Letters on Literature | Page 9

So the Rev. E. P. Roe is your favourite novelist there; a thousand of his
books are sold for every two copies of the works of Henry Fielding?
This appears to me to speak but oddly for taste in the Upper Mississippi
Valley. On Mr. Roe's works I have no criticism to pass, for I have not
read them carefully.
But I do think your neighbours lose a great deal by neglecting Henry
Fielding. You will tell me he is coarse (which I cannot deny); you will
remind me of what Dr. Johnson said, rebuking Mrs. Hannah More. "I
never saw Johnson really angry with me but once," writes that sainted
maiden lady. "I alluded to some witty passage in 'Tom Jones.'" He
replied: "I am shocked to hear you quote from so vicious a book. I am
sorry to hear you have read it; a confession which no modest lady
should ever make."
You remind me of this, and that Johnson was no prude, and that his age
was tolerant. You add that the literary taste of the Upper Mississippi
Valley is much more pure than the waters of her majestic river, and that
you only wish you knew who the two culprits were that bought books
of Fielding's.
Ah, madam, how shall I answer you? Remember that if you have
Johnson on your side, on mine I have Mrs. More herself, a character
purer than "the consecrated snow that lies on Dian's lap." Again, we
cannot believe Johnson was fair to Fielding, who had made his friend,
the author of "Pamela," very uncomfortable by his jests. Johnson
owned that he read all "Amelia" at one sitting. Could so worthy a man
have been so absorbed by an unworthy book?
Once more, I am not recommending Fielding to boys and girls. "Tom
Jones" was one of the works that Lydia Languish hid under the sofa;
even Miss Languish did not care to be caught with that humorous
foundling. "Fielding was the last of our writers who drew a man," Mr.
Thackeray said, "and he certainly did not study from a draped model."
For these reasons, and because his language is often unpolished, and
because his morality (that he is always preaching) is not for "those that
eddy round and round," I do not desire to see Fielding popular among
Miss Alcott's readers. But no man who cares for books can neglect him,
and many women are quite manly enough, have good sense and good

taste enough, to benefit by "Amelia," by much of "Tom Jones." I don't
say by "Joseph Andrews." No man ever respected your sex more than
Henry Fielding. What says his reformed rake, Mr. Wilson, in "Joseph
Andrews"?
"To say the Truth, I do not perceive that Inferiority of Understanding
which the Levity of Rakes, the Dulness of Men of Business, and the
Austerity of the Learned would persuade us of in Women. As for my
Wife, I declare I have found none of my own Sex capable of making
juster Observations on Life, or of delivering them more agreeably, nor
do I believe any one possessed of a faithfuller or braver Friend."
He has no other voice wherein to speak of a happy marriage. Can you
find among our genteel writers of this age, a figure more beautiful,
tender, devoted, and in all good ways womanly than Sophia Western's?
"Yes," you will say; "but the man must have been a brute who could
give her to Tom Jones, to 'that fellow who sold himself,' as Colonel
Newcome said." "There you have me at an avail," in the language of
the old romancers. There we touch the centre of Fielding's morality, a
subject ill to discuss, a morality not for everyday preaching.
Fielding distinctly takes himself for a moralist. He preaches as
continually as Thackeray. And his moral is this: "Let a man be kind,
generous, charitable, tolerant, brave, honest--and we may pardon him
vices of young blood, and the stains of adventurous living." Fielding
has no mercy on a seducer. Lovelace would have fared worse with him
than with Richardson, who, I verily believe, admired that infernal
(excuse me) coward and villain. The case of young Nightingale, in
"Tom Jones," will show you what Fielding thought of such gallants.
Why, Tom himself preaches to Nightingale. "Miss Nancy's Interest
alone, and not yours, ought to be your sole Consideration," cried
Thomas, . . . "and the very best and truest Honour, which is Goodness,
requires it of you," that is, requires that Nightingale shall marry Miss
Nancy.
How Tom Jones combined these sentiments, which were perfectly
honest, with his own astonishing lack of retenue, and with Lady
Bellaston, is just the puzzle. We cannot very well argue about it. I only
ask you to let Jones in