Thackerayana: Notes and Anecdotes

CHAPTER IV.

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.

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.

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.

Pitch and toss

THE HISTORY OF 'JOSEPH ANDREWS.'

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.

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.

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.

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?'

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.

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.'

'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.'

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.'

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.

'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!'

'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.

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.

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.

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.'

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 1s. 6d. 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.

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.

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.

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.

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