The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding (top young adult novels TXT) 📕

he expected much applause from her for what he had done; but how was he disappointed when, with a most disdainful aspect, she cried, “Sure, brother, you are the weakest of all men. Why will you not confide in me for the management of my niece? Why will you interpose? You have now undone all that I have been spending my breath in order to bring about. While I have been endeavouring to fill her mind with maxims of prudence, you have been provoking her to reject them. English women, brother, I thank heaven, are no slaves. We are not to be locked up like the Spanish and Italian wives. We have as good a right to liberty as yourselves. We are to be convinced by reason and persuasion only, and not governed by force. I have seen the world, brother, and know what arguments to make use of; and if your folly had not prevented me, should have prevailed with her to form her conduct by those rules of prudence and discretion which I formerly taught her.”⁠—“To be sure,” said the squire, “I am always in the wrong.”⁠—“Brother,” answered the lady, “you are not in the wrong, unless when you meddle with matters beyond your knowledge. You must agree that I have seen most of the world; and happy had it been for my niece if she had not been taken from under my care. It is by living at home with you that she hath learnt romantic notions of love and nonsense.”⁠—“You don’t imagine, I hope,” cries the squire, “that I have taught her any such things.”⁠—“Your ignorance, brother,” returned she, “as the great Milton says, almost subdues my patience.”6⁠—“D⁠⸺⁠n Milton!” answered the squire: “if he had the impudence to say so to my face, I’d lend him a douse, thof he was never so great a man. Patience! An you come to that, sister, I have more occasion of patience, to be used like an overgrown schoolboy, as I am by you. Do you think no one hath any understanding, unless he hath been about at court. Pox! the world is come to a fine pass indeed, if we are all fools, except a parcel of Round-heads and Hanover rats. Pox! I hope the times are a coming when we shall make fools of them, and every man shall enjoy his own. That’s all, sister; and every man shall enjoy his own. I hope to zee it, sister, before the Hanover rats have eat up all our corn, and left us nothing but turnips to feed upon.”⁠—“I protest, brother,” cries she, “you are now got beyond my understanding. Your jargon of turnips and Hanover rats is to me perfectly unintelligible.”⁠—“I believe,” cries he, “you don’t care to hear o’em; but the country interest may succeed one day or other for all that.”⁠—“I wish,” answered the lady, “you would think a little of your daughter’s interest; for, believe me, she is in greater danger than the nation.”⁠—“Just now,” said he, “you chid me for thinking on her, and would ha’ her left to you.”⁠—“And if you will promise to interpose no more,” answered she, “I will, out of my regard to my niece, undertake the charge.”⁠—“Well, do then,” said the squire, “for you know I always agreed, that women are the properest to manage women.”

Mrs. Western then departed, muttering something with an air of disdain, concerning women and management of the nation. She immediately repaired to Sophia’s apartment, who was now, after a day’s confinement, released again from her captivity.

Book VII

Containing three days.

I

A comparison between the world and the stage.

The world hath been often compared to the theatre; and many grave writers, as well as the poets, have considered human life as a great drama, resembling, in almost every particular, those scenical representations which Thespis is first reported to have invented, and which have been since received with so much approbation and delight in all polite countries.

This thought hath been carried so far, and is become so general, that some words proper to the theatre, and which were at first metaphorically applied to the world, are now indiscriminately and literally spoken of both; thus stage and scene are by common use grown as familiar to us, when we speak of life in general, as when we confine ourselves to dramatic performances: and when transactions behind the curtain are mentioned, St. James’s is more likely to occur to our thoughts than Drury-lane.

It may seem easy enough to account for all this, by reflecting that the theatrical stage is nothing more than a representation, or, as Aristotle calls it, an imitation of what really exists; and hence, perhaps, we might fairly pay a very high compliment to those who by their writings or actions have been so capable of imitating life, as to have their pictures in a manner confounded with, or mistaken for, the originals.

But, in reality, we are not so fond of paying compliments to these people, whom we use as children frequently do the instruments of their amusement; and have much more pleasure in hissing and buffeting them, than in admiring their excellence. There are many other reasons which have induced us to see this analogy between the world and the stage.

Some have considered the larger part of mankind in the light of actors, as personating characters no more their own, and to which in fact they have no better title, than the player hath to be in earnest thought the king or emperor whom he represents. Thus the hypocrite may be said to be a player; and indeed the Greeks called them both by one and the same name.

The brevity of life hath likewise given occasion to this comparison. So the immortal Shakespeare⁠—

… Life’s a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more.

For which hackneyed quotation I will make the reader amends by a