"The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling," described in the
dedication as the "labour of some years of my life," appeared
in six volumes, on February 28, 1749, a short time after
Fielding's appointment as justice of peace for Westminster.
Though its broad humour and coarseness of expression are
perhaps hard to bear in these times, it is by common consent
Fielding's masterpiece, and by way of being one of the
greatest novels in the language. For experience of life,
observation of character, and sheer humanity, it is certainly
an outstanding specimen of the English novel and manners. Like
others of his books, "Tom Jones" was written during a period
of great mental strain. Ever haunted by poverty, Fielding
acknowledges his debt to his old schoolfellow Lyttelton, to
whom he owed his "existence during the composition of the
book." The story was popular from the first.
_I.--Mr. Allworthy Makes a Discovery_
In that part of the country which is commonly called Somersetshire there
lately lived a gentleman whose name was Allworthy, and who might well be
called the favourite of both nature and fortune. From the former of
these he derived an agreeable person, a sound constitution, a solid
understanding, and a benevolent heart; by the latter he was decreed to
the inheritance of one of the largest estates in the country.
Mr. Allworthy lived, for the most part, retired in the country, with one
sister, for whom he had a very tender affection. This lady, Miss Bridget
Allworthy, now somewhat past the age of thirty, was of that species of
women whom you commend rather for good qualities than beauty.
Mr. Allworthy had been absent a full quarter of a year in London on some
very particular business, and having returned to his house very late in
the evening, retired, much fatigued, to his chamber. Here, after he had
spent some minutes on his knees--a custom which he never broke through
on any account--he was preparing to step into bed, when, upon opening
the clothes, to his great surprise, he beheld an infant wrapped up in
some coarse linen, in a sweet and profound sleep, between his sheets. He
stood for some time lost in astonishment at this sight; but soon began
to be touched with sentiments of compassion for the little wretch before
him. He then rang his bell, and ordered an elderly woman-servant to rise
immediately and come to him.
The consternation of Mrs. Deborah Wilkins at the finding of the little
infant was rather greater than her master's had been; nor could she
refrain from crying out, with great horror, "My good sir, what's to be
done?"
Mr. Allworthy answered she must take care of the child that evening, and
in the morning he would give orders to provide it a nurse.
"Yes, sir," says she, "and I hope your worship will send out your
warrant to take up the hussy its mother. Indeed, such wicked sluts
cannot be too severely punished for laying their sins at honest men's
doors; and though your worship knows your own innocence, yet the world
is censorious, and if your worship should provide for the child it may
make the people after to believe. If I might be so bold as to give my
advice, I would have it put in a basket, and sent out and laid at the
churchwarden's door. It is a good night, only a little rainy and windy,
and if it was well wrapped up and put in a warm basket, it is two to one
but it lives till it is found in the morning. But if it should not, we
have discharged our duty in taking care of it; and it is, perhaps,
better for such creatures to die in a state of innocence than to grow up
and imitate their mothers."
But Mr. Allworthy had now got one of his fingers into the infant's hand,
which, by its gentle pressure, seeming to implore his assistance,
certainly outpleaded the eloquence of Mrs. Deborah. Mr. Allworthy gave
positive orders for the child to be taken away and provided with pap and
other things against it waked. He likewise ordered that proper clothes
should be procured for it early in the morning, and that it should be
brought to himself as soon as he was stirring.
Such was the respect Mrs. Wilkins bore her master, under whom she
enjoyed a most excellent place, that her scruples gave way to his
peremptory commands, and, declaring the child was a sweet little infant,
she walked off with it to her own chamber.
Allworthy betook himself to those pleasing slumbers which a heart that
hungers after goodness is apt to enjoy when thoroughly satisfied.
In the morning Mr. Allworthy told his sister he had a present for her,
and, when Mrs. Wilkins produced the little infant, told her the whole
story of its appearance.
Miss Bridget took the good-natured side of the question, intimated some
compassion for the helpless little creature, and commended her brother's
charity in what he had done. The good lady subsequently gave orders for
providing all necessaries for the child, and her orders were indeed so
liberal that had it been a child of her own she could not have exceeded
them.
_II.--The Foundling Achieves Manhood_
Miss Bridget having been asked in marriage by one Captain Blifil, a
half-pay officer, and the nuptials duly celebrated, Mrs. Blifil was in
course of time delivered of a fine boy.
Though the birth of an heir to his beloved sister was a circumstance of
great joy to Mr. Allworthy, yet it did not alienate his affections from
the little foundling to whom he had been godfather, and had given his
own name of Thomas; the surname of Jones being added because it was
believed that was the mother's name.
He told his sister, if she pleased, the newborn infant should be bred up
together with little Tommy, to which she consented, for she had truly a
great complaisance for her brother.
The captain, however, could not so easily bring himself to bear what he
condemned as a fault in Mr. Allworthy; for his meditations being chiefly
employed on Mr. Allworthy's fortune, and on his hopes of succession, he
looked on all the instances of his brother-in-law's generosity as
diminutions of his own wealth.
But one day, while the captain was exulting in the happiness which would
accrue to him by Mr. Allworthy's death, he himself died of apoplexy.
So the two boys grew up together under the care of Mr. Allworthy and
Mrs. Blifil, and by the time he was fourteen Tom Jones--who, according
to universal opinion, was certainly born to be hanged--had been already
convicted of three robberies--_viz._, of robbing an orchard, of stealing
a duck out of a farmer's yard, and of picking Master Blifil's pocket of
a ball.
The vices of this young man were, moreover, heightened by the
disadvantageous light in which they appeared when opposed to the virtues
of Master Blifil, his companion. He was, indeed, a lad of remarkable
disposition--sober, discreet, and pious beyond his age; and many
expressed their wonder that Mr. Allworthy should suffer such a lad as
Tom Jones to be educated with his nephew lest the morals of the latter
should be corrupted by his example.
To say the truth, the whole duck, and great part of the apples, were
converted to the use of Tom's friend, the gamekeeper, and his family;
though, as Jones alone was discovered, the poor lad bore not only the
whole smart, but the whole blame.
Mr. Allworthy had committed the instruction of the two boys to a learned
divine, the Reverend Mr. Thwackum, who resided in the house; but though
Mr. Allworthy had given him frequent orders to make no difference
between the lads, yet was Thwackum altogether as kind and gentle to
Master Blifil as he was harsh, nay, even barbarous, to the other. In
truth, Blifil had greatly gained his master's affections; partly by the
profound respect he always showed his person, but much more by the
decent reverence with which he received his doctrine, for he had got by
heart, and frequently repeated, his phrases, and maintained all his
master's religious principles, with a zeal which was surprising in one
so young.
Tom Jones, on the other hand, was not only deficient in outward tokens
of respect, often forgetting to pull off his cap at his master's
approach, but was altogether unmindful both of his master's precepts and
example.
At the, age of twenty, however, Tom, for his love of hunting, had become
a great favourite with Mr. Allworthy's neighbour, Squire Western; and
Sophia, Mr. Western's only child, lost her heart irretrievably to him
before she suspected it was in danger. On his side, Tom was truly
sensible of the great worth of Sophia. He liked her person extremely, no
less admired her accomplishments, and tenderly loved her goodness. In
reality, as he had never once entertained any thoughts of possessing
her, nor had ever given the least voluntary indulgence to his
inclinations, he had a much stronger passion for her than he himself was
acquainted with.
An accident occurred on the hunting-field in saving Sophia from her too
mettlesome horse kept Jones a prisoner for some time in Mr. Western's
house, and during those weeks he not only found that he loved Sophia
with an unbounded passion, but he plainly saw the tender sentiments she
had for him; yet could not this assurance lessen his despair of
obtaining the consent of her father, nor the horrors which attended his
pursuit of her by any base or treacherous method.
Hence, at the approach of the young lady, he grew pale; and, if this was
sudden, started. If his eyes accidentally met hers, the blood rushed
into his cheeks, and his countenance became all over scarlet. If he
touched her, his hand, nay, his whole frame, trembled.
All these symptoms escaped the notice of the squire, but not so of
Sophia. She soon perceived these agitations of mind in Jones, and was at
no loss to discover the cause; for, indeed, she recognised it in her own
breast. In a word, she was in love with him to distraction. It was not
long before Jones was able to attend her to the harpsichord, where she
would kindly condescend for hours together to charm him with the most
delicious music.
The news that Mr. Allworthy was dangerously ill (for a servant had
brought word that he was dying) broke off Tom's stay at Mr. Western's,
and drove all the thoughts of love out of his head. He hurried instantly
into the chariot which was sent for him, and ordered the coachman to
drive with all imaginable haste; nor did the idea of Sophia once occur
to him on the way.
_III.--Tom Jones Falls into Disgrace_
On the night when the physician announced that Mr. Allworthy was out of
danger Jones was thrown into such immoderate excess of rapture by the
news that he might be truly said to be drunk with joy--an intoxication
which greatly forwards the effects of wine; and as he was very free,
too, with the bottle, on this occasion he became very soon literally
drunk.
Jones had naturally violent animal spirits, and Thwackum, resenting his
speeches, only the doctor's interposition prevented wrath kindling.
After which, Jones gave loose to mirth, sang two or three amorous songs,
and fell into every frantic disorder which unbridled joy is apt to
inspire; but so far was he from any disposition to quarrel that he was
ten times better-humoured, if possible, than when he was sober.
Blifil, whose mother had died during her brother's illness, was highly
offended at a behaviour which was so inconsistent with the sober and
prudent reserve of his own temper. The recent death of his mother, he
declared, made such conduct very indecent.
"It would become them better," he said, "to express the exultations of
their hearts at Mr. Allworthy's recovery in thanksgiving, than in
drunkenness and riot."
Wine had not so totally overpowered Jones as to prevent him recollecting
Blifil's loss the moment it was mentioned. He at once offered to shake
Mr. Blifil by the hand, and begged his pardon, saying his excessive joy
for Mr. Allworthy's recovery had driven every other thought out of his
mind.
Blifil scornfully rejected his hand, and with an insulting illusion to
the misfortune of Jones's birth provoked the latter to blows. The
scuffle which ensued might have produced mischief had it not been for
the interference of Thwackum and the physician.
Blifil, however, only waited for an opportunity to be revenged on Jones,
and the occasion was soon forthcoming when Mr. Allworthy was fully
recovered from his illness.
Mr. Western had found out that his daughter was in love with Tom Jones,
and at once decided that she should marry Blifil, to whom Sophia
professed great abhorrence.
As for Blifil, the success of Jones was much more grievous to him than
the loss of Sophia, whose estate, indeed, was dearer to him than her
person.
Mr. Western swore that his daughter shouldn't have a ha'penny, nor the
twentieth part of a brass farthing, if she married Jones; and Blifil,
with many sighs, professed to his uncle that he could not bear the
thought of Sophia being ruined by her preference for Jones.
"This lady, I am sure, will be undone in every sense; for, besides the
loss of most part of her own fortune, she will be married to a beggar.
Nay, that is a trifle; for I know him to be one of the worst men in the
world."
"How?" said Mr. All worthy. "I command you to tell me what you mean."
"You know, sir," said Blifil, "I never disobeyed you. In the very day of
your utmost danger, when myself and all the family were in tears, he
filled the house with riot and debauchery. He drank, and sang, and
roared; and when I gave him a gentle hint of the indecency of his
actions, he fell into a violent passion, swore many oaths, called me
rascal, and struck me. I am sure I have forgiven him that long ago. I
wish I could so easily forget his ingratitude to the best of
benefactors."
Thwackum was now sent for, and corroborated every circumstance which the
other had deposed.
Poor Jones was too full of grief at the thought that Western had
discovered the whole affair between him and Sophia to make any adequate
defence. He could not deny the charge of drunkenness, and out of modesty
sunk everything that related particularly to himself.
Mr. Allworthy answered that he was now resolved to banish him from his
sight for ever. "Your audacious attempt to steal away a young lady calls
upon me to justify my own character in punishing you. And there is no
part of your character which I resent more than your ill-treatment of
that good young man (meaning Blifil), who hath behaved with so much
tenderness and honour towards you."
A flood of tears now gushed from the eyes of Jones, and every faculty of
speech and motion seemed to have deserted him. It was some time before
he was able to obey Allworthy's peremptory commands of departing, which
he at length did, having first kissed his hands with a passion difficult
to be affected, and as difficult to be described.
Mr. Allworthy, however, did not permit him to leave the house penniless,
but presented him with a note for £500. He then commanded him to go
immediately, and told Jones that his clothes, and everything else,
should be sent to him whithersoever he should order them.
Jones had hardly set out, which he did with feelings of agony and
despair, before Sophia Western decided that only in flight could she be
saved from marriage with the detested Blifil.
Mr. Western, in spite of tremendous love for his daughter, thought her
inclinations of as little consequence as Blifil himself conceived them
to be; and Mr. Allworthy, who said "he would on no account be accessory
to forcing a young lady into a marriage contrary to her own will," was
satisfied by his nephew's disingenuous statement that the young lady's
behaviour to him was full as forward as he wished it.
Sophia, having appointed her maid to meet her at a certain place not far
from the house, exactly at the ghostly and dreadful hour of twelve,
began to prepare for her own departure.
But first she was obliged to give a painful audience to her father, and
he treated her in so violent and outrageous a manner that he frightened
her into an affected compliance with his will, which so highly pleased
the good squire that he at once changed his frowns into smiles, and his
menaces into promises.
He vowed his whole soul was wrapped in hers, that her consent had made
him the happiest of mankind.
He then gave her a large bank-bill to dispose of in any trinkets she
pleased, and kissed and embraced her in the fondest manner.
Sophia reverenced her father piously and loved him passionately, but the
thoughts of her beloved Jones quickly destroyed all the regretful
promptings of filial love.
_IV.--Tom Jones's Restoration_
After many adventures on the road Mr. Jones reached London; and as he
had often heard Mr. Allworthy mention the gentlewoman at whose house in
Bond Street he used to lodge when he was in town, he sought the house,
and was soon provided with a room there on the second floor. Mrs.
Miller, the person who let these lodgings, was the widow of a clergyman,
and Mr. Allworthy had settled an annuity of £50 a year on her, "in
consideration of always having her first floor when he was in town."
Tom Jones's fortunes were now very soon at the lowest. Having been
forced into a quarrel in the streets with an acquaintance named
Fitzpatrick, and having wounded him with his sword, a number of fellows
rushed in and carried Jones off to the civil magistrate, who, being
informed that the wound appeared to be mortal, straightway committed the
prisoner to the Gatehouse.
Sophia Western was also in London at the house of her aunt; and soon
afterwards Mr. Western, Mr. Allworthy, and Blifil all reached the city.
It was just at this time that Mr. Allworthy, consenting to his nephew
once more offering himself to Sophia, came with Blifil to his accustomed
lodgings in Bond Street. Mrs. Miller, to whom Jones had showed many
kindnesses, at once put in a good word for the unfortunate young man;
and, on Blifil exulting over the manslaughter Jones was alleged to have
committed, declared that the wounded man, whoever he was, was in fault.
This, indeed, was shortly afterwards corroborated by Fitzpatrick
himself, who acknowledged his mistake.
But it was not till Mr. Allworthy discovered that Blifil had been
arranging with a lawyer to get the men who had arrested Jones to bear
false witness, and learnt further that Tom Jones was his sister
Bridget's child, and that on her death-bed Mrs. Blifil's message to her
brother confessing the fact had been suppressed by her son, that his old
feelings of affection for Tom Jones returned. Before setting out to
visit Jones in the prison Mr. Allworthy called on Sophia to inform her
that he regretted Blifil had ever been encouraged to give her annoyance,
and that Mr. Jones was his nephew and his heir.
Men over-violent in their dispositions are, for the most part, as
changeable in them. No sooner was Western informed of Mr. Allworthy's
intention to make Jones his heir than he joined heartily with the uncle
in every commendation of the nephew, and became as eager for his
daughter's marriage with Jones as he had before been to couple her to
Blifil.
Fitzpatrick being recovered of his wound, and admitting the aggression,
Jones was released from custody and returned to his lodgings to meet Mr.
Allworthy.
It is impossible to conceive a more tender or moving scene than this
meeting between the uncle and nephew. Allworthy received Jones into his
arms. "O my child!" he cried, "how have I been to blame! How have I
injured you! What amends can I ever make you for those unkind
suspicions which I have entertained, and for all the sufferings they
have occasioned you?"
"Am I not now made amends?" cried Jones. "Would not my sufferings, had
they been ten times greater, have been now richly repaid?"
Here the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Western, who
could no longer be kept away even by the authority of Allworthy himself.
Western immediately went up to Jones, crying out, "My old friend Tom, I
am glad to see thee, with all my heart. All past must be forgotten. Come
along with me; I'll carry thee to thy mistress this moment."
Here Allworthy interposed; and the squire was obliged to consent to
delay introducing Jones to Sophia till the afternoon.
Blifil, now thoroughly exposed in his treachery, was at first sullen and
silent, balancing in his mind whether he should yet deny all; but
finding at last the evidence too strong against him, betook himself to
confession, and was now as remarkably mean as he had been before
remarkably wicked. Mr. Allworthy subsequently settled £200 a year upon
him, to which Jones hath privately added a third. Upon this income
Blifil lives in one of the northern counties. He is also lately turned
Methodist, in hopes of marrying a very rich widow of that sect. Sophia
would not at first permit any promise of an immediate engagement with
Jones because of certain stories of his inconstancy, but Mr. Western
refused to hear of any delay.
"To-morrow or next day?" says Western, bursting into the room where
Sophia and Jones were alone.
"Indeed, sir," says she, "I have no such intention."
"But I can tell thee," replied he, "why hast not; only because thou dost
love to be disobedient, and to plague and vex thy father. When I forbid
her, then it was all nothing but sighing and whining, and languishing
and writing; now I am for thee--(this to Jones)--she is against thee.
All the spirit of contrary, that's all. She is above being guided and
governed by her father, that is the whole truth on't. It is only to
disoblige and contradict me."
"What would my papa have me do?" cries Sophia.
"What would I ha' thee do?" says he, "why gee un thy hand this moment."
"Well, sir," said Sophia, "I will obey you. There is my hand, Mr.
Jones."
"Well, and will you consent to ha' un to-morrow morning?" says Western.
"I will be obedient to you, sir," cries she.
"Why, then, to-morrow morning be the day," cries he.
"Why, then, to-morrow morning shall be the day, papa, since you will
have it so," said Sophia. Jones then fell upon his knees and kissed her
hand in an agony of joy, while Western began to caper and dance about
the room, presently crying out, "Where the devil is Allworthy?" He then
sallied out in quest of him, and very opportunely left the lovers to
enjoy a few tender minutes alone.
But he soon returned with Allworthy, saying, "If you won't believe me,
you may ask her yourself. Hast not gin thy consent, Sophy, to be married
to-morrow?"
"Such are your commands, sir," cries Sophia, "and I dare not be guilty
of disobedience."
"I hope there is not the least constraint," cries Allworthy.
"Why, there," cried Western, "you may bid her unsay all again if you
will. Dost repent heartily of thy promise, dost not, Sophy?"
"Indeed, papa," cried she. "I do not repent, nor do I believe I ever
shall, of any promise in favour of Mr. Jones."
"Then, nephew," cries Allworthy, "I felicitate you most heartily, for I
think you are the happiest of men."
Mr. Allworthy, Mr. Western, and Mrs. Miller were the only persons
present at the wedding, and within two days of that event Mr. Jones and
Sophia attended Mr. Western and Mr. Allworthy into the country.
There is not a neighbour or a servant, who doth not most gratefully
bless the day when Mr. Jones was married to Sophia.
* * * * *