History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding
Chapter viii.
2116 words | Chapter 171
A battle sung by the muse in the Homerican style, and which none but
the classical reader can taste.
Mr Western had an estate in this parish; and as his house stood at
little greater distance from this church than from his own, he very
often came to Divine Service here; and both he and the charming Sophia
happened to be present at this time.
Sophia was much pleased with the beauty of the girl, whom she pitied
for her simplicity in having dressed herself in that manner, as she
saw the envy which it had occasioned among her equals. She no sooner
came home than she sent for the gamekeeper, and ordered him to bring
his daughter to her; saying she would provide for her in the family,
and might possibly place the girl about her own person, when her own
maid, who was now going away, had left her.
Poor Seagrim was thunderstruck at this; for he was no stranger to the
fault in the shape of his daughter. He answered, in a stammering
voice, “That he was afraid Molly would be too awkward to wait on her
ladyship, as she had never been at service.” “No matter for that,”
says Sophia; “she will soon improve. I am pleased with the girl, and
am resolved to try her.”
Black George now repaired to his wife, on whose prudent counsel he
depended to extricate him out of this dilemma; but when he came
thither he found his house in some confusion. So great envy had this
sack occasioned, that when Mr Allworthy and the other gentry were gone
from church, the rage, which had hitherto been confined, burst into an
uproar; and, having vented itself at first in opprobrious words,
laughs, hisses, and gestures, betook itself at last to certain missile
weapons; which, though from their plastic nature they threatened
neither the loss of life or of limb, were however sufficiently
dreadful to a well-dressed lady. Molly had too much spirit to bear
this treatment tamely. Having therefore--but hold, as we are diffident
of our own abilities, let us here invite a superior power to our
assistance.
Ye Muses, then, whoever ye are, who love to sing battles, and
principally thou who whilom didst recount the slaughter in those
fields where Hudibras and Trulla fought, if thou wert not starved with
thy friend Butler, assist me on this great occasion. All things are
not in the power of all.
As a vast herd of cows in a rich farmer's yard, if, while they are
milked, they hear their calves at a distance, lamenting the robbery
which is then committing, roar and bellow; so roared forth the
Somersetshire mob an hallaloo, made up of almost as many squalls,
screams, and other different sounds as there were persons, or indeed
passions among them: some were inspired by rage, others alarmed by
fear, and others had nothing in their heads but the love of fun; but
chiefly Envy, the sister of Satan, and his constant companion, rushed
among the crowd, and blew up the fury of the women; who no sooner came
up to Molly than they pelted her with dirt and rubbish.
Molly, having endeavoured in vain to make a handsome retreat, faced
about; and laying hold of ragged Bess, who advanced in the front of
the enemy, she at one blow felled her to the ground. The whole army of
the enemy (though near a hundred in number), seeing the fate of their
general, gave back many paces, and retired behind a new-dug grave; for
the churchyard was the field of battle, where there was to be a
funeral that very evening. Molly pursued her victory, and catching up
a skull which lay on the side of the grave, discharged it with such
fury, that having hit a taylor on the head, the two skulls sent
equally forth a hollow sound at their meeting, and the taylor took
presently measure of his length on the ground, where the skulls lay
side by side, and it was doubtful which was the more valuable of the
two. Molly then taking a thigh-bone in her hand, fell in among the
flying ranks, and dealing her blows with great liberality on either
side, overthrew the carcass of many a mighty heroe and heroine.
Recount, O Muse, the names of those who fell on this fatal day. First,
Jemmy Tweedle felt on his hinder head the direful bone. Him the
pleasant banks of sweetly-winding Stour had nourished, where he first
learnt the vocal art, with which, wandering up and down at wakes and
fairs, he cheered the rural nymphs and swains, when upon the green
they interweaved the sprightly dance; while he himself stood fiddling
and jumping to his own music. How little now avails his fiddle! He
thumps the verdant floor with his carcass. Next, old Echepole, the
sowgelder, received a blow in his forehead from our Amazonian heroine,
and immediately fell to the ground. He was a swinging fat fellow, and
fell with almost as much noise as a house. His tobacco-box dropped at
the same time from his pocket, which Molly took up as lawful spoils.
Then Kate of the Mill tumbled unfortunately over a tombstone, which
catching hold of her ungartered stocking inverted the order of nature,
and gave her heels the superiority to her head. Betty Pippin, with
young Roger her lover, fell both to the ground; where, oh perverse
fate! she salutes the earth, and he the sky. Tom Freckle, the smith's
son, was the next victim to her rage. He was an ingenious workman, and
made excellent pattens; nay, the very patten with which he was knocked
down was his own workmanship. Had he been at that time singing psalms
in the church, he would have avoided a broken head. Miss Crow, the
daughter of a farmer; John Giddish, himself a farmer; Nan Slouch,
Esther Codling, Will Spray, Tom Bennet; the three Misses Potter, whose
father keeps the sign of the Red Lion; Betty Chambermaid, Jack Ostler,
and many others of inferior note, lay rolling among the graves.
Not that the strenuous arm of Molly reached all these; for many of
them in their flight overthrew each other.
But now Fortune, fearing she had acted out of character, and had
inclined too long to the same side, especially as it was the right
side, hastily turned about: for now Goody Brown--whom Zekiel Brown
caressed in his arms; nor he alone, but half the parish besides; so
famous was she in the fields of Venus, nor indeed less in those of
Mars. The trophies of both these her husband always bore about on his
head and face; for if ever human head did by its horns display the
amorous glories of a wife, Zekiel's did; nor did his well-scratched
face less denote her talents (or rather talons) of a different kind.
No longer bore this Amazon the shameful flight of her party. She stopt
short, and, calling aloud to all who fled, spoke as follows: “Ye
Somersetshire men, or rather ye Somersetshire women, are ye not
ashamed thus to fly from a single woman? But if no other will oppose
her, I myself and Joan Top here will have the honour of the victory.”
Having thus said, she flew at Molly Seagrim, and easily wrenched the
thigh-bone from her hand, at the same time clawing off her cap from
her head. Then laying hold of the hair of Molly with her left hand,
she attacked her so furiously in the face with the right, that the
blood soon began to trickle from her nose. Molly was not idle this
while. She soon removed the clout from the head of Goody Brown, and
then fastening on her hair with one hand, with the other she caused
another bloody stream to issue forth from the nostrils of the enemy.
When each of the combatants had borne off sufficient spoils of hair
from the head of her antagonist, the next rage was against the
garments. In this attack they exerted so much violence, that in a very
few minutes they were both naked to the middle.
It is lucky for the women that the seat of fistycuff war is not the
same with them as among men; but though they may seem a little to
deviate from their sex, when they go forth to battle, yet I have
observed, they never so far forget, as to assail the bosoms of each
other; where a few blows would be fatal to most of them. This, I know,
some derive from their being of a more bloody inclination than the
males. On which account they apply to the nose, as to the part whence
blood may most easily be drawn; but this seems a far-fetched as well
as ill-natured supposition.
Goody Brown had great advantage of Molly in this particular; for the
former had indeed no breasts, her bosom (if it may be so called), as
well in colour as in many other properties, exactly resembling an
antient piece of parchment, upon which any one might have drummed a
considerable while without doing her any great damage.
Molly, beside her present unhappy condition, was differently formed in
those parts, and might, perhaps, have tempted the envy of Brown to
give her a fatal blow, had not the lucky arrival of Tom Jones at this
instant put an immediate end to the bloody scene.
This accident was luckily owing to Mr Square; for he, Master Blifil,
and Jones, had mounted their horses, after church, to take the air,
and had ridden about a quarter of a mile, when Square, changing his
mind (not idly, but for a reason which we shall unfold as soon as we
have leisure), desired the young gentlemen to ride with him another
way than they had at first purposed. This motion being complied with,
brought them of necessity back again to the churchyard.
Master Blifil, who rode first, seeing such a mob assembled, and two
women in the posture in which we left the combatants, stopt his horse
to enquire what was the matter. A country fellow, scratching his head,
answered him: “I don't know, measter, un't I; an't please your honour,
here hath been a vight, I think, between Goody Brown and Moll
Seagrim.”
“Who, who?” cries Tom; but without waiting for an answer, having
discovered the features of his Molly through all the discomposure in
which they now were, he hastily alighted, turned his horse loose, and,
leaping over the wall, ran to her. She now first bursting into tears,
told him how barbarously she had been treated. Upon which, forgetting
the sex of Goody Brown, or perhaps not knowing it in his rage--for, in
reality, she had no feminine appearance but a petticoat, which he
might not observe--he gave her a lash or two with his horsewhip; and
then flying at the mob, who were all accused by Moll, he dealt his
blows so profusely on all sides, that unless I would again invoke the
muse (which the good-natured reader may think a little too hard upon
her, as she hath so lately been violently sweated), it would be
impossible for me to recount the horse-whipping of that day.
Having scoured the whole coast of the enemy, as well as any of Homer's
heroes ever did, or as Don Quixote or any knight-errant in the world
could have done, he returned to Molly, whom he found in a condition
which must give both me and my reader pain, was it to be described
here. Tom raved like a madman, beat his breast, tore his hair, stamped
on the ground, and vowed the utmost vengeance on all who had been
concerned. He then pulled off his coat, and buttoned it round her, put
his hat upon her head, wiped the blood from her face as well as he
could with his handkerchief, and called out to the servant to ride as
fast as possible for a side-saddle, or a pillion, that he might carry
her safe home.
Master Blifil objected to the sending away the servant, as they had
only one with them; but as Square seconded the order of Jones, he was
obliged to comply.
The servant returned in a very short time with the pillion, and Molly,
having collected her rags as well as she could, was placed behind him.
In which manner she was carried home, Square, Blifil, and Jones
attending.
Here Jones having received his coat, given her a sly kiss, and
whispered her, that he would return in the evening, quitted his Molly,
and rode on after his companions.
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