History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding
Chapter viii.
2395 words | Chapter 340
Containing various matters.
Before we return to Mr Jones, we will take one more view of Sophia.
Though that young lady had brought her aunt into great good humour by
those soothing methods which we have before related, she had not
brought her in the least to abate of her zeal for the match with Lord
Fellamar. This zeal was now inflamed by Lady Bellaston, who had told
her the preceding evening, that she was well satisfied from the
conduct of Sophia, and from her carriage to his lordship, that all
delays would be dangerous, and that the only way to succeed was to
press the match forward with such rapidity that the young lady should
have no time to reflect, and be obliged to consent while she scarce
knew what she did; in which manner, she said, one-half of the
marriages among people of condition were brought about. A fact very
probably true, and to which, I suppose, is owing the mutual tenderness
which afterwards exists among so many happy couples.
A hint of the same kind was given by the same lady to Lord Fellamar;
and both these so readily embraced the advice that the very next day
was, at his lordship's request, appointed by Mrs Western for a private
interview between the young parties. This was communicated to Sophia
by her aunt, and insisted upon in such high terms, that, after having
urged everything she possibly could invent against it without the
least effect, she at last agreed to give the highest instance of
complacence which any young lady can give, and consented to see his
lordship.
As conversations of this kind afford no great entertainment, we shall
be excused from reciting the whole that past at this interview; in
which, after his lordship had made many declarations of the most pure
and ardent passion to the silent blushing Sophia, she at last
collected all the spirits she could raise, and with a trembling low
voice said, “My lord, you must be yourself conscious whether your
former behaviour to me hath been consistent with the professions you
now make.” “Is there,” answered he, “no way by which I can atone for
madness? what I did I am afraid must have too plainly convinced you,
that the violence of love had deprived me of my senses.” “Indeed, my
lord,” said she, “it is in your power to give me a proof of an
affection which I much rather wish to encourage, and to which I should
think myself more beholden.” “Name it, madam,” said my lord, very
warmly. “My lord,” says she, looking down upon her fan, “I know you
must be sensible how uneasy this pretended passion of yours hath made
me.” “Can you be so cruel to call it pretended?” says he. “Yes, my
lord,” answered Sophia, “all professions of love to those whom we
persecute are most insulting pretences. This pursuit of yours is to me
a most cruel persecution: nay, it is taking a most ungenerous
advantage of my unhappy situation.” “Most lovely, most adorable
charmer, do not accuse me,” cries he, “of taking an ungenerous
advantage, while I have no thoughts but what are directed to your
honour and interest, and while I have no view, no hope, no ambition,
but to throw myself, honour, fortune, everything at your feet.” “My
lord,” says she, “it is that fortune and those honours which gave you
the advantage of which I complain. These are the charms which have
seduced my relations, but to me they are things indifferent. If your
lordship will merit my gratitude, there is but one way.” “Pardon me,
divine creature,” said he, “there can be none. All I can do for you is
so much your due, and will give me so much pleasure, that there is no
room for your gratitude.” “Indeed, my lord,” answered she, “you may
obtain my gratitude, my good opinion, every kind thought and wish
which it is in my power to bestow; nay, you may obtain them with ease,
for sure to a generous mind it must be easy to grant my request. Let
me beseech you, then, to cease a pursuit in which you can never have
any success. For your own sake as well as mine I entreat this favour;
for sure you are too noble to have any pleasure in tormenting an
unhappy creature. What can your lordship propose but uneasiness to
yourself, by a perseverance, which, upon my honour, upon my soul,
cannot, shall not prevail with me, whatever distresses you may drive
me to.” Here my lord fetched a deep sigh, and then said--“Is it then,
madam, that I am so unhappy to be the object of your dislike and
scorn; or will you pardon me if I suspect there is some other?” Here
he hesitated, and Sophia answered with some spirit, “My lord, I shall
not be accountable to you for the reasons of my conduct. I am obliged
to your lordship for the generous offer you have made; I own it is
beyond either my deserts or expectations; yet I hope, my lord, you
will not insist on my reasons, when I declare I cannot accept it.”
Lord Fellamar returned much to this, which we do not perfectly
understand, and perhaps it could not all be strictly reconciled either
to sense or grammar; but he concluded his ranting speech with saying,
“That if she had pre-engaged herself to any gentleman, however unhappy
it would make him, he should think himself bound in honour to desist.”
Perhaps my lord laid too much emphasis on the word gentleman; for we
cannot else well account for the indignation with which he inspired
Sophia, who, in her answer, seemed greatly to resent some affront he
had given her.
While she was speaking, with her voice more raised than usual, Mrs
Western came into the room, the fire glaring in her cheeks, and the
flames bursting from her eyes. “I am ashamed,” says she, “my lord, of
the reception which you have met with. I assure your lordship we are
all sensible of the honour done us; and I must tell you, Miss Western,
the family expect a different behaviour from you.” Here my lord
interfered on behalf of the young lady, but to no purpose; the aunt
proceeded till Sophia pulled out her handkerchief, threw herself into
a chair, and burst into a violent fit of tears.
The remainder of the conversation between Mrs Western and his
lordship, till the latter withdrew, consisted of bitter lamentations
on his side, and on hers of the strongest assurances that her niece
should and would consent to all he wished. “Indeed, my lord,” says
she, “the girl hath had a foolish education, neither adapted to her
fortune nor her family. Her father, I am sorry to say it, is to blame
for everything. The girl hath silly country notions of bashfulness.
Nothing else, my lord, upon my honour; I am convinced she hath a good
understanding at the bottom, and will be brought to reason.”
This last speech was made in the absence of Sophia; for she had some
time before left the room, with more appearance of passion than she
had ever shown on any occasion; and now his lordship, after many
expressions of thanks to Mrs Western, many ardent professions of
passion which nothing could conquer, and many assurances of
perseverance, which Mrs Western highly encouraged, took his leave for
this time.
Before we relate what now passed between Mrs Western and Sophia, it
may be proper to mention an unfortunate accident which had happened,
and which had occasioned the return of Mrs Western with so much fury,
as we have seen.
The reader then must know that the maid who at present attended on
Sophia was recommended by Lady Bellaston, with whom she had lived for
some time in the capacity of a comb-brush: she was a very sensible
girl, and had received the strictest instructions to watch her young
lady very carefully. These instructions, we are sorry to say, were
communicated to her by Mrs Honour, into whose favour Lady Bellaston
had now so ingratiated herself, that the violent affection which the
good waiting-woman had formerly borne to Sophia was entirely
obliterated by that great attachment which she had to her new
mistress.
Now, when Mrs Miller was departed, Betty (for that was the name of the
girl), returning to her young lady, found her very attentively engaged
in reading a long letter, and the visible emotions which she betrayed
on that occasion might have well accounted for some suspicions which
the girl entertained; but indeed they had yet a stronger foundation,
for she had overheard the whole scene which passed between Sophia and
Mrs Miller.
Mrs Western was acquainted with all this matter by Betty, who, after
receiving many commendations and some rewards for her fidelity, was
ordered, that, if the woman who brought the letter came again, she
should introduce her to Mrs Western herself.
Unluckily, Mrs Miller returned at the very time when Sophia was
engaged with his lordship. Betty, according to order, sent her
directly to the aunt; who, being mistress of so many circumstances
relating to what had past the day before, easily imposed upon the poor
woman to believe that Sophia had communicated the whole affair; and so
pumped everything out of her which she knew relating to the letter and
relating to Jones.
This poor creature might, indeed, be called simplicity itself. She was
one of that order of mortals who are apt to believe everything which
is said to them; to whom nature hath neither indulged the offensive
nor defensive weapons of deceit, and who are consequently liable to be
imposed upon by any one who will only be at the expense of a little
falshood for that purpose. Mrs Western, having drained Mrs Miller of
all she knew, which, indeed, was but little, but which was sufficient
to make the aunt suspect a great deal, dismissed her with assurances
that Sophia would not see her, that she would send no answer to the
letter, nor ever receive another; nor did she suffer her to depart
without a handsome lecture on the merits of an office to which she
could afford no better name than that of procuress.--This discovery
had greatly discomposed her temper, when, coming into the apartment
next to that in which the lovers were, she overheard Sophia very
warmly protesting against his lordship's addresses. At which the rage
already kindled burst forth, and she rushed in upon her niece in a
most furious manner, as we have already described, together with what
past at that time till his lordship's departure.
No sooner was Lord Fellamar gone than Mrs Western returned to Sophia,
whom she upbraided in the most bitter terms for the ill use she had
made of the confidence reposed in her; and for her treachery in
conversing with a man with whom she had offered but the day before to
bind herself in the most solemn oath never more to have any
conversation. Sophia protested she had maintained no such
conversation. “How, how! Miss Western,” said the aunt; “will you deny
your receiving a letter from him yesterday?” “A letter, madam!”
answered Sophia, somewhat surprized. “It is not very well bred, miss,”
replies the aunt, “to repeat my words. I say a letter, and I insist
upon your showing it me immediately.” “I scorn a lie, madam,” said
Sophia; “I did receive a letter, but it was without my desire, and,
indeed, I may say, against my consent.” “Indeed, indeed, miss,” cries
the aunt, “you ought to be ashamed of owning you had received it at
all; but where is the letter? for I will see it.”
To this peremptory demand, Sophia paused some time before she returned
an answer; and at last only excused herself by declaring she had not
the letter in her pocket, which was, indeed, true; upon which her
aunt, losing all manner of patience, asked her niece this short
question, whether she would resolve to marry Lord Fellamar, or no? to
which she received the strongest negative. Mrs Western then replied
with an oath, or something very like one, that she would early the
next morning deliver her back into her father's hand.
Sophia then began to reason with her aunt in the following
manner:--“Why, madam, must I of necessity be forced to marry at all?
Consider how cruel you would have thought it in your own case, and how
much kinder your parents were in leaving you to your liberty. What
have I done to forfeit this liberty? I will never marry contrary to my
father's consent, nor without asking yours----And when I ask the
consent of either improperly, it will be then time enough to force
some other marriage upon me.” “Can I bear to hear this,” cries Mrs
Western, “from a girl who hath now a letter from a murderer in her
pocket?” “I have no such letter, I promise you,” answered Sophia;
“and, if he be a murderer, he will soon be in no condition to give you
any further disturbance.” “How, Miss Western!” said the aunt, “have
you the assurance to speak of him in this manner; to own your
affection for such a villain to my face?” “Sure, madam,” said Sophia,
“you put a very strange construction on my words.” “Indeed, Miss
Western,” cries the lady, “I shall not bear this usage; you have
learnt of your father this manner of treating me; he hath taught you
to give me the lie. He hath totally ruined you by this false system of
education; and, please heaven, he shall have the comfort of its
fruits; for once more I declare to you, that to-morrow morning I will
carry you back. I will withdraw all my forces from the field, and
remain henceforth, like the wise king of Prussia, in a state of
perfect neutrality. You are both too wise to be regulated by my
measures; so prepare yourself, for to-morrow morning you shall
evacuate this house.”
Sophia remonstrated all she could; but her aunt was deaf to all she
said. In this resolution therefore we must at present leave her, as
there seems to be no hopes of bringing her to change it.
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