History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding
Chapter viii.
1562 words | Chapter 255
In which the history goes backward.
Before we proceed any farther in our history, it may be proper to look
a little back, in order to account for the extraordinary appearance of
Sophia and her father at the inn at Upton.
The reader may be pleased to remember that, in the ninth chapter of
the seventh book of our history, we left Sophia, after a long debate
between love and duty, deciding the cause, as it usually, I believe,
happens, in favour of the former.
This debate had arisen, as we have there shown, from a visit which her
father had just before made her, in order to force her consent to a
marriage with Blifil; and which he had understood to be fully implied
in her acknowledgment “that she neither must nor could refuse any
absolute command of his.”
Now from this visit the squire retired to his evening potation,
overjoyed at the success he had gained with his daughter; and, as he
was of a social disposition, and willing to have partakers in his
happiness, the beer was ordered to flow very liberally into the
kitchen; so that before eleven in the evening there was not a single
person sober in the house except only Mrs Western herself and the
charming Sophia.
Early in the morning a messenger was despatched to summon Mr Blifil;
for, though the squire imagined that young gentleman had been much
less acquainted than he really was with the former aversion of his
daughter, as he had not, however, yet received her consent, he longed
impatiently to communicate it to him, not doubting but that the
intended bride herself would confirm it with her lips. As to the
wedding, it had the evening before been fixed, by the male parties, to
be celebrated on the next morning save one.
Breakfast was now set forth in the parlour, where Mr Blifil attended,
and where the squire and his sister likewise were assembled; and now
Sophia was ordered to be called.
O, Shakespear! had I thy pen! O, Hogarth! had I thy pencil! then would
I draw the picture of the poor serving-man, who, with pale
countenance, staring eyes, chattering teeth, faultering tongue, and
trembling limbs,
(E'en such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone,
Drew Priam's curtains in the dead of night,
And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd)
entered the room, and declared--That Madam Sophia was not to be found.
“Not to be found!” cries the squire, starting from his chair; “Zounds
and d--nation! Blood and fury! Where, when, how, what--Not to be
found! Where?”
“La! brother,” said Mrs Western, with true political coldness, “you
are always throwing yourself into such violent passions for nothing.
My niece, I suppose, is only walked out into the garden. I protest you
are grown so unreasonable, that it is impossible to live in the house
with you.”
“Nay, nay,” answered the squire, returning as suddenly to himself, as
he had gone from himself; “if that be all the matter, it signifies not
much; but, upon my soul, my mind misgave me when the fellow said she
was not to be found.” He then gave orders for the bell to be rung in
the garden, and sat himself contentedly down.
No two things could be more the reverse of each other than were the
brother and sister in most instances; particularly in this, That as
the brother never foresaw anything at a distance, but was most
sagacious in immediately seeing everything the moment it had happened;
so the sister eternally foresaw at a distance, but was not so
quick-sighted to objects before her eyes. Of both these the reader may
have observed examples: and, indeed, both their several talents were
excessive; for, as the sister often foresaw what never came to pass,
so the brother often saw much more than was actually the truth.
This was not however the case at present. The same report was brought
from the garden as before had been brought from the chamber, that
Madam Sophia was not to be found.
The squire himself now sallied forth, and began to roar forth the name
of Sophia as loudly, and in as hoarse a voice, as whilome did Hercules
that of Hylas; and, as the poet tells us that the whole shore echoed
back the name of that beautiful youth, so did the house, the garden,
and all the neighbouring fields resound nothing but the name of
Sophia, in the hoarse voices of the men, and in the shrill pipes of
the women; while echo seemed so pleased to repeat the beloved sound,
that, if there is really such a person, I believe Ovid hath belied her
sex.
Nothing reigned for a long time but confusion; till at last the
squire, having sufficiently spent his breath, returned to the parlour,
where he found Mrs Western and Mr Blifil, and threw himself, with the
utmost dejection in his countenance, into a great chair.
Here Mrs Western began to apply the following consolation:
“Brother, I am sorry for what hath happened; and that my niece should
have behaved herself in a manner so unbecoming her family; but it is
all your own doings, and you have nobody to thank but yourself. You
know she hath been educated always in a manner directly contrary to my
advice, and now you see the consequence. Have I not a thousand times
argued with you about giving my niece her own will? But you know I
never could prevail upon you; and when I had taken so much pains to
eradicate her headstrong opinions, and to rectify your errors in
policy, you know she was taken out of my hands; so that I have nothing
to answer for. Had I been trusted entirely with the care of her
education, no such accident as this had ever befallen you; so that you
must comfort yourself by thinking it was all your own doing; and,
indeed, what else could be expected from such indulgence?”
“Zounds! sister,” answered he, “you are enough to make one mad. Have I
indulged her? Have I given her her will?----It was no longer ago than
last night that I threatened, if she disobeyed me, to confine her to
her chamber upon bread and water as long as she lived.----You would
provoke the patience of Job.”
“Did ever mortal hear the like?” replied she. “Brother, if I had not
the patience of fifty Jobs, you would make me forget all decency and
decorum. Why would you interfere? Did I not beg you, did I not intreat
you, to leave the whole conduct to me? You have defeated all the
operations of the campaign by one false step. Would any man in his
senses have provoked a daughter by such threats as these? How often
have I told you that English women are not to be treated like
Ciracessian[*] slaves. We have the protection of the world; we are to
be won by gentle means only, and not to be hectored, and bullied, and
beat into compliance. I thank Heaven no Salique law governs here.
Brother, you have a roughness in your manner which no woman but myself
would bear. I do not wonder my niece was frightened and terrified into
taking this measure; and, to speak honestly, I think my niece will be
justified to the world for what she hath done. I repeat it to you
again, brother, you must comfort yourself by rememb'ring that it is
all your own fault. How often have I advised--” Here Western rose
hastily from his chair, and, venting two or three horrid imprecations,
ran out of the room.
[*] Possibly Circassian.
When he was departed, his sister expressed more bitterness (if
possible) against him than she had done while he was present; for the
truth of which she appealed to Mr Blifil, who, with great complacence,
acquiesced entirely in all she said; but excused all the faults of Mr
Western, “as they must be considered,” he said, “to have proceeded
from the too inordinate fondness of a father, which must be allowed
the name of an amiable weakness.” “So much the more inexcuseable,”
answered the lady; “for whom doth he ruin by his fondness but his own
child?” To which Blifil immediately agreed.
Mrs Western then began to express great confusion on the account of Mr
Blifil, and of the usage which he had received from a family to which
he intended so much honour. On this subject she treated the folly of
her niece with great severity; but concluded with throwing the whole
on her brother, who, she said, was inexcuseable to have proceeded so
far without better assurances of his daughter's consent: “But he was
(says she) always of a violent, headstrong temper; and I can scarce
forgive myself for all the advice I have thrown away upon him.”
After much of this kind of conversation, which, perhaps, would not
greatly entertain the reader, was it here particularly related, Mr
Blifil took his leave and returned home, not highly pleased with his
disappointment: which, however, the philosophy which he had acquired
from Square, and the religion infused into him by Thwackum, together
with somewhat else, taught him to bear rather better than more
passionate lovers bear these kinds of evils.
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