But what a brave wit it is, what a wisdom after all, that is contained in this wonderful novel! Where shall we find its like for richness of reflection — for inexhaustible good-humour — for large and liberal humanity! Like Fontenelle, Fielding might fairly claim that he had never cast the smallest ridicule upon the most infinitesimal of virtues; it is against hypocrisy, affectation, insincerity of all kinds, that he wages war. And what a keen and searching observation, — what a perpetual faculty of surprise, — what an endless variety of method! Take the chapter headed ironically A Receipt to regain the lost Affections of a Wife, in which Captain John Blifil gives so striking an example of Mr. Samuel Johnson’s just published Vanity of Human Wishes, by dying suddenly of apoplexy while he is considering what he will do with Mr. Allworthy’s property (when it reverts to him); or that admirable scene, commended by Macaulay, of Partridge at the Playhouse, which is none the worse because it has just a slight look of kinship with that other famous visit which Sir Roger de Coverley paid to Philips’s Distrest Mother. Or take again, as utterly unlike either of these, that burlesque Homeric battle in the churchyard, where the “sweetly-winding Stour” stands for “reedy Simois,” and the bumpkins round for Greeks and Trojans! Or take yet once more, though it is woful work to offer bricks from this edifice which has already (in a sense) outlived the Escorial, [Footnote: The Escorial, it will be remembered, was partially burned in 1872.] the still more diverse passage which depicts the changing conflict in Black George’s mind as to whether he shall return to Jones the sixteen guineas that he has found: —
“Black George having received the Purse, set forward towards the Alehouse; but in the Way a Thought occurred whether he should not detain this Money likewise. His Conscience, however, immediately started at this Suggestion, and began to upbraid him with Ingratitude to his Benefactor. To this his Avarice answered, ‘That his conscience should have considered that Matter before, when he deprived poor Jones of his 500l. That having quietly acquiesced in what was of so much greater Importance, it was absurd, if not downright Hypocrisy, to affect any Qualms at this Trifle.’ — In return to which, Conscience, like a good Lawyer, attempted to distinguish between an absolute Breach of Trust, as here where the Goods were delivered, and a bare Concealment of what was found, as in the former Case. Avarice presently treated this with Ridicule, called it a Distinction without a Difference, and absolutely insisted, that when once all Pretensions of Honour and Virtue were given up in any one Instance, that there was no Precedent for resorting to them upon a second Occasion. In short, poor Conscience had certainly been defeated in the Argument, had not Fear stept in to her Assistance, and very strenuously urged, that the real Distinction between the two Actions, did not lie in the different degrees of Honour, but of Safety: For that the secreting the 500l. was a Matter of very little Hazard; whereas the detaining the sixteen Guineas was liable to the utmost Danger of Discovery.
“By this friendly Aid of Fear, Conscience obtained a compleat Victory in the Mind of Black George, and after making him a few Compliments on his Honesty, forced him to deliver the Money to Jones.”
When one remembers that this is but one of many such passages, and that the book, notwithstanding the indulgence claimed by the author in the Preface, and despite a certain hurry at the close, is singularly even in its workmanship, it certainly increases our respect for the manly genius of the writer, who, amid all the distractions of ill-health and poverty, could find the courage to pursue and perfect such a conception. It is true that both Cervantes and Bunyan wrote their immortal works in the confinement of a prison. But they must at least have enjoyed the seclusion so needful to literary labour; while Tom Jones was written here and there, at all times and in all places, with the dun at the door and the wolf not very far from the gate. [Footnote: Salisbury, in the neighbourhood of which Tom Jones is laid, claims the originals of some of the characters. Thwackum is said to have been Hele, a schoolmaster; Square, one Chubb, a Deist; and Dowling the lawyer a person named Stillingfleet.]
The little sentence quoted some pages back from Walpole’s letters is sufficient proof, if proof were needed, of its immediate success. Andrew Millar was shrewd enough, despite his constitutional confusion, and he is not likely to have given an additional L100 to the author of any book without good reason. But the indications of that success are not very plainly impressed upon the public prints. The Gentleman’s Magazine for 1749, which, as might be expected from Johnson’s connection with it, contains ample accounts of his own tragedy of Irene and Richardson’s recently-published Clarissa, has no notice of Tom Jones, nor is there even any advertisement of the second edition issued in the same year. But, in the emblematic frontispiece, it appears under Clarissa (and sharing with that work a possibly unintended proximity to a sprig of laurel stuck in a bottle of Nantes), among a pile of the books of the year; and in the “poetical essays” for August, one Thomas Cawthorn breaks into rhymed panegyric. “Sick of her fools,” sings this enthusiastic but scarcely lucid admirer —
”Sick of her fools, great Nature broke the jest,
And Truth held out each character to test,
When Genius spoke: Let Fielding take the pen!
Life dropt her mask, and all mankind were men.”
There were others, however, who would scarcely have echoed the laudatory sentiments of Mr. Cawthorn. Among these was again the excellent Richardson, who seems to have been wholly unpropitiated by the olive branch held out to him in the Jacobite’s Journal. His vexation at the indignity put upon Pamela by Joseph Andrews was now complicated by a twittering jealousy of the “spurious brat,” as he obligingly called Tom Jones, whose success had been so “unaccountable.” In these circumstances, some of the letters of his correspondents must have been gall and wormwood to him. Lady Bradshaigh, for instance, under her nom de guerre of “Belfour,” tells him that she is fatigued with the very name of the book, having met several young ladies who were for ever talking of their Tom Jones’s, “for so they call their favourites,” and that the gentlemen, on their side, had their Sophias, one having gone so far as to give that all-popular name to his “Dutch mastiff puppy.” But perhaps the best and freshest exhibition (for, as far as can be ascertained, it has never hitherto been made public) of Richardson’s attitude to his rival is to be found in a little group of letters in the Forster collection at South Kensington. The writers are Aaron Hill and his daughters; but the letters do not seem to have been known to Mrs. Barbauld, whose last communication from Hill is dated November 2, 1748. Nor are they to be found in Hill’s own Correspondence. The ladies, it appears, had visited Richardson at Salisbury Court in 1741, and were great admirers of Pamela, and the “divine Clarissa.” Some months after Tom Jones was published, Richardson (not yet having brought himself to read the book) had asked them to do so, and give him their opinion as to its merits. Thereupon Minerva and Astraea, who despite their names, and their description of themselves as “Girls of an untittering Disposition,” must have been very bright and lively young persons, began seriously “to lay their two wise heads together” and “hazard this Discovery of their Emptiness.” Having “with much ado got over some Reluctance, that was bred by a familiar coarseness in the Title,” they report “much (masqu’d) merit” in the “whole six volumes”— “a double merit, both of Head, and Heart.”
Had it been the latter only it would be more worthy of Mr. Richardson’s perusal; but, say these considerate pioneers, if he does spare it his attention, he must only do so at his leisure, for the author “introduces All his Sections (and too often interweaves the serious Body of his meanings), with long Runs of bantering Levity, which his [Fielding’s] Good sense may suffer by Effect of.” “It is true (they continue), he seems to wear this Lightness, as a grave Head sometime wears a Feather: which tho’ He and Fashion may consider as an ornament, Reflection will condemn, as a Disguise, and covering.” Then follows a brief excursus, intended for their correspondent’s special consolation, upon the folly of treating grave thin
gs lightly; and with delightful sententiousness the letter thus concludes: —
“Mean while, it is an honest pleasure, which we take in adding, that (exclusive of one wild, detach’d, and independent Story of a Man of the Hill, that neither brings on Anything, nor rose from Anything that went before it) All the changefull windings of the Author’s Fancy carry on a course of regular Design; and end in an extremely moving Close, where Lives that seem’d to wander and run different ways, meet, All, in an instructive Center.
“The whole Piece consists of an inventive Race of Disapointments and Recoveries. It excites Curiosity, and holds it watchful. It has just and pointed Satire; but it is a partial Satire, and confin’d, too narrowly: It sacrifices to Authority, and Interest. Its Events reward Sincerity, and punish and expose Hypocrisy; shew Pity and Benevolence in amiable Lights, and Avarice and Brutality in very despicable ones. In every Part It has Humanity for its Intention: In too many, it seems wantoner than It was meant to be: It has bold shocking Pictures; and (I fear) [Footnote: The “pen-holder” is the fair Astraea.] not unresembling ones, in high Life, and in low. And (to conclude this too adventurous Guess- work, from a Pair of forward Baggages) woud, every where, (we think,) deserve to please, — if stript of what the Author thought himself most sure to please by.
“And thus, Sir, we have told you our sincere opinion of Tom Jones….
“Your most profest Admirers and most humble Servants,
“Astraea and Minerva Hill.
“PLAISTOW the 27th of July 1749.”
Richardson’s reply to this ingenuous criticism is dated the 4th of August. His requesting two young women to study and criticise a book which he has heard strongly condemned as immoral, — his own obvious familiarity with what he has not read but does not scruple to censure, — his transparently jealous anticipation of its author’s ability, — all this forms a picture so characteristic alike of the man and the time that no apology is needed for the following textual extract: —
“I must confess, that I have been prejudiced by the Opinion of Several judicious Friends against the truly coarse-titled Tom Jones; and so have been discouraged from reading it. — I was told, that it was a rambling Collection of Waking Dreams, in which Probability was not observed: And that it had a very bad Tendency. And I had Reason to think that the Author intended for his Second View (His first, to fill his Pocket, by accommodating it to the reigning Taste) in writing it, to whiten a vicious Character, and to make Morality bend to his Practices. What Reason had he to make his Tom illegitimate, in an Age where Keeping is become a Fashion? Why did he make him a common — What shall I call it? And a Kept Fellow, the Lowest of all Fellows, yet in Love with a Young Creature who was traping [trapesing?] after him, a Fugitive from her Father’s House? — Why did he draw his Heroine so fond, so foolish, and so insipid? — Indeed he has one Excuse — He knows not how to draw a delicate Woman — He has not been accustomed to such Company, — And is too prescribing, too impetuous, too immoral, I will venture to say, to take any other Byass than that a perverse and crooked Nature has given him; or Evil Habits, at least, have confirm’d in him. Do Men expect Grapes of Thorns, or Figs of Thistles? But, perhaps, I think the worse of the Piece because I know the Writer, and dislike his Principles both Public and Private, tho’ I wish well to the Man, and Love Four worthy Sisters of his, with whom I am well acquainted. And indeed should admire him, did he make the Use of his Talents which I wish him to make, For the Vein of Humour, and Ridicule, which he is Master of, might, if properly turned do great Service to ye Cause of Virtue.
“But no more of this Gentleman’s Work, after I have said, That the favourable Things, you say of the Piece, will tempt me, if I can find Leisure, to give it a Perusal.”
Notwithstanding this last sentence, Richardson more than once reverts to Tom Jones before he finishes his letter. Its effect upon Minerva and Astraea is hest described in an extract from Aaron Hill’s reply, dated seven days later (August the 11th): —
“Unfortunate Tom Jones! how sadly has he mortify’d Two sawcy Correspondents of your making! They are with me now: and bid me tell you, You have spoil’d ‘em Both, for Criticks. — Shall I add, a Secret which they did not bid me tell you? — They, Both, fairly cry’d, that You shou’d think it possible they you’d approve of Any thing, in Any work, that had an Evil Tendency, in any Part or Purpose of it. They maintain their Point so far, however, as to be convinc’d they say, that you will disapprove this over-rigid Judgment of those Friends, who you’d not find a Thread of Moral Meaning in Tom Jones, quite independent of the Levities they justly censure. — And, as soon as you have Time to read him, for yourself, tis there, pert Sluts, they will be bold enough to rest the Matter. — Mean while, they love and honour you and your opinions.”
To this the author of Clarissa replied by writing a long epistle deploring the pain he had given the “dear Ladies,” and minutely justifying his foregone conclusions from the expressions they had used. He refers to Fielding again as “a very indelicate, a very impetuous, an unyielding-spirited Man;” and he also trusts to be able to “bestow a Reading” on Tom Jones; but by a letter from Lady Bradshaigh, printed in Barbauld, and dated December 1749, it seems that even at that date he had not, or pretended he had not, yet done so. In another of the unpublished South Kensington letters, from a Mr. Solomon Lowe, occurs the following:— “I do not doubt” — says the writer— “but all Europe will ring of it [Clarissa]: when a Cracker, that was some thous’d hours a- com-posing, [Footnote: Vide Tom Jones, Book xi. chap. i.] will no longer be heard, or talkt-of.” Richardson, with business-like precision, has gravely docketed this in his own handwriting,— “Cracker, T. Jones.”
It is unfortunate for Mr. Lowe’s reputation as a prophet that, after more than one hundred and thirty years, this ephemeral firework, as he deemed it, should still be sparkling with undiminished brilliancy, and to judge by recent editions, is selling as vigorously as ever. From the days when Lady Mary wrote “Ne plus ultra” in her own copy, and La Harpe called it le premier roman du monde, (a phrase which, by the way, De Musset applies to Clarissa), it has come down to us with an almost universal accompaniment of praise. Gibbon, Byron, Coleridge, Scott, Dickens, Thackeray, — have all left their admiration on record, — to say nothing of professional critics innumerable. As may be seen from the British Museum Catalogue, it has been translated into French, German, Polish, Dutch, and Spanish. Russia and Sweden have also their versions. The first French translation, or rather abridgment, by M. de La Place was prohibited in France (to Richardson’s delight) by royal decree, an act which affords another instance, in Scott’s words, of that “French delicacy, which, on so many occasions, has strained at a gnat, and swallowed a camel” (e.g. the novels of M. Crebillon fils). La Place’s edition (1750) was gracefully illustrated with sixteen plates by Hubert Bourguignon, called Gravelot, one of those eighteenth-century illustrators whose designs at present are the rage in Paris. In England, Fielding’s best-known pictorial interpreters are Rowlandson and Cruikshank, the latter being by far the more sympathetic. Stothard also prepared some designs for Harrison’s Novelists Magazine; but his refined and effeminate pencil was scarcely strong enough for the task. Hogarth alone could have been the ideal illustrator of Henry Fielding; that is to say — if, in lieu of the rude designs he made for Tristram Shandy, he could have been induced to undertake the work in the larger fashion of the Rake’s Progress, or The Marriage a la Mode.
As might perhaps be anticipated, Tom Jones attracted the dramatist. [Footnote: It may be added that it also attracted the plagiarist. As Pamela had its sequel in Pamela’s Conduct in High Life, 1741, so Tom Jones was continued in The History of Tom Jones the Foundling, in his Married State, a second edition of which was issued in 1750. The Preface announces, needlessly enough, that “Henry Fielding, Esq., is not the Author of this Book.” It deserves no serious consideration.] In 1765, one J. H. Steffens made a comedy of it for the German boards; and in 1785, a M. Desforges based upon it anot
her, called Tom Jones a Londres, which was acted at the Theatre Francais. It was also turned into a comic opera by Joseph Reed in 1769, and played at Covent Garden. But its most piquant transformation is the Comedie lyrique of Poinsinet, acted at Paris in 1765-6 to the lively music of Philidor. The famous Caillot took the part of Squire Western, who, surrounded by piqueurs, and girt with the conventional cor de chasse of the Gallic sportsman, sings the following ariette, diversified with true Fontainebleau terms of venery: —
”D’un Cerf, dix Cors, j’ai connaissance:
On l’attaque au fort, on le lance;
Tous sont prets:
Piqueurs & Valets
Suivent les pas de l’ami Jone (sic).
J’entends crier: Volcelets, Volcelets.
Aussitot j’ordonne
Que la Meute donne.
Tayaut, Tayaut, Tayaut.
Mes chiens decouples l’environnent;
Les trompes sonnent:
’Courage, Amis: Tayaut, Tayaut.’
Quelques chiens, que l’ardeur derange,
Quittent la voye & prennent le change
Jones les rassure d’un cri:
Ourvari, ourvari.
Accoute, accoute, accoute.
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 435
