A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

The History of Tom Jones, a foundling

H >> Henry Fielding >> The History of Tom Jones, a foundling




Though Jones had no reason to imagine the lady to have been of the
vestal kind when his amour began; yet, as he was thoroughly ignorant
of the town, and had very little acquaintance in it, he had no
knowledge of that character which is vulgarly called a demirep; that
is to say, a woman who intrigues with every man she likes, under the
name and appearance of virtue; and who, though some over-nice ladies
will not be seen with her, is visited (as they term it) by the whole
town, in short, whom everybody knows to be what nobody calls her.

When he found, therefore, that Nightingale was perfectly acquainted
with his intrigue, and began to suspect that so scrupulous a delicacy
as he had hitherto observed was not quite necessary on the occasion,
he gave a latitude to his friend's tongue, and desired him to speak
plainly what he knew, or had ever heard of the lady.

Nightingale, who, in many other instances, was rather too effeminate
in his disposition, had a pretty strong inclination to tittle-tattle.
He had no sooner, therefore, received a full liberty of speaking from
Jones, than he entered upon a long narrative concerning the lady;
which, as it contained many particulars highly to her dishonour, we
have too great a tenderness for all women of condition to repeat. We
would cautiously avoid giving an opportunity to the future
commentators on our works, of making any malicious application and of
forcing us to be, against our will, the author of scandal, which never
entered into our head.

Jones, having very attentively heard all that Nightingale had to say,
fetched a deep sigh; which the other, observing, cried, "Heyday! why,
thou art not in love, I hope! Had I imagined my stories would have
affected you, I promise you should never have heard them." "O my dear
friend!" cries Jones, "I am so entangled with this woman, that I know
not how to extricate myself. In love, indeed! no, my friend, but I am
under obligations to her, and very great ones. Since you know so much,
I will be very explicit with you. It is owing, perhaps, solely to her,
that I have not, before this, wanted a bit of bread. How can I
possibly desert such a woman? and yet I must desert her, or be guilty
of the blackest treachery to one who deserves infinitely better of me
than she can; a woman, my Nightingale, for whom I have a passion which
few can have an idea of. I am half distracted with doubts how to act."
"And is this other, pray, an honourable mistress?" cries Nightingale.
"Honourable!" answered Jones; "no breath ever yet durst sully her
reputation. The sweetest air is not purer, the limpid stream not
clearer, than her honour. She is all over, both in mind and body,
consummate perfection. She is the most beautiful creature in the
universe: and yet she is mistress of such noble elevated qualities,
that, though she is never from my thoughts, I scarce ever think of her
beauty but when I see it."--"And can you, my good friend," cries
Nightingale, "with such an engagement as this upon your hands,
hesitate a moment about quitting such a--" "Hold," said Jones, "no
more abuse of her: I detest the thought of ingratitude." "Pooh!"
answered the other, "you are not the first upon whom she hath
conferred obligations of this kind. She is remarkably liberal where
she likes; though, let me tell you, her favours are so prudently
bestowed, that they should rather raise a man's vanity than his
gratitude." In short, Nightingale proceeded so far on this head, and
told his friend so many stories of the lady, which he swore to the
truth of, that he entirely removed all esteem for her from the breast
of Jones; and his gratitude was lessened in proportion. Indeed, he
began to look on all the favours he had received rather as wages than
benefits, which depreciated not only her, but himself too in his own
conceit, and put him quite out of humour with both. From this disgust,
his mind, by a natural transition, turned towards Sophia; her virtue,
her purity, her love to him, her sufferings on his account, filled all
his thoughts, and made his commerce with Lady Bellaston appear still
more odious. The result of all was, that, though his turning himself
out of her service, in which light he now saw his affair with her,
would be the loss of his bread; yet he determined to quit her, if he
could but find a handsome pretence: which being communicated to his
friend, Nightingale considered a little, and then said, "I have it, my
boy! I have found out a sure method; propose marriage to her, and I
would venture hanging upon the success." "Marriage?" cries Jones. "Ay,
propose marriage," answered Nightingale, "and she will declare off in
a moment. I knew a young fellow whom she kept formerly, who made the
offer to her in earnest, and was presently turned off for his pains."

Jones declared he could not venture the experiment. "Perhaps," said
he, "she may be less shocked at this proposal from one man than from
another. And if she should take me at my word, where am I then?
caught, in my own trap, and undone for ever." "No;" answered
Nightingale, "not if I can give you an expedient by which you may at
any time get out of the trap."----"What expedient can that be?"
replied Jones. "This," answered Nightingale. "The young fellow I
mentioned, who is one of the most intimate acquaintances I have in the
world, is so angry with her for some ill offices she hath since done
him, that I am sure he would, without any difficulty, give you a sight
of her letters; upon which you may decently break with her; and
declare off before the knot is tyed, if she should really be willing
to tie it, which I am convinced she will not."

After some hesitation, Jones, upon the strength of this assurance,
consented; but, as he swore he wanted the confidence to propose the
matter to her face, he wrote the following letter, which Nightingale
dictated:--

"MADAM,

"I am extremely concerned, that, by an unfortunate engagement
abroad, I should have missed receiving the honour of your ladyship's
commands the moment they came; and the delay which I must now suffer
of vindicating myself to your ladyship greatly adds to this
misfortune. O, Lady Bellaston! what a terror have I been in for fear
your reputation should be exposed by these perverse accidents! There
is one only way to secure it. I need not name what that is. Only
permit me to say, that as your honour is as dear to me as my own, so
my sole ambition is to have the glory of laying my liberty at your
feet; and believe me when I assure you, I can never be made
completely happy without you generously bestow on me a legal right
of calling you mine for ever.--I am,

madam,
with most profound respect,
your ladyship's most obliged,
obedient, humble servant,
THOMAS JONES."

To this she presently returned the following answer:

"SIR,

"When I read over your serious epistle, I could, from its coldness
and formality, have sworn that you already had the legal right you
mention; nay, that we had for many years composed that monstrous
animal a husband and wife. Do you really then imagine me a fool? or
do you fancy yourself capable of so entirely persuading me out of my
senses, that I should deliver my whole fortune into your power, in
order to enable you to support your pleasures at my expense? Are
these the proofs of love which I expected? Is this the return for--?
but I scorn to upbraid you, and am in great admiration of your
profound respect.

"P.S. I am prevented from revising:----Perhaps I have said more than
I meant.----Come to me at eight this evening."

Jones, by the advice of his privy-council, replied:

"MADAM,

"It is impossible to express how much I am shocked at the suspicion
you entertain of me. Can Lady Bellaston have conferred favours on a
man whom she could believe capable of so base a design? or can she
treat the most solemn tie of love with contempt? Can you imagine,
madam, that if the violence of my passion, in an unguarded moment,
overcame the tenderness which I have for your honour, I would think
of indulging myself in the continuance of an intercourse which could
not possibly escape long the notice of the world; and which, when
discovered, must prove so fatal to your reputation? If such be your
opinion of me, I must pray for a sudden opportunity of returning
those pecuniary obligations, which I have been so unfortunate to
receive at your hands; and for those of a more tender kind, I shall
ever remain, &c." And so concluded in the very words with which he
had concluded the former letter.

The lady answered as follows:

"I see you are a villain! and I despise you from my soul. If you
come here I shall not be at home."

Though Jones was well satisfied with his deliverance from a thraldom
which those who have ever experienced it will, I apprehend, allow to
be none of the lightest, he was not, however, perfectly easy in his
mind. There was in this scheme too much of fallacy to satisfy one who
utterly detested every species of falshood or dishonesty: nor would
he, indeed, have submitted to put it in practice, had he not been
involved in a distressful situation, where he was obliged to be guilty
of some dishonour, either to the one lady or the other; and surely the
reader will allow, that every good principle, as well as love, pleaded
strongly in favour of Sophia.

Nightingale highly exulted in the success of his stratagem, upon which
he received many thanks and much applause from his friend. He
answered, "Dear Tom, we have conferred very different obligations on
each other. To me you owe the regaining your liberty; to you I owe the
loss of mine. But if you are as happy in the one instance as I am in
the other, I promise you we are the two happiest fellows in England."

The two gentlemen were now summoned down to dinner, where Mrs Miller,
who performed herself the office of cook, had exerted her best talents
to celebrate the wedding of her daughter. This joyful circumstance she
ascribed principally to the friendly behaviour of Jones, her whole
soul was fired with gratitude towards him, and all her looks, words,
and actions, were so busied in expressing it, that her daughter, and
even her new son-in-law, were very little objects of her
consideration.

Dinner was just ended when Mrs Miller received a letter; but as we
have had letters enow in this chapter, we shall communicate its
contents in our next.



Chapter x.

Consisting partly of facts, and partly of observations upon them.


The letter then which arrived at the end of the preceding chapter was
from Mr Allworthy, and the purport of it was, his intention to come
immediately to town, with his nephew Blifil, and a desire to be
accommodated with his usual lodgings, which were the first floor for
himself, and the second for his nephew.

The chearfulness which had before displayed itself in the countenance
of the poor woman was a little clouded on this occasion. This news did
indeed a good deal disconcert her. To requite so disinterested a match
with her daughter, by presently turning her new son-in-law out of
doors, appeared to her very unjustifiable on the one hand; and on the
other, she could scarce bear the thoughts of making any excuse to Mr
Allworthy, after all the obligations received from him, for depriving
him of lodgings which were indeed strictly his due; for that
gentleman, in conferring all his numberless benefits on others, acted
by a rule diametrically opposite to what is practised by most generous
people. He contrived, on all occasions, to hide his beneficence, not
only from the world, but even from the object of it. He constantly
used the words Lend and Pay, instead of Give; and by every other
method he could invent, always lessened with his tongue the favours he
conferred, while he was heaping them with both his hands. When he
settled the annuity of £50 a year therefore on Mrs Miller, he told
her, "it was in consideration of always having her first-floor when he
was in town (which he scarce ever intended to be), but that she might
let it at any other time, for that he would always send her a month's
warning." He was now, however, hurried to town so suddenly, that he
had no opportunity of giving such notice; and this hurry probably
prevented him, when he wrote for his lodgings, adding, if they were
then empty; for he would most certainly have been well satisfied to
have relinquished them, on a less sufficient excuse than what Mrs
Miller could now have made.

But there are a sort of persons, who, as Prior excellently well
remarks, direct their conduct by something

Beyond the fix'd and settled rules
Of vice and virtue in the schools,
Beyond the letter of the law.

To these it is so far from being sufficient that their defence would
acquit them at the Old Bailey, that they are not even contented,
though conscience, the severest of all judges, should discharge them.
Nothing short of the fair and honourable will satisfy the delicacy of
their minds; and if any of their actions fall short of this mark, they
mope and pine, are as uneasy and restless as a murderer, who is afraid
of a ghost, or of the hangman.

Mrs Miller was one of these. She could not conceal her uneasiness at
this letter; with the contents of which she had no sooner acquainted
the company, and given some hints of her distress, than Jones, her
good angel, presently relieved her anxiety. "As for myself, madam,"
said he, "my lodging is at your service at a moment's warning; and Mr
Nightingale, I am sure, as he cannot yet prepare a house fit to
receive his lady, will consent to return to his new lodging, whither
Mrs Nightingale will certainly consent to go." With which proposal
both husband and wife instantly agreed.

The reader will easily believe, that the cheeks of Mrs Miller began
again to glow with additional gratitude to Jones; but, perhaps, it may
be more difficult to persuade him, that Mr Jones having in his last
speech called her daughter Mrs Nightingale (it being the first time
that agreeable sound had ever reached her ears), gave the fond mother
more satisfaction, and warmed her heart more towards Jones, than his
having dissipated her present anxiety.

The next day was then appointed for the removal of the new-married
couple, and of Mr Jones, who was likewise to be provided for in the
same house with his friend. And now the serenity of the company was
again restored, and they past the day in the utmost chearfulness, all
except Jones, who, though he outwardly accompanied the rest in their
mirth, felt many a bitter pang on the account of his Sophia, which
were not a little heightened by the news of Mr Blifil's coming to town
(for he clearly saw the intention of his journey); and what greatly
aggravated his concern was, that Mrs Honour, who had promised to
inquire after Sophia, and to make her report to him early the next
evening, had disappointed him.

In the situation that he and his mistress were in at this time, there
were scarce any grounds for him to hope that he should hear any good
news; yet he was as impatient to see Mrs Honour as if he had expected
she would bring him a letter with an assignation in it from Sophia,
and bore the disappointment as ill. Whether this impatience arose from
that natural weakness of the human mind, which makes it desirous to
know the worst, and renders uncertainty the most intolerable of pains;
or whether he still flattered himself with some secret hopes, we will
not determine. But that it might be the last, whoever has loved cannot
but know. For of all the powers exercised by this passion over our
minds, one of the most wonderful is that of supporting hope in the
midst of despair. Difficulties, improbabilities, nay, impossibilities,
are quite overlooked by it; so that to any man extremely in love, may
be applied what Addison says of Caesar,

"The Alps, and Pyrenaeans, sink before him!"

Yet it is equally true, that the same passion will sometimes make
mountains of molehills, and produce despair in the midst of hope; but
these cold fits last not long in good constitutions. Which temper
Jones was now in, we leave the reader to guess, having no exact
information about it; but this is certain, that he had spent two hours
in expectation, when, being unable any longer to conceal his
uneasiness, he retired to his room; where his anxiety had almost made
him frantick, when the following letter was brought him from Mrs
Honour, with which we shall present the reader _verbatim et
literatim._

"SIR,

"I shud sartenly haf kaled on you a cordin too mi prommiss haddunt
itt bin that hur lashipp prevent mee; for to bee sur, Sir, you nose
very well that evere persun must luk furst at ome, and sartenly such
anuther offar mite not have ever hapned, so as I shud ave bin justly
to blam, had I not excepted of it when her lashipp was so veri kind
as to offar to mak mee hur one uman without mi ever askin any such
thing, to be sur shee is won of thee best ladis in thee wurld, and
pepil who sase to the kontrari must bee veri wiket pepil in thare
harts. To bee sur if ever I ave sad any thing of that kine it as bin
thru ignorens, and I am hartili sorri for it. I nose your onur to be
a genteelman of more onur and onesty, if I ever said ani such thing,
to repete it to hurt a pore servant that as alwais add thee gratest
respect in thee wurld for ure onur. To be sur won shud kepe wons
tung within wons teeth, for no boddi nose what may hapen; and to bee
sur if ani boddi ad tolde mee yesterday, that I shud haf bin in so
gud a plase to day, I shud not haf beleeved it; for to be sur I
never was a dremd of any such thing, nor shud I ever have soft after
ani other bodi's plase; but as her lashipp wass so kine of her one a
cord too give it mee without askin, to be sur Mrs Etoff herself, nor
no other boddi can blam mee for exceptin such a thing when it fals
in mi waye. I beg ure Onur not to menshion ani thing of what I haf
sad, for I wish ure Onur all thee gud luk in the wurld; and I don't
cuestion butt thatt u will haf Madam Sofia in the end; butt ass to
miself ure onur nose I kant bee of ani farder sarvis to u in that
matar, nou bein under thee cumand off anuther parson, and nott mi
one mistress, I begg ure Onur to say nothing of what past, and
belive me to be, sir, ure Onur's umble servant to cumand till deth,

"HONOUR BLACKMORE."

Various were the conjectures which Jones entertained on this step of
Lady Bellaston; who, in reality, had little farther design than to
secure within her own house the repository of a secret, which she
chose should make no farther progress than it had made already; but
mostly, she desired to keep it from the ears of Sophia; for though
that young lady was almost the only one who would never have repeated
it again, her ladyship could not persuade herself of this; since, as
she now hated poor Sophia with most implacable hatred, she conceived a
reciprocal hatred to herself to be lodged in the tender breast of our
heroine, where no such passion had ever yet found an entrance.

While Jones was terrifying himself with the apprehension of a thousand
dreadful machinations, and deep political designs, which he imagined
to be at the bottom of the promotion of Honour, Fortune, who hitherto
seems to have been an utter enemy to his match with Sophia, tried a
new method to put a final end to it, by throwing a temptation in his
way, which in his present desperate situation it seemed unlikely he
should be able to resist.



Chapter xi.

Containing curious, but not unprecedented matter.


There was a lady, one Mrs Hunt, who had often seen Jones at the house
where he lodged, being intimately acquainted with the women there, and
indeed a very great friend to Mrs Miller. Her age was about thirty,
for she owned six-and-twenty; her face and person very good, only
inclining a little too much to be fat. She had been married young by
her relations to an old Turkey merchant, who, having got a great
fortune, had left off trade. With him she lived without reproach, but
not without pain, in a state of great self-denial, for about twelve
years; and her virtue was rewarded by his dying and leaving her very
rich. The first year of her widowhood was just at an end, and she had
past it in a good deal of retirement, seeing only a few particular
friends, and dividing her time between her devotions and novels, of
which she was always extremely fond. Very good health, a very warm
constitution, and a good deal of religion, made it absolutely
necessary for her to marry again; and she resolved to please herself
in her second husband, as she had done her friends in the first. From
her the following billet was brought to Jones:--

"SIR,

"From the first day I saw you, I doubt my eyes have told you too
plainly that you were not indifferent to me; but neither my tongue
nor my hand should have ever avowed it, had not the ladies of the
family where you are lodged given me such a character of you, and
told me such proofs of your virtue and goodness, as convince me you
are not only the most agreeable, but the most worthy of men. I have
also the satisfaction to hear from them, that neither my person,
understanding, or character, are disagreeable to you. I have a
fortune sufficient to make us both happy, but which cannot make me
so without you. In thus disposing of myself, I know I shall incur
the censure of the world; but if I did not love you more than I fear
the world, I should not be worthy of you. One only difficulty stops
me: I am informed you are engaged in a commerce of gallantry with a
woman of fashion. If you think it worth while to sacrifice that to
the possession of me, I am yours; if not, forget my weakness, and
let this remain an eternal secret between you and

"ARABELLA HUNT."

At the reading of this, Jones was put into a violent flutter. His
fortune was then at a very low ebb, the source being stopt from which
hitherto he had been supplied. Of all he had received from Lady
Bellaston, not above five guineas remained; and that very morning he
had been dunned by a tradesman for twice that sum. His honourable
mistress was in the hands of her father, and he had scarce any hopes
ever to get her out of them again. To be subsisted at her expense,
from that little fortune she had independent of her father, went much
against the delicacy both of his pride and his love. This lady's
fortune would have been exceeding convenient to him, and he could have
no objection to her in any respect. On the contrary, he liked her as
well as he did any woman except Sophia. But to abandon Sophia, and
marry another, that was impossible; he could not think of it upon any
account, Yet why should he not, since it was plain she could not be
his? Would it not be kinder to her, than to continue her longer
engaged in a hopeless passion for him? Ought he not to do so in
friendship to her? This notion prevailed some moments, and he had
almost determined to be false to her from a high point of honour: but
that refinement was not able to stand very long against the voice of
nature, which cried in his heart that such friendship was treason to
love. At last he called for pen, ink, and paper, and writ as follows
to Mrs Hunt:--

"MADAM,

"It would be but a poor return to the favour you have done me to
sacrifice any gallantry to the possession of you, and I would
certainly do it, though I were not disengaged, as at present I am,
from any affair of that kind. But I should not be the honest man you
think me, if I did not tell you that my affections are engaged to
another, who is a woman of virtue, and one that I never can leave,
though it is probable I shall never possess her. God forbid that, in
return of your kindness to me, I should do you such an injury as to
give you my hand when I cannot give my heart. No; I had much rather
starve than be guilty of that. Even though my mistress were married
to another, I would not marry you unless my heart had entirely
effaced all impressions of her. Be assured that your secret was not
more safe in your own breast, than in that of your most obliged, and
grateful humble servant,

"T. JONES."

When our heroe had finished and sent this letter, he went to his
scrutore, took out Miss Western's muff, kissed it several times, and
then strutted some turns about his room, with more satisfaction of
mind than ever any Irishman felt in carrying off a fortune of fifty
thousand pounds.



Chapter xii.

A discovery made by Partridge.


While Jones was exulting in the consciousness of his integrity,
Partridge came capering into the room, as was his custom when he
brought, or fancied he brought, any good tidings. He had been
despatched that morning by his master, with orders to endeavour, by
the servants of Lady Bellaston, or by any other means, to discover
whither Sophia had been conveyed; and he now returned, and with a
joyful countenance told our heroe that he had found the lost bird. "I
have seen, sir," says he, "Black George, the gamekeeper, who is one of
the servants whom the squire hath brought with him to town. I knew him
presently, though I have not seen him these several years; but you
know, sir, he is a very remarkable man, or, to use a purer phrase, he
hath a most remarkable beard, the largest and blackest I ever saw. It
was some time, however, before Black George could recollect me."
"Well, but what is your good news?" cries Jones; "what do you know of
my Sophia?" "You shall know presently, sir," answered Partridge, "I am
coming to it as fast as I can. You are so impatient, sir, you would
come at the infinitive mood before you can get to the imperative. As I
was saying, sir, it was some time before he recollected my
face."--"Confound your face!" cries Jones, "what of my Sophia?" "Nay,
sir," answered Partridge, "I know nothing more of Madam Sophia than
what I am going to tell you; and I should have told you all before
this if you had not interrupted me; but if you look so angry at me you
will frighten all of it out of my head, or, to use a purer phrase, out
of my memory. I never saw you look so angry since the day we left
Upton, which I shall remember if I was to live a thousand
years."--"Well, pray go on your own way," said Jones: "you are
resolved to make me mad I find." "Not for the world," answered
Partridge, "I have suffered enough for that already; which, as I said,
I shall bear in my remembrance the longest day I have to live." "Well,
but Black George?" cries Jones. "Well, sir, as I was saying, it was a
long time before he could recollect me; for, indeed, I am very much
altered since I saw him. _Non sum qualis eram._ I have had troubles in
the world, and nothing alters a man so much as grief. I have heard it
will change the colour of a man's hair in a night. However, at last,
know me he did, that's sure enough; for we are both of an age, and
were at the same charity school. George was a great dunce, but no
matter for that; all men do not thrive in the world according to their
learning. I am sure I have reason to say so; but it will be all one a
thousand years hence. Well, sir, where was I?--O--well, we no sooner
knew each other, than, after many hearty shakes by the hand, we agreed
to go to an alehouse and take a pot, and by good luck the beer was
some of the best I have met with since I have been in town. Now, sir,
I am coming to the point; for no sooner did I name you, and told him
that you and I came to town together, and had lived together ever
since, than he called for another pot, and swore he would drink to
your health; and indeed he drank your health so heartily that I was
overjoyed to see there was so much gratitude left in the world; and
after we had emptied that pot I said I would buy my pot too, and so we
drank another to your health; and then I made haste home to tell you
the news."

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