about going to the grove, and then sallied out the contrary way, and
walked, as fast as her tender trembling limbs could carry her,
directly towards the canal.
Jones had been there as Mrs. Honour had told her; he had indeed
spent two hours there that morning in melancholy contemplation on
his Sophia, and had gone out from the garden at one door the moment
she entered it at another. So that those unlucky minutes which had
been spent in changing the ribbons, had prevented the lovers from
meeting at this time;- a most unfortunate accident, from which my
fair readers will not fail to draw a very wholesome lesson. And here I
strictly forbid all male critics to intermeddle with a circumstance
which I have recounted only for the sake of the ladies, and upon which
they only are at liberty to comment.
Chapter 7
A picture of formal courtship in miniature, as it always ought to be
drawn, and a scene of a tenderer kind painted at full length
It was well remarked by one (and perhaps by more), that
misfortunes do not come single. This wise maxim was now verified by
Sophia, who was not only disappointed of seeing the man she loved, but
had the vexation of being obliged to dress herself out, in order to
receive a visit from the man she hated.
That afternoon Mr. Western, for the first time, acquainted his
daughter with his intention; telling her, he knew very well that she
had heard it before from her aunt. Sophia looked very grave upon this,
nor could she prevent a few pearls from stealing into her eyes. "Come,
come," says Western, "none of your maidenish airs; I know all; I
assure you sister hath told me all."
"Is it possible," says Sophia, "that my aunt can have betrayed me
already?"- "Ay, ay," says Western; "betrayed you! ay. Why, you
betrayed yourself yesterday at dinner. You showed your fancy very
plainly, I think. But you young girls never know what you would be at.
So you cry because I am going to marry you to the man you are in love
with! Your mother, I remember, whimpered and whined just in the same
manner; but it was all over within twenty-four hours after we were
married: Mr. Blifil is a brisk young man, and will soon put an end to
your squeamishness. Come, chear up, chear up; I expect un every
minute."
Sophia was now convinced that her aunt had behaved honourably to
her: and she determined to go through that disagreeable afternoon with
as much resolution as possible, and without giving the least suspicion
in the world to her father.
Mr. Blifil soon arrived; and Mr. Western soon after withdrawing,
left the young couple together.
Here a long silence of near a quarter of an hour ensued; for the
gentleman who was to begin the conversation had all the unbecoming
modesty which consists in bashfulness. He often attempted to speak,
and as often suppressed his words just at the very point of utterance.
At last out they broke in a torrent of far-fetched and high-strained
compliments, which were answered on her side by downcast looks, half
bows, and civil monosyllables. Blifil, from his inexperience in the
ways of women, and from his conceit of himself, took this behaviour
for a modest assent to his courtship; and when, to shorten a scene
which she could no longer support, Sophia rose up and left the room,
he imputed that, too, merely to bashfulness, and comforted himself
that he should soon have enough of her company.
He was indeed perfectly well satisfied with his prospect of success;
for as to that entire and absolute possession of the heart of his
mistress which romantic lovers require, the very idea of it never
entered his head. Her fortune and her person were the sole objects
of his wishes, of which he made no doubt soon to obtain the absolute
property; as Mr. Western's mind was so earnestly bent on the match;
and as he well knew the strict obedience which Sophia was always ready
to pay to her father's will, and the greater still which her father
would exact, if there was occasion. This authority, therefore,
together with the charms which he fancied in his own person and
conversation, could not fail, he thought, of succeeding with a young
lady, whose inclinations were, he doubted not, entirely disengaged.
Of Jones he certainly had not even the least jealousy; and I have
often thought it wonderful that he had not. Perhaps he imagined the
character which Jones bore all over the country (how justly, let the
reader determine), of being one of the wildest fellows in England,
might render him odious to a lady of the most exemplary modesty.
Perhaps his suspicions might be laid asleep by the behaviour of
Sophia, and of Jones himself, when they were all in company
together. Lastly, and indeed principally, he was well assured there
was not another self in the case. He fancied that he knew Jones to the
bottom, and had in reality a great contempt for his understanding, for
not being more attached to his own interest. He had no apprehension
that Jones was in love with Sophia; and as for any lucrative
motives, he imagined they would sway very little with so silly a
fellow. Blifil, moreover, thought the affair of Molly Seagrim still
went on, and indeed believed it would end in marriage; for Jones
really loved him from his childhood, and had kept no secret from
him, till his behaviour on the sickness of Mr. Allworthy had
entirely alienated his heart; and it was by means of the quarrel which
had ensued on this occasion, and which was not yet reconciled, that
Mr. Blifil knew nothing of the alteration which had happened in the
affection which Jones had formerly borne towards Molly.
From these reasons, therefore, Mr. Blifil saw no bar to his
success with Sophia. He concluded her behaviour was like that of all
other young ladies on a first visit from a lover, and it had indeed
entirely answered his expectations.
Mr. Western took care to way-lay the lover at his exit from his
mistress. He found him so elevated with his success, so enamoured with
his daughter, and so satisfied with her reception of him, that the old
gentleman began to caper and dance about his hall, and by many other
antic actions to express the extravagance of his joy; for he had not
the least command over any of his passions; and that which had at
any time the ascendant in his mind hurried him to the wildest
excesses.
As soon as Blifil was departed, which was not till after many hearty
kisses and embraces bestowed on him by Western, the good squire went
instantly in quest of his daughter, whom he no sooner found than he
poured forth the most extravagant raptures, bidding her chuse what
clothes and jewels she pleased; and declaring that he had no other use
for fortune but to make her happy. He then caressed her again and
again with the utmost profusion of fondness, called her by the most
endearing names, and protested she was his only joy on earth.
Sophia perceiving her father in this fit of affection, which she did
not absolutely know the reason of (for fits of fondness were not
unusual to him, though this was rather more violent than ordinary),
thought she should never have a better opportunity of disclosing
herself than at present, as far at least as regarded Mr. Blifil; and
she too well foresaw the necessity which she should soon be under of
coming to a full explanation. After having thanked the squire,
therefore, for all his professions of kindness, she added, with a look
full of inexpressible softness, "And is it possible my papa can be
so good to place all his joy in his Sophy's happiness?" which
Western having confirmed by a great oath, and a kiss; she then laid
hold of his hand, and, falling on her knees, after many warm and
passionate declarations of affection and duty, she begged him "not
to make her the most miserable creature on earth by forcing her to
marry a man whom she detested. This I entreat of you, dear sir,"
said she, "for your sake, as well as my own, since you are so very
kind to tell me your happiness depends on mine."- "How! what!" says
Western, staring wildly. "Oh! sir," continued she, "not only your poor
Sophy's happiness; her very life, her being, depends upon your
granting her request. I cannot live with Mr. Blifil. To force me
into this marriage would be killing me."- "You can't live with Mr.
Blifil?" says Western. "No, upon my soul I can't," answered Sophia.
"Then die and be d--d," cries he, spurning her from him. "Oh! sir,"
cries Sophia, catching hold of the skirt of his coat, "take pity on
me, I beseech you. Don't look and say such cruel-- Can you be unmoved
while you see your Sophy in this dreadful condition? Can the best of
fathers break my heart? Will he kill me by the most painful, cruel,
lingering death?"- "Pooh! pooh!" cries the squire; "all stuff and
nonsense; all maidenish tricks. Kill you, indeed! Will marriage kill
you?"- "Oh! sir," answered Sophia, "such a marriage is worse than
death. He is not even indifferent; I hate and detest him."- "If you
detest un never so much," cries Western, "you shall ha'un." This he
bound by an oath too shocking to repeat; and after many violent
asseverations, concluded in these words: "I am resolved upon the
match, and unless you consent to it I will not give you a groat, not a
single farthing; no, though I saw you expiring with famine in the
street, I would not relieve you with a morsel of bread. This is my
fixed resolution, and so I leave you to consider on it." He then broke
from her with such violence, that her face dashed against the floor;
and he burst directly out of the room, leaving poor Sophia prostrate
on the ground.
When Western came into the hall, he there found Jones; who seeing
his friend looking wild, pale, and almost breathless, could not
forbear enquiring the reason of all these melancholy appearances. Upon
which the squire immediately acquainted him with the whole matter,
concluding with bitter denunciations against Sophia, and very pathetic
lamentations of the misery of all fathers who are so unfortunate to
have daughters.
Jones, to whom all the resolutions which had been taken in favour of
Blifil were yet a secret, was at first almost struck dead with this
relation; but recovering his spirits a little, mere despair, as he
afterwards said, inspired him to mention a matter to Mr. Western,
which seemed to require more impudence than a human forehead was
ever gifted with. He desired leave to go to Sophia, that he might
endeavour to obtain her concurrence with her father's inclinations.
If the squire had been as quicksighted as he was remarkable for
the contrary, passion might at present very well have blinded him.
He thanked Jones for offering to undertake the office, and said,
"Go, go, prithee, try what canst do;" and then swore many execrable
oaths that he would turn her out of doors unless she consented to
the match.
Chapter 8
The meeting between Jones and Sophia
Jones departed instantly in quest of Sophia, whom he found just
risen from the ground, where her father had left her, with the tears
trickling from her eyes, and the blood running from her lips. He
presently ran to her, and with a voice full at once of tenderness
and terrour, cried, "O my Sophia, what means this dreadful sight?" She
looked softly at him for a moment before she spoke, and then said,
"Mr. Jones, for Heaven's sake how came you here?- Leave me, I beseech
you, this moment."- "Do not," says he, "impose so harsh a command
upon me- my heart bleeds faster than those lips. O Sophia, how easily
could I drain my veins to preserve one drop of that dear blood."- "I
have too many obligations to you already," answered she, "for sure you
meant them such." Here she looked at him tenderly almost a minute, and
then bursting into an agony, cried, "Oh, Mr. Jones, why did you save
my life? my death would have been happier for us both."- "Happier for
us both!" cried he. "Could racks or wheels kill me so painfully as
Sophia's- I cannot bear the dreadful sound. Do I live but for her?"
Both his voice and looks were full of inexpressible tenderness when he
spoke these words; and at the same time he laid gently hold on her
hand, which she did not withdraw from him; to say the truth, she
hardly knew what she did or suffered. A few moments now passed in
silence between these lovers, while his eyes were eagerly fixed on
Sophia, and hers declining towards the ground: at last she recovered
strength enough to desire him again to leave her, for that her certain
ruin would be the consequence of their being found together; adding,
"Oh, Mr. Jones, you know not, you know not what hath passed this cruel
afternoon." "I know all, my Sophia," answered he; "your cruel father
hath told me all, and he himself hath sent me hither to you."- "My
father sent you to me!" replied she: "sure you dream."- "Would to
Heaven," cries he, "it was but a dream! Oh, Sophia, your father hath
sent me to you, to be an advocate for my odious rival, to solicit
you in his favour. I took any means to get access to you. O speak to
me, Sophia! comfort my bleeding heart. Sure no one ever loved, ever
doated like me. Do not unkindly withhold this dear, this soft, this
gentle hand- one moment, perhaps, tears you for ever from me- nothing
less than this cruel occasion could, I believe, have ever conquered
the respect and awe with which you have inspired me." She stood a
moment silent, and covered with confusion; then lifting up her eyes
gently towards him, she cried, "What would Mr. Jones have me
say?"- "O do but promise," cries he, "that you never will give
yourself to Blifil."- "Name not," answered she, "the detested sound.
