From the death of Mrs. Fielding until the publication of the True Patriot in 1745 another comparative blank ensues in Fielding’s history; and it can only be filled by the assumption that he was still endeavouring to follow his profession as a barrister. His literary work seems to have been confined to a Preface to the second edition of his sister’s novel of David Simple, which appeared in 1744. This, while rendering fraternal justice to that now forgotten book, is memorable for some personal utterances on Fielding’s part. In denying the authorship of David Simple, which had been attributed to him, he takes occasion to appeal against the injustice of referring anonymous works to his pen, in the face of his distinct engagement in the Preface to the Miscellanies, that he would thenceforth write nothing except over his own signature; and he complains that such a course has a tendency to injure him in a profession to which “he has applied with so arduous and intent a diligence, that he has had no leisure, if he had inclination, to compose anything of this kind (i.e. David Simple).” At the same time, he formally withdraws his promise, since it has in no wise exempted him from the scandal of putting forth anonymous work. From other passages in this “Preface,” it may be gathered the immediate cause of irritation was the assignment to his pen of “that infamous paultry libel” the Causidicade, a satire directed at the law in general, and some of the subscribers to the Miscellanies in particular. “This,” he says, “accused me not only of being a bad writer, and a bad man, but with downright idiotism, in flying in the face of the greatest men of my profession.” It may easily be conceived that such a report must be unfavourable to a struggling barrister, and Fielding’s anxiety on this head is a strong proof that he was still hoping to succeed at the Bar. To a subsequent collection of Familiar Letters between the Principal Characters in David Simple and some others, he supplied another preface three years later, together with five little-known epistles which, nevertheless, are not without evidence of his characteristic touch.
A life of ups and downs like Fielding’s is seldom remarkable for its consistency. It is therefore not surprising to find that, despite his desire in 1744 to refrain from writing, he was again writing in 1745. The landing of Charles Edward attracted him once more into the ranks of journalism, on the side of the Government, and gave rise to the True Patriot, a weekly paper, the first number of which appeared in November. This, having come to an end with the Rebellion, was succeeded in December 1747 by the Jacobite’s Journal, supposed to emanate from “John Trott-Plaid, Esq.,” and intended to push the discomfiture of Jacobite sentiment still further. It is needless to discuss these mainly political efforts at any length. They are said to have been highly approved by those in power: it is certain that they earned for their author the stigma of “pension’d scribbler.” Both are now very rare; and in Murphy the former is represented by twenty-four numbers, the latter by two only. The True Patriot contains a dream of London abandoned to the rebels, which is admirably graphic; and there is also a prophetic chronicle of events for 1746, in which the same idea is treated in a lighter and more satirical vein. But perhaps the most interesting feature is the reappearance of Parson Adams, who addresses a couple of letters to the same periodical — one on the rising generally, and the other on the “young England” of the day, as exemplified in a very offensive specimen he had recently encountered at Mr. Wilson’s. Other minor points of interest in connection with the Jacobite’s Journal, are the tradition associating Hogarth with the rude woodcut headpiece (a Scotch man and woman on an ass led by a monk) which surmounted its earlier numbers, and the genial welcome given in No. 5, perhaps not without some touch of contrition, to the two first volumes, then just published, of Richardson’s Clarissa. The pen is the pen of an imaginary “correspondent,” but the words are unmistakably Fielding’s: —
“When I tell you I have lately received this Pleasure [i.e. of reading a new master-piece], you will not want me to inform you that I owe it to the Author of CLARISSA. Such Simplicity, such Manners, such deep Penetration into Nature; such Power to raise and alarm the Passions, few Writers, either ancient or modern, have been possessed of. My Affections are so strongly engaged, and my Fears are so raised, by what I have already read, that I cannot express my Eagerness to see the rest. Sure this Mr. Richardson is Master of all that Art which Horace compares to Witchcraft
— Pectus inaniter angit,
Irritat, mulcet, falsis terroribus implet
Ut Magus.— “
Between the discontinuance of the True Patriot and the establishment of its successor occurred an event, the precise date of which has been hitherto unknown, namely, Fielding’s second marriage. The account given of this by Lady Louisa Stuart is as follows: —
“His [Fielding’s] biographers seem to have been shy of disclosing that after the death of this charming woman [his first wife] he married her maid. And yet the act was not so discreditable to his character as it may sound. The maid had few personal charms, but was an excellent creature, devotedly attached to her mistress, and almost broken-hearted for her loss. In the first agonies of his own grief, which approached to frenzy, he found no relief but from weeping along with her; nor solace, when a degree calmer, but in talking to her of the angel they mutually regretted. This made her his habitual confidential associate, and in process of time he began to think he could not give his children a tenderer mother, or secure for himself a more faithful housekeeper and nurse. At least this was what he told his friends; and it is certain that her conduct as his wife confirmed it, and fully justified his good opinion.”
It has now been ascertained that the marriage took place at St. Bene’t’s, Paul’s Wharf, an obscure little church in the City, at present surrendered to a Welsh congregation, but at that time, like Mary-le-bone old church, much in request for unions of a private character. The date in the register is the 27th of November 1747. The second Mrs. Fielding’s maiden name, which has been hitherto variously reported as Macdonnell, Macdonald, and Macdaniel, is given as Mary Daniel, [Footnote: See note to Fielding’s letter in Chap. vii.] and she is further described as “of St Clement’s Danes, Middlesex, Spinster.” Either previously to this occurrence, or immediately after it, Fielding seems to have taken two rooms in a house in Back Lane, Twickenham, “not far,” says the Rev. Mr. Cobbett in his Memorials, “from the site of Copt Hall.” In 1872 this house was still standing, — a quaint old-fashioned wooden structure; [Footnote: Now (1883) it no longer exists, and a row of cottages occupies the site.] — and from hence, on the 25th February 1748, was baptized the first of the novelist’s sons concerning whom any definite information exists — the William Fielding who, like his father, became a Westminster magistrate. Beyond suggesting that it may supply a reason why, during Mrs. Fielding’s life-time, her husband’s earliest biographer made no reference to the marriage, it is needless to dwell upon the proximity between the foregoing dates. In other respects the circumstance now first made public is not inconsistent with Lady Stuart’s narrative; and there is no doubt, from the references to her in the Journal of a Voyage to Lisbon and elsewhere, that Mary Daniel did prove an excellent wife, mother, and nurse. Another thing is made clear by the date established, and this is that the verses “On Felix; Marry’d to a Cook-Maid” in the Gentleman’s Magazine for July 1746, to which Mr. Lawrence refers, cannot possibly have anything to do with Fielding, although they seem to indicate that alliances of the kind were not unusual. Perhaps Pamela had made them fashionable. On the other hand, the supposed allusion to Lyttelton and Fielding, to be found in the first edition of Peregrine Pickle, but afterwards suppressed, receives a certain confirmation. “When,” says Smollett, speaking of the relations of an imaginary Mr. Spondy with Gosling Scrag, who is understood to represent Lyttelton, “he is inclined to marry his own cook-wench, his gracious patron may condescend to give the bride away; and may finally settle him in his old age, as a trading Westminster justice.” That, looking to the facts, Fielding’s second marriage should have gained the approval and countenance of Lyttelton is no
more than the upright and honourable character of the latter would lead us to expect.
The Jacobite’s Journal ceased to appear in November 1748. In the early part of the December following, the remainder of Smollett’s programme came to pass, and by Lyttelton’s interest Fielding was appointed a Justice of the Peace for Westminster. From a letter in the Bedford Correspondence, dated 13th December 1748, respecting the lease of a house or houses which would qualify him to act for Middlesex, it would seem that the county was afterwards added to his commission. He must have entered upon his office in the first weeks of December, as upon the ninth of that month one John Salter was committed to the Gatehouse by Henry Fielding, Esq., “of Bow Street, Covent Garden, formerly Sir Thomas de Veil’s.” Sir Thomas de Veil, who died in 1746, and whose Memoirs had just been published, could not, however, have been Fielding’s immediate predecessor.
CHAPTER V. TOM JONES.
Writing from Basingstoke to his brother Tom, on the 29th October 1746,
Joseph Warton thus refers to a visit he paid to Fielding: —
“I wish you had been with me last week, when I spent two evenings with Fielding and his sister, who wrote David Simple, and you may guess I was very well entertained. The lady indeed retir’d pretty soon, but Russell and I sat up with the Poet [Warton no doubt uses the word here in the sense of ‘maker’ or ‘creator’] till one or two in the morning, and were inexpressibly diverted. I find he values, as he justly may, his Joseph Andrews above all his writings: he was extremely civil to me, I fancy, on my Father’s account.” [Footnote: i.e. the Rev. Thomas Warton, Vicar of Basingstoke, and sometime Professor of Poetry at Oxford.]
This mention of Joseph Andrews has misled some of Fielding’s biographers into thinking that he ranked that novel above Tom Jones. But, in October 1746, Tom Jones had not been published; and, from the absence of any reference to it by Warton, it is only reasonable to conclude that it had not yet assumed a definite form, or Fielding, who was by no means uncommunicative, would in all probability have spoken of it as an effort from which he expected still greater things. It is clear, too, that at this date he was staying in London, presumably in lodgings with his sister; and it is also most likely that he lived much in town when he was conducting the True Patriot and the Jacobite’s Journal. At other times he would appear to have had no settled place of abode. There are traditions that Tom Jones was composed in part at Salisbury, in a house at the foot of Milford Hill; and again that it was written at Twiverton, or Twerton-on-Avon, near Bath, where, as the Vicar pointed out in Notes and Queries for March 15th, 1879, there still exists a house called Fielding’s Lodge, over the door of which is a stone crest of a phoenix rising out of a mural coronet. This latter tradition is supported by the statement of Mr. Richard Graves, author of the Spiritual Quixote, and rector, circa 1750, of the neighbouring parish of Claverton, who says in his Trifling Anecdotes of the late Ralph Allen, that Fielding while at Twerton used to dine almost daily with Allen at Prior Park. There are also traces of his residence at Bath itself; and of visits to the seat of Lyttelton’s father at Hagley in Worcestershire. Towards the close of 1747 he had, as before stated, rooms in Back Lane, Twickenham; and it must be to this or to some earlier period that Walpole alludes in his Parish Register (1759): —
”Here Fielding met his bunter Muse
And, as they quaff’d the fiery juice,
Droll Nature stamp’d each lucky hit
With unimaginable wit;” —
a quatrain in which the last lines excuse the first. According to Mr. Cobbett’s already-quoted Memorials of Twickenham, he left that place upon his appointment as a Middlesex magistrate, when he moved to Bow Street. His house in Bow Street belonged to John, Duke of Bedford; and he continued to live in it until a short time before his death. It was subsequently occupied by his half-brother and successor, Sir John, [Footnote: In the riots of ‘80 — as Dickens has not forgotten to note in Barnaby Rudge — the house was destroyed by the mob, who burned Sir John’s goods in the street (Boswell’s Johnson, chap. lxx.)] who, writing to the Duke in March 1770, to thank him for his munificent gift of an additional ten years to the lease, recalls “that princely instance of generosity which his Grace shewed to his late brother, Henry Fielding.”
What this was, is not specified. It may have been the gift of the leases of those tenements which, as explained, were necessary to qualify Fielding to act as a Justice of the Peace for the county of Middlesex; it may even have been the lease of the Bow Street house; or it may have been simply a gift of money. But whatever it was, it was something considerable. In his appeal to the Duke, at the close of the last chapter, Fielding referred to previous obligations, and in his dedication of Tom Jones to Lyttelton, he returns again to his Grace’s beneficence. Another person, of whose kindness grateful but indirect mention is made in the same dedication, is Ralph Allen, who, according to Derrick, the Bath M.C., sent the novelist a present of L200, before he had even made his acquaintance, [Footnote: Derrick’s Letters, 1767, ii. 95.] which, from the reference to Allen in Joseph Andrews, probably began before 1742. Lastly, there is Lyttelton himself, concerning whom, in addition to a sentence which implies that he actually suggested the writing of Tom Jones, we have the express statements on Fielding’s part that “without your Assistance this History had never been completed,” and “I partly owe to you my Existence during great Part of the Time which I have employed in composing it.” These words must plainly be accepted as indicating pecuniary help; and, taking all things together, there can be little doubt that for some years antecedent to his appointment as a Justice of the Peace, Fielding was in straitened circumstances, and was largely aided, if not practically supported, by his friends. Even supposing him to have been subsidised by Government as alleged, his profits from the True Patriot and the Jacobite’s Journal could not have been excessive; and his gout, of which he speaks in one of his letters to the Duke of Bedford, must have been a serious obstacle in the way of his legal labours.
The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling, was published by Andrew Millar on the 28th of February 1749, and its appearance in six volumes, 12mo, was announced in the General Advertiser of that day’s date. There had been no author’s name on the title-page of Joseph Andrews; but Tom Jones was duly described as “by Henry Fielding, Esq.,” and bore the motto from Horace, seldom so justly applied, of “Mores hominum multorum vidit.” The advertisement also ingenuously stated that as it was “impossible to get Sets bound fast enough to answer the Demand for them, such Gentlemen and Ladies as pleased, might have them sew’d in Blue Paper and Boards at the Price of 16s a Set.” The date of issue sufficiently disposes of the statement of Cunningham and others, that the book was written at Bow Street. Little more than the dedication, which is preface as well, can have been produced by Fielding in his new home. Making fair allowance for the usual tardy progress of a book through the press, and taking into consideration the fact that the author was actively occupied with his yet unfamiliar magisterial duties, it is most probable that the last chapter of Tom Jones had been penned before the end of 1748, and that after that time it had been at the printer’s. For the exact price paid to the author by the publisher on this occasion we are indebted to Horace Walpole, who, writing to George Montagu in May 1749, says— “Millar the bookseller has done very generously by him [Fielding]: finding Tom Jones, for which he had given him six hundred pounds, sell so greatly, he has since given him another hundred.”
It is time, however, to turn from these particulars to the book itself. In Joseph Andrews, Fielding’s work had been mainly experimental. He had set out with an intention which had unexpectedly developed into something else. That something else, he had explained, was the comic epic in prose. He had discovered its scope and possibilities only when it was too late to re-cast his original design; and though Joseph Andrews has all the freshness and energy of a first attempt in a new direction, it has also the manifest disadvantages of a mixed conception and an uncertain plan. No one had perceived
these defects more plainly than the author; and in Tom Jones he set himself diligently to perfect his new-found method. He believed that he foresaw a “new Province of Writing,” of which he regarded himself with justice as the founder and lawgiver; and in the “prolegomenous, or introductory Chapters” to each book — those delightful resting-spaces where, as George Eliot says, “he seems to bring his arm-chair to the proscenium and chat with us in all the lusty ease of his fine English” — he takes us, as it were, into his confidence, and discourses frankly of his aims and his way of work. He looked upon these little “initial Essays” indeed, as an indispensable part of his scheme. They have given him, says he more than once, “the greatest Pains in composing” of any part of his book, and he hopes that, like the Greek and Latin mottoes in the Spectator, they may serve to secure him against imitation by inferior authors. [Footnote: Notwithstanding this warning, Cumberland (who copied so much) copied these in his novel of Henry. On the other hand, Fielding’s French and Polish translators omitted them as superfluous.] Naturally a great deal they contain is by this time commonplace, although it was unhackneyed enough when Fielding wrote. The absolute necessity in work of this kind for genius, learning, and knowledge of the world, the constant obligation to preserve character and probability — to regard variety and the law of contrast: — these are things with which the modern tiro (however much he may fail to possess or observe them) is now supposed to be at least theoretically acquainted. But there are other chapters in which Fielding may also be said to reveal his personal point of view, and these can scarcely be disregarded. His “Fare,” he says, following the language of the table, is “HUMAN NATURE,” which he shall first present “in that more plain and simple Manner in which it is found in the Country,” and afterwards “hash and ragoo it with all the high French and Italian seasoning of Affectation and Vice which Courts and Cities afford.” His inclination, he admits, is rather to the middle and lower classes than to “the highest Life,” which he considers to present “very little Humour or Entertainment.” His characters (as before) are based upon actual experience; or, as he terms it, “Conversation.” He does not propose to present his reader with “Models of Perfection;” he has never happened to meet with those “faultless Monsters.” He holds that mankind is constitutionally defective, and that a single bad act does not, of necessity, imply a bad nature. He has also observed, without surprise, that virtue in this world is not always “the certain Road to Happiness,” nor “Vice to Misery.” In short, having been admitted “behind the Scenes of this Great Theatre of Nature,” he paints humanity as he has found it, extenuating nothing, nor setting down aught in malice, but reserving the full force of his satire and irony for affectation and hypocrisy. His sincere endeavour, he says moreover in his dedication to Lyttelton, has been “to recommend Goodness and Innocence,” and promote the cause of religion and virtue. And he has all the consciousness that what he is engaged upon is no ordinary enterprise. He is certain that his pages will outlive both “their own infirm Author” and his enemies; and he appeals to Fame to solace and reassure him —
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