How we cite our quotes: (Book.Chapter.Paragraph)
Quote #1
[Mrs. Partridge's] tongue, teeth, and hands, fell all upon [Mr. Partridge] at once. His wig was in an instant torn from his head, his shirt from his back, and from his face descended five streams of blood, denoting the number of claws with which nature had unhappily armed the enemy.
Mr Partridge acted for some time on the defensive only; indeed he attempted only to guard his face with his hands; but as he found that his antagonist abated nothing of her rage, he thought he might, at least, endeavour to disarm her, or rather to confine her arms; in doing which her cap fell off in the struggle, and her hair being too short to reach her shoulders, erected itself on her head; her stays likewise, which were laced through one single hole at the bottom, burst open; and her breasts, which were much more redundant than her hair, hung down below her middle; her face was likewise marked with the blood of her husband: her teeth gnashed with rage; and fire, such as sparkles from a smith's forge, darted from her eyes. So that, altogether, this Amazonian heroine might have been an object of terror to a much bolder man than Mr Partridge. (2.4.15-6)
The "funny parts" (bunny ears intentional) of this scene are based on the traditional idea that Mr. Partridge, the husband, is supposed to be stronger than Mrs. Partridge, the wife. In fact, in all the chapters that we see the Partridges, we realize that Mrs. Partridge is much more terrifying than her husband. And Fielding plays this switcheroo for laughs. The image of Mrs. Partridge, fighting so hard that her blouse comes undone and her hat gets torn off, is cringe-inducing and, yes, kind of funny. But honestly, the idea of a woman so upset that she keeps fighting even after her shirt gets torn off is also pretty disturbing. And the fact that Mrs. Partridge draws blood from Mr. Partridge's face is downright awful.
Quote #2
It may seem remarkable, that, of four persons whom we have commemorated at Mr Allworthy's house, three of them should fix their inclinations on a lady who was never greatly celebrated for her beauty, and who was, moreover, now a little descended into the vale of years; but in reality bosom friends, and intimate acquaintance, have a kind of natural propensity to particular females at the house of a friend—viz., to his grandmother, mother, sister, daughter, aunt, niece, or cousin, when they are rich; and to his wife, sister, daughter, niece, cousin, mistress, or servant-maid, if they should be handsome. (3.6.3)
Here is the narrator's basic question: why is it that three of Squire Allworthy's guests (Captain Blifil, Mr. Thwackum, and Mr. Square—and he's forgetting poor dead Dr. Blifil) have all been so eager to marry Bridget, when she has never been pretty? His basic answer is: it's because Bridget is rich. Nothing else about her really matters. If she were really pretty, than her financial state would be less important. So at this point of the novel, the narrator is willing to accept two reasons for marriage: money and looks. Whoa, cynicism.
Quote #3
For such was the compassion which inhabited Mr Allworthy's mind, that nothing but the steel of justice could ever subdue it. To be unfortunate in any respect was sufficient, if there was no demerit to counterpoise it, to turn the scale of that good man's pity, and to engage his friendship and his benefaction.
When therefore he plainly saw Master Blifil was absolutely detested (for that he was) by his own mother, he began, on that account only, to look with an eye of compassion upon him; and what the effects of compassion are, in good and benevolent minds, I need not here explain to most of my readers.
Henceforward he saw every appearance of virtue in the youth through the magnifying end, and viewed all his faults with the glass inverted, so that they became scarce perceptible. And this perhaps the amiable temper of pity may make commendable; but the next step the weakness of human nature alone must excuse; for he no sooner perceived that preference which Mrs Blifil gave to Tom, than that poor youth (however innocent) began to sink in his affections as he rose in [Bridget's]. (3.7.2-4)
Even though Squire Allworthy is probably the best man in the whole book in terms of his generosity and good nature, he isn't perfect. The best example of this lack of perfection is his knee-jerk pity for the underdog, in the case of Master Blifil. He feels bad for Master Blifil because Bridget hates him. And what can we say? We feel bad for Master Blifil because his mother despises him. That's a tough card to get dealt, of course. But the fact that we feel sorry for him doesn't mean we can ignore the fact that he is a complete dirtbag.
The lesson here seems to be that everyone has biases, no matter how good-hearted they are. And you can't always use bad family relations as an excuse to cover for someone's faults. Master Blifil may have been unlucky in his origins, but he still has the choice to be a better man than he becomes. He's the one who decides to be nasty and deceitful, and Bridget's bad example can't take away his responsibility for his own actions (in our humble opinions. Though obviously, we're a bit biased against the guy.)