History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding
Chapter iii.
1617 words | Chapter 194
Containing two defiances to the critics.
The squire having settled matters with his sister, as we have seen in
the last chapter, was so greatly impatient to communicate the proposal
to Allworthy, that Mrs Western had the utmost difficulty to prevent
him from visiting that gentleman in his sickness, for this purpose.
Mr Allworthy had been engaged to dine with Mr Western at the time when
he was taken ill. He was therefore no sooner discharged out of the
custody of physic, but he thought (as was usual with him on all
occasions, both the highest and the lowest) of fulfilling his
engagement.
In the interval between the time of the dialogue in the last chapter,
and this day of public entertainment, Sophia had, from certain obscure
hints thrown out by her aunt, collected some apprehension that the
sagacious lady suspected her passion for Jones. She now resolved to
take this opportunity of wiping out all such suspicion, and for that
purpose to put an entire constraint on her behaviour.
First, she endeavoured to conceal a throbbing melancholy heart with
the utmost sprightliness in her countenance, and the highest gaiety in
her manner. Secondly, she addressed her whole discourse to Mr Blifil,
and took not the least notice of poor Jones the whole day.
The squire was so delighted with this conduct of his daughter, that he
scarce eat any dinner, and spent almost his whole time in watching
opportunities of conveying signs of his approbation by winks and nods
to his sister; who was not at first altogether so pleased with what
she saw as was her brother.
In short, Sophia so greatly overacted her part, that her aunt was at
first staggered, and began to suspect some affectation in her niece;
but as she was herself a woman of great art, so she soon attributed
this to extreme art in Sophia. She remembered the many hints she had
given her niece concerning her being in love, and imagined the young
lady had taken this way to rally her out of her opinion, by an
overacted civility: a notion that was greatly corroborated by the
excessive gaiety with which the whole was accompanied. We cannot here
avoid remarking, that this conjecture would have been better founded
had Sophia lived ten years in the air of Grosvenor Square, where young
ladies do learn a wonderful knack of rallying and playing with that
passion, which is a mighty serious thing in woods and groves an
hundred miles distant from London.
To say the truth, in discovering the deceit of others, it matters much
that our own art be wound up, if I may use the expression, in the same
key with theirs: for very artful men sometimes miscarry by fancying
others wiser, or, in other words, greater knaves, than they really
are. As this observation is pretty deep, I will illustrate it by the
following short story. Three countrymen were pursuing a Wiltshire
thief through Brentford. The simplest of them seeing “The Wiltshire
House,” written under a sign, advised his companions to enter it, for
there most probably they would find their countryman. The second, who
was wiser, laughed at this simplicity; but the third, who was wiser
still, answered, “Let us go in, however, for he may think we should
not suspect him of going amongst his own countrymen.” They accordingly
went in and searched the house, and by that means missed overtaking
the thief, who was at that time but a little way before them; and who,
as they all knew, but had never once reflected, could not read.
The reader will pardon a digression in which so invaluable a secret is
communicated, since every gamester will agree how necessary it is to
know exactly the play of another, in order to countermine him. This
will, moreover, afford a reason why the wiser man, as is often seen,
is the bubble of the weaker, and why many simple and innocent
characters are so generally misunderstood and misrepresented; but what
is most material, this will account for the deceit which Sophia put on
her politic aunt.
Dinner being ended, and the company retired into the garden, Mr
Western, who was thoroughly convinced of the certainty of what his
sister had told him, took Mr Allworthy aside, and very bluntly
proposed a match between Sophia and young Mr Blifil.
Mr Allworthy was not one of those men whose hearts flutter at any
unexpected and sudden tidings of worldly profit. His mind was, indeed,
tempered with that philosophy which becomes a man and a Christian. He
affected no absolute superiority to all pleasure and pain, to all joy
and grief; but was not at the same time to be discomposed and ruffled
by every accidental blast, by every smile or frown of fortune. He
received, therefore, Mr Western's proposal without any visible
emotion, or without any alteration of countenance. He said the
alliance was such as he sincerely wished; then launched forth into a
very just encomium on the young lady's merit; acknowledged the offer
to be advantageous in point of fortune; and after thanking Mr Western
for the good opinion he had professed of his nephew, concluded, that
if the young people liked each other, he should be very desirous to
complete the affair.
Western was a little disappointed at Mr Allworthy's answer, which was
not so warm as he expected. He treated the doubt whether the young
people might like one another with great contempt, saying, “That
parents were the best judges of proper matches for their children:
that for his part he should insist on the most resigned obedience from
his daughter: and if any young fellow could refuse such a bed-fellow,
he was his humble servant, and hoped there was no harm done.”
Allworthy endeavoured to soften this resentment by many eulogiums on
Sophia, declaring he had no doubt but that Mr Blifil would very gladly
receive the offer; but all was ineffectual; he could obtain no other
answer from the squire but--“I say no more--I humbly hope there's no
harm done--that's all.” Which words he repeated at least a hundred
times before they parted.
Allworthy was too well acquainted with his neighbour to be offended at
this behaviour; and though he was so averse to the rigour which some
parents exercise on their children in the article of marriage, that he
had resolved never to force his nephew's inclinations, he was
nevertheless much pleased with the prospect of this union; for the
whole country resounded the praises of Sophia, and he had himself
greatly admired the uncommon endowments of both her mind and person.
To which I believe we may add, the consideration of her vast fortune,
which, though he was too sober to be intoxicated with it, he was too
sensible to despise.
And here, in defiance of all the barking critics in the world, I must
and will introduce a digression concerning true wisdom, of which Mr
Allworthy was in reality as great a pattern as he was of goodness.
True wisdom then, notwithstanding all which Mr Hogarth's poor poet may
have writ against riches, and in spite of all which any rich well-fed
divine may have preached against pleasure, consists not in the
contempt of either of these. A man may have as much wisdom in the
possession of an affluent fortune, as any beggar in the streets; or
may enjoy a handsome wife or a hearty friend, and still remain as wise
as any sour popish recluse, who buries all his social faculties, and
starves his belly while he well lashes his back.
To say truth, the wisest man is the likeliest to possess all worldly
blessings in an eminent degree; for as that moderation which wisdom
prescribes is the surest way to useful wealth, so can it alone qualify
us to taste many pleasures. The wise man gratifies every appetite and
every passion, while the fool sacrifices all the rest to pall and
satiate one.
It may be objected, that very wise men have been notoriously
avaricious. I answer, Not wise in that instance. It may likewise be
said, That the wisest men have been in their youth immoderately fond
of pleasure. I answer, They were not wise then.
Wisdom, in short, whose lessons have been represented as so hard to
learn by those who never were at her school, only teaches us to extend
a simple maxim universally known and followed even in the lowest life,
a little farther than that life carries it. And this is, not to buy at
too dear a price.
Now, whoever takes this maxim abroad with him into the grand market of
the world, and constantly applies it to honours, to riches, to
pleasures, and to every other commodity which that market affords, is,
I will venture to affirm, a wise man, and must be so acknowledged in
the worldly sense of the word; for he makes the best of bargains,
since in reality he purchases everything at the price only of a little
trouble, and carries home all the good things I have mentioned, while
he keeps his health, his innocence, and his reputation, the common
prices which are paid for them by others, entire and to himself.
From this moderation, likewise, he learns two other lessons, which
complete his character. First, never to be intoxicated when he hath
made the best bargain, nor dejected when the market is empty, or when
its commodities are too dear for his purchase.
But I must remember on what subject I am writing, and not trespass too
far on the patience of a good-natured critic. Here, therefore, I put
an end to the chapter.
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