As usual, chapter 1 of this Book is a little essay about a topic that Fielding wants to sound off on. This time it’s the education required to be a writer,
As several gentlemen in these times, by the wonderful force of genius only, without the least assistance of learning, perhaps, without being well able to read, have made a considerable figure in the republic of letters; the modern critics, I am told, have lately begun to assert, that all kind of learning is entirely useless to a writer; and, indeed, no other than a kind of fetters on the natural sprightliness and activity of the imagination, which is thus weighed down, and prevented from soaring to those high flights which otherwise it would be able to reach.
I’m tempted to camp out on this chapter for a while. Fielding’s a little more firey this time,
…The nimbleness of a dancing-master is not at all prejudiced by being taught to move; nor doth any mechanic, I believe, exercise his tools the worse by having learnt to use them. For my own part, I cannot conceive that Homer or Virgil would have writ with more fire, if instead of being masters of all the learning of their times, they had been as ignorant as most of the authors of the present age.
He concedes, not everyone who writes needs to be educated:
…very little reading is, I conceive, necessary to the poet, less to the critic, and the least of all to the politician.
Would love to see what Fielding could do with a Twitter feed. He rants on the subject a little longer, but you get the flavor, let’s get back to Tom.
Tom’s slipped out of Lady Bellaston’s house while she and Sophia spar. He’s not home long before he receives a letter from the Lady, who is not happy with him. She warns him against making her angry by seeing Sophia again. Almost immediately, he gets another from her telling him to come to visit. Lady Bellaston is not the woman he wants to go visit, but he figures he’d better. But before he can leave—guess who shows up?
Tom’s in the middle of assuring the Lady that he and Sophia accidentally ran into each other, and that’s all when Partridge comes up alerting him that Mrs. Honour is coming to see him. There’s no good place to hide Lady Bellaston from her prying eyes, so they settle with putting her behind a curtain.
Mrs. Honour gossips a bit about Bellaston while Tom tries (and tries and tries) to shush her and redirect the conversation. But she has to tell Tom about Bellaston’s scandalous behavior with men (Bellaston is insulted, but she is in the room of a man right now—as we’re about to learn, at 2 am with her carriage driver loitering nearby telling everyone who’ll listen why he’s there). She finally gives Tom a letter from Sophia and leaves. Bellaston comes out incredibly offended, Tom placates her about Honour and the meeting with Sophia, too.
Here ensued a long conversation, which the reader, who is not too curious, will thank me for not inserting at length. It shall suffice, therefore, to inform him, that Lady Bellaston grew more and more pacified, and at length believed, or affected to believe, his protestations, that his meeting with Sophia that evening was merely accidental, and every other matter which the reader already knows, and which, as Jones set before her in the strongest light, it is plain that she had in reality no reason to be angry with him.
“the reader, who is not too curious, will thank me for not inserting at length.” Ha.
Anyway, they finally decide that Tom will come to visit the next day. He’s coming over to visit Bellaston, but will pretend to be there to see Sophia.
Because that’s going to work, I guess.
Sophia’s letter interferes with that plan, she tells him repeatedly, “if you have
any concern for my ease, do not think of returning hither.” She doesn’t trust Bellaston and things won’t go well. Tom isn’t sure what to do now, so the next morning, he jots off a quick note begging off from calling that day, he’s sick.
He’ll come to regret that because that means he’s home to get a talking-to by Mrs. Miller. Two women in his room with him alone last night? One who didn’t leave until 2? This will not do. She doesn’t need people talking, him setting a bad example for the girls, and she expects more from someone tied to Mr. Allworthy. Tom agrees but insists on his own privacy, no matter who comes to visit. Things break down to the point where he’ll have to look for a new place to stay the next day.
Nightingale stops by, too. He’s headed for other pastures, too. Tom rakes him over the coals for the way he’s behaving toward Mrs. Miller’s daughter, Nancy. Nightingale claims to have no idea what Tom’s talking about. Tom sticks to the message—you messed up, thanks to your flirting, the girl has fallen in love. YOu can’t just duck out (as he was planning), but you can’t keep stringing her on, either.
And that’s that, I’d expected to take about 1/3 the space and time to write this up. Heh.
Last week, Lashaan asked about going through the novel in little bits and pieces. This selection was one of those times I had a hard time stopping—the clock and fatigue stopped me from finishing Book IV. I have a bad feeling both about Tom’s impending meeting with Lady Bellaston and ol’ Nightingale, and want to see if I’m right.
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