History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding
Chapter xiv.
2313 words | Chapter 177
The arrival of a surgeon.--His operations, and a long dialogue between
Sophia and her maid.
When they arrived at Mr Western's hall, Sophia, who had tottered along
with much difficulty, sunk down in her chair; but by the assistance of
hartshorn and water, she was prevented from fainting away, and had
pretty well recovered her spirits, when the surgeon who was sent for
to Jones appeared. Mr Western, who imputed these symptoms in his
daughter to her fall, advised her to be presently blooded by way of
prevention. In this opinion he was seconded by the surgeon, who gave
so many reasons for bleeding, and quoted so many cases where persons
had miscarried for want of it, that the squire became very
importunate, and indeed insisted peremptorily that his daughter should
be blooded.
Sophia soon yielded to the commands of her father, though entirely
contrary to her own inclinations, for she suspected, I believe, less
danger from the fright, than either the squire or the surgeon. She
then stretched out her beautiful arm, and the operator began to
prepare for his work.
While the servants were busied in providing materials, the surgeon,
who imputed the backwardness which had appeared in Sophia to her
fears, began to comfort her with assurances that there was not the
least danger; for no accident, he said, could ever happen in bleeding,
but from the monstrous ignorance of pretenders to surgery, which he
pretty plainly insinuated was not at present to be apprehended. Sophia
declared she was not under the least apprehension; adding, “If you
open an artery, I promise you I'll forgive you.” “Will you?” cries
Western: “D--n me, if I will. If he does thee the least mischief, d--n
me if I don't ha' the heart's blood o'un out.” The surgeon assented to
bleed her upon these conditions, and then proceeded to his operation,
which he performed with as much dexterity as he had promised; and with
as much quickness: for he took but little blood from her, saying, it
was much safer to bleed again and again, than to take away too much at
once.
Sophia, when her arm was bound up, retired: for she was not willing
(nor was it, perhaps, strictly decent) to be present at the operation
on Jones. Indeed, one objection which she had to bleeding (though she
did not make it) was the delay which it would occasion to setting the
broken bone. For Western, when Sophia was concerned, had no
consideration but for her; and as for Jones himself, he “sat like
patience on a monument smiling at grief.” To say the truth, when he
saw the blood springing from the lovely arm of Sophia, he scarce
thought of what had happened to himself.
The surgeon now ordered his patient to be stript to his shirt, and
then entirely baring the arm, he began to stretch and examine it, in
such a manner that the tortures he put him to caused Jones to make
several wry faces; which the surgeon observing, greatly wondered at,
crying, “What is the matter, sir? I am sure it is impossible I should
hurt you.” And then holding forth the broken arm, he began a long and
very learned lecture of anatomy, in which simple and double fractures
were most accurately considered; and the several ways in which Jones
might have broken his arm were discussed, with proper annotations
showing how many of these would have been better, and how many worse
than the present case.
Having at length finished his laboured harangue, with which the
audience, though it had greatly raised their attention and admiration,
were not much edified, as they really understood not a single syllable
of all he had said, he proceeded to business, which he was more
expeditious in finishing, than he had been in beginning.
Jones was then ordered into a bed, which Mr Western compelled him to
accept at his own house, and sentence of water-gruel was passed upon
him.
Among the good company which had attended in the hall during the
bone-setting, Mrs Honour was one; who being summoned to her mistress
as soon as it was over, and asked by her how the young gentleman did,
presently launched into extravagant praises on the magnanimity, as she
called it, of his behaviour, which, she said, “was so charming in so
pretty a creature.” She then burst forth into much warmer encomiums on
the beauty of his person; enumerating many particulars, and ending
with the whiteness of his skin.
This discourse had an effect on Sophia's countenance, which would not
perhaps have escaped the observance of the sagacious waiting-woman,
had she once looked her mistress in the face, all the time she was
speaking: but as a looking-glass, which was most commodiously placed
opposite to her, gave her an opportunity of surveying those features,
in which, of all others, she took most delight; so she had not once
removed her eyes from that amiable object during her whole speech.
Mrs Honour was so intirely wrapped up in the subject on which she
exercised her tongue, and the object before her eyes, that she gave
her mistress time to conquer her confusion; which having done, she
smiled on her maid, and told her, “she was certainly in love with this
young fellow.”--“I in love, madam!” answers she: “upon my word, ma'am,
I assure you, ma'am, upon my soul, ma'am, I am not.”--“Why, if you
was,” cries her mistress, “I see no reason that you should be ashamed
of it; for he is certainly a pretty fellow.”--“Yes, ma'am,” answered
the other, “that he is, the most handsomest man I ever saw in my life.
Yes, to be sure, that he is, and, as your ladyship says, I don't know
why I should be ashamed of loving him, though he is my betters. To be
sure, gentlefolks are but flesh and blood no more than us servants.
Besides, as for Mr Jones, thof Squire Allworthy hath made a gentleman
of him, he was not so good as myself by birth: for thof I am a poor
body, I am an honest person's child, and my father and mother were
married, which is more than some people can say, as high as they hold
their heads. Marry, come up! I assure you, my dirty cousin! thof his
skin be so white, and to be sure it is the most whitest that ever was
seen, I am a Christian as well as he, and nobody can say that I am
base born: my grandfather was a clergyman,[*] and would have been very
angry, I believe, to have thought any of his family should have taken
up with Molly Seagrim's dirty leavings.”
[*] This is the second person of low condition whom we have recorded
in this history to have sprung from the clergy. It is to be hoped
such instances will, in future ages, when some provision is made for
the families of the inferior clergy, appear stranger than they can
be thought at present.
Perhaps Sophia might have suffered her maid to run on in this manner,
from wanting sufficient spirits to stop her tongue, which the reader
may probably conjecture was no very easy task; for certainly there
were some passages in her speech which were far from being agreeable
to the lady. However, she now checked the torrent, as there seemed no
end of its flowing. “I wonder,” says she, “at your assurance in daring
to talk thus of one of my father's friends. As to the wench, I order
you never to mention her name to me. And with regard to the young
gentleman's birth, those who can say nothing more to his disadvantage,
may as well be silent on that head, as I desire you will be for the
future.”
“I am sorry I have offended your ladyship,” answered Mrs Honour. “I am
sure I hate Molly Seagrim as much as your ladyship can; and as for
abusing Squire Jones, I can call all the servants in the house to
witness, that whenever any talk hath been about bastards, I have
always taken his part; for which of you, says I to the footmen, would
not be a bastard, if he could, to be made a gentleman of? And, says I,
I am sure he is a very fine gentleman; and he hath one of the whitest
hands in the world; for to be sure so he hath: and, says I, one of the
sweetest temperedest, best naturedest men in the world he is; and,
says I, all the servants and neighbours all round the country loves
him. And, to be sure, I could tell your ladyship something, but that I
am afraid it would offend you.”--“What could you tell me, Honour?”
says Sophia. “Nay, ma'am, to be sure he meant nothing by it, therefore
I would not have your ladyship be offended.”--“Prithee tell me,” says
Sophia; “I will know it this instant.”--“Why, ma'am,” answered Mrs
Honour, “he came into the room one day last week when I was at work,
and there lay your ladyship's muff on a chair, and to be sure he put
his hands into it; that very muff your ladyship gave me but yesterday.
La! says I, Mr Jones, you will stretch my lady's muff, and spoil it:
but he still kept his hands in it: and then he kissed it--to be sure I
hardly ever saw such a kiss in my life as he gave it.”--“I suppose he
did not know it was mine,” replied Sophia. “Your ladyship shall hear,
ma'am. He kissed it again and again, and said it was the prettiest
muff in the world. La! sir, says I, you have seen it a hundred times.
Yes, Mrs Honour, cried he; but who can see anything beautiful in the
presence of your lady but herself?--Nay, that's not all neither; but I
hope your ladyship won't be offended, for to be sure he meant nothing.
One day, as your ladyship was playing on the harpsichord to my master,
Mr Jones was sitting in the next room, and methought he looked
melancholy. La! says I, Mr Jones, what's the matter? a penny for your
thoughts, says I. Why, hussy, says he, starting up from a dream, what
can I be thinking of, when that angel your mistress is playing? And
then squeezing me by the hand, Oh! Mrs Honour, says he, how happy will
that man be!--and then he sighed. Upon my troth, his breath is as
sweet as a nosegay.--But to be sure he meant no harm by it. So I hope
your ladyship will not mention a word; for he gave me a crown never to
mention it, and made me swear upon a book, but I believe, indeed, it
was not the Bible.”
Till something of a more beautiful red than vermilion be found out, I
shall say nothing of Sophia's colour on this occasion. “Ho--nour,”
says she, “I--if you will not mention this any more to me--nor to
anybody else, I will not betray you--I mean, I will not be angry; but
I am afraid of your tongue. Why, my girl, will you give it such
liberties?”--“Nay, ma'am,” answered she, “to be sure, I would sooner
cut out my tongue than offend your ladyship. To be sure I shall never
mention a word that your ladyship would not have me.”--“Why, I would
not have you mention this any more,” said Sophia, “for it may come to
my father's ears, and he would be angry with Mr Jones; though I really
believe, as you say, he meant nothing. I should be very angry myself,
if I imagined--“--“Nay, ma'am,” says Honour, “I protest I believe he
meant nothing. I thought he talked as if he was out of his senses;
nay, he said he believed he was beside himself when he had spoken the
words. Ay, sir, says I, I believe so too. Yes, says he, Honour.--But I
ask your ladyship's pardon; I could tear my tongue out for offending
you.” “Go on,” says Sophia; “you may mention anything you have not
told me before.”--“Yes, Honour, says he (this was some time
afterwards, when he gave me the crown), I am neither such a coxcomb,
or such a villain, as to think of her in any other delight but as my
goddess; as such I will always worship and adore her while I have
breath.--This was all, ma'am, I will be sworn, to the best of my
remembrance. I was in a passion with him myself, till I found he meant
no harm.”--“Indeed, Honour,” says Sophia, “I believe you have a real
affection for me. I was provoked the other day when I gave you
warning; but if you have a desire to stay with me, you shall.”--“To be
sure, ma'am,” answered Mrs Honour, “I shall never desire to part with
your ladyship. To be sure, I almost cried my eyes out when you gave me
warning. It would be very ungrateful in me to desire to leave your
ladyship; because as why, I should never get so good a place again. I
am sure I would live and die with your ladyship; for, as poor Mr Jones
said, happy is the man----”
Here the dinner bell interrupted a conversation which had wrought such
an effect on Sophia, that she was, perhaps, more obliged to her
bleeding in the morning, than she, at the time, had apprehended she
should be. As to the present situation of her mind, I shall adhere to
a rule of Horace, by not attempting to describe it, from despair of
success. Most of my readers will suggest it easily to themselves; and
the few who cannot, would not understand the picture, or at least
would deny it to be natural, if ever so well drawn.
Reading Tips
Use arrow keys to navigate
Press 'N' for next chapter
Press 'P' for previous chapter