The History of the Adventures of Joseph Andrews and his Friend, Mr. Abraham Abrams/Preface

AUTHOR'S PREFACE.

As it is possible the mere English reader may have a different idea of

romance from the author of these little[A] volumes, and may consequently

expect a kind of entertainment not to be found, nor which was even

intended, in the following pages, it may not be improper to premise a

few words concerning this kind of writing, which I do not remember to

have seen hitherto attempted in our language.

[A] _Joseph Andrews_ was originally published in 2 vols. duodecimo.

The EPIC, as well as the DRAMA, is divided into tragedy and comedy.

HOMER, who was the father of this species of poetry, gave us a pattern

of both these, though that of the latter kind is entirely lost; which

Aristotle tells us, bore the same relation to comedy which his Iliad

bears to tragedy. And perhaps, that we have no more instances of it

among the writers of antiquity, is owing to the loss of this great

pattern, which, had it survived, would have found its imitators equally

with the other poems of this great original.

And farther, as this poetry may be tragic or comic, I will not scruple

to say it may be likewise either in verse or prose: for though it wants

one particular, which the critic enumerates in the constituent parts of

an epic poem, namely metre; yet, when any kind of writing contains all

its other parts, such as fable, action, characters, sentiments, and

diction, and is deficient in metre only, it seems, I think, reasonable

to refer it to the epic; at least, as no critic hath thought proper to

range it under any other head, or to assign it a particular name

to itself.

Thus the Telemachus of the archbishop of Cambray appears to me of the

epic kind, as well as the Odyssey of Homer; indeed, it is much fairer

and more reasonable to give it a name common with that species from

which it differs only in a single instance, than to confound it with

those which it resembles in no other. Such are those voluminous works,

commonly called Romances, namely, Clelia, Cleopatra, Astraea, Cassandra,

the Grand Cyrus, and innumerable others, which contain, as I apprehend,

very little instruction or entertainment.

Now, a comic romance is a comic epic poem in prose; differing from

comedy, as the serious epic from tragedy: its action being more extended

and comprehensive; containing a much larger circle of incidents, and

introducing a greater variety of characters. It differs from the serious

romance in its fable and action, in this; that as in the one these are

grave and solemn, so in the other they are light and ridiculous: it

differs in its characters by introducing persons of inferior rank, and

consequently, of inferior manners, whereas the grave romance sets the

highest before us: lastly, in its sentiments and diction; by preserving

the ludicrous instead of the sublime. In the diction, I think,

burlesque itself may be sometimes admitted; of which many instances

will occur in this work, as in the description of the battles, and some

other places, not necessary to be pointed out to the classical reader,

for whose entertainment those parodies or burlesque imitations are

chiefly calculated.

But though we have sometimes admitted this in our diction, we have

carefully excluded it from our sentiments and characters; for there it

is never properly introduced, unless in writings of the burlesque kind,

which this is not intended to be. Indeed, no two species of writing can

differ more widely than the comic and the burlesque; for as the latter

is ever the exhibition of what is monstrous and unnatural, and where our

delight, if we examine it, arises from the surprizing absurdity, as in

appropriating the manners of the highest to the lowest, or _e converso_;

so in the former we should ever confine ourselves strictly to nature,

from the just imitation of which will flow all the pleasure we can this

way convey to a sensible reader. And perhaps there is one reason why a

comic writer should of all others be the least excused for deviating

from nature, since it may not be always so easy for a serious poet to

meet with the great and the admirable; but life everywhere furnishes an

accurate observer with the ridiculous.

I have hinted this little concerning burlesque, because I have often

heard that name given to performances which have been truly of the comic

kind, from the author's having sometimes admitted it in his diction

only; which, as it is the dress of poetry, doth, like the dress of men,

establish characters (the one of the whole poem, and the other of the

whole man), in vulgar opinion, beyond any of their greater excellences:

but surely, a certain drollery in stile, where characters and sentiments

are perfectly natural, no more constitutes the burlesque, than an empty

pomp and dignity of words, where everything else is mean and low, can

entitle any performance to the appellation of the true sublime.

And I apprehend my Lord Shaftesbury's opinion of mere burlesque agrees

with mine, when he asserts, There is no such thing to be found in the

writings of the ancients. But perhaps I have less abhorrence than he

professes for it; and that, not because I have had some little success

on the stage this way, but rather as it contributes more to exquisite

mirth and laughter than any other; and these are probably more wholesome

physic for the mind, and conduce better to purge away spleen,

melancholy, and ill affections, than is generally imagined. Nay, I will

appeal to common observation, whether the same companies are not found

more full of good-humour and benevolence, after they have been sweetened

for two or three hours with entertainments of this kind, than when

soured by a tragedy or a grave lecture.

But to illustrate all this by another science, in which, perhaps, we

shall see the distinction more clearly and plainly, let us examine the

works of a comic history painter, with those performances which the

Italians call Caricatura, where we shall find the true excellence of the

former to consist in the exactest copying of nature; insomuch that a

judicious eye instantly rejects anything _outre_, any liberty which the

painter hath taken with the features of that _alma mater_; whereas in

the Caricatura we allow all licence--its aim is to exhibit monsters,

not men; and all distortions and exaggerations whatever are within its

proper province.

Now, what Caricatura is in painting, Burlesque is in writing; and in the

same manner the comic writer and painter correlate to each other. And

here I shall observe, that, as in the former the painter seems to have

the advantage; so it is in the latter infinitely on the side of the

writer; for the Monstrous is much easier to paint than describe, and the

Ridiculous to describe than paint.

And though perhaps this latter species doth not in either science so

strongly affect and agitate the muscles as the other; yet it will be

owned, I believe, that a more rational and useful pleasure arises to us

from it. He who should call the ingenious Hogarth a burlesque painter,

would, in my opinion, do him very little honour; for sure it is much

easier, much less the subject of admiration, to paint a man with a nose,

or any other feature, of a preposterous size, or to expose him in some

absurd or monstrous attitude, than to express the affections of men on

canvas. It hath been thought a vast commendation of a painter to say his

figures seem to breathe; but surely it is a much greater and nobler

applause, that they appear to think.

But to return. The Ridiculous only, as I have before said, falls within

my province in the present work. Nor will some explanation of this word

be thought impertinent by the reader, if he considers how wonderfully it

hath been mistaken, even by writers who have professed it: for to what

but such a mistake can we attribute the many attempts to ridicule the

blackest villanies, and, what is yet worse, the most dreadful

calamities? What could exceed the absurdity of an author, who should

write the comedy of Nero, with the merry incident of ripping up his

mother's belly? or what would give a greater shock to humanity than an

attempt to expose the miseries of poverty and distress to ridicule? And

yet the reader will not want much learning to suggest such instances

to himself.

Besides, it may seem remarkable, that Aristotle, who is so fond and free

of definitions, hath not thought proper to define the Ridiculous.

Indeed, where he tells us it is proper to comedy, he hath remarked that

villany is not its object: but he hath not, as I remember, positively

asserted what is. Nor doth the Abbe Bellegarde, who hath written a

treatise on this subject, though he shows us many species of it, once

trace it to its fountain.

The only source of the true Ridiculous (as it appears to me) is

affectation. But though it arises from one spring only, when we consider

the infinite streams into which this one branches, we shall presently

cease to admire at the copious field it affords to an observer. Now,

affectation proceeds from one of these two causes, vanity or hypocrisy:

for as vanity puts us on affecting false characters, in order to

purchase applause; so hypocrisy sets us on an endeavour to avoid

censure, by concealing our vices under an appearance of their opposite

virtues. And though these two causes are often confounded (for there is

some difficulty in distinguishing them), yet, as they proceed from very

different motives, so they are as clearly distinct in their operations:

for indeed, the affectation which arises from vanity is nearer to truth

than the other, as it hath not that violent repugnancy of nature to

struggle with, which that of the hypocrite hath. It may be likewise

noted, that affectation doth not imply an absolute negation of those

qualities which are affected; and, therefore, though, when it proceeds

from hypocrisy, it be nearly allied to deceit; yet when it comes from

vanity only, it partakes of the nature of ostentation: for instance, the

affectation of liberality in a vain man differs visibly from the same

affectation in the avaricious; for though the vain man is not what he

would appear, or hath not the virtue he affects, to the degree he would

be thought to have it; yet it sits less awkwardly on him than on the

avaricious man, who is the very reverse of what he would seem to be.

From the discovery of this affectation arises the Ridiculous, which

always strikes the reader with surprize and pleasure; and that in a

higher and stronger degree when the affectation arises from hypocrisy,

than when from vanity; for to discover any one to be the exact reverse

of what he affects, is more surprizing, and consequently more

ridiculous, than to find him a little deficient in the quality he

desires the reputation of. I might observe that our Ben Jonson, who of

all men understood the Ridiculous the best, hath chiefly used the

hypocritical affectation.

Now, from affectation only, the misfortunes and calamities of life, or

the imperfections of nature, may become the objects of ridicule. Surely

he hath a very ill-framed mind who can look on ugliness, infirmity, or

poverty, as ridiculous in themselves: nor do I believe any man living,

who meets a dirty fellow riding through the streets in a cart, is

struck with an idea of the Ridiculous from it; but if he should see the

same figure descend from his coach and six, or bolt from his chair with

his hat under his arm, he would then begin to laugh, and with justice.

In the same manner, were we to enter a poor house and behold a wretched

family shivering with cold and languishing with hunger, it would not

incline us to laughter (at least we must have very diabolical natures if

it would); but should we discover there a grate, instead of coals,

adorned with flowers, empty plate or china dishes on the sideboard, or

any other affectation of riches and finery, either on their persons or

in their furniture, we might then indeed be excused for ridiculing so

fantastical an appearance. Much less are natural imperfections the

object of derision; but when ugliness aims at the applause of beauty, or

lameness endeavours to display agility, it is then that these

unfortunate circumstances, which at first moved our compassion, tend

only to raise our mirth.

The poet carries this very far:--

   None are for being what they are in fault,

   But for not being what they would be thought.

Where if the metre would suffer the word Ridiculous to close the first

line, the thought would be rather more proper. Great vices are the

proper objects of our detestation, smaller faults, of our pity; but

affectation appears to me the only true source of the Ridiculous.

But perhaps it may be objected to me, that I have against my own rules

introduced vices, and of a very black kind, into this work. To which I

shall answer: first, that it is very difficult to pursue a series of

human actions, and keep clear from them. Secondly, that the vices to be

found here are rather the accidental consequences of some human frailty

or foible, than causes habitually existing in the mind. Thirdly, that

they are never set forth as the objects of ridicule, but detestation.

Fourthly, that they are never the principal figure at that time on the

scene: and, lastly, they never produce the intended evil.

Having thus distinguished Joseph Andrews from the productions of romance

writers on the one hand and burlesque writers on the other, and given

some few very short hints (for I intended no more) of this species of

writing, which I have affirmed to be hitherto unattempted in our

language; I shall leave to my good-natured reader to apply my piece to

my observations, and will detain him no longer than with a word

concerning the characters in this work.

And here I solemnly protest I have no intention to vilify or asperse any

one; for though everything is copied from the book of nature, and scarce

a character or action produced which I have not taken from my I own

observations and experience; yet I have used the utmost care to obscure

the persons by such different circumstances, degrees, and colours, that

it will be impossible to guess at them with any degree of certainty; and

if it ever happens otherwise, it is only where the failure characterized

is so minute, that it is a foible only which the party himself may laugh

at as well as any other.

As to the character of Adams, as it is the most glaring in the whole, so

I conceive it is not to be found in any book now extant. It is designed

a character of perfect simplicity; and as the goodness of his heart

will recommend him to the good-natured, so I hope it will excuse me to

the gentlemen of his cloth; for whom, while they are worthy of their

sacred order, no man can possibly have a greater respect. They will

therefore excuse me, notwithstanding the low adventures in which he is

engaged, that I have made him a clergyman; since no other office could

have given him so many opportunities of displaying his worthy

inclinations.