Early Favourites -- Fielding's 'Joseph Andrews' -- Imitators of
Fielding -- 'The Adventures of Captain Greenland' -- 'Jack
Connor' -- 'Chrysal, or the Adventures of a Guinea.'
Thackeray's references to his favourite novels, and his liking, which
assumed a sort of personal regard, for the authors who had given him
pleasure, especially in youth, occur constantly throughout his
writings, both early and late.
[Illustration: Blind man's buff]
He has told us how in the boyish days spent in the Charterhouse he
began to cultivate an acquaintance with the sterling English humorists
whose works had a deeply-marked influence on his own literary
training. 'Peregrine Pickle' was familiar to him at Greyfriars; later
on, Fielding's masterpieces came into his possession. The buoyant
spirit, vigorous nature, and absence of affectation which are
peculiarly the property of that great novelist, must have highly
delighted the budding author. Not only did Thackeray treasure up 'Tom
Jones' and 'Joseph Andrews,' but by some means he managed to get
possession of various novels now completely obsolete, the productions
of less brilliant contemporaries of Fielding, who were tempted by the
success of his frankly penned novels to attempt to reach a similar
success by walking servilely in the footsteps of the inaugurator of
what may be considered the natural order of English novel writing.
[Illustration: Bambooz-ling]
Of 'Joseph Andrews' he has registered his belief that novel-readers
should like this work best, and it is stated by Dr. Warton that
Fielding gave the preference to this early history above his other
writings. The hero, though but dressed in Lady Booby's cast-off
livery, Thackeray declares to be as polite as Tom Jones in his
fustian, or Captain Booth in his regimentals. 'Joseph,' in his
opinion, 'shares the elements of success with those worthies:' he has
large calves, broad shoulders, high courage, and a handsome face;
qualities apparently deemed by the novelist sure passes to
popularity, and sufficiently certain to win the hearts of the
impressionable.
In the confidentially chatty Roundabout Essays we are favoured with
frequent introductions to the favourites of their author: no
opportunity is lost of making the reader acquainted with his friends.
Let us now turn to one of them--introducing Thackeray's graphic
illustrations.
[Illustration: Pitch and toss]
THE HISTORY OF 'JOSEPH ANDREWS.'
[Illustration]
The edition (1742) of Fielding's earliest novel which formed a portion
of Mr. Titmarsh's library has been enriched by certain characteristic
illustrations of the drollest incidents.
But few of Thackeray's readers can fail to remember his sincere
appreciation of the works of his brilliant predecessor, Justice
Fielding, the founder of that unaffected school of novel-writing which
has since been rendered illustrious by many masterpieces of genius.
It is singularly appropriate that 'Joseph Andrews' happens to form one
of the series distinguished with Thackeray's pencillings, as no one
acquainted with his writings can fail to recall his tenderly
affectionate allusions to the author of 'Tom Jones.'
On the fly-leaf of 'Joseph Andrews' occurs the group of Lady Booby
tempting the Joseph of the Georgian era, which is engraved above: the
cut gives, without effort, a key to the wittiest of sly satires; for
we cannot easily forget that merry mischievous Fielding projected this
work as a ludicrous contrast to the exemplary 'Pamela,' whose literary
success brought its well-meaning prosy author so much fame, profit,
and flattery. The wicked irony of Fielding was peculiarly shocking to
sensitive Richardson; and it is certain that the persecuted Pamela
appears shorn of much of her dignity when associated with the
undignified temptations suffered by her unexceptionable brother
'Joseph.'
The substance of this novel is so generally familiar that the merest
reference will refresh the memories of our readers so far as the
incidents illustrated by these slight pencillings are concerned.
Parson Adams, it may be remembered, endeavoured to raise a loan on a
volume of manuscript sermons to assist Joseph Andrews, when Tow-mouse
(the landlord), who mistrusted the security, offered excuses.
[Illustration]
Poor Adams was extremely dejected at this disappointment. He
immediately applied to his pipe, his constant friend and comfort in
his afflictions; and leaning over the rails, he devoted himself to
meditation, assisted by the inspiring fumes of tobacco.
He had on a night-cap drawn over his wig, and a short great coat,
which half covered his cassock; a dress which, added to something
comical enough in his countenance, composed a figure likely to attract
the eyes of those who were not over-given to observation.
[Illustration]
Joseph Andrews and Parson Adams arrived at the inn in no cheery
plight, the hero's leg having been injured by a propensity for
performing unexpected genuflections, the pride of a horse borrowed by
the parson for the occasion. The host, a surly fellow, treated the
damaged Joseph with roughness, and Parson Adams briskly resented the
landlord's brutality by 'sending him sprawling' on his own floor. His
wife retaliated by seizing a pan of hog's-blood, which unluckily stood
on the dresser, and discharging its contents in the good parson's
face. Mrs. Slipshod entered the kitchen at this critical moment, and
attacked the hostess with a skill developed by practice, tearing her
cap, uprooting handfuls of hair, and delivering a succession of
dexterous facers.
[Illustration]
Parson Adams, when he required a trifling loan, ventured to wait on
the swinish Parson Trulliber, whose wife introduced Adams in error, as
'a man come for some of his hogs.' Trulliber asserted that his animals
were all pure fat, and upwards of twenty score apiece; he then dragged
the parson into his stye, which was but two steps from his
parlour-window, insisting that he should examine them before he would
speak one word with him. Adams, whose natural complacence was beyond
any artifice, was obliged to comply before he was suffered to explain
himself, and laying hold of one of their tails, the wanton beast gave
such a sudden spring that he threw poor Adams full length in the mire.
Trulliber, instead of assisting him to get up, burst into laughter,
and, entering the stye, said to Adams, with some contempt, 'Why, dost
not know how to handle a hog?'
[Illustration]
To those writers whose heroes are of their own creation, and whose
brains are the chaos whence all their materials are collected--one may
apply the saying of Balzac regarding Aristotle, that they are a second
nature, for they have no communication with the first, by which
authors of an inferior class, who cannot stand alone, are obliged to
support themselves as with crutches; but these of whom I am now
speaking seem to be possessed of those stilts which the excellent
Voltaire tells us, in his letters, _carry the genius far off, but with
an irregular pace_. Indeed, far out of the sight of the reader--
_Beyond the realm of chaos and old night._
[Illustration]
The pedlar, introduced in these adventures, while relating to Joseph
Andrews and Parson Adams the early history of Fanny (then returned
from Lady Booby's), proceeded thus: 'Though I am now contented with
this humble way of getting my livelihood, I was formerly a gentleman;
for so all those of my profession are called. In a word, I was drummer
in an Irish regiment of foot. Whilst I was in this honourable station,
I attended an officer of our regiment into England, a recruiting.' The
pedlar then described meeting a gipsy-woman, who confided to him, on
her death-bed, that she had kidnapped a beautiful female infant from a
family named Andrews, and sold her to Squire Booby for three guineas.
In Fanny he professed to recognise the stolen infant.
'THE ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN GREENLAND.'
[Illustration]
'The Adventures of Captain Greenland,' an anonymous novel published in
1752, is avowedly 'written in imitation of all those wise, learned,
witty, and humorous authors who either have or hereafter may write in
the same style and manner.'
The story, divided over a tedious number of books--like the high-flown
romances of the 'Grand Cyrus' order--also resembles those antiquated
and unreal elaborations in the astonishing intrepidity of its
professed hero, Sylvius, who, however, engages, like his model 'Joseph
Andrews,' in situations generally described as menial. Captain
Greenland himself, denuded of his powerful swearing propensities,
might be regarded at this date as an interesting curiosity, a British
commander of the true-blue salt type. A parson, and other characters
suggestive of the acquaintances we make in 'Joseph Andrews,'
contribute to swell the 'dramatis personæ.' A portion of the
adventures, which are neither new nor startling, consists of escapes
from Spanish convents, and complications connected with the Romanist
faith, not unlike somewhat kindred allusions in Richardson's 'Sir
Charles Grandison.'
A stage-coach journey occupies ten chapters of one book; and the
travellers relieve this lengthy travel (from Worcester to London) by
unfinished anecdotes. Captain Greenland relates an adventure with a
highwayman who once stopped his coach. The 'gentleman of the road'
bade the driver 'unrein.' The captain seized his blunderbuss and
'jumped ashore,' thinking it a scandal that a gentleman who had the
honour of commanding one of His Majesty's ships of war should suffer
himself to be boarded and plundered by a single fellow. Being a little
warm and hasty, he salutes his enemy with, '"Blank my heart, but you
are a blank cowardly rascal, and a blank mean-spirited villain! You
scoundrel, you! you lurk about the course here to plunder every poor
creature you meet, that have nothing at all to defend themselves; but
you dare not engage with one that is able to encounter with you. Here,
you rascal! if you dare fight for it, win it and wear it." With that I
pulled out my purse and money, and flung it to the ground between us;
but the faint-hearted blank durst as well be blank'd as come near me.
So after I had swore myself pretty well out of wind (judging from the
captain's ordinary vernacular, the strongest lungs could not have held
out long), I ran towards him with my cock'd blunderbuss ready in my
hand; but he at that very moment tacked about, and sheer'd off. I now
picked up my purse, and went aboard the coach; but, blank my heart! I
can't forgive myself for not saluting the rascal with one broadside.'
[Illustration]
At the conclusion of ten chapters of stage-coach journeying, the
author brilliantly observes, 'He has cooped up his readers for a
considerable time,' and the captain swears the coach is somewhat
'over-manned.'
'At night they were all exceedingly merry and agreeable; and the
generous captain again insisted upon paying the bill himself, which he
found no matter of fault with, but in the customary article (at that
place) of sixpence a head for firing; which he swore was as much as
could have been demanded if they had supp'd at an inn in the middle of
the Pacific Ocean.'
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
The next day's journey being happily concluded, without any
extraordinary occurrences, they arrived about six o'clock in the
afternoon at the 'Blue Boar Inn, in Holborn, where they all agreed to
sup together, and to lie that night.'
Rosetta the heroine, and her brother, Sir Christopher, attended by the
faithful Sylvius as steward, embark at Portsmouth for Lisbon. After
some thirty hours' sea-sickness, Rosetta resumed her usual
cheerfulness by making merry over her late incapacity. 'Sylvius was
yet as bad as any of them. The knight (her brother) was also in the
same helpless condition, and continued in the same manner till he was
eased of the lofty tosses which were so plentifully bestowed on them
by the restless Biscaian Bay.' They all recover at last, and are
diverted by the shoals of wanton porpoises. 'By and by their remarks
turned on their "little bark's climbing so wonderfully over the vast
ridges of the mountainous waves, which formed perpetual and amazing
prospects of over-rolling hills and vales, as could scarcely meet
belief from those who had never been at sea."'
'JACK CONNOR.'
'Jack Connor' is another instance of the novels written by imitators
of Fielding. Aiming to produce an unaffected and easy style of
fiction, enlivened by incidents of every-day interest, it falls far
short of the standard to which it aspires, as one would reasonably
suppose. The book is anonymous, and is dedicated to Henry Fox,
'Secretary at War,' and was published in 1752; it is founded on a
rambling plot, detailing the adventures of a 'waif' thrown on the
world by his Irish parents. The first volume is mostly occupied by
youthful 'amours,' and ends with the 'Story Of Polly Gunn,' which
unfortunately bears a certain resemblance to De Foe's 'Moll Flanders,'
in a condensed form.
'Jack Connor' had a patron, a marvellously proper man, the 'model of
righteous walking,' and the dispenser of admirable precepts, over
which the hero grew eminently sentimental; but directly after acted in
direct opposition to the teaching of this worthy guardian. The
pencilling we have selected from the margin of vol. i. illustrates a
passage describing the scandals of the kitchen, which affixed to Jack
Connor's benefactor, Mr. Kindly, the questionable honour of being
father to his protégé.
'I hope,' said Tittle, 'your la'ship won't be angry with me, only they
say that the boy is as like Mr. Kindly as two peas; but they say,
"Mem"----'
'Hold your impertinent tongue,' said my lady; 'is this the occasion of
so much giggle? You are an ungrateful pack. I am sure 'tis false,' &c.
[Illustration]
'Indeed,' said Tittle, 'if I've said anything to offend your
la'ship----'
'Yes, madam,' said my lady, 'you have greatly offended me; and so you
all have,' &c.
Poor Mrs. Tittle was not only vastly disappointed, but greatly
frightened. She informed the rest of the reception she had met with.
The servants were quite surprised at the oddity of her ladyship's
temper, and quoted many examples diametrically opposite.
'I'm sure,' said Mrs. Tittle, 'had I told as much to Squire Smart's
lady, we should have laughed together about it the livelong night!'
'Ay, ay,' said Mrs. Matthews, 'God bless the good Lady Malign! When I
waited on her in Yorkshire, many a gown, and petticoat, and smock have
I gotten for telling her half so much; but, to be sure, some people
think themselves wiser than all the world!'
'Hold, hold,' said Tom Blunt, the butler. 'Now, d'ye see, if so be as
how my lady is wrong, she'll do you right; and if so be as how my lady
is right, how like fools and ninnihammers will you all look!'
In vol. ii. we find Jack Connor resorting to the reputable profession
of 'gentleman of the road;' he plans his first 'stand-and-deliver'
venture in company with two experienced highwaymen. Hounslow is the
popular spot selected for his _début_. Thither he proceeds in a
post-chaise from Piccadilly, having arranged for his horse in advance.
Two circumstances favour him; he knows a family in the neighbourhood,
and he wears a surtout of a cloth that is blue on one side and red on
the other, and that has no other lining. In a blue coat with scarlet
cuffs he orders wine, arranges for a return post-chaise, and enquires
the address of the people whose name he knows. He then departs,
secures his horse, and turns his coat; he is behind-hand, and the
coach just then coming up, the two highwaymen lead the attack: one is
shot, and the other disabled and captured. Connor escapes in the
confusion, ties up his horse, turns his coat, and walks back to the
inn for his post-chaise, which is delayed, one horse being wanting.
The landlord enters. 'There, now,' said he, 'is two fine gentlemen
that have made a noble kettle of fish of it this morning!'
[Illustration]
'Bless me, my dear,' said his wife, 'what's the matter?'
'Not much; only a coach was stopped on the heath by three highwaymen,
and two of 'em is now taken, and at the next inn.'
'Dear sirs,' said the landlady, ''tis the most preposteroustest thing
in life that gentlefolks won't travel in post-chaises; and then
they're always safe from these fellows.'
'Well,' said the husband, 'I must send after the third, who escaped;
I'll engage to find out his scarlet coat before night.'
Connor, recollecting his situation, chimed in with the hostess, and
spoke greatly against the disturbers of the public. At last he took
leave, mounted his chaise, and got safe to London; but often thought
the horses very bad.
[Illustration]
Jack Connor, after various vicissitudes, was at last reduced to
service, and was employed as secretary by Sir John Curious, an infirm
compound of wealth and avarice, married, in his last days, to a young
wife. Connor became unpopular with the ladies of the establishment, on
account of his over-correct behaviour. One day he was busy reading to
Sir John, when Mr. Sampson, a wine merchant, entered. The knight had a
great regard for this gentleman, and was extremely civil to him.
'Well, friend Sampson,' said he, 'time was when we used to meet
oftener; but this plaguy gout makes me perform a tedious quarantine,
you see.'
'Ah, Sir John,' replied Mr. Sampson, 'you are at anchor in a safe
harbour; but I have all your ailments, and am buffeted about in stormy
winds.'
'Not so, not so,' answered the knight; 'I hope my old friend is in no
danger of shipwreck. No misfortunes, I hope.'
'None,' said Mr. Sampson, 'but what my temper can bear. I have lost my
only child, just such a youth as that (pointing to Jack). I have lost
the best part of my substance by the war, and I have found old age and
infirmities.'
Sir John regretted that he could not assist his friend with a loan,
but he paid his account for wine, and handed over Connor to assist Mr.
Sampson in his business.
[Illustration]
After a long letter on the state of Ireland--which appeared even in
1744 a question beyond the wisdom of legislation to dispose of
satisfactorily--the author apologises for his digressions with
considerable novelty. 'I am afraid I have carried my reader too far
from the subject-matter of this history, and tried his patience; but I
assure him that my indulgence has been very great, for, at infinite
pains, I have curtailed the last chapter (the Irish question) at least
sixty pages. Few know the difficulty of bridling the imagination, and
reining back a hard-mouthed pen. It sometimes gets ahead, and, in
spite of all our skill, runs away with us into mire and dirt; nay, at
this minute I find my quill in a humour to gallop, so shall stop him
short in time.'
The life of Connor is chequered. He finally figures as a captain of
dragoons in the campaign in Flanders, under the 'Culloden' Duke. He
performs deeds of valour with the army, and rescues a Captain Thornton
from three assailants, preserves his life and secures his gratitude.
He next appears at Cadiz, on a commercial errand, and he regains his
long-lost mother in Mrs. Magraph, a wealthy widow, to whom he had
made love. This lady, who had saved thirty thousand pounds, was very
communicative; she finally recognised him as her son, and acquainted
him that Sir Roger Thornton, the life of whose son he had preserved,
was in reality his father, and not Connor, as he had previously
believed. The hero then set out for Paris. The ship was ready to sail.
All were concerned at losing so polite a companion, and he was loaded
with praises and caresses. His mother could not bear it with that
resignation she at first thought; but, however, she raised her
spirits, and with many blessings saw him set sail.
[Illustration]
The voyage was prosperous, and he arrived at Marseilles, safe and in
good health. He took post for Paris, and embraced his dear friend
Captain Thornton, as indicated in the marginal illustration. Jack
Connor marries a lord's daughter, and becomes an Irish landed
gentleman. The author concludes with the regret that he has not the
materials to reveal his hero's future.
'CHRYSAL, OR THE ADVENTURES OF A GUINEA.'
[Illustration]
We gather from the copy of this work, which was formerly on the
shelves of Thackeray's library, that 'Chrysal' had reached seven
editions in 1771, having been originally published in 1760, with a
highly laudatory dedication to William Pitt.
The bookseller's prefix to the first edition is slightly imaginative.
To describe its nature briefly, the publisher, while taking a country
stroll in Whitechapel, then an Arcadian village, was overtaken by a
shower, and sought shelter in a cottage where a humble family were
breakfasting. His eye was caught by a sheet of manuscript which had
done duty for a butter-plate. Its contents interested him, and he
learnt that the chandler next door wrapped up her commodities in such
materials. He made an experimental purchase, which was done up in
another leaf of the paper. Cautious enquiries elicited that brown
paper being costly, and a quantity of old 'stuff' having been left by
a long deceased lodger of her departed mother's, the manuscript was
thus turned into use. The enterprising publisher invested 1_s._ 6_d._
for brown paper, and secured the entire remaining sheets in exchange.
Finding, on perusal, that he had secured matter of some literary
value, he pursued his investigations with the same lady, and learned
that the author was an unfortunate schemer, who, after wasting his
entire fortune in seeking the philosopher's stone, perceived his folly
too late, wrote the story of 'Chrysal' in ridicule of the fallacy of
golden visions, and expired before he could realise any profit by the
publication of his papers. The bookseller secretly resolved to admit
the good woman to a half share of the profits of her 'heirship,' and
'Chrysal' appeared. It excited some attention, and had various charges
laid to its account.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
The scheme is ingenious, tracing the guinea from its projection, and
giving an account of the successive stages of its changing existence.
We are admitted to contemplate the influence of gold in various
situations; with dissertations on 'traffic,' and, in short, follow the
history of a guinea through the possession of numerous owners, male
and female, while the reader is by these means introduced to some very
curious situations.
[Illustration]
The little design in the margin occurs in the history of a horned
cock, a parody on collectors of curiosities, describing the manner in
which a noble 'virtuoso' was imposed upon by a cunning vendor of
wonderful productions. There was considerable competition to secure
the composite phenomenon, and when his lordship obtained it, a
convocation of 'savants' was summoned to report on the marvel. The
bird, a game-cock, had unfortunately taken offence at an owl in a
neighbouring cage, and when the company arrived it had rubbed off one
of the horns and disturbed the other. While arguing that the bird had
shed its horn in the course of nature, one of the company dropped some
snuff near the bird's eye, who thereupon shook his head with
sufficient violence to dislodge the remaining horn; exposing the
imposture, and overwhelming the virtuoso with such vexation that the
cock was sacrificed to Æsculapius forthwith.
[Illustration]
The guinea gets into the hands of a justice of the peace, in the shape
of a bribe, and a very remarkable state of corruption and traffic in
iniquity is displayed. The little pencilling of a quaint figure
holding the scales occurs on the margin of a paragraph which records a
warm dispute between the justice and his clerk on the proportioning of
their plunder, the clerk revolting against an arrangement by which it
is proposed to confine him to a bare third! The dispute is checked by
the arrival of some customers, matrons dwelling within the justice's
district, who come to compound with him in regular form 'for the
breach of those laws he is appointed to support.'
The sketches pencilled in 'Chrysal' do not follow the story very
closely; indeed, they can hardly be intimately associated with the
text they accompany. This, however, is quite an exceptional case; the
drawings found in Mr. Thackeray's books being, in nearly every
instance, very felicitous embodiments of the subject-matter of the
works they illustrate.
On a fly-leaf of 'Chrysal' is a jovial sketch of light-hearted and
nimble-toed tars, forming a realistic picture of the good cheer a
guinea may command, and immediately suggestive of bags of prize-money,
apoplectically stored with the yellow boys which, in the good old
days, were supposed to profusely line the pockets of true salts when
they indulged in the delights of a spell on shore: this was the time
when sailors experimented in frying, as the story represents them,
superfluous watches in bacon-fat, as a scientific relaxation, when the
ships were paid off at Portsmouth, and 'jolly tars' had invested in
more timekeepers than the exigencies of punctuality strictly demanded.
[Illustration]