
malicious observations. `There are good houses, madam,' says he, `as
you find, in other places besides England; but perhaps you had rather
be in a dirty lodgings at Bath.'
“Happy, my dear, is the woman who, in any state of life, hath a
cheerful good-natured companion to support and comfort her! But why do
I reflect on happy situations only to aggravate my own misery? my
companion, far from clearing up the gloom of solitude, soon convinced
me that I must have been wretched with him in any place, and in any
condition. In a word, he was a surly fellow, a character perhaps you
have never seen; for, indeed, no woman ever sees it exemplified but in
a father, a brother, or a husband; and, though you have a father, he
is not of that character. This surly fellow had formerly appeared to
me the very reverse, and so he did still to every other person. Good
heaven! how is it possible for a man to maintain a constant lie in his
appearance abroad and in company, and to content himself with shewing
disagreeable truth only at home? Here, my dear, they make themselves
amends for the uneasy restraint which they put on their tempers in the
world; for I have observed, the more merry and gay and good-humoured
my husband hath at any time been in company, the more sullen and
morose he was sure to become at our next private meeting. How shall I
describe his barbarity? To my fondness he was cold and insensible. My
little comical ways, which you, my Sophy, and which others, have
called so agreeable, he treated with contempt. In my most serious
moments he sung and whistled; and whenever I was thoroughly dejected
and miserable he was angry, and abused me: for, though he was never
pleased with my good-humour, nor ascribed it to my satisfaction in
him, yet my low spirits always offended him, and those he imputed to
my repentance of having (as he said) married an Irishman.
“You will easily conceive, my dear Graveairs (I ask your pardon, I