BEAU FIELDING.
“He pass’d his easy hours, instead of prayer,
In madrigals and Philising the fair.”—Garth’s Dispensary.
Goldsmith once shed tears from his simple, unsophisticated eyes, as he passed through a village at night, and thought that the sleeping inhabitants were unconscious how great a man was journeying that way. I fancy that most people who pass the Reigate station are in a similarly ignorant state of unconsciousness, and are not at all aware that they are close upon the cradle of Orlando the Fair.
I have heard the pleasant author of that pleasant story, ‘Crewe Rise,’ remark that the worthies of Suffolk count in greater numbers than the worthies of any other county. If worthiness be “greatness,” in the sense of Jonathan Wild, Suffolk may envy Surrey such a son as Robert Fielding.
The father of this incomparable youth was a cavalier squire, with something like £500 per annum to nourish his dignity. “Bob” was early entered at the Temple, where he behaved like a Templar; was too idle to study the constitution of England, but very actively worked at the ruin of his own. He thought Fleet-street vulgar, and removed to Scotland-yard, next door to the court, which then rioted at Whitehall.
The “beauty” of his neighbour attracted the notice of that other scamp, Charles II.; and as Fielding was too handsome for anything, the King only made him a Justice of the Peace.
The women however left him none; and their importunities induced him to abandon justice, and devote himself to wine, love-making, and living upon pensions from female purses. In a succeeding reign he gave up the Church, as he had before surrendered justice; and when James II. was King, Fielding assumed Romanism as a good speculation, and was especially zealous not only in protecting Popish chapels from the populace, but in giving asylum to the prettiest devotees of that faith who flew to his bosom for refuge.
He stuck to his profession under William III.; that is, he made none at all; and as he was accounted of no religion, his friends had no difficulty in getting him nominated Major-General. I think this must have been in the Horse Marines. The gallant officer was, at all events, never in fray more serious than with sleepy watchmen and slip-shod waiters, whom he ran through (he was an excellent runner, when peril pursued) with the most astonishing alacrity.
He was the handsomest man and the most extravagantly splendid dresser of his day. When he passed down the Mall at the fashionable hour, there was a universal flutter and sensation. “O’Carroll,” he would then say to his servant, “does my sword touch my right heel? Do the ladies ogle me?”