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The History of Tom Jones, a foundling

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"What news?" cries Jones, "you have not mentioned a word of my
Sophia!" "Bless me! I had like to have forgot that. Indeed, we
mentioned a great deal about young Madam Western, and George told me
all; that Mr Blifil is coming to town in order to be married to her.
He had best make haste then, says I, or somebody will have her before
he comes; and, indeed, says I, Mr Seagrim, it is a thousand pities
somebody should not have her; for he certainly loves her above all the
women in the world. I would have both you and she know, that it is not
for her fortune he follows her; for I can assure you, as to matter of
that, there is another lady, one of much greater quality and fortune
than she can pretend to, who is so fond of somebody that she comes
after him day and night."

Here Jones fell into a passion with Partridge, for having, as he said,
betrayed him; but the poor fellow answered, he had mentioned no name:
"Besides, sir," said he, "I can assure you George is sincerely your
friend, and wished Mr Blifil at the devil more than once; nay, he said
he would do anything in his power upon earth to serve you; and so I am
convinced he will. Betray you, indeed! why, I question whether you
have a better friend than George upon earth, except myself, or one
that would go farther to serve you."

"Well," says Jones, a little pacified, "you say this fellow, who, I
believe, indeed, is enough inclined to be my friend, lives in the same
house with Sophia?"

"In the same house!" answered Partridge; "why, sir, he is one of the
servants of the family, and very well drest I promise you he is; if it
was not for his black beard you would hardly know him."

"One service then at least he may do me," says Jones: "sure he can
certainly convey a letter to my Sophia."

"You have hit the nail _ad unguem_" cries Partridge; "how came I not
to think of it? I will engage he shall do it upon the very first
mentioning."

"Well, then," said Jones, "do you leave me at present, and I will
write a letter, which you shall deliver to him to-morrow morning; for
I suppose you know where to find him."

"O yes, sir," answered Partridge, "I shall certainly find him again;
there is no fear of that. The liquor is too good for him to stay away
long. I make no doubt but he will be there every day he stays in
town."

"So you don't know the street then where my Sophia is lodged?" cries
Jones.

"Indeed, sir, I do," says Partridge.

"What is the name of the street?" cries Jones.

"The name, sir? why, here, sir, just by," answered Partridge, "not
above a street or two off. I don't, indeed, know the very name; for,
as he never told me, if I had asked, you know, it might have put some
suspicion into his head. No, no, sir, let me alone for that. I am too
cunning for that, I promise you."

"Thou art most wonderfully cunning, indeed," replied Jones; "however,
I will write to my charmer, since I believe you will be cunning enough
to find him to-morrow at the alehouse."

And now, having dismissed the sagacious Partridge, Mr Jones sat
himself down to write, in which employment we shall leave him for a
time. And here we put an end to the fifteenth book.




BOOK XVI.

CONTAINING THE SPACE OF FIVE DAYS.



Chapter i.

Of prologues.


I have heard of a dramatic writer who used to say, he would rather
write a play than a prologue; in like manner, I think, I can with less
pains write one of the books of this history than the prefatory
chapter to each of them.

To say the truth, I believe many a hearty curse hath been devoted on
the head of that author who first instituted the method of prefixing
to his play that portion of matter which is called the prologue; and
which at first was part of the piece itself, but of latter years hath
had usually so little connexion with the drama before which it stands,
that the prologue to one play might as well serve for any other. Those
indeed of more modern date, seem all to be written on the same three
topics, viz., an abuse of the taste of the town, a condemnation of all
contemporary authors, and an eulogium on the performance just about to
be represented. The sentiments in all these are very little varied,
nor is it possible they should; and indeed I have often wondered at
the great invention of authors, who have been capable of finding such
various phrases to express the same thing.

In like manner I apprehend, some future historian (if any one shall do
me the honour of imitating my manner) will, after much scratching his
pate, bestow some good wishes on my memory, for having first
established these several initial chapters; most of which, like modern
prologues, may as properly be prefixed to any other book in this
history as to that which they introduce, or indeed to any other
history as to this.

But however authors may suffer by either of these inventions, the
reader will find sufficient emolument in the one as the spectator hath
long found in the other.

First, it is well known that the prologue serves the critic for an
opportunity to try his faculty of hissing, and to tune his cat-call to
the best advantage; by which means, I have known those musical
instruments so well prepared, that they have been able to play in full
concert at the first rising of the curtain.

The same advantages may be drawn from these chapters, in which the
critic will be always sure of meeting with something that may serve as
a whetstone to his noble spirit; so that he may fall with a more
hungry appetite for censure on the history itself. And here his
sagacity must make it needless to observe how artfully these chapters
are calculated for that excellent purpose; for in these we have always
taken care to intersperse somewhat of the sour or acid kind, in order
to sharpen and stimulate the said spirit of criticism.

Again, the indolent reader, as well as spectator, finds great
advantage from both these; for, as they are not obliged either to see
the one or read the others, and both the play and the book are thus
protracted, by the former they have a quarter of an hour longer
allowed them to sit at dinner, and by the latter they have the
advantage of beginning to read at the fourth or fifth page instead of
the first, a matter by no means of trivial consequence to persons who
read books with no other view than to say they have read them, a more
general motive to reading than is commonly imagined; and from which
not only law books, and good books, but the pages of Homer and Virgil,
of Swift and Cervantes, have been often turned over.

Many other are the emoluments which arise from both these, but they
are for the most part so obvious, that we shall not at present stay to
enumerate them; especially since it occurs to us that the principal
merit of both the prologue and the preface is that they be short.



Chapter ii.

A whimsical adventure which befel the squire, with the distressed
situation of Sophia.


We must now convey the reader to Mr Western's lodgings, which were in
Piccadilly, where he was placed by the recommendation of the landlord
at the Hercules Pillars at Hyde Park Corner; for at the inn, which was
the first he saw on his arrival in town, he placed his horses, and in
those lodgings, which were the first he heard of, he deposited
himself.

Here, when Sophia alighted from the hackney-coach, which brought her
from the house of Lady Bellaston, she desired to retire to the
apartment provided for her; to which her father very readily agreed,
and whither he attended her himself. A short dialogue, neither very
material nor pleasant to relate minutely, then passed between them, in
which he pressed her vehemently to give her consent to the marriage
with Blifil, who, as he acquainted her, was to be in town in a few
days; but, instead of complying, she gave a more peremptory and
resolute refusal than she had ever done before. This so incensed her
father, that after many bitter vows, that he would force her to have
him whether she would or no, he departed from her with many hard words
and curses, locked the door, and put the key into his pocket.

While Sophia was left with no other company than what attend the
closest state prisoner, namely, fire and candle, the squire sat down
to regale himself over a bottle of wine, with his parson and the
landlord of the Hercules Pillars, who, as the squire said, would make
an excellent third man, and could inform them of the news of the town,
and how affairs went; for to be sure, says he, he knows a great deal,
since the horses of many of the quality stand at his house.

In this agreeable society Mr Western past that evening and great part
of the succeeding day, during which period nothing happened of
sufficient consequence to find a place in this history. All this time
Sophia past by herself; for her father swore she should never come out
of her chamber alive, unless she first consented to marry Blifil; nor
did he ever suffer the door to be unlocked, unless to convey her food,
on which occasions he always attended himself.

The second morning after his arrival, while he and the parson were at
breakfast together on a toast and tankard, he was informed that a
gentleman was below to wait on him.

"A gentleman!" quoth the squire, "who the devil can he be? Do, doctor,
go down and see who 'tis. Mr Blifil can hardly be come to town
yet.--Go down, do, and know what his business is."

The doctor returned with an account that it was a very well-drest man,
and by the ribbon in his hat he took him for an officer of the army;
that he said he had some particular business, which he could deliver
to none but Mr Western himself.

"An officer!" cries the squire; "what can any such fellow have to do
with me? If he wants an order for baggage-waggons, I am no justice of
peace here, nor can I grant a warrant.--Let un come up then, if he
must speak to me."

A very genteel man now entered the room; who, having made his
compliments to the squire, and desired the favour of being alone with
him, delivered himself as follows:--

"Sir, I come to wait upon you by the command of my Lord Fellamar; but
with a very different message from what I suppose you expect, after
what past the other night."

"My lord who?" cries the squire; "I never heard the name o'un."

"His lordship," said the gentleman, "is willing to impute everything
to the effect of liquor, and the most trifling acknowledgment of that
kind will set everything right; for as he hath the most violent
attachment to your daughter, you, sir, are the last person upon earth
from whom he would resent an affront; and happy is it for you both
that he hath given such public demonstrations of his courage as to be
able to put up an affair of this kind without danger of any imputation
on his honour. All he desires, therefore, is, that you will before me
make some acknowledgment; the slightest in the world will be
sufficient; and he intends this afternoon to pay his respects to you,
in order to obtain your leave of visiting the young lady on the
footing of a lover."

"I don't understand much of what you say, sir," said the squire; "but
I suppose, by what you talk about my daughter, that this is the lord
which my cousin, Lady Bellaston, mentioned to me, and said something
about his courting my daughter. If so be that how that be the
case--you may give my service to his lordship, and tell un the girl is
disposed of already."

"Perhaps, sir," said the gentleman, "you are not sufficiently apprized
of the greatness of this offer. I believe such a person, title, and
fortune would be nowhere refused."

"Lookee, sir," answered the squire; "to be very plain, my daughter is
bespoke already; but if she was not, I would not marry her to a lord
upon any account; I hate all lords; they are a parcel of courtiers and
Hanoverians, and I will have nothing to do with them."

"Well, sir," said the gentleman, "if that is your resolution, the
message I am to deliver to you is that my lord desires the favour of
your company this morning in Hyde Park."

"You may tell my lord," answered the squire, "that I am busy and
cannot come. I have enough to look after at home, and can't stir
abroad on any account."

"I am sure, sir," quoth the other, "you are too much a gentleman to
send such a message; you will not, I am convinced, have it said of
you, that, after having affronted a noble peer, you refuse him
satisfaction. His lordship would have been willing, from his great
regard to the young lady, to have made up matters in another way; but
unless he is to look on you as a father, his honour will not suffer
his putting up such an indignity as you must be sensible you offered
him."

"I offered him!" cries the squire; "it is a d--n'd lie! I never
offered him anything."

Upon these words the gentleman returned a very short verbal rebuke,
and this he accompanied at the same time with some manual
remonstrances, which no sooner reached the ears of Mr Western, than
that worthy squire began to caper very briskly about the room,
bellowing at the same time with all his might, as if desirous to
summon a greater number of spectators to behold his agility.

The parson, who had left great part of the tankard unfinished, was not
retired far; he immediately attended therefore on the squire's
vociferation, crying, "Bless me! sir, what's the matter?"--"Matter!"
quoth the squire, "here's a highwayman, I believe, who wants to rob
and murder me--for he hath fallen upon me with that stick there in his
hand, when I wish I may be d--n'd if I gid un the least provocation."

"How, sir," said the captain, "did you not tell me I lyed?"

"No, as I hope to be saved," answered the squire, "--I believe I might
say, 'Twas a lie that I had offered any affront to my lord--but I
never said the word, `you lie.'--I understand myself better, and you
might have understood yourself better than to fall upon a naked man.
If I had a stick in my hand, you would not have dared strike me. I'd
have knocked thy lantern jaws about thy ears. Come down into yard this
minute, and I'll take a bout with thee at single stick for a broken
head, that I will; or I will go into naked room and box thee for a
belly-full. At unt half a man, at unt, I'm sure."

The captain, with some indignation, replied, "I see, sir, you are
below my notice, and I shall inform his lordship you are below his. I
am sorry I have dirtied my fingers with you." At which words he
withdrew, the parson interposing to prevent the squire from stopping
him, in which he easily prevailed, as the other, though he made some
efforts for the purpose, did not seem very violently bent on success.
However, when the captain was departed, the squire sent many curses
and some menaces after him; but as these did not set out from his lips
till the officer was at the bottom of the stairs, and grew louder and
louder as he was more and more remote, they did not reach his ears, or
at least did not retard his departure.

Poor Sophia, however, who, in her prison, heard all her father's
outcries from first to last, began now first to thunder with her foot,
and afterwards to scream as loudly as the old gentleman himself had
done before, though in a much sweeter voice. These screams soon
silenced the squire, and turned all his consideration towards his
daughter, whom he loved so tenderly, that the least apprehension of
any harm happening to her, threw him presently into agonies; for,
except in that single instance in which the whole future happiness of
her life was concerned, she was sovereign mistress of his
inclinations.

Having ended his rage against the captain, with swearing he would take
the law of him, the squire now mounted upstairs to Sophia, whom, as
soon as he had unlocked and opened the door, he found all pale and
breathless. The moment, however, that she saw her father, she
collected all her spirits, and, catching him hold by the hand, she
cryed passionately, "O my dear sir, I am almost frightened to death! I
hope to heaven no harm hath happened to you." "No, no," cries the
squire, "no great harm. The rascal hath not hurt me much, but rat me
if I don't ha the la o' un." "Pray, dear sir," says she, "tell me
what's the matter; who is it that hath insulted you?" "I don't know
the name o' un," answered Western; "some officer fellow, I suppose,
that we are to pay for beating us; but I'll make him pay this bout, if
the rascal hath got anything, which I suppose he hath not. For thof he
was drest out so vine, I question whether he had got a voot of land in
the world." "But, dear sir," cries she, "what was the occasion of your
quarrel?" "What should it be, Sophy," answered the squire, "but about
you, Sophy? All my misfortunes are about you; you will be the death of
your poor father at last. Here's a varlet of a lord, the Lord knows
who, forsooth! who hath a taan a liking to you, and because I would
not gi un my consent, he sent me a kallenge. Come, do be a good girl,
Sophy, and put an end to all your father's troubles; come, do consent
to ha un; he will be in town within this day or two; do but promise me
to marry un as soon as he comes, and you will make me the happiest man
in the world, and I will make you the happiest woman; you shall have
the finest cloaths in London, and the finest jewels, and a coach and
six at your command. I promised Allworthy already to give up half my
estate--od rabbet it! I should hardly stick at giving up the whole."
"Will my papa be so kind," says she, "as to hear me speak?"--"Why wout
ask, Sophy?" cries he, "when dost know I had rather hear thy voice
than the musick of the best pack of dogs in England.--Hear thee, my
dear little girl! I hope I shall hear thee as long as I live; for if I
was ever to lose that pleasure, I would not gee a brass varden to live
a moment longer. Indeed, Sophy, you do not know how I love you, indeed
you don't, or you never could have run away and left your poor father,
who hath no other joy, no other comfort upon earth, but his little
Sophy." At these words the tears stood in his eyes; and Sophia (with
the tears streaming from hers) answered, "Indeed, my dear papa, I know
you have loved me tenderly, and heaven is my witness how sincerely I
have returned your affection; nor could anything but an apprehension
of being forced into the arms of this man have driven me to run from a
father whom I love so passionately, that I would, with pleasure,
sacrifice my life to his happiness; nay, I have endeavoured to reason
myself into doing more, and had almost worked up a resolution to
endure the most miserable of all lives, to comply with your
inclination. It was that resolution alone to which I could not force
my mind; nor can I ever." Here the squire began to look wild, and the
foam appeared at his lips, which Sophia, observing, begged to be heard
out, and then proceeded: "If my father's life, his health, or any real
happiness of his was at stake, here stands your resolved daughter; may
heaven blast me if there is a misery I would not suffer to preserve
you!--No, that most detested, most loathsome of all lots would I
embrace. I would give my hand to Blifil for your sake."--"I tell thee,
it will preserve me," answers the father; "it will give me health,
happiness, life, everything.--Upon my soul I shall die if dost refuse
me; I shall break my heart, I shall, upon my soul."--"Is it possible,"
says she, "you can have such a desire to make me miserable?"--"I tell
thee noa," answered he loudly, "d--n me if there is a thing upon earth
I would not do to see thee happy."--"And will not my dear papa allow
me to have the least knowledge of what will make me so? If it be true
that happiness consists in opinion, what must be my condition, when I
shall think myself the most miserable of all the wretches upon earth?"
"Better think yourself so," said he, "than know it by being married to
a poor bastardly vagabond." "If it will content you, sir," said
Sophia, "I will give you the most solemn promise never to marry him,
nor any other, while my papa lives, without his consent. Let me
dedicate my whole life to your service; let me be again your poor
Sophy, and my whole business and pleasure be, as it hath been, to
please and divert you." "Lookee, Sophy," answered the squire, "I am
not to be choused in this manner. Your aunt Western would then have
reason to think me the fool she doth. No, no, Sophy, I'd have you to
know I have a got more wisdom, and know more of the world, than to
take the word of a woman in a matter where a man is concerned." "How,
sir, have I deserved this want of confidence?" said she; "have I ever
broke a single promise to you? or have I ever been found guilty of a
falsehood from my cradle?" "Lookee, Sophy," cries he; "that's neither
here nor there. I am determined upon this match, and have him you
shall, d--n me if shat unt. D--n me if shat unt, though dost hang
thyself the next morning." At repeating which words he clinched his
fist, knit his brows, bit his lips, and thundered so loud, that the
poor afflicted, terrified Sophia sunk trembling into her chair, and,
had not a flood of tears come immediately to her relief, perhaps worse
had followed.

Western beheld the deplorable condition of his daughter with no more
contrition or remorse than the turnkey of Newgate feels at viewing the
agonies of a tender wife, when taking her last farewel of her
condemned husband; or rather he looked down on her with the same
emotions which arise in an honest fair tradesman, who sees his debtor
dragged to prison for £10, which, though a just debt, the wretch is
wickedly unable to pay. Or, to hit the case still more nearly, he felt
the same compunction with a bawd, when some poor innocent, whom she
hath ensnared into her hands, falls into fits at the first proposal of
what is called seeing company. Indeed this resemblance would be exact,
was it not that the bawd hath an interest in what she doth, and the
father, though perhaps he may blindly think otherwise, can, in
reality, have none in urging his daughter to almost an equal
prostitution.

In this condition he left his poor Sophia, and, departing with a very
vulgar observation on the effect of tears, he locked the room, and
returned to the parson, who said everything he durst in behalf of the
young lady, which, though perhaps it was not quite so much as his duty
required, yet was it sufficient to throw the squire into a violent
rage, and into many indecent reflections on the whole body of the
clergy, which we have too great an honour for that sacred function to
commit to paper.



Chapter iii.

What happened to Sophia during her confinement.


The landlady of the house where the squire lodged had begun very early
to entertain a strange opinion of her guests. However, as she was
informed that the squire was a man of vast fortune, and as she had
taken care to exact a very extraordinary price for her rooms, she did
not think proper to give any offence; for, though she was not without
some concern for the confinement of poor Sophia, of whose great
sweetness of temper and affability the maid of the house had made so
favourable a report, which was confirmed by all the squire's servants,
yet she had much more concern for her own interest than to provoke
one, whom, as she said, she perceived to be a very hastish kind of a
gentleman.

Though Sophia eat but little, yet she was regularly served with her
meals; indeed, I believe, if she had liked any one rarity, that the
squire, however angry, would have spared neither pains nor cost to
have procured it for her; since, however strange it may appear to some
of my readers, he really doated on his daughter, and to give her any
kind of pleasure was the highest satisfaction of his life.

The dinner-hour being arrived, Black George carried her up a pullet,
the squire himself (for he had sworn not to part with the key)
attending the door. As George deposited the dish, some compliments
passed between him and Sophia (for he had not seen her since she left
the country, and she treated every servant with more respect than some
persons shew to those who are in a very slight degree their
inferiors). Sophia would have had him take the pullet back, saying,
she could not eat; but George begged her to try, and particularly
recommended to her the eggs, of which he said it was full.

All this time the squire was waiting at the door; but George was a
great favourite with his master, as his employment was in concerns of
the highest nature, namely, about the game, and was accustomed to take
many liberties. He had officiously carried up the dinner, being, as he
said, very desirous to see his young lady; he made therefore no
scruple of keeping his master standing above ten minutes, while
civilities were passing between him and Sophia, for which he received
only a good-humoured rebuke at the door when he returned.

The eggs of pullets, partridges, pheasants, &c., were, as George well
knew, the most favourite dainties of Sophia. It was therefore no
wonder that he, who was a very good-natured fellow, should take care
to supply her with this kind of delicacy, at a time when all the
servants in the house were afraid she would be starved; for she had
scarce swallowed a single morsel in the last forty hours.

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