The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling Henry Fielding - 61

occasioned were a mixture of joy and grief; somewhat like what divide
the mind of a good man when he peruses the will of his deceased
friend, in which a large legacy, which his distresses make the more
welcome, is bequeathed to him. Upon the whole, however, he was more
pleased than displeased; and, indeed, the reader may probably wonder
that he was displeased at all; but the reader is not quite so much in
love as was poor Jones; and love is a disease which, though it may, in
some instances, resemble a consumption (which it sometimes causes), in
others proceeds in direct opposition to it, and particularly in this,
that it never flatters itself, or sees any one symptom in a favourable
light.

One thing gave him complete satisfaction, which was, that his mistress
had regained her liberty, and was now with a lady where she might at
least assure herself of a decent treatment. Another comfortable
circumstance was the reference which she made to her promise of never
marrying any other man; for however disinterested he might imagine his
passion, and notwithstanding all the generous overtures made in his
letter, I very much question whether he could have heard a more
afflicting piece of news than that Sophia was married to another,
though the match had been never so great, and never so likely to end
in making her completely happy. That refined degree of Platonic
affection which is absolutely detached from the flesh, and is, indeed,
entirely and purely spiritual, is a gift confined to the female part
of the creation; many of whom I have heard declare (and, doubtless,
with great truth), that they would, with the utmost readiness, resign
a lover to a rival, when such resignation was proved to be necessary
for the temporal interest of such lover. Hence, therefore, I conclude
that this affection is in nature, though I cannot pretend to say I
have ever seen an instance of it.

Mr Jones having spent three hours in reading and kissing the aforesaid
letter, and being, at last, in a state of good spirits, from the
last-mentioned considerations, he agreed to carry an appointment,
which he had before made, into execution. This was, to attend Mrs
Miller, and her younger daughter, into the gallery at the play-house,
and to admit Mr Partridge as one of the company. For as Jones had
really that taste for humour which many affect, he expected to enjoy
much entertainment in the criticisms of Partridge, from whom he
expected the simple dictates of nature, unimproved, indeed, but
likewise unadulterated, by art.

In the first row then of the first gallery did Mr Jones, Mrs Miller,
her youngest daughter, and Partridge, take their places. Partridge
immediately declared it was the finest place he had ever been in. When
the first music was played, he said, "It was a wonder how so many
fiddlers could play at one time, without putting one another out."
While the fellow was lighting the upper candles, he cried out to Mrs
Miller, "Look, look, madam, the very picture of the man in the end of
the common-prayer book before the gunpowder-treason service." Nor
could he help observing, with a sigh, when all the candles were
lighted, "That here were candles enough burnt in one night, to keep an
honest poor family for a whole twelvemonth."

As soon as the play, which was Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, began,
Partridge was all attention, nor did he break silence till the
entrance of the ghost; upon which he asked Jones, "What man that was
in the strange dress; something," said he, "like what I have seen in a
picture. Sure it is not armour, is it?" Jones answered, "That is the
ghost." To which Partridge replied with a smile, "Persuade me to that,
sir, if you can. Though I can't say I ever actually saw a ghost in my
life, yet I am certain I should know one, if I saw him, better than
that comes to. No, no, sir, ghosts don't appear in such dresses as
that, neither." In this mistake, which caused much laughter in the
neighbourhood of Partridge, he was suffered to continue, till the
scene between the ghost and Hamlet, when Partridge gave that credit to
Mr Garrick, which he had denied to Jones, and fell into so violent a
trembling, that his knees knocked against each other. Jones asked him
what was the matter, and whether he was afraid of the warrior upon the
stage? "O la! sir," said he, "I perceive now it is what you told me. I
am not afraid of anything; for I know it is but a play. And if it was
really a ghost, it could do one no harm at such a distance, and in so
much company; and yet if I was frightened, I am not the only person."
"Why, who," cries Jones, "dost thou take to be such a coward here
besides thyself?" "Nay, you may call me coward if you will; but if
that little man there upon the stage is not frightened, I never saw
any man frightened in my life. Ay, ay: go along with you: Ay, to be
sure! Who's fool then? Will you? Lud have mercy upon such
fool-hardiness!--Whatever happens, it is good enough for
you.----Follow you? I'd follow the devil as soon. Nay, perhaps it is
the devil----for they say he can put on what likeness he pleases.--Oh!
here he is again.----No farther! No, you have gone far enough already;
farther than I'd have gone for all the king's dominions." Jones
offered to speak, but Partridge cried "Hush, hush! dear sir, don't you
hear him?" And during the whole speech of the ghost, he sat with his
eyes fixed partly on the ghost and partly on Hamlet, and with his
mouth open; the same passions which succeeded each other in Hamlet,
succeeding likewise in him.

When the scene was over Jones said, "Why, Partridge, you exceed my
expectations. You enjoy the play more than I conceived possible."
"Nay, sir," answered Partridge, "if you are not afraid of the devil, I
can't help it; but to be sure, it is natural to be surprized at such
things, though I know there is nothing in them: not that it was the
ghost that surprized me, neither; for I should have known that to have
been only a man in a strange dress; but when I saw the little man so
frightened himself, it was that which took hold of me." "And dost thou
imagine, then, Partridge," cries Jones, "that he was really
frightened?" "Nay, sir," said Partridge, "did not you yourself observe
afterwards, when he found it was his own father's spirit, and how he
was murdered in the garden, how his fear forsook him by degrees, and
he was struck dumb with sorrow, as it were, just as I should have
been, had it been my own case?--But hush! O la! what noise is that?
There he is again.----Well, to be certain, though I know there is
nothing at all in it, I am glad I am not down yonder, where those men
are." Then turning his eyes again upon Hamlet, "Ay, you may draw your
sword; what signifies a sword against the power of the devil?"

During the second act, Partridge made very few remarks. He greatly
admired the fineness of the dresses; nor could he help observing upon
the king's countenance. "Well," said he, "how people may be deceived
by faces! _Nulla fides fronti_ is, I find, a true saying. Who would
think, by looking in the king's face, that he had ever committed a
murder?" He then enquired after the ghost; but Jones, who intended he
should be surprized, gave him no other satisfaction, than, "that he
might possibly see him again soon, and in a flash of fire."

Partridge sat in a fearful expectation of this; and now, when the
ghost made his next appearance, Partridge cried out, "There, sir, now;
what say you now? is he frightened now or no? As much frightened as
you think me, and, to be sure, nobody can help some fears. I would not
be in so bad a condition as what's his name, squire Hamlet, is there,
for all the world. Bless me! what's become of the spirit? As I am a
living soul, I thought I saw him sink into the earth." "Indeed, you
saw right," answered Jones. "Well, well," cries Partridge, "I know it
is only a play: and besides, if there was anything in all this, Madam
Miller would not laugh so; for as to you, sir, you would not be
afraid, I believe, if the devil was here in person.--There, there--Ay,
no wonder you are in such a passion, shake the vile wicked wretch to
pieces. If she was my own mother, I would serve her so. To be sure all
duty to a mother is forfeited by such wicked doings.----Ay, go about
your business, I hate the sight of you."

Our critic was now pretty silent till the play, which Hamlet
introduces before the king. This he did not at first understand, till
Jones explained it to him; but he no sooner entered into the spirit of
it, than he began to bless himself that he had never committed murder.
Then turning to Mrs Miller, he asked her, "If she did not imagine the
king looked as if he was touched; though he is," said he, "a good
actor, and doth all he can to hide it. Well, I would not have so much
to answer for, as that wicked man there hath, to sit upon a much
higher chair than he sits upon. No wonder he ran away; for your sake
I'll never trust an innocent face again."

The grave-digging scene next engaged the attention of Partridge, who
expressed much surprize at the number of skulls thrown upon the stage.
To which Jones answered, "That it was one of the most famous
burial-places about town." "No wonder then," cries Partridge, "that
the place is haunted. But I never saw in my life a worse grave-digger.
I had a sexton, when I was clerk, that should have dug three graves
while he is digging one. The fellow handles a spade as if it was the
first time he had ever had one in his hand. Ay, ay, you may sing. You
had rather sing than work, I believe."--Upon Hamlet's taking up the
skull, he cried out, "Well! it is strange to see how fearless some men
are: I never could bring myself to touch anything belonging to a dead
man, on any account.--He seemed frightened enough too at the ghost, I
thought. _Nemo omnibus horis sapit._"

Little more worth remembering occurred during the play, at the end of
which Jones asked him, "Which of the players he had liked best?" To
this he answered, with some appearance of indignation at the question,
"The king, without doubt." "Indeed, Mr Partridge," says Mrs Miller,
"you are not of the same opinion with the town; for they are all
agreed, that Hamlet is acted by the best player who ever was on the
stage." "He the best player!" cries Partridge, with a contemptuous
sneer, "why, I could act as well as he myself. I am sure, if I had
seen a ghost, I should have looked in the very same manner, and done
just as he did. And then, to be sure, in that scene, as you called it,
between him and his mother, where you told me he acted so fine, why,
Lord help me, any man, that is, any good man, that had such a mother,
would have done exactly the same. I know you are only joking with me;
but indeed, madam, though I was never at a play in London, yet I have
seen acting before in the country; and the king for my money; he
speaks all his words distinctly, half as loud again as the
other.--Anybody may see he is an actor."

While Mrs Miller was thus engaged in conversation with Partridge, a
lady came up to Mr Jones, whom he immediately knew to be Mrs
Fitzpatrick. She said, she had seen him from the other part of the
gallery, and had taken that opportunity of speaking to him, as she had
something to say, which might be of great service to himself. She then
acquainted him with her lodgings, and made him an appointment the next
day in the morning; which, upon recollection, she presently changed to
the afternoon; at which time Jones promised to attend her.

Thus ended the adventure at the playhouse; where Partridge had
afforded great mirth, not only to Jones and Mrs Miller, but to all who
sat within hearing, who were more attentive to what he said, than to
anything that passed on the stage.

He durst not go to bed all that night, for fear of the ghost; and for
many nights after sweated two or three hours before he went to sleep,
with the same apprehensions, and waked several times in great horrors,
crying out, "Lord have mercy upon us! there it is."



Chapter vi.

In which the history is obliged to look back.


It is almost impossible for the best parent to observe an exact
impartiality to his children, even though no superior merit should
bias his affection; but sure a parent can hardly be blamed, when that
superiority determines his preference.

As I regard all the personages of this history in the light of my
children; so I must confess the same inclination of partiality to
Sophia; and for that I hope the reader will allow me the same excuse,
from the superiority of her character.

This extraordinary tenderness which I have for my heroine never
suffers me to quit her any long time without the utmost reluctance. I
could now, therefore, return impatiently to enquire what hath happened
to this lovely creature since her departure from her father's, but
that I am obliged first to pay a short visit to Mr Blifil.

Mr Western, in the first confusion into which his mind was cast upon
the sudden news he received of his daughter, and in the first hurry to
go after her, had not once thought of sending any account of the
discovery to Blifil. He had not gone far, however, before he
recollected himself, and accordingly stopt at the very first inn he
came to, and dispatched away a messenger to acquaint Blifil with his
having found Sophia, and with his firm resolution to marry her to him
immediately, if he would come up after him to town.

As the love which Blifil had for Sophia was of that violent kind,
which nothing but the loss of her fortune, or some such accident,
could lessen, his inclination to the match was not at all altered by
her having run away, though he was obliged to lay this to his own
account. He very readily, therefore, embraced this offer. Indeed, he
now proposed the gratification of a very strong passion besides
avarice, by marrying this young lady, and this was hatred; for he
concluded that matrimony afforded an equal opportunity of satisfying
either hatred or love; and this opinion is very probably verified by
much experience. To say the truth, if we are to judge by the ordinary
behaviour of married persons to each other, we shall perhaps be apt to
conclude that the generality seek the indulgence of the former passion
only, in their union of everything but of hearts.

There was one difficulty, however, in his way, and this arose from Mr
Allworthy. That good man, when he found by the departure of Sophia
(for neither that, nor the cause of it, could be concealed from him),
the great aversion which she had for his nephew, began to be seriously
concerned that he had been deceived into carrying matters so far. He
by no means concurred with the opinion of those parents, who think it
as immaterial to consult the inclinations of their children in the
affair of marriage, as to solicit the good pleasure of their servants
when they intend to take a journey; and who are by law, or decency at
least, withheld often from using absolute force. On the contrary, as
he esteemed the institution to be of the most sacred kind, he thought
every preparatory caution necessary to preserve it holy and inviolate;
and very wisely concluded, that the surest way to effect this was by
laying the foundation in previous affection.

Blifil indeed soon cured his uncle of all anger on the score of
deceit, by many vows and protestations that he had been deceived
himself, with which the many declarations of Western very well
tallied; but now to persuade Allworthy to consent to the renewing his
addresses was a matter of such apparent difficulty, that the very
appearance was sufficient to have deterred a less enterprizing genius;
but this young gentleman so well knew his own talents, that nothing
within the province of cunning seemed to him hard to be achieved.

Here then he represented the violence of his own affection, and the
hopes of subduing aversion in the lady by perseverance. He begged
that, in an affair on which depended all his future repose, he might
at least be at liberty to try all fair means for success. Heaven
forbid, he said, that he should ever think of prevailing by any other
than the most gentle methods! "Besides, sir," said he, "if they fail,
you may then (which will be surely time enough) deny your consent." He
urged the great and eager desire which Mr Western had for the match;
and lastly, he made great use of the name of Jones, to whom he imputed
all that had happened; and from whom, he said, to preserve so valuable
a young lady was even an act of charity.

All these arguments were well seconded by Thwackum, who dwelt a little
stronger on the authority of parents than Mr Blifil himself had done.
He ascribed the measures which Mr Blifil was desirous to take to
Christian motives; "and though," says he, "the good young gentleman
hath mentioned charity last, I am almost convinced it is his first and
principal consideration."

Square, possibly, had he been present, would have sung to the same
tune, though in a different key, and would have discovered much moral
fitness in the proceeding: but he was now gone to Bath for the
recovery of his health.

Allworthy, though not without reluctance, at last yielded to the
desires of his nephew. He said he would accompany him to London, where
he might be at liberty to use every honest endeavour to gain the lady:
"But I declare," said he, "I will never give my consent to any
absolute force being put on her inclinations, nor shall you ever have
her, unless she can be brought freely to compliance."

Thus did the affection of Allworthy for his nephew betray the superior
understanding to be triumphed over by the inferior; and thus is the
prudence of the best of heads often defeated by the tenderness of the
best of hearts.

Blifil, having obtained this unhoped-for acquiescence in his uncle,
rested not till he carried his purpose into execution. And as no
immediate business required Mr Allworthy's presence in the country,
and little preparation is necessary to men for a journey, they set out
the very next day, and arrived in town that evening, when Mr Jones, as
we have seen, was diverting himself with Partridge at the play.

The morning after his arrival Mr Blifil waited on Mr Western, by whom
he was most kindly and graciously received, and from whom he had every
possible assurance (perhaps more than was possible) that he should
very shortly be as happy as Sophia could make him; nor would the
squire suffer the young gentleman to return to his uncle till he had,
almost against his will, carried him to his sister.



Chapter vii.

In which Mr Western pays a visit to his sister, in company with Mr
Blifil.


Mrs Western was reading a lecture on prudence, and matrimonial
politics, to her niece, when her brother and Blifil broke in with less
ceremony than the laws of visiting require. Sophia no sooner saw
Blifil than she turned pale, and almost lost the use of all her
faculties; but her aunt, on the contrary, waxed red, and, having all
her faculties at command, began to exert her tongue on the squire.

"Brother," said she, "I am astonished at your behaviour; will you
never learn any regard to decorum? Will you still look upon every
apartment as your own, or as belonging to one of your country tenants?
Do you think yourself at liberty to invade the privacies of women of
condition, without the least decency or notice?"----"Why, what a pox
is the matter now?" quoth the squire; "one would think I had caught
you at--"--"None of your brutality, sir, I beseech you," answered
she.----"You have surprized my poor niece so, that she can hardly, I
see, support herself.----Go, my dear, retire, and endeavour to recruit
your spirits; for I see you have occasion." At which words Sophia, who
never received a more welcome command, hastily withdrew.

"To be sure, sister," cries the squire, "you are mad, when I have
brought Mr Blifil here to court her, to force her away."

"Sure, brother," says she, "you are worse than mad, when you know in
what situation affairs are, to----I am sure I ask Mr Blifil's pardon,
but he knows very well to whom to impute so disagreeable a reception.
For my own part, I am sure I shall always be very glad to see Mr
Blifil; but his own good sense would not have suffered him to proceed
so abruptly, had you not compelled him to it."

Blifil bowed and stammered, and looked like a fool; but Western,
without giving him time to form a speech for the purpose, answered,
"Well, well, I am to blame, if you will, I always am, certainly; but
come, let the girl be fetched back again, or let Mr Blifil go to
her.----He's come up on purpose, and there is no time to be lost."

"Brother," cries Mrs Western, "Mr Blifil, I am confident, understands
himself better than to think of seeing my niece any more this morning,
after what hath happened. Women are of a nice contexture; and our
spirits, when disordered, are not to be recomposed in a moment. Had
you suffered Mr Blifil to have sent his compliments to my niece, and
to have desired the favour of waiting on her in the afternoon, I
should possibly have prevailed on her to have seen him; but now I
despair of bringing about any such matter."

"I am very sorry, madam," cried Blifil, "that Mr Western's
extraordinary kindness to me, which I can never enough acknowledge,
should have occasioned--" "Indeed, sir," said she, interrupting him,
"you need make no apologies, we all know my brother so well."

"I don't care what anybody knows of me," answered the squire;----"but
when must he come to see her? for, consider, I tell you, he is come
up on purpose, and so is Allworthy."--"Brother," said she, "whatever
message Mr Blifil thinks proper to send to my niece shall be
delivered to her; and I suppose she will want no instructions to make
a proper answer. I am convinced she will not refuse to see Mr Blifil
at a proper time."--"The devil she won't!" answered the
squire.--"Odsbud!--Don't we know--I say nothing, but some volk are
wiser than all the world.----If I might have had my will, she had not
run away before: and now I expect to hear every moment she is guone
again. For as great a fool as some volk think me, I know very well
she hates----" "No matter, brother," replied Mrs Western, "I will not
hear my niece abused. It is a reflection on my family. She is an
honour to it; and she will be an honour to it, I promise you. I will
pawn my whole reputation in the world on her conduct.----I shall be
glad to see you, brother, in the afternoon; for I have somewhat of
importance to mention to you.--At present, Mr Blifil, as well as you,
must excuse me; for I am in haste to dress." "Well, but," said the
squire, "do appoint a time." "Indeed," said she, "I can appoint no
time. I tell you I will see you in the afternoon."--"What the devil
would you have me do?" cries the squire, turning to Blifil; "I can no
more turn her, than a beagle can turn an old hare. Perhaps she will
be in a better humour in the afternoon."--"I am condemned, I see,
sir, to misfortune," answered Blifil; "but I shall always own my
obligations to you." He then took a ceremonious leave of Mrs Western,
who was altogether as ceremonious on her part; and then they
departed, the squire muttering to himself with an oath, that Blifil
should see his daughter in the afternoon.

If Mr Western was little pleased with this interview, Blifil was less.
As to the former, he imputed the whole behaviour of his sister to her
humour only, and to her dissatisfaction at the omission of ceremony in
the visit; but Blifil saw a little deeper into things. He suspected
somewhat of more consequence, from two or three words which dropt from
the lady; and, to say the truth, he suspected right, as will appear
when I have unfolded the several matters which will be contained in
the following chapter.



Chapter viii.

Schemes of Lady Bellaston for the ruin of Jones.


Love had taken too deep a root in the mind of Lord Fellamar to be
plucked up by the rude hands of Mr Western. In the heat of resentment
he had, indeed, given a commission to Captain Egglane, which the
captain had far exceeded in the execution; nor had it been executed at
all, had his lordship been able to find the captain after he had seen
Lady Bellaston, which was in the afternoon of the day after he had
received the affront; but so industrious was the captain in the
discharge of his duty, that, having after long enquiry found out the
squire's lodgings very late in the evening, he sat up all night at a
tavern, that he might not miss the squire in the morning, and by that
means missed the revocation which my lord had sent to his lodgings.

In the afternoon then next after the intended rape of Sophia, his
lordship, as we have said, made a visit to Lady Bellaston, who laid
open so much of the character of the squire, that his lordship plainly
saw the absurdity he had been guilty of in taking any offence at his
words, especially as he had those honourable designs on his daughter.
He then unbosomed the violence of his passion to Lady Bellaston, who
readily undertook the cause, and encouraged him with certain assurance
of a most favourable reception from all the elders of the family, and
from the father himself when he should be sober, and should be made
acquainted with the nature of the offer made to his daughter. The only
danger, she said, lay in the fellow she had formerly mentioned, who,
though a beggar and a vagabond, had, by some means or other, she knew
not what, procured himself tolerable cloaths, and past for a
gentleman. "Now," says she, "as I have, for the sake of my cousin,
made it my business to enquire after this fellow, I have luckily found
out his lodgings;" with which she then acquainted his lordship. "I am
thinking, my lord," added she "(for this fellow is too mean for your
personal resentment), whether it would not be possible for your
lordship to contrive some method of having him pressed and sent on
board a ship. Neither law nor conscience forbid this project: for the
fellow, I promise you, however well drest, is but a vagabond, and as
proper as any fellow in the streets to be pressed into the service;
and as for the conscientious part, surely the preservation of a young
lady from such ruin is a most meritorious act; nay, with regard to the
fellow himself, unless he could succeed (which Heaven forbid) with my
cousin, it may probably be the means of preserving him from the
gallows, and perhaps may make his fortune in an honest way."

Lord Fellamar very heartily thanked her ladyship for the part which
she was pleased to take in the affair, upon the success of which his
whole future happiness entirely depended. He said, he saw at present
no objection to the pressing scheme, and would consider of putting it
in execution. He then most earnestly recommended to her ladyship to do
him the honour of immediately mentioning his proposals to the family;
to whom he said he offered a _carte blanche_, and would settle his
fortune in almost any manner they should require. And after uttering
many ecstasies and raptures concerning Sophia, he took his leave and
departed, but not before he had received the strongest charge to
beware of Jones, and to lose no time in securing his person, where he
should no longer be in a capacity of making any attempts to the ruin
of the young lady.

The moment Mrs Western was arrived at her lodgings, a card was
despatched with her compliments to Lady Bellaston; who no sooner
received it than, with the impatience of a lover, she flew to her
cousin, rejoiced at this fair opportunity, which beyond her hopes
offered itself, for she was much better pleased with the prospect of
making the proposals to a woman of sense, and who knew the world, than
to a gentleman whom she honoured with the appellation of Hottentot;
though, indeed, from him she apprehended no danger of a refusal.

The two ladies being met, after very short previous ceremonials, fell
to business, which was indeed almost as soon concluded as begun; for
Mrs Western no sooner heard the name of Lord Fellamar than her cheeks
glowed with pleasure; but when she was acquainted with the eagerness