Punch and Judy
Let’s declare another comedy Friday and celebrate again the wit of Henry Fielding. My first passage is a continuation of the mock epic encomium (expression of praise) to the book’s heroine that I posted yesterday:
Reader, perhaps thou hast seen the statue of the Venus de Medicis. Perhaps, too, thou hast seen the gallery of beauties at Hampton Court [the royal palace]. Thou may’st remember each bright Churchill of the galaxy, and all the toasts of the Kit-cat [a fashionable drinking club]. Or, if their reign was before thy times, at least thou hast seen their daughters, the no less dazzling beauties of the present age; whose names, should we here insert, we apprehend they would fill the whole volume.
Now if thou hast seen all these, be not afraid of the rude answer which Lord Rochester once gave to a man who had seen many things. No. If thou hast seen all these without knowing what beauty is, thou hast no eyes; if without feeling its power, thou hast no heart.
Sound good? So what is this rude answer from the poet Lord Rochester? The poem (actually written by someone else) is entitled “To all curious Critics and Admirers of Meeter.” According to scholar Sheridan Baker, in this 16 line poem the poet asks the reader whether he or she has seen “a series of things–a ship in a storm, a raging bull, a dove, fairies, and so forth–and then concludes: ‘”if you have seen all this, then kiss mine arse.”
Sometimes we can’t help ourselves. When too caught up in our lyrical flights, we may feel a need to bring things back down to earth. As I mentioned last Friday, this earthy undercutting is at the foundation of comedy.
And sometimes such comedy is life preserving. An example from later in the book shows earthiness saving the day. Sophia is under intense family pressure to marry young Blifil, who not only is greedy and hypocritical but also sadistic: he looks forward to the time when he will be able to “riffle her charms” against her will. Nevertheless, at one point Sophia considers giving in.
That she almost does so is due to female masochism. Good daughter that she is, she has a momentary vision of nobly sacrificing herself for a higher cause. She could become a glorious martyr. Here’s the passage:
She reverenced her father so piously, and loved him so passionately, that she had scarce ever felt more pleasing sensations, than what arose from the share she frequently had of contributing to his amusement, and sometimes, perhaps, to higher gratifications; for he never could contain the delight of hearing her commended, which he had the satisfaction of hearing almost every day of her life. The idea, therefore, of the immense happiness she should convey to her father by her consent to this match, made a strong impression on her mind. Again, the extreme piety of such an act of obedience worked very forcibly, as she had a very deep sense of religion. Lastly, when she reflected how much she herself was to suffer, being indeed to become little less than a sacrifice, or a martyr, to filial love and duty, she felt an agreeable tickling in a certain little passion, which though it bears no immediate affinity either to religion or virtue, is often so kind as to lend great assistance in executing the purposes of both.
Sophia’s fate hangs in the balance. Luckily, an impulse which Fielding associates with the slapstick antics of Punch and Judy comes to her rescue:
Sophia was charmed with the contemplation of so heroic an action, and began to compliment herself with much premature flattery, when Cupid, who lay hid in her muff, suddenly crept out, and like Punchinello in a puppet-show, kicked all out before him. In truth (for we scorn to deceive our reader, or to vindicate the character of our heroine by ascribing her actions to supernatural impulse) the thoughts of her beloved Jones, and some hopes (however distant) in which he was very particularly concerned, immediately destroyed all which filial love, piety, and pride had, with their joint endeavors, been laboring to bring about.
Tom has once passionately kissed this muff (or hand warmer), which runs through the book as scarcely disguised sexual innuendo for a woman’s private parts. (“La, Mr Jones, you will stretch my Lady’s Muff and spoil it,” Sophia’s maid remonstrates at one point.) By equating it with Punch kicking out all before him. Fielding is letting us know that our earthy sensibilities can restore us to our senses when we find ourselves becoming too caught up in pure abstractions.
Modern day Punches include Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, Laurel and Hardy and the Three Stooges. Or to choose ones that are yet more current, think of Adam Sandler, Jim Carrey, Chris Farley, Will Farrow, and Jack Black. They are all silly but that’s the point. Without them, life threatens to become insufferable.
We witness just how insufferable at a later point in the novel when Tom meets a puppeteer who has taken Punch out of his shows. The man explains,
There was a great deal of low Stuff that did very well to make Folks laugh; but was never calculated to improve the Morals of young People, which certainly ought to be principally aimed at in every Puppet show.
To which Tom replies,
I would by no means degrade the Ingenuity of your Profession, but I should have been glad to have seen my old Acquaintance Master Punch, for all that; and so far from improving, I think, by leaving out him and his merry Wife Joan, you have spoiled your Puppet Show.
Tom and Sophia’s relationship does not, to be sure, only involve Punch. Their love has a spiritual element as well. But spirit without sex is like earnestness without comedy. We need both.
By pontificating on this subject I run the risk of violating the very comedy I seek to praise. Imagine me tripping on my academic robes as I lecture upon comic theory to my class.
