History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding
Chapter ix.
1329 words | Chapter 306
Containing strange matters.
At his return to his lodgings, Jones found the situation of affairs
greatly altered from what they had been in at his departure. The
mother, the two daughters, and young Mr Nightingale, were now sat down
to supper together, when the uncle was, at his own desire, introduced
without any ceremony into the company, to all of whom he was well
known; for he had several times visited his nephew at that house.
The old gentleman immediately walked up to Miss Nancy, saluted and
wished her joy, as he did afterwards the mother and the other sister;
and lastly, he paid the proper compliments to his nephew, with the
same good humour and courtesy, as if his nephew had married his equal
or superior in fortune, with all the previous requisites first
performed.
Miss Nancy and her supposed husband both turned pale, and looked
rather foolish than otherwise upon the occasion; but Mrs Miller took
the first opportunity of withdrawing; and, having sent for Jones into
the dining-room, she threw herself at his feet, and in a most
passionate flood of tears, called him her good angel, the preserver of
her poor little family, with many other respectful and endearing
appellations, and made him every acknowledgment which the highest
benefit can extract from the most grateful heart.
After the first gust of her passion was a little over, which she
declared, if she had not vented, would have burst her, she proceeded
to inform Mr Jones that all matters were settled between Mr
Nightingale and her daughter, and that they were to be married the
next morning; at which Mr Jones having expressed much pleasure, the
poor woman fell again into a fit of joy and thanksgiving, which he at
length with difficulty silenced, and prevailed on her to return with
him back to the company, whom they found in the same good humour in
which they had left them.
This little society now past two or three very agreeable hours
together, in which the uncle, who was a very great lover of his
bottle, had so well plyed his nephew, that this latter, though not
drunk, began to be somewhat flustered; and now Mr Nightingale, taking
the old gentleman with him upstairs into the apartment he had lately
occupied, unbosomed himself as follows:--
“As you have been always the best and kindest of uncles to me, and as
you have shown such unparalleled goodness in forgiving this match,
which to be sure may be thought a little improvident, I should never
forgive myself if I attempted to deceive you in anything.” He then
confessed the truth, and opened the whole affair.
“How, Jack?” said the old gentleman, “and are you really then not
married to this young woman?” “No, upon my honour,” answered
Nightingale, “I have told you the simple truth.” “My dear boy,” cries
the uncle, kissing him, “I am heartily glad to hear it. I never was
better pleased in my life. If you had been married I should have
assisted you as much as was in my power to have made the best of a bad
matter; but there is a great difference between considering a thing
which is already done and irrecoverable, and that which is yet to do.
Let your reason have fair play, Jack, and you will see this match in
so foolish and preposterous a light, that there will be no need of any
dissuasive arguments.” “How, sir?” replies young Nightingale, “is
there this difference between having already done an act, and being in
honour engaged to do it?” “Pugh!” said the uncle, “honour is a
creature of the world's making, and the world hath the power of a
creator over it, and may govern and direct it as they please. Now you
well know how trivial these breaches of contract are thought; even the
grossest make but the wonder and conversation of a day. Is there a man
who afterwards will be more backward in giving you his sister, or
daughter? or is there any sister or daughter who would be more
backward to receive you? Honour is not concerned in these
engagements.” “Pardon me, dear sir,” cries Nightingale, “I can never
think so; and not only honour, but conscience and humanity, are
concerned. I am well satisfied, that, was I now to disappoint the
young creature, her death would be the consequence, and I should look
upon myself as her murderer; nay, as her murderer by the cruellest of
all methods, by breaking her heart.” “Break her heart, indeed! no, no,
Jack,” cries the uncle, “the hearts of women are not so soon broke;
they are tough, boy, they are tough.” “But, sir,” answered
Nightingale, “my own affections are engaged, and I never could be
happy with any other woman. How often have I heard you say, that
children should be always suffered to chuse for themselves, and that
you would let my cousin Harriet do so?” “Why, ay,” replied the old
gentleman, “so I would have them; but then I would have them chuse
wisely.--Indeed, Jack, you must and shall leave the girl.”----“Indeed,
uncle,” cries the other, “I must and will have her.” “You will, young
gentleman;” said the uncle; “I did not expect such a word from you. I
should not wonder if you had used such language to your father, who
hath always treated you like a dog, and kept you at the distance which
a tyrant preserves over his subjects; but I, who have lived with you
upon an equal footing, might surely expect better usage: but I know
how to account for it all: it is all owing to your preposterous
education, in which I have had too little share. There is my daughter,
now, whom I have brought up as my friend, never doth anything without
my advice, nor ever refuses to take it when I give it her.” “You have
never yet given her advice in an affair of this kind,” said
Nightingale; “for I am greatly mistaken in my cousin, if she would be
very ready to obey even your most positive commands in abandoning her
inclinations.” “Don't abuse my girl,” answered the old gentleman with
some emotion; “don't abuse my Harriet. I have brought her up to have
no inclinations contrary to my own. By suffering her to do whatever
she pleases, I have enured her to a habit of being pleased to do
whatever I like.” “Pardon, me, sir,” said Nightingale, “I have not the
least design to reflect on my cousin, for whom I have the greatest
esteem; and indeed I am convinced you will never put her to so severe
a tryal, or lay such hard commands on her as you would do on me.--But,
dear sir, let us return to the company; for they will begin to be
uneasy at our long absence. I must beg one favour of my dear uncle,
which is that he would not say anything to shock the poor girl or her
mother.” “Oh! you need not fear me,” answered he, “I understand myself
too well to affront women; so I will readily grant you that favour;
and in return I must expect another of you.” “There are but few of
your commands, sir,” said Nightingale, “which I shall not very
chearfully obey.” “Nay, sir, I ask nothing,” said the uncle, “but the
honour of your company home to my lodging, that I may reason the case
a little more fully with you; for I would, if possible, have the
satisfaction of preserving my family, notwithstanding the headstrong
folly of my brother, who, in his own opinion, is the wisest man in the
world.”
Nightingale, who well knew his uncle to be as headstrong as his
father, submitted to attend him home, and then they both returned back
into the room, where the old gentleman promised to carry himself with
the same decorum which he had before maintained.
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