Be assured I never will give him what is in my power to withhold from
him."- "Now then," cries he, "while you are so perfectly kind, go a
little farther, and add that I may hope."- "Alas!" says she, "Mr.
Jones, whither will you drive me? What hope have I to bestow? You know
my father's intentions."- "But I know," answered he, "your compliance
with them cannot be compelled."- "What," says she, "must be the
dreadful consequence of my disobedience? My own ruin is my least
concern. I cannot bear the thoughts of being the cause of my
father's misery."- "He is himself the cause," cries Jones, "by
exacting a power over you which Nature hath not given him. Think on
the misery which I am to suffer if I am to lose you, and see on which
side pity will turn the balance."- "Think of it!" replied she: "can
you imagine I do not feel the ruin which I must bring on you, should I
comply with your desire? It is that thought which gives me
resolution to bid you fly from me for ever, and avoid your own
destruction."- "I fear no destruction," cries he, "but the loss of
Sophia. If you would save me from the most bitter agonies, recall that
cruel sentence. Indeed, I can never part with you, indeed I cannot."
The lovers now stood both silent and trembling, Sophia being
unable to withdraw her hand from Jones, and he almost as unable to
hold it; when the scene, which I believe some of my readers will think
had lasted long enough, was interrupted by one of so different a
nature, that we shall reserve the relation of it for a different
chapter.
Chapter 9
Being of a much more tempestuous kind than the former
Before we proceed with what now happened to our lovers, it may be
proper to recount what had past in the hall during their tender
interview.
Soon after Jones had left Mr. Western in the manner above mentioned,
his sister came to him, and was presently informed of all that had
passed between her brother and Sophia relating to Blifil.
This behaviour in her niece the good lady construed to be an
absolute breach of the condition on which she had engaged to keep
her love for Mr. Jones a secret. She considered herself, therefore, at
full liberty to reveal all she knew to the squire, which she
immediately did in the most explicit terms, and without any ceremony
or preface.
The idea of a marriage between Jones and his daughter, had never
once entered into the squire's head, either in the warmest minutes
of his affection towards that young man, or from suspicion, or on
any other occasion. He did indeed consider a parity of fortune and
circumstances to be physically as necessary an ingredient in marriage,
as difference of sexes, or any other essential; and had no more
apprehension of his daughter's falling in love with a poor man, than
with any animal of a different species.
He became, therefore, like one thunderstruck at his sister's
relation. He was, at first, incapable of making any answer, having
been almost deprived of his breath by the violence of the surprize.
This, however, soon returned, and, as is usual in other cases after an
intermission, with redoubled force and fury.
The first use he made of the power of speech, after his recovery
from the sudden effects of his astonishment, was to discharge a
round volley of oaths and imprecations. After which he proceeded
hastily to the apartment where he expected to find the lovers, and
murmured, or rather indeed roared forth, intentions of revenge every
step he went.
As when two doves, or two wood-pigeons, or as when Strephon and
Phyllis (for that comes nearest to the mark) are retired into some
pleasant solitary grove, to enjoy the delightful conversation of Love,
that bashful boy, who cannot speak in public, and is never a good
companion to more than two at a time; here, while every object is
serene, should hoarse thunder burst suddenly through the shattered
clouds, and rumbling roll along the sky, the frightened maid starts
from the mossy bank or verdant turf, the pale livery of death succeeds
the red regimentals in which Love had before drest her cheeks, fear
shakes her whole frame, and her lover scarce supports her trembling
tottering limbs.
Or as when two gentlemen, strangers to the wondrous wit of the
place, are cracking a bottle together at some inn or tavern at
Salisbury, if the great Dowdy, who acts the part of a madman as well
as some of his setters-on do that of a fool, should rattle his chains,
and dreadfully hum forth the grumbling catch along the gallery; the
frighted strangers stand aghast; scared at the horrid sound, they seek
some place of shelter from the approaching danger; and if the
well-barred windows did admit their exit, would venture their necks to
escape the threatening fury now coming upon them.
So trembled poor Sophia, so turned she pale at the noise of her
father, who, in a voice most dreadful to hear, came on swearing,
cursing, and vowing the destruction of Jones. To say the truth, I
believe the youth himself would, from some prudent considerations,
have preferred another place of abode at this time, had his terror
on Sophia's account given him liberty to reflect a moment on what
any other ways concerned himself, than as his love made him partake
whatever affected her.
And now the squire, having burst open the door, beheld an object
which instantly suspended all his fury against Jones; this was the
ghastly appearance of Sophia, who had fainted away in her lover's
arms. This tragical sight Mr. Western no sooner beheld, than all his
rage forsook him; he roared for help with his utmost violence; ran
first to his daughter, then back to the door calling for water, and
then back again to Sophia, never considering in whose arms she then
was, nor perhaps once recollecting that there was such a person in the
world as Jones; for indeed I believe the present circumstances of
his daughter were now the sole consideration which employed his
thoughts.
Mrs. Western and a great number of servants soon came to the
assistance of Sophia with water, cordials, and everything necessary on
those occasions. These were applied with such success, that Sophia
in a very few minutes began to recover, and all the symptoms of life
to return. Upon which she was presently led off by her own maid and
Mrs. Western: nor did that good lady depart without leaving some
wholesome admonitions with her brother, on the dreadful effects of his
passion, or, as she pleased to call it, madness.
The squire, perhaps, did not understand this good advice, as it
was delivered in obscure hints, shrugs, and notes of admiration: at
least, if he did understand it, he profited very little by it; for
no sooner was he cured of his immediate fears for his daughter, than
he relapsed into his former frenzy, which must have produced an
immediate battle with Jones, had not parson Supple, who was a very
strong man, been present, and by mere force restrained the squire from
acts of hostility.
The moment Sophia was departed, Jones advanced in a very suppliant
manner to Mr. Western, whom the parson held in his arms, and begged
him to be pacified; for that, while he continued in such a passion, it
would be impossible to give him any satisfaction.
"I wull have satisfaction o' thee," answered the squire: "so doff
thy clothes. At unt half a man, and I'll lick thee as well as wast
ever licked in thy life." He then bespattered the youth with abundance
of that language which passes between country gentlemen who embrace
opposite sides of the question; with frequent applications to him to
salute that part which is generally introduced into all
controversies that arise among the lower orders of the English
gentry at horse-races, cock-matches, and other public places.
Allusions to this part are likewise often made for the sake of the
jest. And here, I believe, the wit is generally misunderstood. In
reality, it lies in desiring another to kiss your a-- for having just
before threatened to kick his; for I have observed very accurately,
that no one ever desires you to kick that which belongs to himself,
nor offers to kiss this part in another.
It may likewise seem surprizing that in the many thousand kind
invitations of this sort, which every one who hath conversed with
country gentlemen must have heard, no one, I believe, hath ever seen a
single instance where the desire hath been complied with;- a great
instance of their want of politeness; for in town nothing can be
more common than for the finest gentlemen to perform this ceremony
every day to their superiors, without having that favour once
requested of them.
To all such wit, Jones very calmly answered, "Sir, this usage may
perhaps cancel every other obligation you have conferred on me; but
there is one you can never cancel; nor will I be provoked by your
abuse to lift my hand against the father of Sophia."
At these words the squire grew still more outrageous than before; so
that the parson begged Jones to retire; saying, "You behold, sir,
how he waxeth wrath at your abode here; therefore let me pray you
not to tarry any longer. His anger is too much kindled for you to
commune with him at present. You had better, therefore, conclude
your visit, and refer what matters you have to urge in your behalf
to some other opportunity."
Jones accepted this advice with thanks, and immediately departed.
The squire now regained the liberty of his hands, and so much temper
as to express some satisfaction in the restraint which had been laid
upon him; declaring that he should certainly have beat his brains out;
and adding, "It would have vexed one confoundedly to have been
hanged for such a rascal."
The parson now began to triumph in the success of his peacemaking
endeavours, and proceeded to read a lecture against anger, which might
perhaps rather have tended to raise than to quiet that passion in some
hasty minds. This lecture he enriched with many valuable quotations
from the antients, particularly from Seneca; who hath indeed so well
handled this passion, that none but a very angry man can read him
without great pleasure and profit. The doctor concluded this
harangue with the famous story of Alexander and Clitus; but as I
find that entered in my common-place under title Drunkenness, I
shall not insert it here.
The squire took no notice of this story, nor perhaps of anything
he said; for he interrupted him before he had finished, by calling for
a tankard of beer; observing (which is perhaps as true as any
observation on this fever of the mind) that anger makes a man dry.
No sooner had the squire swallowed a large draught than he renewed
the discourse on Jones, and declared a resolution of going the next
morning early to acquaint Mr. Allworthy. His friend would have
dissuaded him from this, from the mere motive of good-nature; but
his dissuasion had no other effect than to produce a large volley of
oaths and curses, which greatly shocked the pious ears of Supple;
but he did not dare to remonstrate against a privilege which the
squire claimed as a freeborn Englishman. To say truth, the parson
submitted to please his palate at the squire's table, at the expense
of suffering now and then this violence to his ears. He contented
himself with thinking he did not promote this evil practise, and
that the squire would not swear an oath the less, if he never
entered within his gates. However, though he was not guilty of ill
manners by rebuking a gentleman in his own house, he paid him off
obliquely in the pulpit: which had not, indeed, the good effect of
working a reformation in the squire himself; yet it so far operated on
his conscience, that he put the laws very severely in execution
against others, and the magistrate was the only person in the parish
who could swear with impunity.
Chapter 10
In which Mr. Western visits Mr. Allworthy
Mr. Allworthy was now retired from breakfast with his nephew, well
satisfied with the report of the young gentleman's successful visit to
Sophia (for he greatly desired the match, more on account of the young
lady's character than of her riches), when Mr. Western broke
abruptly in upon them, and without any ceremony began as follows:-
"There, you have done a fine piece of work truly! You have brought
up your bastard to a fine purpose; not that I believe you have had any
hand in it neither, that is, as a man may say, designedly: but there
is a fine kettle-of-fish made on't up at our house." "What can be
the matter, Mr. Western?" said Allworthy. "O, matter enow of all
conscience: my daughter hath fallen in love with your bastard,
that's all; but I won't ge her a hapeny, not the twentieth part of a
brass varden. I always thought what would come o' breeding up a
bastard like a gentleman, and letting un come about to vok's houses.
It's well vor un I could not get at un: I'd a lick'd un; I'd a spoil'd
his caterwauling; I'd a taught the son of a whore to meddle with
meat for his master. He shan't ever have a morsel of meat of mine,
or a varden to buy it: if she will ha un, one smock shall be her
portion. I'd sooner ge my esteate to the zinking fund, that it may
be sent to Hanover to corrupt our nation with." "I am heartily sorry,"
cries Allworthy. "Pox o' your sorrow, says Western; "it will do me
abundance of good when I have lost my only child, my poor Sophy,
that was the joy of my heart, and all the hope and comfort of my
age; but I am resolved I will turn her out o' doors; she shall beg,
and starve, and rot in the streets. Not one hapeny, not a hapeny shall
she ever hae o' mine. The son of a bitch was always good at finding
a hare sitting, an be rotted to'n: I little thought what puss he was
