sufficient to check or repel them; and thus she went on cherishing a
passion of which she never once considered the consequences.
This incident relating to Molly first opened her eyes. She now first
perceived the weakness of which she had been guilty; and though it
caused the utmost perturbation in her mind, yet it had the effect of
other nauseous physic, and for the time expelled her distemper. Its
operation indeed was most wonderfully quick; and in the short
interval, while her maid was absent, so entirely removed all symptoms,
that when Mrs. Honour returned with a summons from her father, she was
become perfectly easy, and had brought herself to a thorough
indifference for Mr. Jones.
The diseases of the mind do in almost every particular imitate those
of the body. For which reason, hope, that learned faculty, for whom we
have so profound a respect, will pardon us the violent hands we have
been necessitated to lay on several words and phrases, which of
right belong to them, and without which our descriptions must have
been ten unintelligible.
Now there is no one circumstance in which the distempers of the mind
bear a more exact analogy to those which are called bodily, than
that aptness which both have to a relapse. This is plain in the
violent diseases of ambition and avarice. I have known ambition,
when cured at court by frequent disappointments (which are the only
physic for it), to break out again in a contest for foreman of the
grand jury at an assizes; and have heard of a man who had so far
conquered avarice, as to give away many a sixpence, that comforted
himself, at last, on his deathbed, by making a crafty and advantageous
bargain concerning his ensuing funeral, with an undertaker who had
married his only child.
In the affair of love, which, out of strict conformity with the
Stoic philosophy, we shall here treat as a disease, this proneness
to relapse is no less conspicuous. Thus it happened to poor Sophia;
upon whom, the very next time she saw young Jones, all the former
symptoms returned, and from that time cold and hot fits alternately
seized her heart.
The situation of this young lady was now very different from what it
had ever been before. That passion which had formerly been so
exquisitely delicious, became now a scorpion in her bosom. She
resisted it therefore with her utmost force, and summoned every
argument her reason (which was surprisingly strong for her age)
could suggest, to subdue and expel it. In this she so far succeeded,
that she began to hope from time and absence a perfect cure. She
resolved therefore to avoid Tom Jones as much as possible; for which
purpose she began to conceive a design of visiting her aunt, to
which she made no doubt of obtaining her father's consent.
But Fortune, who had other designs in her head, put an immediate
stop to any such proceeding, by introducing an accident, which will be
related in the next chapter.
Chapter 13
A dreadful accident which befel Sophia. The gallant behaviour of
Jones, and the more dreadful consequence of that behaviour to the
young lady; with a short digression in favour of the female sex
Mr. Western grew every day fonder and fonder of Sophia, insomuch
that his beloved dogs themselves almost gave place to her in his
affections; but as he could not prevail on himself to abandon these,
he contrived very cunningly to enjoy their company, together with that
of his daughter, by insisting on her riding a-hunting with him.
Sophia, to whom her father's word was a law, readily complied with
his desires, though she had not the least delight in a sport, which
was of too rough and masculine a nature to suit with her
disposition. She had however another motive, beside her obedience,
to accompany the old gentleman in the chase; for by her presence she
hoped in some measure to restrain his impetuosity, and to prevent
him from so frequently exposing his neck to the utmost hazard.
The strongest objection was that which would have formerly been an
inducement to her, namely, the frequent meeting with young Jones, whom
she had determined to avoid; but as the end of the hunting season
now approached, she hoped, by a short absence with her aunt, to reason
herself entirely out of her unfortunate passion; and had not any doubt
of being able to meet him in the field the subsequent season without
the least danger.
On the second day of her hunting, as she was returning from the
chase, and was arrived within a little distance from Mr. Western's
house, her horse, whose mettlesome spirit required a better rider,
fell suddenly to prancing and capering in such a manner that she was
in the most imminent peril of falling. Tom Jones, who was at a
little distance behind, saw this, and immediately galloped up to her
assistance. As soon as he came up, he leapt from his own horse, and
caught hold of hers by the bridle. The unruly beast presently reared
himself on end on his hind legs, and threw his lovely burthen from his
back, and Jones caught her in his arms.
She was so affected with the fright, that she was not immediately
able to satisfy Jones, who was very sollicitous to know whether she
had received any hurt. She soon after, however, recovered her spirits,
assured him she was safe, and thanked him for the care he had taken of
her. Jones answered, "If I have preserved you, madam, I am
sufficiently repaid; for I promise you, I would have secured you
from the least harm at the expense of a much greater misfortune to
myself than I have suffered on this occasion."
"What misfortune?" replied Sophia eagerly; "I hope you have come
to no mischief?"
"Be not concerned, madam," answered Jones. "Heaven be praised you
have escaped so well, considering the danger you was in. If I have
broke my arm, I consider it as a trifle, in comparison of what I
feared upon your account."
Sophia then screamed out, "Broke your arm! Heaven forbid."
"I am afraid I have, madam," says Jones: "but I beg you will
suffer me first to take care of you. I have a right hand yet at your
service, to help you into the next field, whence we have but a very
little walk to your father's house."
Sophia seeing his left arm dangling by his side, while he was
using the other to lead her, no longer doubted of the truth. She now
grew much paler than her fears for herself had made her before. All
her limbs were seized with a trembling, insomuch that Jones could
scarce support her; and as her thoughts were in no less agitation, she
could not refrain from giving Jones a look so full of tenderness, that
it almost argued a stronger sensation in her mind, than even gratitude
and pity united can raise in the gentlest female bosom, without the
assistance of a third more powerful passion.
Mr. Western, who was advanced at some distance when this accident
happened, was now returned, as were the rest of the horsemen. Sophia
immediately acquainted them with what had befallen Jones, and begged
them to take care of him. Upon which Western, who had been much
alarmed by meeting his daughter's horse without its rider, and was now
overjoyed to find her unhurt, cried out, "I am glad it is no worse. If
Tom hath broken his arm, we will get a joiner to mend un again."
The squire alighted from his horse, and proceeded to his house on
foot, with his daughter and ones. An impartial spectator, who had
met them on the way, would, on viewing their several countenances,
have concluded Sophia alone to have been the object of compassion: for
as to Jones, he exulted in having probably saved the life of the young
lady, at the price only of a broken bone; and Mr. Western, though he
was not unconcerned at the accident which had befallen Jones, was,
however, delighted in a much higher degree with the fortunate escape
of his daughter.
The generosity of Sophia's temper construed this behaviour of
Jones into great bravery; and it made a deep impression on her
heart: for certain it is, that there is no one quality which so
generally recommends men to women as this; proceeding, if we believe
the common opinion, from that natural timidity of the sex, which is,
says Mr. Osborne, "so great, that a woman is the most cowardly of
all the creatures God ever made";- a sentiment more remarkable for
its bluntness than for its truth. Aristotle, in his Politics, doth
them, I believe, more justice, when he says, "The modesty and
fortitude of men differ from those virtues in women; for the fortitude
which becomes a woman, would be cowardice in a man; and the modesty
which becomes a man, would be pertness in a woman." Nor is there,
perhaps, more of truth in the opinion of those who derive the
partiality which women are inclined to show to the brave, from this
excess of their fear. Mr. Bayle (I think, in his article of Helen)
imputes this, and with greater probability, to their violent love of
glory; for the truth of which, we have the authority of him who of all
others saw farthest into human nature, and who introduces the
heroine of his Odyssey, the great pattern of matrimonial love and
constancy, assigning the glory of her husband as the only source of
her affection towards him.*
*The English reader will not find this in the poem; for the
sentiment is entirely left out in the translation.
However this be, certain it is that the accident operated very
strongly on Sophia; and, indeed, after much enquiry into the matter, I
am inclined to believe, that, at this very time, the charming Sophia
made no less impression on the heart of Jones; to say truth, he had
for some time become sensible of the irresistible power of her charms.
Chapter 14
The arrival of a surgeon- his operations, and a long dialogue
between Sophia and her maid
When they arrived at Mr. Western's hall, Sophia, who had tottered
along with much difficulty, sunk down in her chair; but by the
assistance of hartshorn and water, she was prevented from fainting
away, and had pretty well recovered her spirits, when the surgeon
who was sent for to Jones appeared. Mr. Western, who imputed these
symptoms in his daughter to her fall, advised her to be presently
blooded by way of prevention. In this opinion he was seconded by the
surgeon, who gave so many reasons for bleeding, and quoted so many
cases where persons had miscarried for want of it, that the squire
became very importunate, and indeed insisted peremptorily that his
daughter should be blooded.
Sophia soon yielded to the commands of her father, though entirely
contrary to her own inclinations, for she suspected, I believe, less
danger from the fright, than either the squire or the surgeon. She
then stretched out her beautiful arm, and the operator began to
prepare for his work.
While the servants were busied in providing materials, the
surgeon, who imputed the backwardness which had appeared in Sophia
to her fears, began to comfort her with assurances that there was
not the least danger; for no accident, he said, could ever happen in
bleeding, but from the monstrous ignorance of pretenders to surgery,
which he pretty plainly insinuated was not at present to be
apprehended. Sophia declared she was not under the least apprehension;
adding, "If you open an artery, I promise you I'll forgive you." "Will
you?" cries Western: "D--n me, if I will. If he does thee the least
mischief, d--n me if I don't ha' the heart's blood o'un out." The
surgeon assented to bleed her upon these conditions, and then
proceeded to his operation, which he performed with as much
dexterity as he had promised; and with as much quickness: for he
took but little blood from her, saying, it was much safer to bleed
again and again, than to take away too much at once.
Sophia, when her arm was bound up, retired: for she was not
willing (nor was it, perhaps, strictly decent) to be present at the
operation on Jones. Indeed, one objection which she had to bleeding
(though she did not make it) was the delay which it would occasion
to setting the broken bone. For Western, when Sophia was concerned,
had no consideration but for her; and as for Jones himself, he "sat
like patience on a monument smiling at grief." To say the truth,
when he saw the blood springing from the lovely arm of Sophia, he
scarce thought of what had happened to himself.
The surgeon now ordered his patient to be stript to his shirt, and
then entirely baring the arm, he began to stretch and examine it, in
such a manner that the tortures he put him to caused Jones to make
several wry faces; which the surgeon observing, greatly wondered at,
crying, "What is the matter, sir? I am sure it is impossible I
should hurt you." And then holding forth the broken arm, he began a
long and very learned lecture of anatomy, in which simple and double
fractures were most accurately considered; and the several ways in
which Jones might have broken his arm were discussed, with proper
annotations showing how many of these would have been better, and
how many worse than the present case.
Having at length finished his laboured harangue, with which the
audience, though had greatly raised their attention and admiration,
were not much edified, as they really understood not a single syllable
of all he had said, he proceeded to business, which he was more
expeditious in finishing, than he had been in beginning.
Jones was then ordered into a bed, which Mr. Western compelled him
to accept at his own house, and sentence of water gruel was passed
upon him.
Among the good company which had attended in the hall during the
bone-setting, Mrs. Honour was one; who being summoned to her
mistress as soon as it was over, and asked by her how the young
gentleman did, presently launched into extravagant praises on the
magnanimity, as she called it, of his behaviour, which, she said, "was
so charming in so pretty a creature." She then burst forth into much
