We will therefore take our Leave of these good People, and attend his Lordship and his fair Companions, who made such good Expedition, that they performed a Journey of ninety Miles in two Days, and on the second Evening arrived in London, without having encountered any one Adventure on the Road worthy the Dignity of this History to relate. Our Pen, therefore, shall imitate the Expedition which it describes, and our History shall keep Pace with the Travellers who are its Subject. Good Writers will indeed do well to imitate the ingenious Traveller in this Instance, who always proportions his Stay at any Place, to the Beauties, Elegancies, and Curiosities which it affords. At Eshur, at Stowe, at Wilton, at Eastbury, and at Prior’s Park,3 Days are too short for the ravished Imagination, while we admire the wondrous Power of Art in improving Nature. In some of these, Art chiefly engages our Admiration; in others, Nature and Art contend for our Applause; but in the last, the former seems to triumph. Here Nature appears in her richest Attire, and Art dressed with the modestest Simplicity, attends her benignant Mistress. Here Nature indeed pours forth the choicest Treasures which she hath lavished on this World; and here human Nature presents you with an Object which can be exceeded only in the other.
The same Taste, the same Imagination, which luxuriously riots in these elegant Scenes, can be amused with Objects of far inferior Note. The Woods, the Rivers, the Lawns of Devon and of Dorset, attract the Eye of the ingenious Traveller, and retard his Pace, which Delay he afterwards compensates by swiftly scouring over the gloomy Heath of Bagshot, or that pleasant Plain which extends itself Westward from Stockbridge, where no other Object than one single Tree only in sixteen Miles presents itself to the View, unless the Clouds, in Compassion to our tired Spirits, kindly open their variegated Mansions to our Prospect.
Not so travels the Money-meditating Tradesman, the sagacious Justice, the dignified Doctor, the warm-clad Grazier, with all the numerous Offspring of Wealth and Dulness. On they jogg, with equal Pace, through the verdant Meadows, or over the barren Heath, their Horses measuring four Miles and a half per Hour with the utmost Exactness; the Eyes of the Beast and of his Master being alike directed forwards, and employed in contemplating the same Objects in the same manner. With equal Rapture the good Rider surveys the proudest Boasts of the Architect, and those fair Buildings, with which some unknown Name hath adorned the rich Cloathing-Town; where Heaps of Bricks are piled up as a kind of Monument, to shew that Heaps of Money have been piled there before.
And now, Reader, as we are in haste to attend our Heroine, we will leave to thy Sagacity to apply all this to the Bœotian Writers,4 and to those Authors who are their Opposites. This thou wilt be abundantly able to perform without our Aid. Bestir thyself therefore on this Occasion; for tho’ we will always lend thee proper Assistance in difficult Places, as we do not, like some others, expect thee to use the Arts of Divination to discover our Meaning; yet we shall not indulge thy Laziness where nothing but thy own Attention is required; for thou art highly mistaken if thou dost imagine that we intended, when we began this great Work, to leave thy Sagacity nothing to do; or that, without sometimes exercising this Talent, thou wilt be able to travel through our Pages with any Pleasure or Profit to thyself.
CHAPTER X.
Containing a Hint or two concerning Virtue, and a few more concerning Suspicion.
Our Company being arrived at London, were set down at his Lordship’s House, where, while they refreshed themselves after the Fatigue of their Journey, Servants were dispatched to provide a Lodging for the two Ladies; for as her Ladyship was not then in Town, Mrs. Fitzpatrick would by no means consent to accept a Bed in the Mansion of the Peer.
Some Readers will perhaps condemn this extraordinary Delicacy, as I may call it, of Virtue, as too nice and scrupulous; but we must make Allowances for her Situation, which must be owned to have been very ticklish; and when we consider the Malice of censorious Tongues, we must allow, if it was a Fault, the Fault was an Excess on the right Side, and which every Woman who is in the self-same Situation will do well to imitate. The most formal Appearance of Virtue, when it is only an Appearance, may perhaps, in very abstracted Considerations, seem to be rather less commendable than Virtue itself without this Formality; but it will however be always more commended; and this, I believe, will be granted by all, that it is necessary, unless in some very particular Cases, for every Woman to support either the one or the other.
A Lodging being prepared, Sophia accompanied her Cousin for that Evening; but resolved early in the Morning to enquire after the Lady, into whose Protection, as we have formerly mentioned, she had determined to throw herself, when she quitted her Father’s House. And this she was the more eager in doing, from some Observations she had made during her Journey in the Coach.
Now as we would by no means fix the odious Character of Suspicion on Sophia, we are almost afraid to open to our Reader the Conceits which filled her Mind concerning Mrs. Fitzpatrick; of whom she certainly entertained at present some Doubts; which, as they are very apt to enter into the Bosoms of the worst of People, we think proper not to mention more plainly, till we have first suggested a Word or two to our Reader touching Suspicion in general.
Of this there have always appeared to me to be two Degrees. The first of these I chuse to derive from the Heart, as the extreme Velocity of its Discernment seems to denote some previous inward Impulse, and the rather, as this superlative Degree often forms its own Objects; sees what is not, and always more than really exists. This is that quick-sighted Penetration, whose Hawk’s Eyes no Symptom of Evil can escape; which observes not only upon the Actions, but upon the Words and Looks of Men; and as it proceeds from the Heart of the Observer, so it dives into the Heart of the Observed, and there espies Evil, as it were, in the first Embryo; nay sometimes before it can be said to be conceived. An admirable Faculty, if it were infallible; but as this Degree of Perfection is not even claimed by more than one mortal Being; so from the Fallibility of such acute Discernment have arisen many sad Mischiefs and most grievous Heart-akes to Innocence and Virtue. I cannot help therefore regarding this vast Quick-sightedness into Evil, as a vicious Excess, and as a very pernicious Evil in itself. And I am the more inclined to this Opinion, as I am afraid it always proceeds from a bad Heart, for the Reasons I have above mentioned, and for one more, namely, because I never knew it the Property of a good one. Now from this Degree of Suspicion I entirely and absolutely acquit Sophia.
A second Degree of this Quality seems to arise from the Head. This is indeed no other than the Faculty of seeing what is before your Eyes, and of drawing Conclusions from what you see. The former of these is unavoidable by those who have any Eyes, and the latter is perhaps no less certain and necessary a Consequence of our having any Brains. This is altogether as bitter an Enemy to Guilt, as the former is to Innocence; nor can I see it in an unamiable Light, even though, through human Fallibility, it should be sometimes mistaken. For Instance, if a Husband should accidentally surprize his Wife in the Lap or in the Embraces of some of those pretty young Gentlemen who profess the Art of Cuckold-making, I should not highly, I think, blame him for concluding something more than what he saw, from the Familiarities which he really had seen, and which we are at least favourable enough to, when we call them innocent Freedoms. The Reader will easily suggest great Plenty of Instances to himself: I shall add but one more, which however unchristian it may be thought by some, I cannot help esteeming to be strictly justifiable; and this is a Suspicion that a Man is capable of doing what he hath done already, and that it is possible for one who hath been a Villain once, to act the same Part again. And to confess the Truth, of this Degree of Suspicion I believe Sophia was guilty. From this Degree of Suspicion she had, in Fact, conceived an Opinion, that her Cousin was really not better than she should be.
The Case, it seems, was this: Mrs. Fitzpatrick wisely considered, that the Virtue of a young Lady is, in the World, in the same Situation with a poor Hare, which is certain, whenever it ventures abroad, to meet its Enemies: F
or it can hardly meet any other. No sooner therefore was she determined to take the first Opportunity of quitting the Protection of her Husband, than she resolved to cast herself under the Protection of some other Man; and whom could she so properly chuse to be her Guardian as a Person of Quality, of Fortune, of Honour; and who, besides a gallant Disposition which inclines Men to Knight-Errantry, that is, to be the Champions of Ladies in Distress, had often declared a violent Attachment to herself, and had already given her all the Instances of it in his Power?
But as the Law hath foolishly omitted this Office of Vice-Husband, or Guardian to an eloped Lady; and as Malice is apt to denominate him by a more disagreeable Appelation; it was concluded that his Lordship should perform all such kind Offices to the Lady in secret, and without publickly assuming the Character of her Protector. Nay, to prevent any other Person from seeing him in this Light, it was agreed that the Lady should proceed directly to Bath, and that his Lordship should first go to London, and thence should go down to that Place by the Advice of his Physicians.
Now all this Sophia very plainly understood, not from the Lips or Behaviour of Mrs. Fitzpatrick, but from the Peer, who was infinitely less expert at retaining a Secret, than was the good Lady; and perhaps the exact Secrecy which Mrs. Fitzpatrick had observed on this Head in her Narrative, served not a little to heighten those Suspicions which were now risen in the Mind of her Cousin.
Sophia very easily found out the Lady she sought; for indeed there was not a Chairman in Town to whom her House was not perfectly well known; and as she received, in Return of her first Message, a most pressing Invitation, she immediately accepted it. Mrs. Fitzpatrick indeed did not desire her Cousin to stay with her with more Earnestness than Civility required. Whether she had discerned and resented the Suspicion above-mentioned, or from what other Motive it arose, I cannot say; but certain it is, she was full as desirous of parting with Sophia, as Sophia herself could be of going.
The young Lady, when she came to take Leave of her Cousin, could not avoid giving her a short Hint of Advice. She begged her, for Heaven’s Sake, to take care of herself, and to consider in how dangerous a Situation she stood; adding, she hoped some Method would be found of reconciling her to her Husband. ‘You must remember, my Dear,’ says she, ‘the Maxim which my Aunt Western hath so often repeated to us both; That whenever the matrimonial Alliance is broke, and War declared between Husband and Wife, she can hardly make a disadvantageous Peace for herself on any Conditions. These are my Aunt’s very Words, and she hath had a great deal of Experience in the World.’ Mrs. Fitzpatrick answered, with a contemptuous Smile, ‘Never fear me, Child, take care of yourself; for you are younger than I. I will come and visit you in a few Days; but, dear Sophy, let me give you one Piece of Advice: Leave the Character of Graveairs in the Country; for, believe me, it will sit very aukwardly upon you in this Town.’
Thus the two Cousins parted, and Sophia repaired directly to Lady Bellaston, where she found a most hearty, as well as a most polite Welcome. The Lady had taken a great Fancy to her when she had seen her formerly with her Aunt Western. She was indeed extremely glad to see her, and was no sooner acquainted with the Reasons which induced her to leave the Squire and fly to London, than she highly applauded her Sense and Resolution; and after expressing the highest Satisfaction in the Opinion which Sophia had declared she entertained of her Ladyship, by chusing her House for an Asylum, she promised her all the Protection which it was in her Power to give.
As we have now brought Sophia into safe Hands, the Reader will, I apprehend, be contented to deposit her there a while, and to look a little after other Personages, and particularly poor Jones, whom we have left long enough to do Penance for his past Offences, which, as is the Nature of Vice, brought sufficient Punishment upon him themselves.
BOOK XII.
Containing the same individual Time with the former.
CHAPTER I.
Shewing what is to be deemed Plagiarism in a modern Author, and what is to be considered as lawful Prize.
The learned Reader must have observed, that in the Course of this mighty Work, I have often translated Passages out of the best antient Authors, without quoting the Original, or without taking the least Notice of the Book from whence they were borrowed.
This Conduct in Writing is placed in a very proper Light by the ingenious Abbé Bannier, in his Preface to his Mythology, a Work of great Erudition, and of equal Judgment. “It will be easy,” says he, “for the Reader to observe, that I have frequently had greater Regard to him, than to my own Reputation: For an Author certainly pays him a considerable Compliment, when, for his Sake, he suppresses learned Quotations that come in his Way, and which would have cost him but the bare Trouble of transcribing.”1
To fill up a Work with these Scraps may indeed be considered as a downright Cheat on the learned World, who are by such Means imposed upon to buy a second time in Fragments and by Retail what they have already in Gross, if not in their Memories, upon their Shelves; and it is still more cruel upon the Illiterate,2 who are drawn in to pay for what is of no manner of Use to them. A Writer who intermixes great Quantity of Greek and Latin with his Works, deals by the Ladies and fine Gentlemen in the same paultry Manner with which they are treated by the Auctioneers, who often endeavour so to confound and mix up their Lots, that, in order to purchase the Commodity you want, you are obliged at the same Time to purchase that which will do you no Service.
And yet as there is no Conduct so fair and disinterested, but that it may be misunderstood by Ignorance, and misrepresented by Malice, I have been sometimes tempted to preserve my own Reputation, at the Expence of my Reader, and to transcribe the Original, or at least to quote Chapter and Verse, whenever I have made Use either of the Thought or Expression of another. I am indeed in some Doubt that I have often suffered by the contrary Method; and that by suppressing the original Author’s Name, I have been rather suspected of Plagiarism, than reputed to act from the amiable Motive above assigned by that justly celebrated Frenchman.
Now to obviate all such Imputations for the future, I do here confess and justify the Fact. The Antients may be considered as a rich Common, where every Person who hath the smallest Tenement in Parnassus, hath a free Right to fatten his Muse. Or, to place it in a clearer Light, we Moderns are to the Antients what the Poor are to the Rich. By the Poor here I mean, that large and venerable Body which, in English, we call The Mob. Now, whoever hath had the Honour to be admitted to any Degree of Intimacy with this Mob, must well know that it is one of their established Maxims, to plunder and pillage their rich Neighbours without any Reluctance; and that this is held to be neither Sin nor Shame among them. And so constantly do they abide and act by this Maxim, that in every Parish almost in the Kingdom, there is a Kind of Confederacy ever carrying on against a certain Person of Opulence called the Squire, whose Property is considered as Free-Booty by all his poor Neighbours; who, as they conclude that there is no manner of Guilt in such Depredations, look upon it as a Point of Honour and moral Obligation to conceal, and to preserve each other from Punishment on all such Occasions.
In like Manner are the Antients, such as Homer, Virgil, Horace, Cicero, and the rest, to be esteemed among us Writers, as so many wealthy Squires, from whom we, the Poor of Parnassus, claim an immemorial Custom of taking whatever we can come at. This Liberty I demand, and this I am as ready to allow again to my poor Neighbours in their Turn. All I profess, and all I require of my Brethren, is to maintain the same strict Honesty among ourselves, which the Mob shew to one another. To steal from one another, is indeed highly criminal and indecent; for this may be strictly stiled defrauding the Poor (sometimes perhaps those who are poorer than ourselves) or, to see it under the most opprobrious Colours, robbing the Spittal.3
Since therefore upon the strictest Examination, my own Conscience cannot lay any such pitiful Theft to my Charge, I am contented to plead guilty to the former Accusation; nor shall I ever scruple to take to myself any Passage which I shall find
in an antient Author to my Purpose, without setting down the Name of the Author from whence it was taken. Nay, I absolutely claim a Property in all such Sentiments the Moment they are transcribed into my Writings, and I expect all Readers henceforwards to regard them as purely and entirely my own. This Claim however I desire to be allowed me only on Condition, that I preserve strict Honesty towards my poor Brethren, from whom if ever I borrow any of that little of which they are possessed, I shall never fail to put their Mark upon it, that it may be at all Times ready to be restored to the right Owner.
The Omission of this was highly blameable in one Mr. Moore, who having formerly borrowed some Lines of Pope and Company, took the Liberty to transcribe six of them into his Play of the Rival Modes. Mr. Pope however very luckily found them in the said Play, and laying violent Hands on his own Property, transferred it back again into his own Works; and for a further Punishment, imprisoned the said Moore in the loathsome Dungeon of the Dunciad, where his unhappy Memory now remains, and eternally will remain, as a proper Punishment for such his unjust Dealings in the poetical Trade.4
The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics) Page 70
