History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding
Chapter iii.
2069 words | Chapter 209
Containing several dialogues.
The morning in which Mr Jones departed, Mrs Western summoned Sophia
into her apartment; and having first acquainted her that she had
obtained her liberty of her father, she proceeded to read her a long
lecture on the subject of matrimony; which she treated not as a
romantic scheme of happiness arising from love, as it hath been
described by the poets; nor did she mention any of those purposes for
which we are taught by divines to regard it as instituted by sacred
authority; she considered it rather as a fund in which prudent women
deposit their fortunes to the best advantage, in order to receive a
larger interest for them than they could have elsewhere.
When Mrs Western had finished, Sophia answered, “That she was very
incapable of arguing with a lady of her aunt's superior knowledge and
experience, especially on a subject which she had so very little
considered, as this of matrimony.”
“Argue with me, child!” replied the other; “I do not indeed expect it.
I should have seen the world to very little purpose truly, if I am to
argue with one of your years. I have taken this trouble, in order to
instruct you. The antient philosophers, such as Socrates, Alcibiades,
and others, did not use to argue with their scholars. You are to
consider me, child, as Socrates, not asking your opinion, but only
informing you of mine.” From which last words the reader may possibly
imagine, that this lady had read no more of the philosophy of
Socrates, than she had of that of Alcibiades; and indeed we cannot
resolve his curiosity as to this point.
“Madam,” cries Sophia, “I have never presumed to controvert any
opinion of yours; and this subject, as I said, I have never yet
thought of, and perhaps never may.”
“Indeed, Sophy,” replied the aunt, “this dissimulation with me is very
foolish. The French shall as soon persuade me that they take foreign
towns in defence only of their own country, as you can impose on me to
believe you have never yet thought seriously of matrimony. How can
you, child, affect to deny that you have considered of contracting an
alliance, when you so well know I am acquainted with the party with
whom you desire to contract it?--an alliance as unnatural, and
contrary to your interest, as a separate league with the French would
be to the interest of the Dutch! But however, if you have not hitherto
considered of this matter, I promise you it is now high time, for my
brother is resolved immediately to conclude the treaty with Mr Blifil;
and indeed I am a sort of guarantee in the affair, and have promised
your concurrence.”
“Indeed, madam,” cries Sophia, “this is the only instance in which I
must disobey both yourself and my father. For this is a match which
requires very little consideration in me to refuse.”
“If I was not as great a philosopher as Socrates himself,” returned
Mrs Western, “you would overcome my patience. What objection can you
have to the young gentleman?”
“A very solid objection, in my opinion,” says Sophia--“I hate him.”
“Will you never learn a proper use of words?” answered the aunt.
“Indeed, child, you should consult Bailey's Dictionary. It is
impossible you should hate a man from whom you have received no
injury. By hatred, therefore, you mean no more than dislike, which is
no sufficient objection against your marrying of him. I have known
many couples, who have entirely disliked each other, lead very
comfortable genteel lives. Believe me, child, I know these things
better than you. You will allow me, I think, to have seen the world,
in which I have not an acquaintance who would not rather be thought to
dislike her husband than to like him. The contrary is such
out-of-fashion romantic nonsense, that the very imagination of it is
shocking.”
“Indeed, madam,” replied Sophia, “I shall never marry a man I dislike.
If I promise my father never to consent to any marriage contrary to
his inclinations, I think I may hope he will never force me into that
state contrary to my own.”
“Inclinations!” cries the aunt, with some warmth. “Inclinations! I am
astonished at your assurance. A young woman of your age, and
unmarried, to talk of inclinations! But whatever your inclinations may
be, my brother is resolved; nay, since you talk of inclinations, I
shall advise him to hasten the treaty. Inclinations!”
Sophia then flung herself upon her knees, and tears began to trickle
from her shining eyes. She entreated her aunt, “to have mercy upon
her, and not to resent so cruelly her unwillingness to make herself
miserable;” often urging, “that she alone was concerned, and that her
happiness only was at stake.”
As a bailiff, when well authorized by his writ, having possessed
himself of the person of some unhappy debtor, views all his tears
without concern; in vain the wretched captive attempts to raise
compassion; in vain the tender wife bereft of her companion, the
little prattling boy, or frighted girl, are mentioned as inducements
to reluctance. The noble bumtrap, blind and deaf to every circumstance
of distress, greatly rises above all the motives to humanity, and into
the hands of the gaoler resolves to deliver his miserable prey.
Not less blind to the tears, or less deaf to every entreaty of Sophia
was the politic aunt, nor less determined was she to deliver over the
trembling maid into the arms of the gaoler Blifil. She answered with
great impetuosity, “So far, madam, from your being concerned alone,
your concern is the least, or surely the least important. It is the
honour of your family which is concerned in this alliance; you are
only the instrument. Do you conceive, mistress, that in an
intermarriage between kingdoms, as when a daughter of France is
married into Spain, the princess herself is alone considered in the
match? No! it is a match between two kingdoms, rather than between two
persons. The same happens in great families such as ours. The alliance
between the families is the principal matter. You ought to have a
greater regard for the honour of your family than for your own person;
and if the example of a princess cannot inspire you with these noble
thoughts, you cannot surely complain at being used no worse than all
princesses are used.”
“I hope, madam,” cries Sophia, with a little elevation of voice, “I
shall never do anything to dishonour my family; but as for Mr Blifil,
whatever may be the consequence, I am resolved against him, and no
force shall prevail in his favour.”
Western, who had been within hearing during the greater part of the
preceding dialogue, had now exhausted all his patience; he therefore
entered the room in a violent passion, crying, “D--n me then if
shatunt ha'un, d--n me if shatunt, that's all--that's all; d--n me if
shatunt.”
Mrs Western had collected a sufficient quantity of wrath for the use
of Sophia; but she now transferred it all to the squire. “Brother,”
said she, “it is astonishing that you will interfere in a matter
which you had totally left to my negotiation. Regard to my family
hath made me take upon myself to be the mediating power, in order to
rectify those mistakes in policy which you have committed in your
daughter's education. For, brother, it is you--it is your
preposterous conduct which hath eradicated all the seeds that I had
formerly sown in her tender mind. It is you yourself who have taught
her disobedience.”--“Blood!” cries the squire, foaming at the mouth,
“you are enough to conquer the patience of the devil! Have I ever
taught my daughter disobedience?--Here she stands; speak honestly,
girl, did ever I bid you be disobedient to me? Have not I done
everything to humour and to gratify you, and to make you obedient to
me? And very obedient to me she was when a little child, before you
took her in hand and spoiled her, by filling her head with a pack of
court notions. Why--why--why--did I not overhear you telling her she
must behave like a princess? You have made a Whig of the girl; and how
should her father, or anybody else, expect any obedience from
her?”--“Brother,” answered Mrs Western, with an air of great disdain,
“I cannot express the contempt I have for your politics of all kinds;
but I will appeal likewise to the young lady herself, whether I have
ever taught her any principles of disobedience. On the contrary,
niece, have I not endeavoured to inspire you with a true idea of the
several relations in which a human creature stands in society? Have I
not taken infinite pains to show you, that the law of nature hath
enjoined a duty on children to their parents? Have I not told you what
Plato says on that subject?--a subject on which you was so notoriously
ignorant when you came first under my care, that I verily believe you
did not know the relation between a daughter and a father.”--“'Tis a
lie,” answered Western. “The girl is no such fool, as to live to
eleven years old without knowing that she was her father's
relation.”--“O! more than Gothic ignorance,” answered the lady. “And
as for your manners, brother, I must tell you, they deserve a
cane.”--“Why then you may gi' it me, if you think you are able,” cries
the squire; “nay, I suppose your niece there will be ready enough to
help you.”--“Brother,” said Mrs Western, “though I despise you beyond
expression, yet I shall endure your insolence no longer; so I desire
my coach may be got ready immediately, for I am resolved to leave your
house this very morning.”--“And a good riddance too,” answered he; “I
can bear your insolence no longer, an you come to that. Blood! it is
almost enough of itself to make my daughter undervalue my sense, when
she hears you telling me every minute you despise me.”--“It is
impossible, it is impossible,” cries the aunt; “no one can undervalue
such a boor.”--“Boar,” answered the squire, “I am no boar; no, nor
ass; no, nor rat neither, madam. Remember that--I am no rat. I am a
true Englishman, and not of your Hanover breed, that have eat up the
nation.”--“Thou art one of those wise men,” cries she, “whose
nonsensical principles have undone the nation; by weakening the hands
of our government at home, and by discouraging our friends and
encouraging our enemies abroad.”--“Ho! are you come back to your
politics?” cries the squire: “as for those I despise them as much as I
do a f--t.” Which last words he accompanied and graced with the very
action, which, of all others, was the most proper to it. And whether
it was this word or the contempt exprest for her politics, which most
affected Mrs Western, I will not determine; but she flew into the most
violent rage, uttered phrases improper to be here related, and
instantly burst out of the house. Nor did her brother or her niece
think proper either to stop or to follow her; for the one was so much
possessed by concern, and the other by anger, that they were rendered
almost motionless.
The squire, however, sent after his sister the same holloa which
attends the departure of a hare, when she is first started before the
hounds. He was indeed a great master of this kind of vociferation, and
had a holla proper for most occasions in life.
Women who, like Mrs Western, know the world, and have applied
themselves to philosophy and politics, would have immediately availed
themselves of the present disposition of Mr Western's mind, by
throwing in a few artful compliments to his understanding at the
expense of his absent adversary; but poor Sophia was all simplicity.
By which word we do not intend to insinuate to the reader, that she
was silly, which is generally understood as a synonymous term with
simple; for she was indeed a most sensible girl, and her understanding
was of the first rate; but she wanted all that useful art which
females convert to so many good purposes in life, and which, as it
rather arises from the heart than from the head, is often the property
of the silliest of women.
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