History of Tom Jones, a Foundling - 64

oneself to give lips up to a husband; and, indeed, could I ever have
been persuaded to marry, I believe I should not have soon been brought
to endure so much." "You will pardon me, dear madam," said Sophia, "if
I make one observation: you own you have had many lovers, and the
world knows it, even if you should deny it. You refused them all, and,
I am convinced, one coronet at least among them." "You say true, dear
Sophy," answered she; "I had once the offer of a title." "Why, then,"
said Sophia, "will you not suffer me to refuse this once?" "It is
true, child," said she, "I have refused the offer of a title; but it
was not so good an offer; that is, not so very, very good an
offer."--"Yes, madam," said Sophia; "but you have had very great
proposals from men of vast fortunes. It was not the first, nor the
second, nor the third advantageous match that offered itself." "I own
it was not," said she. "Well, madam," continued Sophia, "and why may
not I expect to have a second, perhaps, better than this? You are now
but a young woman, and I am convinced would not promise to yield to
the first lover of fortune, nay, or of title too. I am a very young
woman, and sure I need not despair." "Well, my dear, dear Sophy,"
cries the aunt, "what would you have me say?" "Why, I only beg that I
may not be left alone, at least this evening; grant me that, and I
will submit, if you think, after what is past, I ought to see him in
your company." "Well, I will grant it," cries the aunt. "Sophy, you
know I love you, and can deny you nothing. You know the easiness of my
nature; I have not always been so easy. I have been formerly thought
cruel; by the men, I mean. I was called the cruel Parthenissa. I have
broke many a window that has had verses to the cruel Parthenissa in
it. Sophy, I was never so handsome as you, and yet I had something of
you formerly. I am a little altered. Kingdoms and states, as Tully
Cicero says in his epistles, undergo alterations, and so must the
human form." Thus run she on for near half an hour upon herself, and
her conquests, and her cruelty, till the arrival of my lord, who,
after a most tedious visit, during which Mrs Western never once
offered to leave the room, retired, not much more satisfied with the
aunt than with the niece; for Sophia had brought her aunt into so
excellent a temper, that she consented to almost everything her niece
said; and agreed that a little distant behaviour might not be improper
to so forward a lover.

Thus Sophia, by a little well-directed flattery, for which surely none
will blame her, obtained a little ease for herself, and, at least, put
off the evil day. And now we have seen our heroine in a better
situation than she hath been for a long time before, we will look a
little after Mr Jones, whom we left in the most deplorable situation
that can be well imagined.



Chapter v.

Mrs Miller and Mr Nightingale visit Jones in the prison.


When Mr Allworthy and his nephew went to meet Mr Western, Mrs Miller
set forwards to her son-in-law's lodgings, in order to acquaint him
with the accident which had befallen his friend Jones; but he had
known it long before from Partridge (for Jones, when he left Mrs
Miller, had been furnished with a room in the same house with Mr
Nightingale). The good woman found her daughter under great affliction
on account of Mr Jones, whom having comforted as well as she could,
she set forwards to the Gatehouse, where she heard he was, and where
Mr Nightingale was arrived before her.

The firmness and constancy of a true friend is a circumstance so
extremely delightful to persons in any kind of distress, that the
distress itself, if it be only temporary, and admits of relief, is
more than compensated by bringing this comfort with it. Nor are
instances of this kind so rare as some superficial and inaccurate
observers have reported. To say the truth, want of compassion is not
to be numbered among our general faults. The black ingredient which
fouls our disposition is envy. Hence our eye is seldom, I am afraid,
turned upward to those who are manifestly greater, better, wiser, or
happier than ourselves, without some degree of malignity; while we
commonly look downwards on the mean and miserable with sufficient
benevolence and pity. In fact, I have remarked, that most of the
defects which have discovered themselves in the friendships within my
observation have arisen from envy only: a hellish vice; and yet one
from which I have known very few absolutely exempt. But enough of a
subject which, if pursued, would lead me too far.

Whether it was that Fortune was apprehensive lest Jones should sink
under the weight of his adversity, and that she might thus lose any
future opportunity of tormenting him, or whether she really abated
somewhat of her severity towards him, she seemed a little to relax her
persecution, by sending him the company of two such faithful friends,
and what is perhaps more rare, a faithful servant. For Partridge,
though he had many imperfections, wanted not fidelity; and though fear
would not suffer him to be hanged for his master, yet the world, I
believe, could not have bribed him to desert his cause.

While Jones was expressing great satisfaction in the presence of his
friends, Partridge brought an account that Mr Fitzpatrick was still
alive, though the surgeon declared that he had very little hopes. Upon
which, Jones fetching a deep sigh, Nightingale said to him, "My dear
Tom, why should you afflict yourself so upon an accident, which,
whatever be the consequence, can be attended with no danger to you,
and in which your conscience cannot accuse you of having been the
least to blame? If the fellow should die, what have you done more than
taken away the life of a ruffian in your own defence? So will the
coroner's inquest certainly find it; and then you will be easily
admitted to bail; and, though you must undergo the form of a trial,
yet it is a trial which many men would stand for you for a shilling."
"Come, come, Mr Jones," says Mrs Miller, "chear yourself up. I knew
you could not be the aggressor, and so I told Mr Allworthy, and so he
shall acknowledge too, before I have done with him."

Jones gravely answered, "That whatever might be his fate, he
should always lament the having shed the blood of one of his
fellow-creatures, as one of the highest misfortunes which could
have befallen him. But I have another misfortune of the tenderest
kind----O! Mrs Miller, I have lost what I held most dear upon earth."
"That must be a mistress," said Mrs Miller; "but come, come; I know
more than you imagine" (for indeed Partridge had blabbed all); "and I
have heard more than you know. Matters go better, I promise you, than
you think; and I would not give Blifil sixpence for all the chance
which he hath of the lady."

"Indeed, my dear friend, indeed," answered Jones, "you are an entire
stranger to the cause of my grief. If you was acquainted with the
story, you would allow my case admitted of no comfort. I apprehend no
danger from Blifil. I have undone myself." "Don't despair," replied
Mrs Miller; "you know not what a woman can do; and if anything be in
my power, I promise you I will do it to serve you. It is my duty. My
son, my dear Mr Nightingale, who is so kind to tell me he hath
obligations to you on the same account, knows it is my duty. Shall I
go to the lady myself? I will say anything to her you would have me
say."

"Thou best of women," cries Jones, taking her by the hand, "talk not
of obligations to me;--but as you have been so kind to mention it,
there is a favour which, perhaps, may be in your power. I see you are
acquainted with the lady (how you came by your information I know
not), who sits, indeed, very near my heart. If you could contrive to
deliver this (giving her a paper from his pocket), I shall for ever
acknowledge your goodness."

"Give it me," said Mrs Miller. "If I see it not in her own possession
before I sleep, may my next sleep be my last! Comfort yourself, my
good young man! be wise enough to take warning from past follies, and
I warrant all shall be well, and I shall yet see you happy with the
most charming young lady in the world; for I so hear from every one
she is."

"Believe me, madam," said he, "I do not speak the common cant of one
in my unhappy situation. Before this dreadful accident happened, I had
resolved to quit a life of which I was become sensible of the
wickedness as well as folly. I do assure you, notwithstanding the
disturbances I have unfortunately occasioned in your house, for which
I heartily ask your pardon, I am not an abandoned profligate. Though I
have been hurried into vices, I do not approve a vicious character,
nor will I ever, from this moment, deserve it."

Mrs Miller expressed great satisfaction in these declarations, in the
sincerity of which she averred she had an entire faith; and now the
remainder of the conversation past in the joint attempts of that good
woman and Mr Nightingale to cheer the dejected spirits of Mr Jones, in
which they so far succeeded as to leave him much better comforted and
satisfied than they found him; to which happy alteration nothing so
much contributed as the kind undertaking of Mrs Miller to deliver his
letter to Sophia, which he despaired of finding any means to
accomplish; for when Black George produced the last from Sophia, he
informed Partridge that she had strictly charged him, on pain of
having it communicated to her father, not to bring her any answer. He
was, moreover, not a little pleased to find he had so warm an advocate
to Mr Allworthy himself in this good woman, who was, in reality, one
of the worthiest creatures in the world.

After about an hour's visit from the lady (for Nightingale had been
with him much longer), they both took their leave, promising to return
to him soon; during which Mrs Miller said she hoped to bring him some
good news from his mistress, and Mr Nightingale promised to enquire
into the state of Mr Fitzpatrick's wound, and likewise to find out
some of the persons who were present at the rencounter.

The former of these went directly in quest of Sophia, whither we
likewise shall now attend her.



Chapter vi.

In which Mrs Miller pays a visit to Sophia.


Access to the young lady was by no means difficult; for, as she lived
now on a perfect friendly footing with her aunt, she was at full
liberty to receive what visitants she pleased.

Sophia was dressing when she was acquainted that there was a
gentlewoman below to wait on her. As she was neither afraid, nor
ashamed, to see any of her own sex, Mrs Miller was immediately
admitted.

Curtsies and the usual ceremonials between women who are strangers to
each other, being past, Sophia said, "I have not the pleasure to know
you, madam." "No, madam," answered Mrs Miller, "and I must beg pardon
for intruding upon you. But when you know what has induced me to give
you this trouble, I hope----" "Pray, what is your business, madam?"
said Sophia, with a little emotion. "Madam, we are not alone," replied
Mrs Miller, in a low voice. "Go out, Betty," said Sophia.

When Betty was departed, Mrs Miller said, "I was desired, madam, by a
very unhappy young gentleman, to deliver you this letter." Sophia
changed colour when she saw the direction, well knowing the hand, and
after some hesitation, said--"I could not conceive, madam, from your
appearance, that your business had been of such a nature.--Whomever
you brought this letter from, I shall not open it. I should be sorry
to entertain an unjust suspicion of any one; but you are an utter
stranger to me."

"If you will have patience, madam," answered Mrs Miller, "I will
acquaint you who I am, and how I came by that letter." "I have no
curiosity, madam, to know anything," cries Sophia; "but I must insist
on your delivering that letter back to the person who gave it you."

Mrs Miller then fell upon her knees, and in the most passionate terms
implored her compassion; to which Sophia answered: "Sure, madam, it is
surprizing you should be so very strongly interested in the behalf of
this person. I would not think, madam"--"No, madam," says Mrs Miller,
"you shall not think anything but the truth. I will tell you all, and
you will not wonder that I am interested. He is the best-natured
creature that ever was born."--She then began and related the story of
Mr Anderson.--After this she cried, "This, madam, this is his
goodness; but I have much more tender obligations to him. He hath
preserved my child."--Here, after shedding some tears, she related
everything concerning that fact, suppressing only those circumstances
which would have most reflected on her daughter, and concluded with
saying, "Now, madam, you shall judge whether I can ever do enough for
so kind, so good, so generous a young man; and sure he is the best and
worthiest of all human beings."

The alterations in the countenance of Sophia had hitherto been chiefly
to her disadvantage, and had inclined her complexion to too great
paleness; but she now waxed redder, if possible, than vermilion, and
cried, "I know not what to say; certainly what arises from gratitude
cannot be blamed--But what service can my reading this letter do your
friend, since I am resolved never----" Mrs Miller fell again to her
entreaties, and begged to be forgiven, but she could not, she said,
carry it back. "Well, madam," says Sophia, "I cannot help it, if you
will force it upon me.--Certainly you may leave it whether I will or
no." What Sophia meant, or whether she meant anything, I will not
presume to determine; but Mrs Miller actually understood this as a
hint, and presently laying the letter down on the table, took her
leave, having first begged permission to wait again on Sophia; which
request had neither assent nor denial.

The letter lay upon the table no longer than till Mrs Miller was out
of sight; for then Sophia opened and read it.

This letter did very little service to his cause; for it consisted of
little more than confessions of his own unworthiness, and bitter
lamentations of despair, together with the most solemn protestations
of his unalterable fidelity to Sophia, of which, he said, he hoped to
convince her, if he had ever more the honour of being admitted to her
presence; and that he could account for the letter to Lady Bellaston
in such a manner, that, though it would not entitle him to her
forgiveness, he hoped at least to obtain it from her mercy. And
concluded with vowing that nothing was ever less in his thoughts than
to marry Lady Bellaston.

Though Sophia read the letter twice over with great attention, his
meaning still remained a riddle to her; nor could her invention
suggest to her any means to excuse Jones. She certainly remained very
angry with him, though indeed Lady Bellaston took up so much of her
resentment, that her gentle mind had but little left to bestow on any
other person.

That lady was most unluckily to dine this very day with her aunt
Western, and in the afternoon they were all three, by appointment, to
go together to the opera, and thence to Lady Thomas Hatchet's drum.
Sophia would have gladly been excused from all, but would not
disoblige her aunt; and as to the arts of counterfeiting illness, she
was so entirely a stranger to them, that it never once entered into
her head. When she was drest, therefore, down she went, resolved to
encounter all the horrors of the day, and a most disagreeable one it
proved; for Lady Bellaston took every opportunity very civilly and
slily to insult her; to all which her dejection of spirits disabled
her from making any return; and, indeed, to confess the truth, she was
at the very best but an indifferent mistress of repartee.

Another misfortune which befel poor Sophia was the company of Lord
Fellamar, whom she met at the opera, and who attended her to the drum.
And though both places were too publick to admit of any
particularities, and she was farther relieved by the musick at the one
place, and by the cards at the other, she could not, however, enjoy
herself in his company; for there is something of delicacy in women,
which will not suffer them to be even easy in the presence of a man
whom they know to have pretensions to them which they are disinclined
to favour.

Having in this chapter twice mentioned a drum, a word which our
posterity, it is hoped, will not understand in the sense it is here
applied, we shall, notwithstanding our present haste, stop a moment to
describe the entertainment here meant, and the rather as we can in a
moment describe it.

A drum, then, is an assembly of well-dressed persons of both sexes,
most of whom play at cards, and the rest do nothing at all; while the
mistress of the house performs the part of the landlady at an inn, and
like the landlady of an inn prides herself in the number of her
guests, though she doth not always, like her, get anything by it.

No wonder then, as so much spirits must be required to support any
vivacity in these scenes of dulness, that we hear persons of fashion
eternally complaining of the want of them; a complaint confined
entirely to upper life. How insupportable must we imagine this round
of impertinence to have been to Sophia at this time; how difficult
must she have found it to force the appearance of gaiety into her
looks, when her mind dictated nothing but the tenderest sorrow, and
when every thought was charged with tormenting ideas!

Night, however, at last restored her to her pillow, where we will
leave her to soothe her melancholy at least, though incapable we fear
of rest, and shall pursue our history, which, something whispers us,
is now arrived at the eve of some great event.



Chapter vii.

A pathetic scene between Mr Allworthy and Mrs Miller.


Mrs Miller had a long discourse with Mr Allworthy, at his return from
dinner, in which she acquainted him with Jones's having unfortunately
lost all which he was pleased to bestow on him at their separation;
and with the distresses to which that loss had subjected him; of all
which she had received a full account from the faithful retailer
Partridge. She then explained the obligations she had to Jones; not
that she was entirely explicit with regard to her daughter; for though
she had the utmost confidence in Mr Allworthy, and though there could
be no hopes of keeping an affair secret which was unhappily known to
more than half a dozen, yet she could not prevail with herself to
mention those circumstances which reflected most on the chastity of
poor Nancy, but smothered that part of her evidence as cautiously as
if she had been before a judge, and the girl was now on her trial for
the murder of a bastard.

Allworthy said, there were few characters so absolutely vicious as not
to have the least mixture of good in them. "However," says he, "I
cannot deny but that you have some obligations to the fellow, bad as
he is, and I shall therefore excuse what hath past already, but must
insist you never mention his name to me more; for, I promise you, it
was upon the fullest and plainest evidence that I resolved to take the
measures I have taken." "Well, sir," says she, "I make not the least
doubt but time will shew all matters in their true and natural
colours, and that you will be convinced this poor young man deserves
better of you than some other folks that shall be nameless."

"Madam," cries Allworthy, a little ruffled, "I will not hear any
reflections on my nephew; and if ever you say a word more of that
kind, I will depart from your house that instant. He is the worthiest
and best of men; and I once more repeat it to you, he hath carried his
friendship to this man to a blameable length, by too long concealing
facts of the blackest die. The ingratitude of the wretch to this good
young man is what I most resent; for, madam, I have the greatest
reason to imagine he had laid a plot to supplant my nephew in my
favour, and to have disinherited him."

"I am sure, sir," answered Mrs Miller, a little frightened (for,
though Mr Allworthy had the utmost sweetness and benevolence in his
smiles, he had great terror in his frowns), "I shall never speak
against any gentleman you are pleased to think well of. I am sure,
sir, such behaviour would very little become me, especially when the
gentleman is your nearest relation; but, sir, you must not be angry
with me, you must not indeed, for my good wishes to this poor wretch.
Sure I may call him so now, though once you would have been angry with
me if I had spoke of him with the least disrespect. How often have I
heard you call him your son? How often have you prattled to me of him
with all the fondness of a parent? Nay, sir, I cannot forget the many
tender expressions, the many good things you have told me of his
beauty, and his parts, and his virtues; of his good-nature and
generosity. I am sure, sir, I cannot forget them, for I find them all
true. I have experienced them in my own cause. They have preserved my
family. You must pardon my tears, sir, indeed you must. When I
consider the cruel reverse of fortune which this poor youth, to whom I
am so much obliged, hath suffered; when I consider the loss of your
favour, which I know he valued more than his life, I must, I must
lament him. If you had a dagger in your hand, ready to plunge into my
heart, I must lament the misery of one whom you have loved, and I
shall ever love."

Allworthy was pretty much moved with this speech, but it seemed not to
be with anger; for, after a short silence, taking Mrs Miller by the
hand, he said very affectionately to her, "Come, madam, let us
consider a little about your daughter. I cannot blame you for
rejoicing in a match which promises to be advantageous to her, but you
know this advantage, in a great measure, depends on the father's
reconciliation. I know Mr Nightingale very well, and have formerly had
concerns with him; I will make him a visit, and endeavour to serve you
in this matter. I believe he is a worldly man; but as this is an only
son, and the thing is now irretrievable, perhaps he may in time be
brought to reason. I promise you I will do all I can for you."

Many were the acknowledgments which the poor woman made to Allworthy
for this kind and generous offer, nor could she refrain from taking
this occasion again to express her gratitude towards Jones, "to whom,"
said she, "I owe the opportunity of giving you, sir, this present
trouble." Allworthy gently stopped her; but he was too good a man to
be really offended with the effects of so noble a principle as now
actuated Mrs Miller; and indeed, had not this new affair inflamed his
former anger against Jones, it is possible he might have been a little
softened towards him, by the report of an action which malice itself
could not have derived from an evil motive.

Mr Allworthy and Mrs Miller had been above an hour together, when
their conversation was put an end to by the arrival of Blifil and
another person, which other person was no less than Mr Dowling, the
attorney, who was now become a great favourite with Mr Blifil, and
whom Mr Allworthy, at the desire of his nephew, had made his steward;
and had likewise recommended him to Mr Western, from whom the attorney
received a promise of being promoted to the same office upon the first
vacancy; and, in the meantime, was employed in transacting some
affairs which the squire then had in London in relation to a mortgage.

This was the principal affair which then brought Mr Dowling to town;
therefore he took the same opportunity to charge himself with some
money for Mr Allworthy, and to make a report to him of some other
business; in all which, as it was of much too dull a nature to find
any place in this history, we will leave the uncle, nephew, and their
lawyer concerned, and resort to other matters.



Chapter viii.

Containing various matters.


Before we return to Mr Jones, we will take one more view of Sophia.

Though that young lady had brought her aunt into great good humour by
those soothing methods which we have before related, she had not
brought her in the least to abate of her zeal for the match with Lord
Fellamar. This zeal was now inflamed by Lady Bellaston, who had told
her the preceding evening, that she was well satisfied from the
conduct of Sophia, and from her carriage to his lordship, that all
delays would be dangerous, and that the only way to succeed was to
press the match forward with such rapidity that the young lady should
have no time to reflect, and be obliged to consent while she scarce
knew what she did; in which manner, she said, one-half of the
marriages among people of condition were brought about. A fact very
probably true, and to which, I suppose, is owing the mutual tenderness
which afterwards exists among so many happy couples.

A hint of the same kind was given by the same lady to Lord Fellamar;
and both these so readily embraced the advice that the very next day
was, at his lordship's request, appointed by Mrs Western for a private
interview between the young parties. This was communicated to Sophia
by her aunt, and insisted upon in such high terms, that, after having
urged everything she possibly could invent against it without the
least effect, she at last agreed to give the highest instance of
complacence which any young lady can give, and consented to see his
lordship.

As conversations of this kind afford no great entertainment, we shall
be excused from reciting the whole that past at this interview; in
which, after his lordship had made many declarations of the most pure
and ardent passion to the silent blushing Sophia, she at last
collected all the spirits she could raise, and with a trembling low
voice said, "My lord, you must be yourself conscious whether your
former behaviour to me hath been consistent with the professions you
now make." "Is there," answered he, "no way by which I can atone for
madness? what I did I am afraid must have too plainly convinced you,
that the violence of love had deprived me of my senses." "Indeed, my
lord," said she, "it is in your power to give me a proof of an
affection which I much rather wish to encourage, and to which I should
think myself more beholden." "Name it, madam," said my lord, very
warmly. "My lord," says she, looking down upon her fan, "I know you
must be sensible how uneasy this pretended passion of yours hath made
me." "Can you be so cruel to call it pretended?" says he. "Yes, my
lord," answered Sophia, "all professions of love to those whom we
persecute are most insulting pretences. This pursuit of yours is to me
a most cruel persecution: nay, it is taking a most ungenerous
advantage of my unhappy situation." "Most lovely, most adorable
charmer, do not accuse me," cries he, "of taking an ungenerous
advantage, while I have no thoughts but what are directed to your
honour and interest, and while I have no view, no hope, no ambition,
but to throw myself, honour, fortune, everything at your feet." "My
lord," says she, "it is that fortune and those honours which gave you
the advantage of which I complain. These are the charms which have
seduced my relations, but to me they are things indifferent. If your
lordship will merit my gratitude, there is but one way." "Pardon me,
divine creature," said he, "there can be none. All I can do for you is
so much your due, and will give me so much pleasure, that there is no
room for your gratitude." "Indeed, my lord," answered she, "you may
obtain my gratitude, my good opinion, every kind thought and wish
which it is in my power to bestow; nay, you may obtain them with ease,
for sure to a generous mind it must be easy to grant my request. Let
me beseech you, then, to cease a pursuit in which you can never have
any success. For your own sake as well as mine I entreat this favour;
for sure you are too noble to have any pleasure in tormenting an
unhappy creature. What can your lordship propose but uneasiness to
yourself, by a perseverance, which, upon my honour, upon my soul,
cannot, shall not prevail with me, whatever distresses you may drive