4. CHAPTER IV.
A picture of a country gentlewoman taken from the life
Mr. Western having finished his holla, and taken a little breath,
began to lament, in very pathetic terms, the unfortunate condition
of men, who are, says he, "always whipt in by the humours of some
d--n'd b- or other. I think I was hard run enough by your mother for
one man; but after giving her a dodge, here's another b- follows me
upon the foil; but curse my jacket if I will be run down in this
manner by any o'um."
Sophia never had a single dispute with her father, till this unlucky
affair of Blifil, on any account, except in defence of her mother,
whom she had loved most tenderly, though she lost her in the
eleventh year of her age. The squire, to whom that poor woman had been
a faithful upper-servant all the time of their marriage, had
returned that behaviour by making what the world calls a good husband.
He very seldom swore at her (perhaps not above once a week) and
never beat her: she had not the least occasion for jealousy, and was
perfect mistress of her time; for she was never interrupted by her
husband, who was engaged all the morning in his field exercises, and
all the evening with bottle companions. She scarce indeed ever saw him
but at meals; where she had the pleasure of carving those dishes which
she had before attended at the dressing. From these meals she
retired about five minutes after the other servants, having only
stayed to drink "the king over the water." Such were, it seems, Mr.
Western's orders; for it was a maxim with him, that women should
come in with the first dish, and go out after the first glass.
Obedience to these orders was perhaps no difficult task; for the
conversation (if it may be called so) was seldom such as could
entertain a lady. It consisted chiefly of hallowing, singing,
relations of sporting adventures, b-d-y, and abuse of women, and of
the government.
These, however, were the only seasons when Mr. Western saw his wife;
for when he repaired to her bed, he was generally so drunk that he
could not see; and in the sporting season he always rose from her
before it was light. Thus was she perfect mistress of her time, and
had besides a coach and four usually at her command; though unhappily,
indeed, the badness of the neighbourhood, and of the roads, made
this of little use; for none who had set much value on their necks
would have passed through the one, or who had set any value on their
hours, would have visited the other. Now to deal honestly with the
reader, she did not make all the return expected to so much
indulgence; for she had been married against her will by a fond
father, the match having been rather advantageous on her side; for the
squire's estate was upward of £3000 a year, and her fortune no more
than a bare £8000. Hence perhaps she had contracted a little
gloominess of temper, for she was rather a good servant than a good
wife; nor had she always the gratitude to return the extraordinary
degree of roaring mirth, with which the squire received her, even with
a good-humoured smile. She would, moreover, sometimes interfere with
matters which did not concern her, as the violent drinking of her
husband, which in the gentlest terms she would take some of the few
opportunities he gave her of remonstrating against. And once in her
life she very earnestly entreated him to carry her for two months to
London, which he peremptorily denied; nay, was angry with his wife for
the request ever after, being well assured that all the husbands in
London are cuckolds.
For this last, and many other good reasons, Western at length
heartily hated his wife; and as he never concealed this hatred
before her death, so he never forgot it afterwards; but when
anything in the least soured him, as a bad scenting day, or a
distemper among his hounds, or any other such misfortune, he
constantly vented his spleen by invectives against the deceased,
saying, "If my wife was alive now, she would be glad of this."
These invectives he was especially desirous of throwing forth before
Sophia; for as he loved her more than he did any other, so he was
really jealous that she had loved her mother better than him. And this
jealousy Sophia seldom failed of heightening on these occasions; for
he was not contented with violating her ears with the abuse of her
mother, but endeavoured to force an explicit approbation of all this
abuse; with which desire he never could prevail upon her by any
promise or threats to comply.
Hence some of my readers will, perhaps, wonder that the squire had
not hated Sophia as much as he had hated her mother; but I must inform
them, that hatred is not the effect of love, even through the medium
of jealousy. It is, indeed, very possible for jealous persons to
kill the objects of their jealousy, but not to hate them. Which
sentiment being a pretty hard morsel, and bearing something of the air
of a paradox, we shall leave the reader to chew the cud upon it to the
end of the chapter.