The adventures of Tom Jones — Parts I and II

Book I

CONTAINING AS MUCH OF THE BIRTH OF THE FOUNDLING AS IS NECESSARY OR PROPER TO ACQUAINT THE READER WITH IN THE BEGINNING OF THIS HISTORY.

The introduction to the work, or bill of fare to SMREMNEHAG Ko a! cate! a. tah iat” fal Sl 2 ae aa

A short description of Squire Allworthy, and a fuller account of Miss Bridget Allworthy, his S02 ee ee eee

CHAPTER THREE An odd accident which befel Mr. Allworthy at his return home. The decent behaviour of Mrs. Deborah Wilkins, with some proper animad- Persons OM DAStalGS= aa scutes. see ee ms le 8

CHAPTER FOUR The reader's neck brought into danger by a description; his escape; and the great condescension of Miss Bridget Allworthy . .. 14

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Containing a few common matters, with a very uncommon observation upon them. . .

Mrs. Deborah is introduced into the parish with a simile. A short account of Jenny Jones, with the difficulties and discouragements which may attend young women in the pursuit of learning

Containing such grave matter, that the reader cannot laugh once through the whole chapter, unless peradventure he should laugh at the anthor.:" 29st: Sots <2. Je fe) oa

A dialogue between Mesdames Bridget and Deborah; containing more amusement, but less instruction, than the former . ...) ~ 0.1%

Containing matters which will surprize the reader

The hospitality of Allworthy ; with a short sketch of the characters of two brothers, a doctor and a captain, who were entertained by that gen- LOMBARD 66 ne gi tieriih hs Jdeylsslh eueth Orreke

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PAGE

Containing many rules, and some examples, con- sid cerning falling in love: descriptions of beauty, and other more prudential inducements to Brey 8 Ta gS ee io EF tae! ah at ln “| oS

Containing what the reader may, perhaps, expect SPMRRO IEA cd Cas hay. “ee aria We sabre, we | OO

Which concludes the first book ; with an instance of ingratitude, which, we hope, will appear “SUNT | Oe ae eee CRRA Rg AT

Book II

CONTAINING SCENES OF MATRIMONIAL FELICITY IN DIFFER- ENT DEGREES OF LIFE; AND VARIOUS OTHER TRANSAC- TIONS DURING THE FIRST TWO YEARS AFTER THE MARRIAGE BETWEEN CAPTAIN BLIFIL AND MISS BRIDGET ALLWORTHY.

Showing what kind of a history this is ; what it is hee, and what itis not liken ..,2 9 <.. 2 s. 65

Religious cautions against showing too much favour to bastards ; and a great discovery made by itea Deborah, Wilkins:” 2.60 vite sk | G9

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The description of a domestic government founded upon rules directly contrary to those of Aristotle . . . . . . . . . . . e e .

Containing one of the most bloody battles, or rather duels, that were ever recorded in domestic history es . . . e se . . . se . es

Containing much matter to exercise the judgment and reflection of the reader. . . . . . e

The trial of Partridge, the schoolmaster, for incontinency ; the evidence of his wife; a short reflection on the wisdom of our law; with other grave matters, which those will like best who understand them most ..... s

A short sketch of that felicity which prudent couples may extract from hatred : with a short apology for those people who overlook imperfections in their friends . . ... .

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PAGE

PAGE A receipt to regain the lost affections of a wife, which hath never been known to fail in the mugeOGesperate cases. . . = - + 2». 0 110

A proof of the infallibility of the foregoing receipt, in the lamentations of the widow; with other suitable decorations of death, such as physicians, etc., and an epitaph in the true stile . . . 113

Book III

CONTAINING THE MOST MEMORABLE TRANSACTIONS WHICH PASSED IN THE FAMILY OF MR. ALLWORTHY, FROM THE TIME WHEN TOMMY JONES ARRIVED AT THE AGE OF FOURTEEN, TILL HE ATTAINED THE AGE OF NINETEEN. IN THIS BOOK THE READER MAY PICK UP SOME HINTS CONCERNING THE EDUCATION OF CHILDREN,

Containing little or nothing .'.. . . . - 120

The heroe of this great history appears with very bad omens. A little tale of so low a kind that some may think it not worth their notice. A word or two concerning a squire, and more relating to a gamekeeper and a schoolmaster. 123

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The character of Mr. Square the philosopher, and of Mr. Thwackum the divine; with a dispute concerning oe 8 6 es 8 Ce!

Containing a necessary apology for the author; and a childish incident, which perhaps requires an apology likewise... <= \. < /-9neueee

The opinions of the divine and the philosopher concerning the two boys; with some reasons for their opinions, and other matters . . .

Containing a better reason still for the before-mentioned opinions. 7). |. \..5 6) eae

In which the author himself makes his appearance on the stage . . . . . <=: ——

A childish incident, in which, however, is seen a good-natured disposition in Tom Jones. . .

PAGE

Containing an incident of a more heinous kind, with the comments of Thwackum and Square

In which Master Blifil and Jones appear in differae) a yl 4h lem egieensiny Sort

Book IV Containing The Time Of A Year

Containing five pages of paper. . 2 « « « «

A short hint of what we can do in the sublime, and a description of Miss Sophia Western . .

Wherein the history goes back to commemorate a trifling incident that happened some years since ; but which, trifling as it was, had some BRUNTETEOMACQUCHGES 6 5's wie ee Ke

Containing such very deep and grave matters, that some readers, perhaps, may not relish it . [xi]

PAGE

PAGE Containing matter accommodated to every taste . 188

An apology for the insensibility of Mr. Jones to all the charms of the lovely Sophia ; in which possibly we may, in a considerable degree, lower his character in the estimation of those men of wit and gallantry who approve the heroes in most of our modern comedies . . 197

Being the shortest chapter in this book. . . . 204

A battle sung by the muse in the Homerican style, and which none but the classical reader can taste... 6 6 os 6 6 eee

Containing matter of no very peaceable colour . 214

A story told by Mr.Supple, the curate. The penetration of Squire Western. His great love for his daughter, and the return to it made by her 219

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The narrow escape of Molly Seagrim, with some observations for which we have been forced to dive pretty deep into nature . . ... .

Containing much clearer matters; but which flowed from the same fountain with those meme preceding chapter 5.0, ..¢, alprtes

A dreadful accident which befel Sophia. The gallant behaviour of Jones, and the more dreadful consequence of that behaviour to the young lady ; with a short digression in favour of the a ie at so ee er ae aa

The arrival of a surgeon. — His operations, and a long dialogue between Sophia and her maid .

Book V Containing A Portion Of Time Somewhat Longer Half A Year

Of the serious in writing, and for what purpose it is introduced . .

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PAGE

THAN

In which Mr. Jones receives many friendly visits during his confinement ; with some fine touches of the passion of love, scarce visible to the naked ‘eye... 64s. js se ee

Which all who have no heart will think to contain

much ‘ado about nothing’. "2" "2 2) ane CHAPTER FOUR

A little chapter, in which is contained a little

Incident. <j. ¢ =. \ve. 7 1m; | <.5-senien, & CHAPTER FIVE

A very long chapter, containing a very great inci-

By comparing which with the former, the reader may possibly correct some abuse which he hath formerly been guilty of in the application of the*word-love® 2" 5 D7 Daye ee

In which Mr, Allworthy appears on a sick-bed_ .

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PAGE

Containing matter rather natural than pleasing .

Which, among other things, may serve as a comment on that saying of Hschines, that “ drunkenness shows the mind of a man, as a mirrour

Showing the truth of many observations of Ovid, and of other more grave writers, who have proved beyond contradiction, that wine is often the forerunner of incontinency

In which a simile in Mr. Pope’s period of a mile introduces as bloody a battle as can possibly be fought without the assistance of steel or PRR MENTION hte ose artiysi( wie bh eid Jayna. oe

{n which is seen a more moving spectacle than all the blood in the bodies of Thwackum and Blifil, and of twenty other such, is capable of (Oa Ger nea rid ry hee Cee

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Scanian ta.

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To the Honourable GEORGE LYTTLETON, ESQ.

One of the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury

Sie,

OTWITHSTANDING your constant

refusal, when I have asked leave to

prefix your name to this dedication, I

must still insist on my right to desire your protection of this work.

To you, Sir, it is owing that this history was ever begun. It was by your desire that I first thought of such a composition. So many years have since past, that you may have, perhaps, forgotten this circumstance: but your desires are to me in the nature of commands ; and the impression of them is never to be erased from my memory.

Again, Sir, without your assistance this history had never been completed. Be not startled at the assertion. Ido not intend to draw on you the suspicion of being a romance writer. I mean no more than that I partly owe to you my existence during great part of the time which I have employed in composing it: another matter which it may be necessary to remind you of; since there are certain actions of which you are apt to be extremely forgetful ; but of these I hope I shall always have a better memory than yourself.

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Lastly, It is owing to you that the history appears what it now is. If there be in this work, as some have been pleased to say, a stronger picture of a truly benevolent mind than is to be found in any other, who that knows you, and a particular acquaintance of yours, will doubt whence that benevolence hath been copied? The world will not, I believe, make me the compliment of thinking I took it from myself. I care not: this they shall own, that the two persons from whom I have taken it, that is to say, two of the best and worthiest men in the world, are strongly and zealously my friends. I might be contented with this, and yet my vanity will add a third to the number; and him one of the greatest and noblest, not only in his rank, but in every public and private virtue. But here, whilst my gratitude for the princely benefactions of the Duke of Bedford bursts from my heart, you must forgive my reminding you that it was you who first recommended me to the notice of my benefactor.

And what are your objections to the allowance of the honour which I have sollicited? Why, you have commended the book so warmly, that you should be ashamed of reading your name before the dedication. Indeed, sir, if the book itself doth not make you ashamed of your commendations, nothing that I can here write will, or ought. I am not to give up my right to your protection and patronage, because you have commended my book: for though I acknowledge so many obligations to you, I do not add this to the number; in which friendship, I am convinced, hath so little share: since that can

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neither biass your judgment, nor pervert your integrity. An enemy may at any time obtain your commendation by only deserving it ; and the utmost which the faults of your friends can hope for, is your silence ; or, perhaps, if too severely accused, your gentle palliation.

In short, sir, I suspect, that your dislike of public praise is your true objection to granting my request. I have observed that you have, in common with my two other friends, an unwillingness to hear the least mention of your own virtues; that, as a great poet says of one of you, (he might justly have said it of all three), you

Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.

If men of this disposition are as careful to shun applause, as others are to escape censure, how just must be your apprehension of your character falling into my hands; since what would not a man have reason to dread, if attacked by an author who had received from him injuries equal to my obligations to you!

And will not this dread of censure increase in proportion to the matter which a man is conscious of having afforded for it? If his whole life, for instance, should have been one continued subject of satire, he may well tremble when an incensed satirist takes him in hand. Now, sir, if we apply this to your modest aversion to panegyric, how reasonable will your fears of me appear !

Yet surely you might have gratified my ambition, from this single confidence, that I shall always prefer

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the indulgence of your inclinations to the satisfaction of my own. A very strong instance of which I shall give you in this address, in which I am determined to follow the example of all other dedicators, and will consider not what my patron really deserves to have written, but what he will be best pleased to read.

Without further preface then, I here present you with the labours of some years of my life. What merit these labours have is already known to yourself. If, from your favourable judgment, I have conceived some esteem for them, it cannot be imputed to vanity ; since I should have agreed as implicitly to your opinion, had it been given in favour of any other man’s production. Negatively, at least, I may be allowed to say, that had I been sensible of any great demerit in the work, you are the last person to whose protection I would have ventured to recommend it.

From the name of my patron, indeed, I hope my reader will be convinced, at his very entrance on this work, that he will find in the whole course of it nothing prejudicial to the cause of religion and virtue, nothing inconsistent with the strictest rules of decency, nor which can offend even the chastest eye in the perusal. On the contrary, I declare, that to recommend goodness and innocence hath been my sincere endeavour in this history. This honest purpose you have been pleased to think I have attained : and to say the truth, it is likeliest to be attained in books of this kind; for an example is a kind of picture, in which virtue becomes, as it were, an ob- [ xxii | ject of sight, and strikes us with an idea of that loveliness, which Plato asserts there is in her naked charms.

Besides displaying that beauty of virtue which may attract the admiration of mankind, I have attempted to engage a stronger motive to human action in her favour, by convincing men, that their true interest directs them to a pursuit of her. For this purpose I have shown that no acquisitions of guilt can compensate the loss of that solid inward comfort of mind, which is the sure companion of innocence and virtue; nor can in the least balance the evil of that horror and anxiety which, in their room, guilt introduces into our bosoms. And again, that as these acquisitions are in themselves generally worthless, so are the means to attain them not only base and infamous, but at best incertain, and always full of danger. Lastly, I have endeavoured strongly to inculcate, that virtue and innocence can scarce ever be injured but by indiscretion ; and that it is this alone which often betrays them into the snares that deceit and villainy spread for them. A moral which I have the more industriously laboured, as the teaching it is, of all others, the likeliest to be attended with success ; since, I believe, it is much easier to make good men wise, than to make bad men good.

For these purposes I have employed all the wit and humour of which I am master in the following history ; wherein I have endeavoured to laugh mankind out of their favourite follies and vices. How far I have succeeded in this good attempt, I shall submit

[ xxiii | to the candid reader, with only two requests: First, that he will not expect to find perfection in this work ; and Secondly, that he will excuse some parts of it, if they fall short of that little merit which I hope may appear in others.

I will detain you, sir, no longer. Indeed I have run into a preface, while I professed to write a dedication. But how can it be otherwise? I dare not praise you; and the only means I know of to avoid it, when you are in my thoughts, are either to be entirely silent, or to turn my thoughts to some other subject.

Pardon, therefore, what I have said in this epistle, not only without your consent, but absolutely against it; and give me at least leave, in this public manner, to declare that I am, with the highest respect and gratitude,—

Sir, Your most obliged, Obedient, humble servant, HENRY FIELDING.

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URING the century and a half in which the English race has been the richer for the existence of J’om Jones, the book has been so much discussed that a critic

to-day hesitates to say another word about it; he is pretty sure that he can say nothing new. In this introduction, then, the most I can do is to tell why, in the persistent controversy regarding the merits of Tom Jones, I take my stand unhesitatingly with that party — happily for our literary taste, by far the larger — which has steadfastly lauded the book. To my mind there is no English novel which comes nearer to being supreme. It is not enough for a very great novel to possess the technical excellences that every story should possess, — a firm plot, real characters, and real background. The greatest novel conceivable should have also a sense of the seriousness of human life, of its manifold variety, of its mysteries as well as its facts ; and all these it should set forth simply, directly, honestly. If the author preaches a little (and it is almost inevitable that the author of a truly great novel shall preach from time to time) he must not make his preaching too positive or too obtrusive. His sermon, moreover, must seem to come with spontaneity and sincerity. Now, though T'om Jones does not satisfy all the require-

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ments of a truly great novel which I have just enumerated, it comes as near doing so, both in workmanship and in purpose, as any novel in our tongue. The purpose of Jom Jones, I take it, was not less to tell a good story than to set forth Fielding’s theory of life; to show what human vices he thought most to be condemned, what he thought most deserving of pardon, and what virtues he esteemed of greatest worth. In order to speak on these matters with a conviction which should make his work one of the masterpieces of prose fiction, it was necessary for him to write with a seriousness which is not found in Joseph Andrews. In the introduction to that delightful novel, I said we might, broadly speaking, divide Fielding’s life into two periods: the first, that in which he was acquiring his knowledge of mankind; the second, that in which, either as a writer or as a justice of the peace, he was enriching the world with this prodigious knowledge. Now for two reasons, this knowledge, ripe as it is in Joseph Andrews, is yet not given out there with the seriousness essential to the greatest novels. Joseph Andrews, originally conceived as a parody, remained something of a joke even to the last chapter. Moreover, when he was writing it, Fielding, lawyer and married man of thirty-four that he was, was still a good deal of a boy. ‘To the day of his death he never quite lost his boyishness, — the best men never do — but in the years between the composition of Joseph Andrews and that of Tom Jones, certain events occurred which brought Fielding to his fullest maturity. In 1743 he en- [ xxvi ]

larged his literary fame by the publication of his Miscellanies, which included Jonathan Wild. Probably towards the end of the same year, his wife died, —the beautiful Charlotte Cradock, whom Fielding seems to have loved with the best manly affection. In 1745, the Jacobite Rebellion roused Fielding to support the Government with a weekly periodical, The True Patriot, which ran till peace was restored, and which was followed in December, 1747, by the Jacobites Journal, another periodical in support of the reigning house. In November of the same year, Fielding had married Mary Daniel, a maid of his first wife, devotedly attached to her mistress and her children, a woman whose sympathy Fielding had found his best consolation in his first acute grief. The next year, in December, partly, it would seem, through the influence of his friend, Lyttelton, and partly, it may be, as a reward for political services, Fielding was appointed Justice of the Peace for Westminster. By this time he must have written most, if not all, of the History of Tom Jones, a Foundling, which was published by Andrew Millar, in February, 1749.

Such briefly was Fielding’s life between 1742 and 1749. Pale, in a way, it seems, compared with the vari-coloured experience which preceded Joseph Andrews ; and yet it was the few following years, added to the influence of that boisterous, apprentice period, which made possible such greater works as Tom Jones and Amelia. More important in sobering and deepening Fielding’s nature than his money difficulties, which still beset him, and must have seemed graver when he had a family to support than in his

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independent bachelorhood ; more than the crisis in the history of his country ; more than the loss of health and strength, which both failed remarkably early for one of Fielding’s youthful robustness — more important than any of these in sobering and deepening Fielding’s nature, must have been the death of his wife. This was probably the first time that the mystery of death impressed him ; for he was only eleven years old when his mother died, and he had never been intimate with his father. Even the death of his little daughter, so beautifully referred to in A Journey from this World to the Next, made but a slight impression on him compared with the death of Mrs. Fieldmg. Then in the empty years which followed, came that second marriage, strange and natural both, with Mrs. Fielding’s maid. It is no wonder that in his second great novel, along with the light-hearted fun of Joseph Andrews, which is still present in plenty, there is ever something of the seriousness which marks the greatest fiction.

In a novel which may stand among the dozen or so that come near to being supreme, there must be something more than an appreciation of the seriousness of life. A novel, or a short story, for that matter, may indicate nothing but this seriousness ; in which case, though its art be perfect, its greatness is limited. Life is not only serious: it is also joyous, at times frivolous, and many things besides ; and a novelist who sees “life steadily and sees it whole,” will show its complexity. Experience would seem to teach that the best way for an author to do so, is to make his story cover a considerable period

[ xxviii | of time. Think of the English novels which most readers of good literary taste will pronounce indisputably great, and you will find that in four-fifths of them the story covers a good many years. ‘The reason is not far to seek. Other things being equal, people whom we have known for years give us a keener realisation of the complexity of life than people whom we have known for weeks. It follows that in a book, the complexity of life is most likely to be indicated when a considerable time elapses between the first page and the last. Now T'om Jones, along with its appreciation of the seriousness of life, gives us a sense of its fulness; it is not surprising, therefore, to find that the novel begins with the birth of the hero and leaves him a married man with two children. In short, Jom Jones is constructed on the same ample scale as most of the greatest novels.

In thus satisfying the requirements of a pre-eminent novel, both in seriousness and in scope, Jom Jones is superior to its predecessor, Joseph Andrews. So it is in one matter of technique, for Fielding knew his craft better in 1749 than he did in 1742. Joseph Andrews is a rambling tale; Tom Jones is firmly composed, — so firmly that as it stands it is one of the best-constructed novels in our language, and, with the omission of a few chapters, it might become the very best. I do not refer to the initial chapters of the several books, — to me delightful but to some readers tedious, — for they frankly have nothing to do with the story; I refer only to the narrative proper. In this no one defends the long

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story of the Man of the Hill, though that venerable gentleman himself is an essential part of the novel ; had not Jones stopped at his house, Partridge would have met Mrs. Waters in time to prevent her affair with Jones at Upton. Nor does any one defend, as a necessary part of the plot, Partridge’s adventure with the Gypsies. . Such irrelevancies, however, are very few; indeed, I am not sure that in naming these two, I have not named all. Otherwise, T'om Jones is a model of firm composition. 'The mystery of Tom’s birth, on which all the complications hinge, is put before us in the third chapter of the first book, — that is, in the second chapter of the story, —and it is not explained until the seventh chapter of the last book, — only six chapters from the end. Nor is this any too soon to divulge the secret, when we consider how much is to be cleared up before the last page. Moreover, various episodes of the story which do not seem pertinent as we begin to read them, always turn out somehow to help towards the end. That delightful account of Partridge at the play, for instance, good enough to be its own excuse for existence, has its share in unfolding the plot. It leads to a meeting between Jones and Mrs. Fitzpatrick which is attended with important results. When I have mentioned greater seriousness, ampler scope, and better workmanship in constructing the plot, I have mentioned all the points in which Tom Jones is superior to Joseph Andrews: nay, with one exception which I will speak of later, all the points in which it could be superior. These are enough, however, to carry Fielding in Tom Jones to the height [ xxx ]

of his literary achievement ; to carry him from a novel which it is not extravagant to call great to one which it is not extravagant to term all but supreme.

Besides a firm plot, every interesting story, be it long or short, serious or trifling, should have plenty of action, reality of scene or general verisimilitude, and characters who seem alive. T'om Jones is deficient in none of these requisites of interesting narrative. Like Joseph Andrews, it is full of movement. In all its eighteen books, the narrative becomes slow only two or three times, and it can be said actually to drag but once; that is, in the five chapters which deal with the Man of the Hill.

As to the second requisite of interesting narrative, the reality of the various scenes which is essential to perfect verisimilitude, — of this in Tom Jones, as in Fielding’s other novels, the highest praise is not too great. So far as printed words can take us from our actual surroundings to places removed by time and distance, while we read Jom Jones we live in the England of George II., in that England whose life Hogarth was putting into his pictures as accurately as Smollett and Fielding were putting it into their books; and in that rough old England, we seem really to drink tea in Mrs. Miller’s parlour, to make our bows in Lady Bellaston’s drawing-room, to give and receive “ flicks ” and buffets in the inn at Upton, and to trudge or ride along the frozen highways of Somersetshire. Whatever we do, it is all equally real. No fiction could produce stronger faith.

And the characters of Tom Jones are no whit less real than the scenes ; they are real of their own time

[| xxxi | and of all time. In creating them, Fielding has come up to that ideal which he set himself in the fine introductory chapter to the third book of Joseph Andrews. He has not created “ persons who never were, or will be ;” he is “ contented to copy nature,” and he hath “writ little more than he hath seen.” One conspicuous exception, it is true, there is among the many personages of J’om Jones. Nearly every critic has regarded Blifil— and I think justly — as too unredeemed a villain, as too near what Fielding himself says * probably never existed, — a monster,