Tag: Classic Literature Page 3 of 6

Well, thanks to that unexpected nine-week break, I’m abandoning the whole “read through this in 2020” goal. This bothers me a little bit, but I’ll get over it.

So, when we left Tom, he was in London. He’d made some decent friends (or at least allies), was being his usual generous and helpful self with them. He’d also found a way to hopefully gain an audience with Sophia, but it looks like it’s going to take some work. Let’s dive back in, shall we?

Oh, my hardcopy with the funky capitalization, etc. is in a different box than I believed. So, Project Gutenberg to the rescue today.

I just love the titles of the first two chapters we’re looking at this week: “Which treats of matters of a very different kind from those in the preceding chapter,” and “A chapter which, though short, may draw tears from some eyes.”

So Tom’s getting nowhere with his connections to Sophia—in fact, it’s getting to the point that he’s about to lose his connection if he keeps bringing her up. But, he’s a clever guy. If Lady Bellaston won’t help him who will? Well, what she knows, the servants likely know (he figures), so Partridge is deployed to get that information from the servants.

While we wait for results on that front, we learn that Lady Bellaston is what we would call a cougar (or we would’ve a few years ago, anyway), and she has her sights set on Tom, and showers him with attention (and gifts). Tom isn’t interested in her, he’s devoted to Sophia. But, it’d be rude to not return a little of the affection she’s showering on him.

One night, he’s compelled to ditch his pal Nightengale—they were supposed to go see a play together, but Bellaston wanted Tom to come meet her in her home. To make this appointment possible, Bellaston sends away some servants and even arranges for her houseguest, Sophia, to attend that same play (with a chaperone, of course).

But before Tom can leave, Mrs. Miller asks him to join her to meet someone. The cousin that Tom’s been so recently generous to is downstairs and wants to thank him. Now remember a few chapters back, when someone tried to steal from Tom, tells him a sob story about a sick family member, and so Tom gives him some money? Well, guess who Mrs. Miller’s cousin happens to be. It’s practically a Dickensian coincidence (if Dickens had been born yet, anyway). Mr. Miller had already planned on spilling his heart in gratitude, but this just compounded his thanks. Tom’s gratified to hear how much he’s helped. (this is the chapter we might have got teary about).

So then Tom heads to Ballston’s, and gets there early, so is hanging out in the drawing room to wait. The play turned into some sort of a to-do. it was a new play, and apparently controversial. One group had shown up to protest, another to cheer it on (Nightengale had been counting on Tom to help him encourage the production). It was all too much for Sophia, who came home between accts. She discovers Tom, and almost faints.

To paint the looks or thoughts of either of these lovers, is beyond my power. As their sensations, from their mutual silence, may be judged to have been too big for their own utterance, it cannot be supposed that I should be able to express them: and the misfortune is, that few of my readers have been enough in love to feel by their own hearts what past at this time in theirs.

In what follows, Tom gives her the pocketbook and money, they clear up some misconceptions and misunderstandings, basically clear the air and are getting all sentimental with each other, when Tom remembers he has to ask her to forget about him (the last thing she wants to hear), and starts to say something along those lines, but botches it and says something

that sounded like a proposal of marriage. To which she replied, “That, did not her duty to her father forbid her to follow her own inclinations, ruin with him would be more welcome to her than the most affluent fortune with another man.”

The use of the word “ruin,” brings everything back to Tom and he starts to do what he’s supposed to do, but she interrupts to ask what he was doing in that room. Naturally, in walks Lady Bellaston—shocked to find the two of them together, and she demands to know what Sophia is doing there.

Sophia tells what happened at the play (Bellaston doubts it), says that Tom came to return her pocketbook (Bellaston knew it was missing, doesn’t believe that Tom returned it), after tracking her down by the name inside it. Bellaston and Tom don’t let on that they know each other either. Tom’s willing to play along, as it keeps both women from being upset with him.

Tom leaves, and the two women spend some time lying to each other about what they think about Tom, what they know about him, and so on. It’s a giant mess that’s sure to come toppling down soon.

And there we go, back to the book and at the end of Book Thirteen. Both of which are fun. We’re in the final third here, so things are going to start happening more quickly (I expect). Will Tom come clean to Sophia about Bellaston? Will Bellaston tell Sophia that she knew she was lying about Tom? Is Tom still destined for a hanging? All this and more to come in the next few chapters.

The next day, Tom tries several times to see Mrs. Fitzgerald but gets nowhere. Fed up, he goes back to the Inn he’s staying at (a place Mr. Allworthy stayed at when in London). He hears an altercation and comes to intervene.

I was joking last week about how nice it was to see another fistfight again, and already we have a new one. They’re good for drama, I guess, and to make fast friends of whoever Tom comes to the rescue of (or vice versa). A footman was attacking his employer, and the daughter of the Innkeeper was standing by and screaming (this is what alerted Tom). As handily as the footman was beating his employer, so Tom took care of the footman.

It turns out—and you’ve gotta love this—the footman had been using his boss’s (Mr. Nightengale) copy of Hoyle and had spilled wine on an open page. Nightengale was angered, and the two started arguing over how much the book had been worth before getting ruined, so they could agree on how much to be withheld from his pay. One thing led to another…

Anyway, out of gratitude Nightengale splits a bottle of wine with Tom and they become friends, the innkeeper and her daughter join them and they all get along really well.

The next day, as masquerade invitation and mask arrive for Tom, he assumes this comes from Mrs. Fitzgerald and will be his chance to see Sophia. So he invites Nightengale to come to the ball with him—and then has to borrow cab fare from Partridge so he can afford to go anywhere. There’s no Sophia, or even Mrs. Fitzgerald at the ball, instead, it’s Sophia’s friend, Lady Bellaston, who arranged to meet Tom there.

She grills Tom for hours and finally agrees to arrange a meeting if he promises to leave Sophia alone after that. She gives him fifty pounds and sends him on his way.

Tom gets back to the inn to hear Mrs. Miller (the innkeeper, who I should’ve introduced earlier) talk about a cousin, who married for love and is now destitute and barely hanging on due to illness in the family. Tom pulls her aside and gives her the money Bellaston just gave him.

Now, earlier, Fielding told the reader that he focused on describing Mrs. Miller because she’s going to be important. I wonder how? And I look forward to finding out. A fun few chapters this week, I’m really enjoying Tom’s time in London.

After the wedding, Tom and Partridge are back on their way to London. Funds are running low, and Partridge suggests borrowing from Sophia’s hundred to get them some food, they both could use some. Particularly Tom, who hadn’t had anything but a poached egg in a long time, unlike Partridge at the wedding “he had feasted only his understanding.” Tom refuses to steal (or, borrow, but he knows it’d really be stealing) and the two get into a heated argument about it.

They do stop for some food and things cool down. When they leave a stranger asks if he can travel with them—and after a little bit, he pulls a gun on them and demands that hundred. A scuffle (a really tame one by this book’s standards) ensues and Tom gets the guy on his back and disarmed easily. This was his first attempted mugging—the pistol isn’t even loaded—he’s poor, he has five kids with another on the way. Tom gives him a little bit of money (over Partridge’s objections—he’s getting hard to like), and goes on his way.

They end up in London and now Tom has to find Sophia. He tracks down Mrs. Fitzpatrick and tries to get information about Sophia from her. Mrs. Fitzpatrick is convinced he’s Mr. Blifil and doesn’t give him anything. As Tom leaves, her maid clues her in—which involves catching her up on who Tom is, as Sophia left him out of her stories.

In that case, Mrs. Fitzpatrick both wants to meet with him again and to get Sophia’s friend, Lady Bellaston, involved, too. The next day when Tom comes again to try to get information out of Mrs. Fitzpatrick the two ladies make some observations and discuss him at some length after he leaves again.

After fisticuffs being a frequent occurrence for a bit, it’s now been weeks since we had one. And it looks like it’s going to be a few before we get another after this very short altercation. I’m not saying I need them, it’s just something that was common enough that I joked about it, and now it’s gone by the wayside. Instead, it looks like we’re getting into a groove of domestic kind of action—Sophia’s female relatives or friends looking out for her and making Tom jump through hoops. Maybe I’m wrong, but I bet the last little bit is going to repeat itself for a few chapters.

While Jones is catching some Zs, Partridge is having a good time talking with men at the inn. He starts off talking up Tom’s wealth, but then gets into talking about worrying aobut his mental health. THye kick around some schemes to get TOm some help for his madness, but don’t end up pursuing any action because some news comes in about the rebels marching on London.

Tom sleeps a lot for him, and could probably do with some more. But he gets a clue about Sophia’s route and follows up on it—and then finds the boy who took her into London, and discretely pumps him for information. It’s at this point that Fielding talks about Sophia being more offended by Tom’s use of her name in public than any, shall we say, extra-curricular activities he may be involved in. Sadly, she’s upset with the wrong man, Tom’s very careful of her reputation. Partridge, on the other hand… Tom must really be lonely and in need of a traveling companion, that’s all I’ll say.

During a break in their travel, Tom splits a bottle of wine with Mr. Dowling—the attorney who brought news of Blifil’s mother’s death.

Mr Dowling, pouring out a glass of wine, named the health of the good Squire Allworthy; adding, “If you please, sir, we will likewise remember his nephew and heir, the young squire: Come, sir, here’s Mr Blifil to you, a very pretty young gentleman; and who, I dare swear, will hereafter make a very considerable figure in his country. I have a borough for him myself in my eye.”

“Sir,” answered Jones, “I am convinced you don’t intend to affront me, so I shall not resent it; but I promise you, you have joined two persons very improperly together; for one is the glory of the human species, and the other is a rascal who dishonours the name of man.”

No beating around the bush there with Tom, who goes on to explain his problems with Blifil in the starkest of terms before the horses are ready for them to resume.

Tom, Partridge and the boy get lost shortly after this and stumble upon a Romani (not the word Fielding used) wedding party and take some shelter with them during a storm. It’s an interesting interlude, Tom and their “King” engage in good conversation about forms of government and lighter topics. Their conversation ends with this amusing exchange:

the king, turning to him, said, “Me believe you be surprize: for me suppose you have ver bad opinion of my people; me suppose you tink us all de tieves.”

“I must confess, sir,” said Jones, “I have not heard so favourable an account of them as they seem to deserve.”

“Me vil tell you,” said the king, “how the difference is between you and us. My people rob your people, and your people rob one anoder.”

Not a lot actually got accomplished in these few chapters—the plot only inched forward. But there were some interesting/amusing passages, and the closer Tom gets to London, the closer we get (I imagine) to a lot of things happening.

We’ve spent some time with Sophia, her cousin and her father, as they left that Inn and traveled toward London. Now it’s time to get back to Tom Jones, the man this History is about to see what he does when he leaves the same Inn after that eventful night. I really liked the way this week’s chapters started. Fielding being Fielding:

At length we are once more come to our Heroe; and, to say Truth, we have been obliged to part with him so long, that, considering the Condition in which we left him, I apprehend many of our Readers have concluded we intended to abandon him for ever; he being at present in that Situation in which prudent People usually desist from enquiring any farther after their Friends, lest they should be shocked by hearing such Friends had hanged themselves.

But, in reality, if we have not all the Virtues, I will boldly say, neither have we all the Vices of a prudent Character; and tho’ it is not easy to conceive Circumstances much more miserable than those of poor Jones at present, we shall return to him, and attend upon him with the same Diligence as if he was wantoning in the brightest Beams of Fortune.

It’s good to be back with Tom, even if he doesn’t seem much like the man destined for a hanging right now—he’s heartbroken and lost. He actually loses it on poor Partridge shortly after they leave in pursuit of Sophia. They eventually patch it up and Tom figures since everything else in life has gone wrong, he might as well pursue glory and join the army.

Partridge tries to dissuade him, in part with flowery religious talk. Which is almost immediately shown to be empty when a poor beggar crosses their path, seeking aid. Partridge has no patience for him, but Tom chastises him and gives the man some money. The man offers to sell him a notebook, that Tom soon discovers belongs to Sophia—and contains the missing hundred pounds! Tom takes the beggar’s name so he can arrange some award money to be sent to him once he delivers this book to Sophia.

I did enjoy the beggar grumbling to himself as he left about his parents never having sent him to school to read. If only they had, he wouldn’t be in this state.

Tom and Partridge carry on for a while and eventually stop in an in ann which is also playing host to a puppet show. The puppeteer has removed Punch and Joan from his shows so that they’ll teach morality. Tom suggests that the removal makes them dull, and the two argue a bit before the landlady interrupts to complain that no one does Bible stories anymore in those shows.

I’m not sure what Fielding is going to do with this stuff, but I think I’ll find out next week. In the meantime, Partridge convinces him to get a room for the night (wouldn’t want to travel at night) and get some overdue sleep. And we’ll leave it there for now.

It was good to be back traveling with Tom, but I wish I knew where things were going.

Those Members of Society who are born to furnish the Blessings of Life now began to light their Candles, in order to pursue their daily Labours for the Use of those who are born to enjoy these Blessings. The sturdy Hind now attends the Levee of his Fellow Labourer the Ox; the cunning Artificer, the diligent Mechanic, spring from their hard Mattress; and now the bonny House-Maid begins to repair the disordered Drum-Room, while the riotous Authors of that Disorder, in broken interrupted Slumbers, tumble and toss, as if the Hardness of Down disquieted their Repose.

Fielding calls this chapter, “The Morning introduced in some pretty Writing. A Stage Coach. The Civility of Chambermaids. The heroic Temper of Sophia. Her Generosity. The Return to it. The Departure of the Company, and their Arrival at London; with some Remarks for the Use of Travellers.” The utter lack of humility aside, he’s not usually given to such, shall we say, thorough, chapter titles but that does a good job of summarizing things. Sophia and her cousin take off for London after giving the Landlord a gift (Fielding leave it up to our imagination), but fails to give one to his wife (she discovers that she lost a hundred pounds somewhere). They arrive in London, and Sophia makes a hasty (but polite) departure from her cousin to head off to the house she hoped to stay in.

Sophia’s not so sure that Mrs. Fitzgerald is really as virtuous as she claims and even doubts some of the story we got in the last few chapters. Fielding gives a little morality lesson to go with this about suspicion. It’s an odd little digression at this point in the narrative, but setting aside the awkwardness, it was a nice little bit of writing.

That’s the end of Book XI, so XII starts off with the typical Chapter 1 discourse. This time, it’s an apology for his use of classical quotations, allusions, and references, and how often he doesn’t attribute them well. It’s not my favorite Chapter 1, but I appreciated his defense, ancient authors are fair game, but he wouldn’t do that to a contemporary and rob them of their due.*

* Okay, it sounds dumb when I summarize it. But Fielding pulls it off with aplomb and style.

We get back to the story, and see what Squire Western’s up to on his pursuit of Sophia. The Squire is all out of sorts, bemoaning his state, and carrying on (as he’s pretty want to do). Parson Supple’s traveling with him, and tries to console him about missing his daughter. Western clarifies things for him, he’s lamenting missing hunting season. They come across a hunting party and ends up spending the day and dining with a fellow squire. He has such a good time that he totally abandons the chase for his daughter and goes home.

Such a devoted father…really, he’s an example to us all.

Back to Tom next week, so we can see how he does on his journey (probably not as well as Sophia, but better than her father, is my guess).

Allrighty, folks…buckle in. We’ve got to get through 30 pages here to get back on schedule.

We start with Mrs. Fitzpatrick telling Sophia what has her on the road, essentially recapping her entire life from the time she married Mr. Fitzpatrick. It takes three long (by Fielding’s standards) to get through. In short, she was taken in by his (fleeting) charms—a personality that disappeared soon after their wedding, and looks that went the way of all things. He, on the other hand, seemed primarily interested in her “Ready Money” (in the words of one of his impatient creditors). Even as she becomes aware of the latter, he’s able to talk her into returning to Ireland with him and to take up residence in an increasingly gloomy house. From this point, we get a tale of repeated arguments, infidelity (on his part), imprisonment in her quarters, and attempts to force her to sell part of her landholdings.

What a great guy, eh?

They’re interrupted briefly by the landlady with news that the French have arrived to throw in with the rebellion against the Queen. It’s distressing news to Sophia, but she’s so worried about her father’s arrival and what Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s been telling her that her reaction isn’t quite right.

Then Sophia tells her tale—Fielding tells us that he won’t recap what she says, because we’ve already read it. But, there’s a catch:

she made no more mention of Jones, from the Beginning to the End, than if there had been no such Person alive. This I will neither endeavour to account for nor to excuse. Indeed, if this may be called a Kind of Dishonesty, it seems the more inexcusable, from the apparent Openness and explicit Sincerity of the other Lady.—But so it was.

A Gentleman arrives at the Inn and, after a lot of fuss and bother, is revealed to be the gentleman and neighbor of Mrs. Fitzpatrick who helped her escape from her home and get to England. He agrees to help the ladies get to London safely.

I’ve got to say, this was hard to get through. It was exactly the kind of info dump that most authors try to avoid today, and just wasn’t that interesting. I hope, hope, that learning all this pays off eventually and is something more than just Mrs. Fitzpaterick’s backstory just to be told it.

Still, that little nugget about Sophia leaving Tom out of the tale of her last few months is interesting…

Partridge tries to talk Tom in to returning home, rather than getting further inolved with the military. That doesn’t go well at all, and the two start to bicker, when Tom finds the Muff, recognizes it and suddenly can only care aonly about it. He tries to set out to track Sophia down.

And, yeah, Mrs. Fitzpatrick was, after all, probably at the Inn—just not the woman that Tom was found with, and is already on the road. The coach that had likely brought Mrs. Fitzpatrick to the end is described:

The Coach which had brought the young Lady and her Maid, and which, perhaps, the Reader may have hitherto concluded was her own, was, indeed, a returned Coach belonging to Mr King, of Bath, one of the worthiest and honestest Men that ever dealt in Horse-flesh, and whose Coaches we heartily recommend to all our Readers who travel that Road. By which Means they may, perhaps, have the Pleasure of riding in the very Coach, and being driven by the very Coachman, that is recorded in this History.

According the footnotes in my edition, this was an actual business, making this appear to be one of the earliest examples of product placement?

Chapter vi ends with:

Here, Reader, it may be necessary to acquaint thee with some Matters, which, if thou dost know already, thou art wiser than I take thee to be. And this Information thou shalt receive in the next Chapter.

This is one of my all-time favorite chapter endings. I love it when Fielding narrates his narration like this. It’s the simple things in life, right?

The next chapter is such the comedy of errors, mistaken identities, mistaken motives, wild accusations, and general running about that I can’t summarize it well—I’d really have to just reprint the whole chapter. Suffice it to say that Squire Western is a couple of hours behind Sophia, and is still no friend of Tom’s. Oh, and Mrs. Fitzpatrick is the cousin of Sophia.

We then get flashback chapters, detailing how Sophia ran away from her home, and how her father reacted (hint: poorly) upon discovering it—oddly, her aunt defended her actions. Naturally, Fielding uses the chance to indulge his weakness for the young lady,

It is now Time to look after Sophia; whom the Reader, if he lovers half as well as I do, will rejoice to find escaped from the Clutches of her passionate Father, and from those of her dispassionate Lover.

We get a beginning of a Book digression—this one into a harangue against literary critics, who are nothing more than slanderers, attacking an author when they attack a book—

for, as no one can call another Bastard, without calling the Mother a Whore, so neither can any one give the Names of sad Stuff, horrid Nonsense, &c., to a Book, without calling the Author a Blockhead; which, though in a moral Sense it is a preferable Appellation to that of Villain, is perhaps rather more injurious to his worldly Interest.

(as much as I quibble with his argument, I enjoyed it)

Then we resume with Sophia’s journey after her close miss with Tom, she, her maid, and their guide rush toward London, and soon discover they’re being followed (unintentionally). It turns out that they’re being followed by none other than Sophia’s cousin, Mrs. Fitzpatrick. They had been very close not that long ago and decide to travel together. But are both so tired after their last couple of days that they don’t talk much, and resolve to keep their stories until they’ve had a chance to sleep. They get to an inn, and collapse almost immediately, so we’ll get to see them catch up with each other next week.

Some of this was just a bit too busy for my taste. I prefer Fielding a bit more streamlined, but overall, this was eventful, fun and should prove to make life interesting in the chapters to come.

We start off with the 18th case of mistaken identity and 47th fistfight of the book.

Some Irishman has come to the Inn late at night, looking for his wife. The maid assumes that he’s talking about Mrs. Waters, leads him to her room. He bursts in, sees clothing from two people scattered all over, a female in the bed and Tom jumping out of it to see who burst in. The stranger starts attacking Tom. Another Irishman is staying in the next room (I’m not going to bother trying to introduce them), a friend, and he comes charging in—only to help him realize that Mrs. Waters isn’t his wife. The two leave and Tom goes back to bed.

The maid and landlady discuss the events of the evening, only to be interrupted by a lady’s maid and her lady coming to take a room. After getting them settled, the maid comes down, looking for food and gets to talking things over with the inn’s made and Partridge. One thing leads to another and Patridge reveals to Mrs. Honour (naturally, that’s who the lady’s maid is) that Tom’s here with Mrs. Waters.

Partridge does a little more damage that I really don’t care enough to recap. Mrs. Honour tells Sophia about it, she’s highly offended (not realizing it was Partridge telling tales out of school, not Tom) and arranges to leave the fabled muff (which, of course, she has on her) and a note in Tom’s room.

There are a couple of stylistic moments that seem different from the rest of the book—as I’m currently at page 546, that’s no mean feat. They were nice touches, but I’m glad they’re just touches. Even without that, Fielding’s voice was as strong as ever, and I chuckled as much as I rolled my eyes at these silly circumstances.

Looking forward to seeing Tom dig himself out of this hole.

We start with a meal between Mrs. Waters, our poor victim of assault from last week’s chapters. She does her best to seduce Tom—and it works pretty well.

While that’s going on the serjeant and Partridge are, well, gossiping about Tom and Mrs. Waters—who really isn’t a Mrs. She’s just someone who spends a lot of time with Waters (and the implication is that she spends a good deal of time with people who aren’t Waters—like say, Northerton. But that little relationship went off the rails, as we saw). Partridge gets into Tom’s relationship with Allworthy (and implies a bit more about Tom’s status than is really true).

We close this week with the beginning of the next book, a digression about the morality of characters—he’s clear that he wants to avoid wholly good or completely depraved characters, but instead:

In fact, if there be enough of goodness in a character to engage the admiration and affection of a well-disposed mind, though there should appear some of those little blemishes quas humana parum cavit natura, they will raise our compassion rather than our abhorrence. Indeed, nothing can be of more moral use than the imperfections which are seen in examples of this kind; since such form a kind of surprize, more apt to affect and dwell upon our minds than the faults of very vicious and wicked persons. The foibles and vices of men, in whom there is great mixture of good, become more glaring objects from the virtues which contrast them and shew their deformity; and when we find such vices attended with their evil consequence to our favourite characters, we are not only taught to shun them for our own sake, but to hate them for the mischiefs they have already brought on those we love.

This seems like a highly appropriate thing to think about at the moment.