Chapter iv.

An extraordinary scene between Sophia and her aunt.

The lowing heifer and the bleating ewe, in herds and flocks, may

ramble safe and unregarded through the pastures. These are, indeed,

hereafter doomed to be the prey of man; yet many years are they

suffered to enjoy their liberty undisturbed. But if a plump doe be

discovered to have escaped from the forest, and to repose herself in

some field or grove, the whole parish is presently alarmed, every man

is ready to set his dogs after her; and, if she is preserved from the

rest by the good squire, it is only that he may secure her for his own

eating.

I have often considered a very fine young woman of fortune and

fashion, when first found strayed from the pale of her nursery, to be

in pretty much the same situation with this doe. The town is

immediately in an uproar; she is hunted from park to play, from court

to assembly, from assembly to her own chamber, and rarely escapes a

single season from the jaws of some devourer or other; for, if her

friends protect her from some, it is only to deliver her over to one

of their own chusing, often more disagreeable to her than any of the

rest; while whole herds or flocks of other women securely, and scarce

regarded, traverse the park, the play, the opera, and the assembly;

and though, for the most part at least, they are at last devoured, yet

for a long time do they wanton in liberty, without disturbance or

controul.

Of all these paragons none ever tasted more of this persecution than

poor Sophia. Her ill stars were not contented with all that she had

suffered on account of Blifil, they now raised her another pursuer,

who seemed likely to torment her no less than the other had done. For

though her aunt was less violent, she was no less assiduous in teizing

her, than her father had been before.

The servants were no sooner departed after dinner than Mrs Western,

who had opened the matter to Sophia, informed her, “That she expected

his lordship that very afternoon, and intended to take the first

opportunity of leaving her alone with him.” “If you do, madam,”

answered Sophia, with some spirit, “I shall take the first opportunity

of leaving him by himself.” “How! madam!” cries the aunt; “is this the

return you make me for my kindness in relieving you from your

confinement at your father's?” “You know, madam,” said Sophia, “the

cause of that confinement was a refusal to comply with my father in

accepting a man I detested; and will my dear aunt, who hath relieved

me from that distress, involve me in another equally bad?” “And do you

think then, madam,” answered Mrs Western, “that there is no difference

between my Lord Fellamar and Mr Blifil?” “Very little, in my opinion,”

cries Sophia; “and, if I must be condemned to one, I would certainly

have the merit of sacrificing myself to my father's pleasure.” “Then

my pleasure, I find,” said the aunt, “hath very little weight with

you; but that consideration shall not move me. I act from nobler

motives. The view of aggrandizing my family, of ennobling yourself, is

what I proceed upon. Have you no sense of ambition? Are there no

charms in the thoughts of having a coronet on your coach?” “None, upon

my honour,” said Sophia. “A pincushion upon my coach would please me

just as well.” “Never mention honour,” cries the aunt. “It becomes not

the mouth of such a wretch. I am sorry, niece, you force me to use

these words, but I cannot bear your groveling temper; you have none of

the blood of the Westerns in you. But, however mean and base your own

ideas are, you shall bring no imputation on mine. I will never suffer

the world to say of me that I encouraged you in refusing one of the

best matches in England; a match which, besides its advantage in

fortune, would do honour to almost any family, and hath, indeed, in

title, the advantage of ours.” “Surely,” says Sophia, “I am born

deficient, and have not the senses with which other people are

blessed; there must be certainly some sense which can relish the

delights of sound and show, which I have not; for surely mankind would

not labour so much, nor sacrifice so much for the obtaining, nor would

they be so elate and proud with possessing, what appeared to them, as

it doth to me, the most insignificant of all trifles.”

“No, no, miss,” cries the aunt; “you are born with as many senses as

other people; but I assure you you are not born with a sufficient

understanding to make a fool of me, or to expose my conduct to the

world; so I declare this to you, upon my word, and you know, I

believe, how fixed my resolutions are, unless you agree to see his

lordship this afternoon, I will, with my own hands, deliver you

to-morrow morning to my brother, and will never henceforth interfere

with you, nor see your face again.” Sophia stood a few moments silent

after this speech, which was uttered in a most angry and peremptory

tone; and then, bursting into tears, she cryed, “Do with me, madam,

whatever you please; I am the most miserable undone wretch upon earth;

if my dear aunt forsakes me where shall I look for a protector?” “My

dear niece,” cries she, “you will have a very good protector in his

lordship; a protector whom nothing but a hankering after that vile

fellow Jones can make you decline.” “Indeed, madam,” said Sophia, “you

wrong me. How can you imagine, after what you have shewn me, if I had

ever any such thoughts, that I should not banish them for ever? If it

will satisfy you, I will receive the sacrament upon it never to see

his face again.” “But, child, dear child,” said the aunt, “be

reasonable; can you invent a single objection?” “I have already, I

think, told you a sufficient objection,” answered Sophia. “What?”

cries the aunt; “I remember none.” “Sure, madam,” said Sophia, “I told

you he had used me in the rudest and vilest manner.” “Indeed, child,”

answered she, “I never heard you, or did not understand you:--but what

do you mean by this rude, vile manner?” “Indeed, madam,” said Sophia,

“I am almost ashamed to tell you. He caught me in his arms, pulled me

down upon the settee, and thrust his hand into my bosom, and kissed it

with such violence that I have the mark upon my left breast at this

moment.” “Indeed!” said Mrs Western. “Yes, indeed, madam,” answered

Sophia; “my father luckily came in at that instant, or Heaven knows

what rudeness he intended to have proceeded to.” “I am astonished and

confounded,” cries the aunt. “No woman of the name of Western hath

been ever treated so since we were a family. I would have torn the

eyes of a prince out, if he had attempted such freedoms with me. It is

impossible! sure, Sophia, you must invent this to raise my indignation

against him.” “I hope, madam,” said Sophia, “you have too good an

opinion of me to imagine me capable of telling an untruth. Upon my

soul it is true.” “I should have stabbed him to the heart, had I been

present,” returned the aunt. “Yet surely he could have no

dishonourable design; it is impossible! he durst not: besides, his

proposals shew he hath not; for they are not only honourable, but

generous. I don't know; the age allows too great freedoms. A distant

salute is all I would have allowed before the ceremony. I have had

lovers formerly, not so long ago neither; several lovers, though I

never would consent to marriage, and I never encouraged the least

freedom. It is a foolish custom, and what I never would agree to. No

man kissed more of me than my cheek. It is as much as one can bring

oneself to give lips up to a husband; and, indeed, could I ever have

been persuaded to marry, I believe I should not have soon been brought

to endure so much.” “You will pardon me, dear madam,” said Sophia, “if

I make one observation: you own you have had many lovers, and the

world knows it, even if you should deny it. You refused them all, and,

I am convinced, one coronet at least among them.” “You say true, dear

Sophy,” answered she; “I had once the offer of a title.” “Why, then,”

said Sophia, “will you not suffer me to refuse this once?” “It is

true, child,” said she, “I have refused the offer of a title; but it

was not so good an offer; that is, not so very, very good an

offer.”--“Yes, madam,” said Sophia; “but you have had very great

proposals from men of vast fortunes. It was not the first, nor the

second, nor the third advantageous match that offered itself.” “I own

it was not,” said she. “Well, madam,” continued Sophia, “and why may

not I expect to have a second, perhaps, better than this? You are now

but a young woman, and I am convinced would not promise to yield to

the first lover of fortune, nay, or of title too. I am a very young

woman, and sure I need not despair.” “Well, my dear, dear Sophy,”

cries the aunt, “what would you have me say?” “Why, I only beg that I

may not be left alone, at least this evening; grant me that, and I

will submit, if you think, after what is past, I ought to see him in

your company.” “Well, I will grant it,” cries the aunt. “Sophy, you

know I love you, and can deny you nothing. You know the easiness of my

nature; I have not always been so easy. I have been formerly thought

cruel; by the men, I mean. I was called the cruel Parthenissa. I have

broke many a window that has had verses to the cruel Parthenissa in

it. Sophy, I was never so handsome as you, and yet I had something of

you formerly. I am a little altered. Kingdoms and states, as Tully

Cicero says in his epistles, undergo alterations, and so must the

human form.” Thus run she on for near half an hour upon herself, and

her conquests, and her cruelty, till the arrival of my lord, who,

after a most tedious visit, during which Mrs Western never once

offered to leave the room, retired, not much more satisfied with the

aunt than with the niece; for Sophia had brought her aunt into so

excellent a temper, that she consented to almost everything her niece

said; and agreed that a little distant behaviour might not be improper

to so forward a lover.

Thus Sophia, by a little well-directed flattery, for which surely none

will blame her, obtained a little ease for herself, and, at least, put

off the evil day. And now we have seen our heroine in a better

situation than she hath been for a long time before, we will look a

little after Mr Jones, whom we left in the most deplorable situation

that can be well imagined.