2. CHAPTER II.
A whimsical adventure which befel the squire, with the distressed
situation of Sophia
We must now convey the reader to Mr. Western's lodgings, which
were in Piccadilly, where he was placed by the recommendation of the
landlord at the Hercules Pillars at Hyde Park Corner; for at the
inn, which was the first he saw on his arrival in town, he placed
his horses, and in those lodgings, which were the first he heard of,
he deposited himself.
Here, when Sophia alighted from the hackney-coach, which brought her
from the house of Lady Bellaston, she desired to retire to the
apartment provided for her; to which her father very readily agreed,
and whither he attended her himself. A short dialogue, neither very
material nor pleasant to relate minutely, then passed between them, in
which he pressed her vehemently to give her consent to the marriage
with Blifil, who, as he acquainted her, was to be in town in a few
days; but, instead of complying, she gave a more peremptory and
resolute refusal than she had ever done before. This so incensed her
father, that after many bitter vows, that he would force her to have
him whether she would or no, he departed from her with many hard words
and curses, locked the door, and put the key into his pocket.
While Sophia was left with no other company than what attend the
closest state prisoner, namely, fire and candle, the squire sat down
to regale himself over a bottle of wine, with his parson and the
landlord of the Hercules Pillars, who, as the squire said, would
make an excellent third man, and could inform them of the news of
the town, and how affairs went; for to be sure, says he, he knows a
great deal, since the horses of many of the quality stand at his
house.
In this agreeable society Mr. Western past that evening and great
part of the succeeding day, during which period nothing happened of
sufficient consequence to find a place in this history. All this
time Sophia past by herself; for her father swore she should never
come out of her chamber alive, unless she first consented to marry
Blifil; nor did he ever suffer the door to be unlocked, unless to
convey her food, on which occasions he always attended himself.
The second morning after his arrival, while he and the parson were
at breakfast together on a toast and tankard, he was informed that a
gentleman was below to wait on him.
"A gentleman!" quoth the squire, "who the devil can he be? Do,
doctor, go down and see who 'tis. Mr. Blifil can hardly be come to
town yet.- Go down, do, and know what his business is."
The doctor returned with an account that it was a very well-drest
man, and by the ribbon in his hat he took him for an officer of the
army; that he said he had some particular business, which he could
deliver to none but Mr. Western himself.
"An officer!" cries the squire; "what can any such fellow have to do
with me? If he wants an order for baggage-waggons, I am no justice
of peace here, nor can I grant a warrant.- Let un come up then, if he
must speak to me."
A very genteel man now entered the room; who, having made his
compliments to the squire, and desired the favour of being alone
with him, delivered himself as follows:-
"Sir, I come to wait upon you by the command of my Lord Fellamar;
but with a very different message from what I suppose you expect,
after what past the other night."
"My lord who?" cries the squire; "I never heard the name o' un."
"His lordship," said the gentleman, "is willing to impute everything
to the effect of liquor, and the most trifling acknowledgment of
that kind will set everything right; for as he hath the most violent
attachment to your daughter, you, sir, are the last person upon
earth from whom he would resent an affront; and happy is it for you
both that he hath given such public demonstrations of his courage as
to be able to put up an affair of this kind without danger of any
imputation on his honour. All he desires, therefore, is, that you will
before me make some acknowledgment; the slightest in the world will be
sufficient; and he intends this afternoon to pay his respects to
you, in order to obtain your leave of visiting the young lady on the
footing of a lover."
"I don't understand much of what you say, sir," said the squire;
"but I suppose, by what you talk about my daughter, that this is the
lord which my cousin, Lady Bellaston, mentioned to me, and said
something about his courting my daughter. If so be that how that be
the case-you may give my service to his lordship, and tell un the girl
is disposed of already."
"Perhaps, sir," said the gentleman, "you are not sufficiently
apprized of the greatness of this offer. I believe such a person,
title, and fortune would be nowhere refused."
"Lookee, sir," answered the squire; "to be very plain, my daughter
is bespoke already; but if she was not, I would not marry her to a
lord upon any account; I hate all lords; they are a parcel of
courtiers and Hanoverians, and I will have nothing to do with them."
"Well, sir," said the gentleman, "if that is your resolution, the
message I am to deliver to you is, that my lord desires the favour
of your company this morning in Hyde Park."
"You may tell my lord, answered the squire, "that I am busy and
cannot come. I have enough to look after at home, and can't stir
abroad on any account."
"I am sure, sir," quoth the other, "you are too much a gentleman
to send such a message; you will not, I am convinced, have it said
of you, that, after having affronted a noble peer, you refuse him
satisfaction. His lordship would have been willing, from his great
regard to the young lady, to have made up matters in another way;
but unless he is to look on you as a father, his honour will not
suffer his putting up such an indignity as you must be sensible you
offered him."
"I offered him!" cries the squire; "it is a d--n'd lie! I never
offered him anything."
Upon these words the gentleman returned a very short verbal
rebuke, and this he accompanied at the same time with some manual
remonstrances, which no sooner reached the ears of Mr. Western, than
that worthy squire began to caper very briskly about the room,
bellowing at the same time with all his might, as if desirous to
summon a greater number of spectators to behold his agility.
The parson, who had left great part of the tankard unfinished, was
not retired far; he immediately attended, therefore, on the squire's
vociferation, crying, "Bless me! sir, what's the matter?"- "Matter!"
quoth the squire, "here's a highwayman, I believe, who wants to rob
and murder me-for he hath fallen upon me with that stick there in
his hand, when I wish I may be d--n'd if I gid un the least
provocation."
"How, sir," said the captain, "did you not tell me I lyed?"
"No, as I hope to be saved," answered the squire, "-I believe I
might say, 'Twas a lie that I had offered any affront to my lord- but
I never said the word, 'you lie.'- I understand myself better, and you
might have understood yourself better than to fall upon a naked man.
If I had a stick in my hand, you would not have dared strike me. I'd
have knocked thy lantern jaws about thy ears. Come down into yard this
minute, and I'll take a bout with thee at single stick for a broken
head, that I will; or I will go into naked room and box thee for a
belly-full. At unt half a man, at unt, I'm sure."
The captain, with some indignation, replied, "I see, sir, you are
below my notice, and I shall inform his lordship you are below his.
I am sorry I have dirtied my fingers with you." At which words he
withdrew, the parson interposing to prevent the squire from stopping
him, in which he easily prevailed, as the other, though he made some
efforts for the purpose, did not seem very violently bent on
success. However, when the captain was departed, the squire sent
many curses and some menaces after him; but as these did not set out
from his lips till the officer was at the bottom of the stairs, and
grew louder and louder as he was more and more remote, they did not
reach his ears, or at least did not retard his departure.
Poor Sophia, however, who, in her prison, heard all her father's
outcries from first to last, began now first to thunder with her foot,
and afterwards to scream as loudly as the gentleman himself had done
before, though in a much sweeter voice. These screams soon silenced
the squire, and turned all his consideration towards his daughter,
whom he loved so tenderly, that the least apprehension of any harm
happening to her, threw him presently into agonies; for, except in
that single instance in which the whole future happiness of her life
was concerned, she was sovereign mistress of his inclinations.
Having ended his rage against the captain, with swearing he would
take the law of him, the squire now mounted upstairs to Sophia,
whom, as soon as he had unlocked and opened the door, he found all
pale and breathless. The moment, however, that she saw her father, she
collected all her spirits, and, catching him hold by the hand, she
cryed passionately, "O my dear sir, I am almost frightened to death! I
hope to heaven no harm hath happened to you." "No, no," cries the
squire, "no great harm. The rascal hath not hurt me much, but rat me
if I don't ha the la o' un." "Pray, dear sir," says she, "tell me
what's the matter; who is it that hath insulted you?" "I don't know
the name o' un," answered Western; "some officer fellow, I suppose,
that we are to pay for beating us; but I'll make him pay this bout, if
the rascal hath got anything, which I suppose he hath not. For thof he
was drest out so vine, I question whether he had got a voot of land in
the world." "But, dear sir," cries she, "what was the occasion of your
quarrel?" "What should it be, Sophy," answered the squire, "but
about you, Sophy? All my misfortunes are about you; you will be the
death of your poor father at last. Here's a varlet of a lord, the Lord
knows who, forsooth! who hath a taan a liking to you, and because I
would not gi un my consent, he sent me a kallenge. Come, do be a
good girl, Sophy, and put an end to all your father's troubles;
come, do consent to ha un; he will be in town within this day or
two; do but promise me to marry un as soon as he comes, and you will
make me the happiest man in the world, and I will make you the
happiest woman; you shall have the finest cloaths in London, and the
finest jewels, and a coach and six at your command. I promised
Allworthy already to give up half my estate- od rabbet it! I should
hardly stick at giving up the whole." "Will my papa be so kind,"
says she, "as to hear me speak?"- "Why wout ask, Sophy?" cries he,
"when dost know I had rather hear thy voice than the musick of the
best pack of dogs in England.- Hear thee, my dear litle girl! I hope
I shall hear thee as long as I live; for if I was ever to lose that
pleasure, I would not gee a brass varden to live a moment longer.
Indeed, Sophy, you do not know how I love you, indeed you don't, or
you never could have run away and left your poor father, who hath no
other joy, no other comfort upon earth, but his little Sophy." At
these words the tears stood in his eyes; and Sophia (with the tears
streaming from hers) answered, "Indeed, my dear papa, I know you
have loved me tenderly, and heaven is my witness how sincerely I
have returned your affection; nor could anything but an apprehension
of being forced into the arms of this man have driven me to run from a
father whom I love so passionately, that I would, with pleasure,
sacrifice my life to his happiness; nay, I have endeavoured to
reason myself into doing more, and had almost worked up a resolution
to endure the most miserable of all lives, to comply with your
inclination. It was that resolution alone to which I could not force
my mind; nor can I ever." Here the squire began to look wild, and
the foam appeared at his lips, which Sophia observing, begged to be
heard out, and then proceeded: "If my father's life, his health, or
any real happiness of his was at stake, here stands your resolved
daughter; may heaven blast me if there is a misery I would not
suffer to preserve you!- No, that most detested, most loathsome of
all lots would I embrace. I would give my hand to Blifil for your
sake."- "I tell thee, it will preserve me," answers the father; "it
will give me health, happiness, life, everything.- Upon my soul I
shall die if dost refuse me; I shall break my heart, I shall, upon my
soul."- "Is it possible," says she, "you can have such a desire to
make me miserable?"- "I tell thee noa," answered he loudly, "d--n me
if there is a thing upon earth I would not do to see thee happy."-
"And will not my dear papa allow me to have the least knowledge of
what will make me so? If it be true that happiness consists in
opinion, what must be my condition, when I shall think myself the most
miserable of all the wretches upon earth?" "Better think yourself so,"
said he, "than know it by being married to a poor bastardly vagabond."
"If it will content you, sir," said Sophia, "I will give you the most
solemn promise never to marry him, nor any other, while my papa lives,
without his consent. Let me dedicate my whole life to your service;
let me be again your poor Sophy, and my whole business and pleasure
be, as it hath been, to please and divert you." "Lookee, Sophy,"
answered the squire, "I am not to be choused in this manner. Your aunt
Western would then have reason to think me the fool she doth. No,
no, Sophy, I'd have you to know I have a got more wisdom, and know
more of the world, than to take the word of a woman in a matter
where a man is concerned." "How, sir, have I deserved this want of
confidence?" said she; "have I ever broke a single promise to you?
or have I ever been found guilty of a falsehood from my cradle?"
"Lookee, Sophy," cries he; "that's neither here nor there. I am
determined upon this match, and have him you shall, d--n me if shat
unt. D--n me if shat unt, though dost hang thyself the next morning."
At repeating which words he clinched his fist, knit his brows, bit his
lips, and thundered so loud, that the poor afflicted, terrified Sophia
sunk trembling into her chair, and, had not a flood of tears come
immediately to her relief, perhaps worse had followed.
Western beheld the deplorable condition of his daughter with no more
contrition or remorse than the turnkey of Newgate feels at viewing the
agonies of a tender wife, when taking her last farewell of her
condemned husband; or rather he looked down on her with the same
emotions which arise in an honest fair tradesman, who sees his
debtor dragged to prison for £10, which, though a just debt, the
wretch is wickedly unable to pay. Or, to hit the case still more
nearly, he felt the same compunction with a bawd, when some poor
innocent, whom she hath ensnared into her hands, falls into fits at
the first proposal of what is called seeing company. Indeed this
resemblance would be exact, was it not that the bawd hath an
interest in what she doth, and the father, though perhaps he may
blindly think otherwise, can, in reality, have none in urging his
daughter to almost an equal prostitution.
In this condition he left his poor Sophia, and, departing with a
very vulgar observation on the effect of tears, he locked the room,
and returned to the parson, who said everything he durst in behalf
of the young lady, which, though perhaps it was not quite so much as
his duty required, yet was it sufficient to throw the squire into a
violent rage, and into many indecent reflections on the whole body
of the clergy, which we have too great an honour for that sacred
function to commit to paper.