The miscellaneous works of Henry Fielding

Chapter I

Containing instructions very necessary to he perused by modern critics.

Reader, it is impossible we should know what sort of person thou wilt be ; for, perhaps, thou mayest be as learned in human nature as Shakspeare himself was, and, perhaps, thou mayest be no wiser than some of his editors. I^ow, lest this latter should be the case, we think proper, before we go any farther together, to give thee a few wholesome admonitions ; that thou mayest not as grossly misunderstand and misrepresent us, as some of the said editors have misunderstood and misrepresented their author.

First, then, we warn thee not too hastily to condemn any of the incidents in this our history, as impertinent and foreign to our main design, because thou dost not immediately conceive in what manner such incident may conduce to that design. This work may, indeed, be considered as a great creation of our own ; and for a little reptile of a critic to presume to find fault with any of its parts, without knowing the manner in which the whole is connected, and before he comes to the final catastrophe, is a most presumptuous absurdity. The allusion and metaphor we have here made use of, we must acknowledge to be infinitely too great for our occasion ; but there is, indeed, no other which is at all adequate to express the difference between an author of the first rate, and a critic of the lowest.

1* (5)

6 THEHISTORYOr

Another caution we would give thee, my good reptile, is, that thou dost not find oat too near a resemblance between certain characters here introduced ; as, for instance, between the landlady who appears in the seventh book, and her in the ninth. Thou art to know, friend, that there are certain characteristics, in which most individuals of every profession and occupation agree. To be able to preserve these characteristics, and at the same time to diversify their operations, is one talent of a good writer. Again, to mark the nice distinction between two persons actuated by the same vice or folly, is Another ; and as this last talent is found in very few writers, so is the true discernment found in as few readers; though, I. believe, the observation of this forms a very principal pleasure in those who are capable of the discovery ; every person, for instance, can distinguish between Sir Epicure Mammon and Sir Fopling Flutter ; but to note the difference between Sir Fopling Flutter and Sir Courtly Nice requires a more exquisite judgment ; for want of which, vulgar spectators of plays very often do great injustice in the theatre ; where I have sometimes known a poet in danger of being convicted as a thief, upon much worse evidence than the resemblance of hands hath been held to be in the law. In reality, I apprehend every amorous widow on the stage would run the hazard of being condemned as a servile imitation of Dido, but that happily very few of our play-house critics understand enough of Latin to read Yirgil.

In the next place, we must admonish thee, my worthy friend, (for, perhaps, thy heart may be better than thy head,) not to condemn a character as a bad one, because it is not perfectly a good one. If thou dost delight in these models of perfection, there are books enow written to gratify thy taste ; but as we have not, in the course of our conversation, ever happened to meet with any such person, we have not chosen to introduce any such here. To say the truth, I a little question whether mere man ever arrived at this consummate degree of excellence, as well as whether there hath ever existed a monster bad enough to verify that

nulla virtute redemptum

A vitiis *

* Whose vices are not allayed with a single virtue.

in Juvenal; nor do I, indeed, conceive the good purposes served by inserting characters of such angelic perfection, or such diabolical depravity, in any work of invention ;^ since, from contemplating either, the mind of man is more likely to be overwhelmed with sorrow and shame, than to draw any good uses from such patterns ; for, in the former instance, he may be both concerned and ashamed to see a pattern of excellence in his nature, which he may reasonably despair of ever arriving at ; and, .in contemplating the latter, he may be no less affected with those uneasy sensations, at seeing the nature of which he is a partaker, degraded into so odious and detestable a creature.

In fact, if there be enough of goodness in a character to engage the admiration and affection of a well-disposed mind, though there should appear some of those little blemishes, quas humana parum cavit natura, they will raise our compassion rather than our abhorrence. Indeed, nothing can be of more moral use than the imperfections which are seen in examples of this kind ; since such form a kind of surprise, more apt to affect and dwell upon our minds, than the faults of very vicious and wicked persons. The foibles and vices of men, in whom there is great mixture of good, become more glaring objects from the virtues which contrast them and show their deformity; and when we find such vices attended with their evil consequence to our favourite characters, we are not only taught to shun them for our own sake, but to hate them for the mischiefs they have already brought on those we love.

And now, my friend, having given you these few admonitions, we will, if you please, once more set forwa.rd with our

history.

Chapter II

Containing the arrival of an Irish gentleman, with very extraordinary adventures which ensued at the inn.

Now the little trembling hare, which the dread of aU her numerous enemies, and chiefly of that cunning, cruel, carnivorous animal, man, had confined all the day to her lurking-place, sports wantonly o'er the lawns ; now on some hollow tree the owl, shrilJ chorister of the night, hoots forth notes which might charm the ears of some modern connoisseurs in music ; now'^in the imagination of the half-drunk clown, as he staggers through the church-yard, or rather charnel-yard, to his home, fear paints the bloody hobgoblin ; now. thieves and ruffians are awake, and *ionest watchmen fast asleep j in plain English, it was now midnight ; and the company at the inn, as well those who have been already mentioned in this history, as some others who arrived in the evening, were all in bed. Only Susan Chambermaid was now stirring, she being obliged to wash the kitchen, before she retired to the arms of the fond expecting hostler.

In this posture were affairs at the inn, when a gentleman arrived there, post. He immediately alighted from his horse, and coming up to Susan, inquired of her, in a very abrupt and confused manner, being almost out of breath with eagerness, whether there was any lady in the house ? The hour of night' and the behaviour of the man, who stared very wildly at the time, a little surprised Susan, so that she hesitated before she made any answer ; upon which the gentleman, with redoubled eagerness, begged her to give him a true information, saying, he had lost his wife, and was come in pursuit of her. '' Upon my shouV' cries he, ''I have been near catching her already in two or three places, if I had not found her gone just as I came up with her. If she be in the house, do carry me up in the dark, and show her to me ; .and if she be gone away before me, do tell me which way I shall go after her to meet her, and upon my shoul, I will make you the richest poor woman in the nation,^' He then pulled out a handful of guineas, a sight which would have bribed persons of much greater consequence than this poor wench, to much worse purposes.

Susan, from the account she had received of Mrs. Waters, made not the least doubt but that she was the very identical stray whom the right owner pursued. As she concluded, therefore, with great appearance of reason, that she never could get money in an honester way than by restoring a wife to her husband, she made no scruple of assuring the gentleman, that the lady he wanted was then in the house : and was presently afterwards prevailed upon, (by very liberal promises, and somo earnest paid into her hands,) to conduct him to the bedchamber of Mrs. Waters.

A FOUNDLING.

It hath been a custom long established in the polite world, and that upon very solid and substantial reasons, that a husband shall never enter his wife's apartment without first knocking at the door. The many excellent uses of this custom need scarce be hinted to a reader who hath any knowledge of the world ; for by this means the lady hath time to adjust herself, or to remove any disagreeable object out of the way ; for there are some situations, in which nice and delicate women would not be discovered by their husbands.

To say the truth, there are several ceremonies instituted among the polished part of mankind, which, though they may, to coarser judgments, appear as matters of mere form, are found to have much of substance in them, by the more discerning ; and luckily would it have been, had the custom aboyementioned been observed by our gentleman in the present instance. Knock, indeed, he did at the door, but not with one of those gentle raps which is usual on such occasions. On the contrary, when he found the door locked, he flew at it with such violence, that the lock immediately gave way, the door burst open, and he fell headlong into the room.

He had no sooner recovered his legs, than forth from the bed, upon his legs likewise appeared — with shame and sorrow we are obliged to proceed — our hero himself, who, with a menacing voice, demanded of the gentleman who he was, and what he meant by daring to burst open his chamber in that outrageous manner.

The gentleman at first thought he had committed a mistake, and was going to ask pardon and retreat, when on a sudden, as the moon shone very bright, he cast his eyes on stays, gowns, petticoats, caps, ribbons, stockings, garters, shoes, clogs, &c., all which lay in a disordered manner on the floor. All these operating on the natural jealousy of his temper, so enraged him that he lost all power' of speech; and, without returning any answer to Jones, he endeavoured to approach the bed.

Jones immediately interposing, a fierce contention arose, which soon proceeded to blows on both sides. And now Mrs: Waters, (for we must confess she was in the same bed,) being, I suppose, awakened from her sleep, and seeing two mm fighting in her bedchamber, began to scream in the most violent manner, crying out '^murder I robbery!^' and more frequently ''rape!'' which last, some, perhaps, may wonder she should mention, who do not consider that these words of exclamation are used by ladies in a fright, as fa, la, la, ra, da, &c., are in music, only as the vehicles of sound, and without any fixed ideas.

Next to the lady's chamber was deposited the body of an Irish gentleman, who arrived too late at the inn to have been mentioned before. This gentleman was one of those whom the Irish call a calabdaro, or cavalier. He was a younger brother of a good family, and having no fortune at home, was obliged to look abroad in order to get one ; for which purpose he was proceeding to Bath, to try his luck with cards and the women.

This young fellow lay in bed reading one of Mrs. Behn's novels ; for he had been instructed by a friend, that he would find no more effectual method of recommending himself to the ladies, than the improving his understanding, and filling his mind with good literature. He no sooner, therefore, heard the violent uproar in the next room, than he leaped from his bolster, and taking his sword in one hand, and the candle which burnt by him in the other, he went directly to Mrs. Waters 's cnamber.

If the sight of another man at first shocked the decency of the lady, it made her presently amends by considerably abating her fears ; for no sooner had the calabalaro entered the room, than he cried out: ''Mr. Fitzpatrick, what the devil is the meaning of this?" Upon which the other immediately answered, " 0, Mr. Macklachlan ! I am rejoiced you are here. — This villain hath debauched my wife, and is got into bed with her." — "What wife?" cries Macklachlan, "do not I know Mrs. Fitzpatrick very well, and don't I see that the lady, whom the gentleman who stands here in his shirt is lying in bed with, is none of her ?"

Fitzpatrick now perceiving, as well by the glimpse he had of the lady, as by her voice, which might have been distinguished at a greater distance than he now stood from her, that he had made a very unfortunate mistake, began to ask many pardons of the lady ; and th-en turning to Jones, he said, "I would have you take notice I do not ask your pardon, for you have bate me, for which I am resolved to have your blood in the morning."

tTones treated this menace with much contempt; and Mr. Macklachlan answered, '' Indeed Mr. Fitzpatrick, you may be ashamed of your own self, to disturb people at this time of night ; if all the people in the inn were not asleep, you would have awakened them as you have me. The gentleman has served you very rightly. Upon my conscience, though I have no wife, if you had treated her so, I would have cut your throat. '^

Jones was so confounded with his fears for his lady's reputation, that he knew neither what to say or do ; but the invention of woman is, as hath been observed, much readier than that of men. She recollected that there was a communication between her chamber and that of Mr. Jones ; relying, therefore, on his honour and her own assurance, she answered, ''I know not what you mean, villains ! I am wife to none of you. Help ! rape ! murder I rape !'' And now the landlady coming into the room, Mrs. Waters fell upon her with the utmost virulence, saying, '^ She, thought herself in a sober inn, and not in a bawdy-house ; but that a set of villains had broke into her room, with an intent upon her honour, if not upon her life ; and both, she said, were equally dear to her.''

The landlady now began to roar as loudly as the poor woman in bed had done before. She cried, ''She was undone, and that the reputation of her house, which was never blown upon before, was utterly destroyed." Then turning to the men, she cried, ' ' What, in the devil's name, is the reason of all this disturbance in the lady's room ?" Fitzpatrick, hanging down his head, repeated, " That he had committed a mistake, for which he heartily asked pardon," and then retired with his countryman. Jones, who was too ingenious to have missed the hint given him by his fair one, boldly asserted, " That he had run to her assistance upon hearing the door broke open ; with what design he could not conceive, unless of robbing the lady ; which, if they intended, he said he had the good fortune to prevent." — '^ I never had a robbery committed in my house since I have kept it," cries the landlady : '' I would have you to know, sir, I harbour no highwaymen here; I scorn the word, tho'f I say it. None but honest, good gentlefolks, are welcome to my house ; and, I thank good luck, I had always had enow of such customers ; indeed as many as I could entertain. Here

hath been my Lord ,'' and then she repeated over a

catalogue of names and titles, many of which we might, perhaps, be guilty of a breach of privilege by inserting.

Jones, after much patience, at length interrupted her, by making an apology to Mrs. Waters, for having appeared before her in his shirt, assuring her, ''That nothing but a concern for her safety could have prevailed on him to do it.'^ The reader may inform himself of her answer, and, indeed, of her whole behaviour to the end of the scene, by considering the situation which she affected, it being that of a modest lady, who was awakened out of her sleep by three strange men in her chamber. This was the part which she undertook to perform ; and, indeed, she executed it so well' that none of our theatrical actresses could exceed her, in any of their performances, either on or off the stage.

And hence, I think, we may very fairly draw an argument, to prove how extremely natural virtue is to the fair sex ; for though there is not, perhaps, one in ten thousand who is capable of making a good actress ; and even among these we rarely see two who are equally able to personate the same character ; yet this of virtue they can all admirably well put on ; and as well those individuals who have it not, as those who possess it, can all act it to the utmost degree of perfection.

When the men were all departed, Mrs. Waters, recovering from her fear, recovered likewise from her anger, and spoke in much gentler accents to the landlady, who did not so readily quit her concern for the reputation of the house, in favour of which she began again to number the many great persons who had slept under her roof; but the lady stopped her short, and having absolutely acquitted h^r of having had any share in the past disturbance, begged to be left to her repose, which, she said, she hoped to enjoy unmolested during the remainder of the night. Upon which the landlady, after much civility, and many courtesies, took her leave.

Chapter III

A dialogue between the landlady and Susan the chambermaid, proper to read by all innkeepers and their servants ; with the arrival, and affable behaviour, of a beautiful young lady ; which may teach persons of condition how they may acquire the love of the whole world.

The landlady, remembering that Susan had been the only person out of bed when the door was burst open, resorted presently to her, to inquire into the first occasion of the disturbance, as well as who the strange gentleman was, and when and how he arrived.

Susan related the whole story, which the reader knows already, varying the truth only in some circumstances, as she saw convenient, and totally concealing the money which she had received. But whereas her mistress had, in the preface to her inquiry, spoken much in compassion for the fright the lady had been in, concerning any intended depredations on her virtue, Susan could not help endeavouring to quiet the concern which her mistress seemed to be under on that account, by swearing heartily she saw Jones leap out from her bed.

The landlady fell into a violent rage at these words. '' A likely story, truly, '^ cried she, ''that a woman should cry out, and endeavour to expose herself, if that was the case ! I desire to know what better proof any lady can give of her virtue, than her crying out, which, I believe, twenty people can witness for her she did ? I beg, madam, you would spread no such scandal of any of my guests ; for it will not only reflect on them, but upon the house ; and I am sure no vagabonds, nor wicked beggarly people, come here."

*' Well, '' says Susan, ''then I must not believe my own eyes.'' " No, indeed, must you not, always," answered her mistress ; " I would not have believed my own eyes against such good gentlefolks. I have not had a better supper ordered this halfyear than they ordered last night; and so easy and good-humoured were they, that they found no fault with my Worcestershire perry, which I sold them for champagne ; and to be sure it is as well tasted, and as wholesome, as the best champagne in the kingdom, otherwise I would scorn to give it 'em ; TL — 2 and they drank me two bottles. 'No, no, I will never believe any harm of such sober good sort of people.''

Susan being thus silenced, her mistress proceeded to other matters. ''And so you tell me," continued she, ''that the strange gentleman came post, and there is a footman without with the horses ; why, then, he is certainly some of your great gentlefolks too. Why did not you ask him whether he'd have any supper ? I think he is in the other gentleman's room ; go up, and ask whether he called. Perhaps he'll order something, when he finds any body stirring in the house to dress it. Now don't commit any of your usual blunders, by telling him the fire's out, and the fowls alive. And if he should order mutton, don't blab out that we have none. The butcher, I know, killed a sheep just before I went to bed, and he never refuses to cut it up warm when I desire it. Go, remember there's all sorts of mutton and fowls ; go, open the door with— gentlemen, d'ye call ? and if they say nothing, ask what his honour will be pleased to have for supper ? Don't forget his honour. Go ; if you don't mind all these matters better, you'll never come to any thing. ' '

Susan departed, and soon returned with an account, that the two gentlemen were got both into the same bed. " Two gentlemen, " says the landlady, " in the same bed I that's impossible ; they are two arrant scrubs, I warrant them ; and, I believe, young Squire Allworthy guessed right, that the fellow intended to rob her ladyship ; for if he had broke open the lady's door with any of the wicked designs of a gentleman, he would never have sneaked away to another room, to save the expense of a supper and a bed to himself. They are certainly thieves, and their searching after a wife is nothing but a pretence."

tn these censures, my landlady did Mr. Fitzpatrick great injustice ; for he was really born a gentleman, though not worth a groat ; and though, perhaps, he had some few blemishes in his heart as well as in his head, yet being a sneaking or niggardly fellow was not one of them. In reality he was so generous a man, that, whereas he had received a very handsome fortune with his wife, he had now spent every penny of it, except some little pittance which was settled upon her ; and, in order to possess himself of this, he had used her with such

A POUNBLING. 15

cruelty, that, together with his jealousy, which was of the bitterest kind, it had forced the poor woman to run away from him.

This gentleman, then, being well tired with his long journey from Chester in one day, with which, and some good dry blows he had received in the scuffle, his bones were so sore, that, added to the soreness of his mind, it had quite deprived him of any appetite for eating. And being now so violently disappointed in the woman, whom, at the maid's instance, he had mistaken for his wife, it never once entered into his head, that she might nevertheless be in the house, though he had erred in the first person he had attacked. He therefore yielded to the dissuasion of his friend, from searching any farther after her that night, and accepted the kind offer of part of his bed.

The footman and post-boy were in a different disposition. They were more ready to order than the landlady was to provide ; however, after being pretty well satisfied by them of the real truth of the case, and that Mr. Fitzpatrick was no thief, she was at length prevailed on to set some cold meat before them, which they were devouring with great greediness, when Partridge came into the kitchen. He had been first awaked by the hurry which we "have before seen; and while he was endeavouring to compose himself again on his pillow, a screechowl had given him such a serenade at his window, that he leaped in a most horrible affright from his bed, and, huddling on his clothes with great expedition, ran down to the protection, of the company, whom he heard talking below in the kitchen.

His arrival detained my landlady from returning to her rest ; for she was just about to leave the other two guests to the care of Susan ; but the friend of young Squire Allworthy was not to be so neglected, especially as he called for a pint of wine to be mulled. She immediately obeyed, by putting the same quantity of perry to the fire ; for this readily answered to the name of every kind of wine.

The Irish footman was retired to bed, and the post-boy was going to follow ; but Partridge invited him to stay and partake of his wine, which the lad very thankfully accepted. The schoolmaster was indeed afraid to return to bed by himself ; and as he did not know how soon he might lose the company

16 THE HfSTORY OF

of my landlady, he was resolved to secure that of the boy in whose presence he apprehended no danger from the devil, or any of his adherents.

And now arrived another post-boy at the gate ; upon which Susan, being ordered out, returned, introducing two young women in riding-habits, one of which was so very richly laced, that Partridge and the post-boy instantly started from their chairs, and my landlady fell to her courtesies, and her ladyships, with great eagerness.

The lady in the rich habit said, with a smile of great condescension, ''If you will give me leave, madam, I will warm myself a few minutes at your kitchen fire ; for it is really very cold ; but I must insist on disturbing no one from his seat. ^' This was spoken on account of Partridge, who had retreated to the other end of the room, struck with the utmost awe and astonishment at the splendour of the lady's dress. Indeed, she had a much better title to respect than this, for she was one of the most beautiful creatures in the world.

The lady earnestly desired Partridge to return to his seat ; but could not prevail. She then pulled off her gloves, and displayed to the fire two hands which had every property of Know in them, except that of melting. Her companion, who was indeed her maid, likewise pulled off her gloves, and discovered what bore an exact resemblance, in cold and colour, to a piece of frozen beef.

''I wish, madaifa,'' quoth the latter, ''your ladyship would not think of going any farther to-night. I am terribly afraid your ladyship will not be able to bear the fatigue. '^

"Why sure,'' cries the landlady, "her ladyship's honour can never intend it. 0, bless me I farther to-night, indeed I let me beseech your ladyship not to think on't. — But, to be sure, your ladyship can't. What will your honour be pleased to have for supper ? I have mutton of all kinds, and some nice chicken."

"I think, madam," said the lady, "it would be rather breakfast than supper ; but I cannot eat anything ; and if I stay, shall only lie down for an hour or two. However, if you please, madam, you may get me a little sack-w]iey, made very small and thin."

A FOUNDLING, l*i

**Yes, madam," cries the mistress of tlie house, ''I have some excellent white wine. " — ''You have no sack, then?" says the lady. "Yes, an't please your honour, I have ; I may challenge the country for that — but let me beg your ladyship to eat something. ^'

^'Fpon my word, I can^t eat a morsel," answered the lady ; " and I shall be much obliged to you, if you will please to get my apartment ready as soon as possible ; for I am resolved to be on horseback again in three hours."

''Why, Susan," cries the landlady, *' is there a fire lit yet in the Wild-goose ? I am sorry, madam, all my best rooms are full. Several people of the first quality are now in bed. Here's a great young squire, and many other great gentlefolks of quality." Susan answered, ''That the Irish gentlemen were got in the Wild-goose."

" Was ever anything like it !" says the mistress ; ^' why the devil would you not ke^p some of the best rooms for the quality, when you know scarce a day passes without some calling here ? — If they be gentlemen, I am certain, when they know it is for her ladyship, they will get up again. "

" Not upon my account," says the lady ; "I will have no person disturbed for me. If you have a room that is commonly decent, it will serve me very well, though it be never so plain. I beg, madam, you will not give yourself so much trouble on my account." — '' 0, madam !" cries the other, " I have several good rooms, for that matter, but none good enough for your honour's ladyship. However, as you are so condescending to take up with the best I have, do, Susan, get a fire in the Rose this minute. Will your ladyship be pleased to go up now, or stay till the fire is lighted? — "I think, I have sufficiently warmed myself," answered the lady; "so, if you please, I will go now. I am afraid I have kept people, and particularly that gentleman, (meaning Partridge,) too long in the cold already. Indeed, I cannot bear to th-ink of keeping any person from the fire this dreadful weather." — She then departed with her maid, the landlady marching with two lighted candles before her.