Transcriber's Note: For the reader: Italic text is surrounded by _underscores_, bold text issurrounded by =equal signs= and underlined text is surrounded by~tildes~. Two breves above the letter e are indicated by [)e] in thetext. THE LIFE OF [Illustration: Signature: Charles Dickens] [Illustration] THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS BY JOHN FORSTER. THREE VOLUMES IN TWO. VOL. I. * * * * * BOSTON: JAMES R. OSGOOD & COMPANY, (LATE TICKNOR & FIELDS, AND FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO. ) 1875. THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS BY JOHN FORSTER. VOL. I. 1812-1842. TO THE DAUGHTERS OF CHARLES DICKENS, MY GOD-DAUGHTER MARY AND HER SISTER KATE, =This Book is Dedicated= BY THEIR FRIEND, AND THEIR FATHER'S FRIEND AND EXECUTOR, JOHN FORSTER NOTE TO THE PRESENT EDITION. SUCH has been the rapidity of the demand for successive impressions ofthis book, that I have found it impossible, until now, to correct atpages 31, 87, and 97 three errors of statement made in the formereditions; and some few other mistakes, not in themselves important, atpages 96, 101, and 102. I take the opportunity of adding that themention at p. 83 is not an allusion to the well-known "Penny" and"Saturday" Magazines, but to weekly periodicals of some years' earlierdate resembling them in form. One of them, I have since found from alater mention by Dickens himself, was presumably of a less wholesome andinstructive character. "I used, " he says, "when I was at school, to takein the _Terrific Register_, making myself unspeakably miserable, andfrightening my very wits out of my head, for the small charge of a pennyweekly; which, considering that there was an illustration to everynumber in which there was always a pool of blood, and at least one body, was cheap. " An obliging correspondent writes to me upon my reference tothe Fox-under-the-hill, at p. 62: "Will you permit me to say that thehouse, shut up and almost ruinous, is still to be found at the bottom ofa curious and most precipitous court, the entrance of which is just pastSalisbury Street. . . . It was once, I think, the approach to the halfpennyboats. The house is now shut out from the water-side by the Embankment. " PALACE GATE HOUSE, KENSINGTON, _23d December, 1871_. TABLE OF CONTENTS. * * * * * CHAPTER I. 1812-1822. Pages 21-46. CHILDHOOD. ÆT. 1-10. PAGE Birth at Landport in Portsea 21 Family of John Dickens 22 Powers of observation in children 23 Two years old 23 In London, æt. 2-3 23 In Chatham, æt. 4-9 23 Vision of boyhood 24 The queer small child 25 Mother's teaching 26 Day-school in Rome Lane 27 Retrospects of childhood 27 David Copperfield and Charles Dickens 28 Access to small but good library 29 Tragedy-writing 30 Comic-song singing 31 Cousin James Lamert 31 First taken to theatre 32 At Mr. Giles's school 32 Encored in the recitations 33 Boyish recollections 33 Birthplace of his fancy 35 Last night in Chatham 35 In London 36 First impressions 36 Bayham Street, Camden-town 36 Faculty of early observation 37 His description of his father 38 Small theatre made for him 38 Sister Fanny at Royal Academy of Music 39 Walks about London 39 Biography and autobiography 40 At his godfather's and his uncle's 41 First efforts at description 42 "Res Angusta Domi" 42 Mother exerting herself 43 Father in the Marshalsea 43 Visit to the prison 44 Captain Porter 44 Old friends disposed of 45 At the pawnbroker's 46 CHAPTER II. 1822-1824. Pages 47-70. HARD EXPERIENCES IN BOYHOOD. ÆT. 10-12. Mr. Dilke's half-crown 48 Story of boyhood told 48 D. C. And C. D. 48 Enterprise of the cousins Lamert 49 First employment in life 51 Blacking-warehouse 51 A poor little drudge 52 Bob Fagin and Poll Green 52 "Facilis Descensus" 52 Crushed hopes 53 The home in Gower Street 53 Regaling alamode 54 Home broken up 54 At Mrs. Roylance's in Camden-town 55 Sundays in prison 55 Pudding-shops and coffee-shops 56 What was and might have been 57 Thomas and Harry 58 A lodging in Lant Street 59 Meals in the Marshalsea 59 C. D. And the Marchioness 60 Originals of Garland family 60 Adventure with Bob Fagin 61 Saturday-night shows 61 Appraised officially 62 Publican and wife at Cannon Row 63 Marshalsea incident in _Copperfield_ 64 Incident as it occurred 65 Materials for _Pickwick_ 66 Sister Fanny's musical prize 66 From Hungerford Stairs to Chandos Street 67 Father's quarrel with James Lamert 68 Quits the warehouse 68 Bitter associations of servitude 69 What became of the blacking business 70 CHAPTER III. 1824-1830. Pages 71-95. SCHOOL-DAYS AND START IN LIFE. ÆT. 12-18. Outcome of boyish trials 71 Disadvantage in later years 72 Advantages 73 Next move in life 74 Wellington House Academy 74 Revisited and described 75 Letter from a schoolfellow 76 C. D. 's recollections of school 77 Schoolfellow's recollections of C. D. 77 Fac-simile of schoolboy letter 79 Daniel Tobin 81 Another schoolfellow's recollections 82 Writing tales and getting up plays 83 Master Beverley scene-painter 84 Street-acting 84 The schoolfellows after forty years 85 Smallness of the world 86 In attorneys' offices 87 At minor theatres 88 The father on the son's education 89 Studying short-hand 90 In British Museum reading-room 90 Preparing for the gallery 91 D. C. For C. D. 91 A real Dora in 1829 92 The same Dora in 1855 93 Dora changed into Flora 94 Ashes of youth and hope 95 CHAPTER IV. 1831-1835. Pages 96-106. REPORTERS' GALLERY AND NEWSPAPER LITERATURE. ÆT. 19-23. Reporting for _True Sun_ 96 First seen by me 97 Reporting for _Mirror_ and _Chronicle_ 97 First published piece 97 Discipline and experiences of reporting 98 Life as a reporter 99 John Black 100 Mr. Thomas Beard 101 A letter to his editor 102 Incident of reporting days 102 The same more correctly told 103 Origin of "Boz" 104 Captain Holland 104 Mr. George Hogarth 105 Sketches in _Evening Chronicle_ 105 C. D. 's first hearty appreciator 106 CHAPTER V. 1836. Pages 107-115. FIRST BOOK, AND ORIGIN OF PICKWICK. ÆT. 24. _Sketches by Boz_ 107 Fancy-piece by N. P. Willis: a poor English author 107 Start of _Pickwick_ 108 Marriage to Miss Hogarth 108 First connection with Chapman & Hall 109 Mr. Seymour's part in _Pickwick_ 109 Letters relating thereto 110 C. D. 's own account 110 False claims refuted 111 Pickwick's original, his figure and his name 112 First sprightly runnings of genius 113 The _Sketches_ characterized 114 Mr. Seymour's death 115 New illustrator chosen 115 Mr. Hablot K. Browne 115 C. D. Leaves the gallery 116 _Strange Gentleman_ and _Village Coquettes_ 116 CHAPTER VI. 1837. Pages 117-140. WRITING THE PICKWICK PAPERS. ÆT. 25. First letter from him 117 As he was thirty-five years ago 118 Mrs. Carlyle and Leigh Hunt 119 Birth of eldest son 119 From Furnival's Inn to Doughty Street 119 A long-remembered sorrow 120 I visit him 120 Hasty compacts with publishers 121 Self-sold into quasi-bondage 121 Agreements for editorship and writing 121 Mr. Macrone's scheme to reissue _Sketches_ 122 Attempts to prevent it 123 Exorbitant demand 123 Impatience of suspense 123 Purchase advised 124 _Oliver Twist_ 125 Characters real to himself 125 Sense of responsibility for his writings 126 Criticism that satisfied him 126 Help given with his proofs 126 Writing _Pickwick_, Nos. 14 and 15 127 Scenes in a debtors' prison 128 A recollection of Smollett 128 Reception of _Pickwick_ 129 A popular rage 129 Mr. Carlyle's "dreadful" story 130 Secrets of success 130 _Pickwick_ inferior to later books 131 Exception for Sam Weller and Mr. Pickwick 131 Personal habits of C. D. 132 Reliefs after writing 133 Natural discontents 134 The early agreements 134 Tale to follow _Oliver Twist_ 135 Compromise with Mr. Bentley 135 Trip to Flanders 135 First visit to Broadstairs 136 Piracies of _Pickwick_ 137 A sufferer from agreements 138 First visit to Brighton 138 What he is doing with _Oliver Twist_ 139 Reading De Foe 139 "No Thoroughfare" 139 Proposed help to Macready 140 CHAPTER VII. 1837-1838. Pages 141-151. BETWEEN PICKWICK AND NICKLEBY. ÆT. 25-26. Edits _Life of Grimaldi_ 141 His own opinion of it 142 An objection answered 142 His recollections of 1823 142 Completion of _Pickwick_ 143 A purpose long entertained 144 Relations with Chapman & Hall 144 Payments made for _Pickwick_ 145 Agreement for _Nicholas Nickleby_ 145 _Oliver Twist_ characterized 146 Reasons for acceptance with every class 146 Nightmare of an agreement 147 Letter to Mr. Bentley 147 Proposal as to _Barnaby Rudge_ 148 Result of it 148 Birth of eldest daughter 149 _Young Gentlemen_ and _Young Couples_ 149 First number of _Nicholas Nickleby_ 150 2d of April, 1838 150 CHAPTER VIII. 1838. Pages 152-164. OLIVER TWIST. ÆT. 26. Interest in characters at close of _Oliver_ 152 Writing of the last chapter 153 Cruikshank illustrations 154 Etchings for last volume 154 How executed 154 Slander respecting them exposed 155 Falsehood ascribed to the artist 155 Reputation of the new tale 156 Its workmanship 157 Social evils passed away 157 Living only in what destroyed them 157 Chief design of the story 158 Its principal figures 158 Comedy and tragedy of crime 159 Reply to attacks 160 Le Sage, Gay, and Fielding 160 Likeness to them 161 Again the shadow of _Barnaby_ 161 Appeal to Mr. Bentley for delay 161 A very old story 162 "Sic vos non vobis" 162 _Barnaby_ given up by Mr. Bentley 163 Resignation of _Miscellany_ 163 Parent parting from child 164 CHAPTER IX. 1838-1839. Pages 165-179. NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. ÆT. 26-27. Doubts of success dispelled 165 Realities of English life 166 Characters self-revealed 167 Miss Bates and Mrs. Nickleby 167 Smike and Dotheboys 167 A favorite type of humanity 168 Sydney Smith and Newman Noggs 168 Kindliness and breadth of humor 169 Goldsmith and Smollett 169 Early and later books 170 Biographical not critical 171 Characteristics 171 Materials for the book 171 Birthday letter 172 A difficulty at starting 172 Never in advance with _Nickleby_ 173 Always with later books 173 Enjoying a play 174 At the Adelphi 174 Writing Mrs. Nickleby's love-scene 175 Sydney Smith vanquished 175 Winding up the story 176 Parting from creatures of his fancy 177 The Nickleby dinner 178 Persons present 178 The Maclise portrait 178 CHAPTER X. 1838-1839. Pages 180-190. DURING AND AFTER NICKLEBY. ÆT. 26-27. The Cottage at Twickenham 180 Daniel Maclise 180 Ainsworth and other friends 181 Mr. Stanley of Alderley 182 Petersham cottage 182 Childish enjoyments 182 Writes a farce for Covent Garden 183 Entered at the Middle Temple 183 We see Wainewright in Newgate 184 _Oliver Twist_ and the _Quarterly_ 184 Hood's _Up the Rhine_ 185 Shakspeare Society 185 Birth of second daughter 186 House-hunting 186 _Barnaby_ at his tenth page 186 Letter from Exeter 187 A landlady and her friends 187 A home for his father and mother 188 Autobiographical 189 Visit to an upholsterer 189 Visit from the same 190 CHAPTER XI. 1839. Pages 191-199. NEW LITERARY PROJECT. ÆT. 27-28. Thoughts for the future 191 Doubts of old serial form 192 Suggestion for his publishers 192 My mediation with them 193 Proposed weekly publication 193 Design of it 193 Old favorites to be revived 194 Subjects to be dealt with 194 Chapters on Chambers 194 Gog and Magog Relaxations 194 Savage Chronicles 195 Others as well as himself to write 195 Travels to Ireland and America in view 195 Stipulation as to property and payments 196 Great hopes of success 197 Assent of his publishers 197 No planned story 197 Terms of agreement 197 Notion for his hero 198 A name hit upon 199 Sanguine of the issue 199 CHAPTER XII. 1840-1841. Pages 200-216. THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. ÆT. 28-29. Visit to Walter Landor 200 First thought of Little Nell 200 Hopeful of Master Humphrey 201 A title for the child-story 202 First sale of _Master Humphrey's Clock_ 202 Its original plan abandoned 203 Reasons for this 203 To be limited to one story 203 Disadvantages of weekly publication 204 A favorite description 204 In Bevis Marks for Sampson Brass 205 At Lawn House, Broadstairs 205 Dedication of his first volume to Rogers 205 Chapters 43-45 206 Dick Swiveller and the Marchioness 207 Masterpiece of kindly fun 207 Closing of the tale 208 Effect upon the writer 208 Making-believe very much 209 The end approaching 209 The realities of fiction 209 Death of Little Nell 210 My share in the close 211 A suggestion adopted by him 211 Success of the story 211 Useful lessons 212 Its mode of construction 213 Character and characteristics 213 The art of it 213 A recent tribute 214 Harte's "Dickens in Camp" 215 CHAPTER XIII. 1840. Pages 217-231. DEVONSHIRE TERRACE AND BROADSTAIRS. ÆT. 28. A good saying 217 Landor mystified 218 The mirthful side of Dickens 218 Extravagant flights 218 Humorous despair 219 Riding exercise 220 First of the ravens 220 The groom Topping 220 The smoky chimneys 221 Juryman at an inquest 222 Practical humanity 222 Publication of _Clock's_ first number 222 Transfer of _Barnaby_ settled 223 A true prediction 224 Revisiting old scenes 224 C. D. To Chapman & Hall 224 Terms of sale of _Barnaby_ 225 A gift to a friend 226 Final escape from bondage 226 Published libels about him 227 Said to be demented 227 To be insane and turned Catholic 228 Begging letter-writers 228 A donkey asked for 228 Mr. Kindheart 229 Friendly meetings 229 Social talk 229 Reconciling friends 230 Hint for judging men 230 CHAPTER XIV. 1841. Pages 232-248. BARNABY RUDGE. ÆT. 29. Advantage in beginning _Barnaby_ 232 Birth of fourth child and second son 233 The Raven 233 A loss in the family 234 Grip's death 235 C. D. Describes his illness 235 Family mourners 236 Apotheosis by Maclise 237 Grip the second 239 The inn at Chigwell 239 A _Clock_ Dinner 240 Lord Jeffrey in London 240 The _Lamplighter_ 240 The _Pic Nic Papers_ 241 Character of Lord George Gordon 241 A doubtful fancy 242 Interest in new labor 243 Constraints of weekly publication 243 The prison-riots 244 A serious illness 244 Close of _Barnaby_ 244 Character of the tale 245 Defects in the plot 245 The No-Popery riots 245 Descriptive power displayed 246 Leading persons in story 247 Mr. Dennis the hangman 248 CHAPTER XV. 1841. Pages 249-262. PUBLIC DINNER IN EDINBURGH. ÆT. 29. His son Walter Landor 249 Dies in Calcutta (1863) 250 C. D. And the new poor-law 250 Moore and Rogers 251 Jeffrey's praise of Little Nell 251 Resolve to visit Scotland 251 Edinburgh dinner proposed 252 Sir David Wilkie's death 252 Peter Robertson 253 Professor Wilson 253 A fancy of Scott 254 Lionization made tolerable 254 Thoughts of home 255 The dinner and speeches 255 His reception 256 Wilson's eulogy 256 Home yearnings 257 Freedom of city voted to him 257 Speakers at the dinner 257 Politics and party influences 258 Whig jealousies 259 At the theatre 260 Hospitalities 260 Moral of it all 260 Proposed visit to the Highlands 261 Maclise and Macready 261 Guide to the Highlands 262 Mr. Angus Fletcher (Kindheart) 262 CHAPTER XVI. 1841. Pages 263-276. ADVENTURES IN THE HIGHLANDS. ÆT. 29. A fright 264 Fletcher's eccentricities 264 The Trossachs 264 The traveler's guide 265 A comical picture 265 Highland accommodation 265 Grand scenery 266 Changes in route 267 A waterfall 267 Entrance to Glencoe 267 The pass of Glencoe 268 Loch Leven 269 A July evening 269 Postal service at Loch Earn Head 269 The maid of the inn 270 Impressions of Glencoe 270 An adventure 271 Torrents swollen with rain 271 Dangerous traveling 272 Incidents and accidents 272 Broken-down bridge 273 A fortunate resolve 273 Post-boy in danger 274 The rescue 274 Narrow escape 274 A Highland inn and inmates 275 English comfort at Dalmally 275 Dinner at Glasgow proposed 276 Eagerness for home 276 CHAPTER XVII. 1841. Pages 277-283. AGAIN AT BROADSTAIRS. ÆT. 29. Peel and his party 277 Getting very radical 278 Thoughts of colonizing 278 Political squib by C. D. 278 Fine old English Tory times 279 Mesmerism 280 Metropolitan prisons 280 Book by a workman 280 An August day by the sea 281 Another story in prospect 281 _Clock_ discontents 281 New adventure 282 Agreement for it signed 282 The book that proved to be _Chuzzlewit_ 283 Peel and Lord Ashley 283 Visions of America 283 CHAPTER XVIII. 1841. Pages 284-291. EVE OF THE VISIT TO AMERICA. ÆT. 29. Greetings from America 284 Reply to Washington Irving 284 Difficulties in the way 285 Resolve to go 286 Wish to revisit scenes of boyhood 286 Proposed book of travel 286 Arrangements for the journey 287 Impatience of suspense 287 Resolve to leave the children 288 Mrs. Dickens reconciled 288 A grave illness 288 Domestic griefs 289 The old sorrow 289 At Windsor 290 Son Walter's christening 290 At Liverpool with the travelers 291 CHAPTER XIX. 1842. Pages 292-309. FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICA. ÆT. 30. Rough passage 293 A steamer in a storm 293 Resigned to the worst 293 Of himself and fellow-travelers 294 The Atlantic from deck 294 The ladies' cabin 294 Its occupants 295 Card-playing on the Atlantic 295 Ship-news 296 A wager 297 Halifax harbor 297 Ship aground 297 Captain Hewitt 298 Speaker of House of Assembly 299 Ovation to C. D. 299 Arrival at Boston 300 Incursion of editors 300 At Tremont House 300 The welcome 301 Deputations 301 Dr. Channing to C. D. 302 Public appearances 302 A secretary engaged 303 Bostonians 303 General characteristics 304 Personal notices 304 Perils of steamers 305 A home-thought 305 American institutions 306 How first impressed 306 Reasons for the greeting 306 What was welcomed in C. D. 307 Old World and New World 308 Daniel Webster as to C. D. 308 Channing as to C. D. 308 Subsequent disappointments 309 New York invitation to dinner} Fac-similes of signatures } Additional fac-similes } Facing page 309. New York invitation to ball } Fac-similes of signatures } Additional fac-similes } CHAPTER XX. 1842. Pages 310-334. SECOND IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICA. ÆT. 30. Second letter 310 International copyright 311 Third letter 311 The dinner at Boston 312 Worcester, Springfield, and Hartford 313 Queer traveling 313 Levees at Hartford and New Haven 313 At Wallingford 314 Serenades 314 Cornelius C. Felton 315 Payment of personal expenses declined 315 At New York 315 Irving and Colden 315 Description of the ball 316 Newspaper accounts 317 A phase of character 317 Opinion in America 318 International copyright 318 American authors in regard to it 319 Outcry against the nation's guest 319 Declines to be silent on copyright 319 Speech at dinner 320 Irving in the chair 320 Chairman's break-down 321 An incident afterwards in London 321 Results of copyright speeches 322 A bookseller's demand for help 322 Suggestion for copyright memorial 323 Henry Clay's opinion 323 Life in New York 324 Distresses of popularity 324 Intentions for future 325 Refusal of invitations 325 Going south and west 325 As to return 326 Dangers incident to steamers 326 Slavery 327 Ladies of America 327 Party conflicts 328 Non-arrival of Cunard steamer 328 Copyright petition for Congress 328 No hope of the Caledonia 329 A substitute for her 330 Anxiety as to letters 330 Of distinguished Americans 330 Hotel bills 331 Thoughts of the children 331 Acadia takes Caledonia's place 332 Letter to C. D. From Carlyle 332 Carlyle on copyright 332 Argument against stealing 333 Rob Roy's plan worth bettering 334 C. D. As to Carlyle 334 CHAPTER XXI. 1842. Pages 335-357. PHILADELPHIA, WASHINGTON, AND THE SOUTH. ÆT. 30. At Philadelphia 335 Rule in printing letters 335 Promise as to railroads 336 Experience of them 337 Railway-cars 337 Charcoal stoves 337 Ladies' cars 338 Spittoons 338 Massachusetts and New York 339 Police-cells and prisons 339 House of detention and inmates 340 Women and boy prisoners 341 Capital punishment 342 A house of correction 342 Four hundred single cells 343 Comparison with English prisons 344 Inns and landlords 344 At Washington 344 Hotel extortion 345 Philadelphia penitentiary 345 The solitary system 345 Solitary prisoners 346 Talk with inspectors 346 Bookseller Carey 347 Changes of temperature 347 Henry Clay 348 Proposed journeyings 348 Letters from England 349 Congress and Senate 349 Leading American statesmen 349 The people of America 350 Englishmen "located" there 350 "Surgit amari aliquid" 351 The copyright petition 351 At Richmond 351 Irving appointed to Spain 352 Experience of a slave city 353 Incidents of slave-life 353 Discussion with a slaveholder 353 Feeling of South to England 354 Levees at Richmond 354 One more banquet accepted 355 My gift of _Shakspeare_ 355 Home letters and fancies 356 Self-reproach of a noble nature 356 Washington Irving's leave-taking 357 CHAPTER XXII. 1842. Pages 358-380. CANAL-BOAT JOURNEYS: BOUND FAR WEST. ÆT. 30. Character in the letters 358 The _Notes_ less satisfactory 359 Personal narrative in letters 359 The copyright differences 360 Social dissatisfactions 360 A fact to be remembered 361 Literary merits of the letters 361 Personal character portrayed 362 On board for Pittsburgh 362 Choicest passages of _Notes_ 362 Queer stage-coach 363 Something revealed on the top 364 At Harrisburg 364 Treaties with Indians 365 Local legislatures 365 A levee 365 Morning and night in canal-boat 366 At and after breakfast 366 Making the best of it 367 Hardy habits 368 By rail across mountain 368 Mountain scenery 369 New settlements 369 Original of Eden in _Chuzzlewit_ 369 A useful word 370 Party in America 371 Home news 371 Meets an early acquaintance 372 "Smallness of the world" 372 Queer customers at levees 372 Our anniversary 373 The Cincinnati steamer 374 Frugality in water and linen 374 Magnetic experiments 375 Life-preservers 376 Bores 376 Habits of neatness 377 Wearying for home 377 Another solitary prison 378 New terror to loneliness 378 Arrival at Cincinnati 378 Two judges in attendance 379 The city described 379 On the pavement 380 CHAPTER XXIII. 1842. Pages 381-406. THE FAR WEST: TO NIAGARA FALLS. ÆT. 30. Descriptions in letters and in _Notes_ 381 Outline of westward travel 382 An Arabian-Night city 383 A temperance festival 383 A party at Judge Walker's 383 The party from another view 384 Young lady's description of C. D. 384 Mournful results of boredom 385 Down the Mississippi 386 Listening and watching 386 A levee at St. Louis 386 Compliments 387 Lord Ashburton's arrival 387 Talk with a judge on slavery 388 A negro burnt alive 388 Feeling of slaves themselves 389 American testimony 389 Pretty little scene 390 A mother and her husband 390 The baby 391 St. Louis in sight 392 Meeting of wife and husband 392 Trip to a prairie 393 On the prairie at sunset 393 General character of scenery 394 The prairie described 394 Disappointment and enjoyment 394 Soirée at Planter's House Inn 395 Good fare 395 No gray heads in St. Louis 396 Dueling 396 Mrs. Dickens as a traveler 397 From Cincinnati to Columbus 397 What a levee is like 398 From Columbus to Sandusky 398 The travelers alone 399 A log house inn 400 Making tidy 400 A monetary crisis 400 Americans not a humorous people 401 The only recreations 401 From Sandusky to Buffalo 402 On Lake Erie 402 Reception and consolation of a mayor 403 From Buffalo to Niagara 403 Nearing the Falls 404 The Horse-shoe 404 Effect upon him of Niagara 405 The old recollection 405 Looking forward 406 CHAPTER XXIV. 1842. Pages 407-418. NIAGARA AND MONTREAL. ÆT. 30. Last two letters 407 Dickens vanquished 407 Obstacles to copyright 408 Two described 408 Value of literary popularity 409 Substitute for literature 410 The secretary described 410 His paintings 411 The lion and ---- 411 Toryism of Toronto 412 Canadian attentions 412 Proposed theatricals 413 Last letter 413 The private play 414 Stage manager's report 414 Bill of the performance 415 The lady performers 417 A touch of Crummles 417 HOME 418 PAGE Autograph of C. D. (1837) _Fly-leaf_ C. D. æt. 27. From Maclise's Painting, by Graves, A. R. A. _Title-page_ Fac-simile of Letter written in Boyhood 79 Outline of the Maclise Painting of 1839. Engraved by Jeens 178 Apotheosis of Grip the Raven, by Maclise, R. A. 237 Fac-simile of C. D. 's autograph signature Boz (1841) 276 Fac-simile of Invitation to the Public Dinner in New York, with the signatures 309 Fac-simile of Invitation to the Public Ball in New York, with the signatures 309 Fac-simile of the Bill of the Private Play in Canada 415 THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS. CHAPTER I. CHILDHOOD 1812-1822. Birth at Landport in Portsea--Family of John Dickens--Powers of Observation in Children--Two Years Old--In London, æt. 2-3--In Chatham, æt. 4-9--Vision of Boyhood--The Queer Small Child--Mother's Teaching--Day-School in Rome Lane--Retrospects of Childhood--David Copperfield and Charles Dickens--Access to Small but Good Library--Tragedy-Writing--Comic-Song Singing--Cousin James Lamert--First taken to Theatre--At Mr. Giles's School--Encored in the Recitations--Boyish Recollections--Birthplace of his Fancy--Last Night in Chatham--In London--First Impressions--Bayham Street, Camden-town--Faculty of Early Observation--His Description of his Father--Small Theatre made for him--Sister Fanny at Royal Academy of Music--Walks about London--Biography and Autobiography--At his Godfather's and his Uncle's--First Efforts at Description--"Res Angusta Domi"--Mother exerting Herself--Father in the Marshalsea--Visit to the Prison--Captain Porter--Old Friends disposed of--At the Pawnbroker's. CHARLES DICKENS, the most popular novelist of the century, and one ofthe greatest humorists that England has produced, was born at Landportin Portsea on Friday, the 7th of February, 1812. His father, John Dickens, a clerk in the Navy-pay office, was at thistime stationed in the Portsmouth dockyard. He had made acquaintance withthe lady, Elizabeth Barrow, who became afterwards his wife, through herelder brother, Thomas Barrow, also engaged on the establishment atSomerset House; and she bore him in all a family of eight children, ofwhom two died in infancy. The eldest, Fanny (born 1810), was followed byCharles (entered in the baptismal register of Portsea as Charles JohnHuffham, though on the very rare occasions when he subscribed that namehe wrote Huffam); by another son, named Alfred, who died in childhood;by Letitia (born 1816); by another daughter, Harriet, who died also inchildhood; by Frederick (born 1820); by Alfred Lamert (born 1822); andby Augustus (born 1827); of all of whom only the second daughter nowsurvives. Walter Scott tells us, in his fragment of autobiography, speaking of thestrange remedies applied to his lameness, that he remembered lying onthe floor in the parlor of his grandfather's farm-house, swathed up in asheepskin warm from the body of the sheep, being then not three yearsold. David Copperfield's memory goes beyond this. He represents himselfseeing so far back into the blank of his infancy as to discern thereinhis mother and her servant, dwarfed to his sight by stooping down orkneeling on the floor, and himself going unsteadily from the one to theother. He admits this may be fancy, though he believes the power ofobservation in numbers of very young children to be quite wonderful forits closeness and accuracy, and thinks that the recollection of most ofus can go farther back into such times than many of us suppose. Butwhat he adds is certainly not fancy. "If it should appear from anythingI may set down in this narrative that I was a child of closeobservation, or that as a man I have a strong memory of my childhood, Iundoubtedly lay claim to both of these characteristics. " Applicable asit might be to David Copperfield, this was simply and unaffectedly trueof Charles Dickens. He has often told me that he remembered the small front garden to thehouse at Portsea, from which he was taken away when he was two yearsold, and where, watched by a nurse through a low kitchen-window almostlevel with the gravel walk, he trotted about with something to eat, andhis little elder sister with him. He was carried from the garden one dayto see the soldiers exercise; and I perfectly recollect that, on ourbeing at Portsmouth together while he was writing _Nickleby_, herecognized the exact shape of the military parade seen by him as a veryinfant, on the same spot, a quarter of a century before. When his father was again brought up by his duties to London fromPortsmouth, they went into lodgings in Norfolk Street, MiddlesexHospital; and it lived also in the child's memory that they had comeaway from Portsea in the snow. Their home, shortly after, was againchanged, on the elder Dickens being placed upon duty in Chathamdockyard; and the house where he lived in Chatham, which had aplain-looking whitewashed plaster front and a small garden before andbehind, was in St. Mary's Place, otherwise called the Brook, and nextdoor to a Baptist meeting-house called Providence Chapel, of which a Mr. Giles, to be presently mentioned, was minister. Charles at this timewas between four and five years old;[1] and here he stayed till he wasnine. Here the most durable of his early impressions were received; andthe associations that were around him when he died were those which atthe outset of his life had affected him most strongly. The house called Gadshill Place stands on the strip of highest ground inthe main road between Rochester and Gravesend. Often had we traveledpast it together, years and years before it became his home, and neverwithout some allusion to what he told me when first I saw it in hiscompany, that amid the recollections connected with his childhood itheld always a prominent place, for, upon first seeing it as he came fromChatham with his father, and looking up at it with much admiration, hehad been promised that he might himself live in it, or in some suchhouse, when he came to be a man, if he would only work hard enough. Which for a long time was his ambition. The story is a pleasant one, andreceives authentic confirmation at the opening of one of his essays ontraveling abroad, when as he passes along the road to Canterbury therecrosses it a vision of his former self: "So smooth was the old high-road, and so fresh were the horses, and sofast went I, that it was midway between Gravesend and Rochester, and thewidening river was bearing the ships, white-sailed or black-smoked, outto sea, when I noticed by the wayside a very queer small boy. "'Holloa!' said I to the very queer small boy, 'where do you live?' "'At Chatham, ' says he. "'What do you do there?' says I. "'I go to school, ' says he. "I took him up in a moment, and we went on. Presently, the very queersmall boy says, 'This is Gadshill we are coming to, where Falstaff wentout to rob those travelers, and ran away. ' "'You know something about Falstaff, eh?' said I. "'All about him, ' said the very queer small boy. 'I am old (I am nine), and I read all sorts of books. But _do_ let us stop at the top of thehill, and look at the house there, if you please!' "'You admire that house?' said I. "'Bless you, sir, ' said the very queer small boy, 'when I was not morethan half as old as nine, it used to be a treat for me to be brought tolook at it. And now I am nine, I come by myself to look at it. And eversince I can recollect, my father, seeing me so fond of it, has oftensaid to me, _If you were to be very persevering and were to work hard, you might some day come to live in it_. Though that's impossible!' saidthe very queer small boy, drawing a low breath, and now staring at thehouse out of window with all his might. "I was rather amazed to be told this by the very queer small boy; forthat house happens to be _my_ house, and I have reason to believe thatwhat he said was true. " The queer small boy was indeed his very self. He was a very little and avery sickly boy. He was subject to attacks of violent spasm whichdisabled him for any active exertion. He was never a good littlecricket-player. He was never a first-rate hand at marbles, or peg-top, or prisoner's base. But he had great pleasure in watching the otherboys, officers' sons for the most part, at these games, reading whilethey played; and he had always the belief that this early sickness hadbrought to himself one inestimable advantage, in the circumstance of hisweak health having strongly inclined him to reading. It will not appear, as my narrative moves on, that he owed much to his parents, or was otherthan in his first letter to Washington Irving he described himself tohave been, a "very small and not-over-particularly-taken-care-of boy;"but he has frequently been heard to say that his first desire forknowledge, and his earliest passion for reading, were awakened by hismother, who taught him the first rudiments not only of English, butalso, a little later, of Latin. She taught him regularly every day for along time, and taught him, he was convinced, thoroughly well. I once putto him a question in connection with this to which he replied in almostexactly the words he placed five years later in the mouth of DavidCopperfield: "I faintly remember her teaching me the alphabet; and whenI look upon the fat black letters in the primer, the puzzling novelty oftheir shapes, and the easy good nature of O and S, always seem topresent themselves before me as they used to do. " Then followed the preparatory day-school, a school for girls and boys towhich he went with his sister Fanny, and which was in a place calledRome (pronounced Room) Lane. Revisiting Chatham in his manhood, andlooking for the place, he found it had been pulled down to make a newstreet, "ages" before; but out of the distance of the ages arosenevertheless a not dim impression that it had been over a dyer's shop;that he went up steps to it; that he had frequently grazed his knees indoing so; and that in trying to scrape the mud off a very unsteadylittle shoe, he generally got his leg over the scraper. [2] Other similarmemories of childhood have dropped from him occasionally in his lesserwritings; whose readers may remember how vividly portions of his boyhoodare reproduced in his fancy of the Christmas-tree, and will hardly haveforgotten what he says, in his thoughtful little paper on Nurses'stories, of the doubtful places and people to which children may beintroduced before they are six years old, and forced, night after night, to go back to against their wills, by servants to whom they areintrusted. That childhood exaggerates what it sees, too, has he nottenderly told? How he thought the Rochester High Street must be at leastas wide as Regent Street, which he afterwards discovered to be littlebetter than a lane; how the public clock in it, supposed to be thefinest clock in the world, turned out to be as moon-faced and weak aclock as a man's eyes ever saw; and how in its town-hall, which hadappeared to him once so glorious a structure that he had set it up inhis mind as the model on which the genie of the lamp built the palacefor Aladdin, he had painfully to recognize a mere mean little heap ofbricks, like a chapel gone demented. Yet not so painfully, either, whensecond thoughts wisely came. "Ah! who was I that I should quarrel withthe town for being changed to me, when I myself had come back, sochanged, to it? All my early readings and early imaginations dated fromthis place, and I took them away so full of innocent construction andguileless belief, and I brought them back so worn and torn, so much thewiser and so much the worse!" And here I may at once expressly mention, what already has been hinted, that even as Fielding described himself and his belongings in CaptainBooth and Amelia, and protested always that he had writ in his booksnothing more than he had seen in life, so it may be said of Dickens inmore especial relation to David Copperfield. Many guesses have been madesince his death, connecting David's autobiography with his own;accounting, by means of such actual experiences, for the so frequentrecurrence in his writings of the prison-life, its humor and pathos, described in them with such wonderful reality; and discovering in whatDavid tells Steerforth at school of the stories he had read in hischildhood, what it was that had given the bent to his own genius. Thereis not only truth in all this, but it will very shortly be seen that theidentity went deeper than any had supposed, and covered experiences notless startling in the reality than they appear to be in the fiction. Of the "readings" and "imaginations" which he describes as brought awayfrom Chatham, this authority can tell us. It is one of the many passagesin _Copperfield_ which are literally true, and its proper place is here. "My father had left a small collection of books in a little roomup-stairs to which I had access (for it adjoined my own), and whichnobody else in our house ever troubled. From that blessed little room, _Roderick Random_, _Peregrine Pickle_, _Humphrey Clinker_, _Tom Jones_, the _Vicar of Wakefield_, _Don Quixote_, _Gil Blas_, and _RobinsonCrusoe_ came out, a glorious host, to keep me company. They kept alivemy fancy, and my hope of something beyond that place and time, --they, and the _Arabian Nights_ and the _Tales of the Genii_, --and did me noharm; for whatever harm was in some of them was not there for me; _I_knew nothing of it. It is astonishing to me now how I found time, in themidst of my porings and blunderings over heavier themes, to read thosebooks as I did. It is curious to me how I could ever have consoledmyself under my small troubles (which were great troubles to me), byimpersonating my favorite characters in them. . . . I have been Tom Jones(a child's Tom Jones, a harmless creature) for a week together. I havesustained my own idea of Roderick Random for a month at a stretch, Iverily believe. I had a greedy relish for a few volumes of voyages andtravels--I forget what, now--that were on those shelves; and for daysand days I can remember to have gone about my region of our house, armedwith the centre-piece out of an old set of boot-trees: the perfectrealization of Captain Somebody, of the royal British Navy, in danger ofbeing beset by savages, and resolved to sell his life at a greatprice. . . . When I think of it, the picture always rises in my mind, of asummer evening, the boys at play in the churchyard, and I sitting on mybed, reading as if for life. Every barn in the neighborhood, every stonein the church, and every foot of the churchyard, had some association ofits own, in my mind, connected with these books, and stood for somelocality made famous in them. I have seen Tom Pipes go climbing up thechurch-steeple; I have watched Strap, with the knapsack on his back, stopping to rest himself upon the wicket-gate; and I _know_ thatCommodore Trunnion held that club with Mr. Pickle, in the parlor of ourlittle village ale-house. " Every word of this personal recollection hadbeen written down as fact, some years before it found its way into_David Copperfield_; the only change in the fiction being his omissionof the name of a cheap series of novelists then in course ofpublication, by which his father had become happily the owner of solarge a lump of literary treasure in his small collection of books. The usual result followed. The child took to writing, himself, andbecame famous in his childish circle for having written a tragedy called_Misnar_, the Sultan of India, founded (and very literally founded, nodoubt) on one of the _Tales of the Genii_. Nor was this his onlydistinction. He told a story offhand so well, and sang small comic songsso especially well, that he used to be elevated on chairs and tables, both at home and abroad, for more effective display of these talents;and when he first told me of this, at one of the Twelfth-night partieson his eldest son's birthday, he said he never recalled it that his ownshrill little voice of childhood did not again tingle in his ears, andhe blushed to think what a horrible little nuisance he must have been tomany unoffending grown-up people who were called upon to admire him. His chief ally and encourager in these displays was a youth of someability, much older than himself, named James Lamert, stepson to hismother's sister, and therefore a sort of cousin, who was his greatpatron and friend in his childish days. Mary, the eldest daughter ofCharles Barrow, himself a lieutenant in the navy, had for her firsthusband a commander in the navy called Allen; on whose death by drowningat Rio Janeiro she had joined her sister, the navy-pay clerk's wife, atChatham; in which place she subsequently took for her second husband Dr. Lamert, an army-surgeon, whose son James, even after he had been sent toSandhurst for his education, continued still to visit Chatham from timeto time. He had a turn for private theatricals; and as his father'squarters were in the ordnance hospital there, a great rambling placeotherwise at that time almost uninhabited, he had plenty of room inwhich to get up his entertainments. The staff-doctor himself played hispart, and his portrait will be found in _Pickwick_. By Lamert, I have often heard him say, he was first taken to thetheatre at the very tenderest age. He could hardly, however, have beenyounger than Charles Lamb, whose first experience was of having seen_Artaxerxes_ when six years old; and certainly not younger than WalterScott, who was only four when he saw _As You Like It_ on the Bath stage, and remembered having screamed out, _Ain't they brothers?_ whenscandalized by Orlando and Oliver beginning to fight. [3] But he was atany rate old enough to recollect how his young heart leaped with terroras the wicked king Richard, struggling for life against the virtuousRichmond, backed up and bumped against the box in which he was; andsubsequent visits to the same sanctuary, as he tells us, revealed to himmany wondrous secrets, "of which not the least terrific were, that thewitches in _Macbeth_ bore an awful resemblance to the thanes and otherproper inhabitants of Scotland; and that the good king Duncan couldn'trest in his grave, but was constantly coming out of it and callinghimself somebody else. " During the last two years of Charles's residence at Chatham, he was sentto a school kept in Clover Lane by the young Baptist minister alreadynamed, Mr. William Giles. I have the picture of him here, very stronglyin my mind, as a sensitive, thoughtful, feeble-bodied little boy, withan unusual sort of knowledge and fancy for such a child, and with adangerous kind of wandering intelligence that a teacher might turn togood or evil, happiness or misery, as he directed it. Nor does theinfluence of Mr. Giles, such as it was, seem to have been other thanfavorable. Charles had himself a not ungrateful sense in after-yearsthat this first of his masters, in his little-cared-for childhood, hadpronounced him to be a boy of capacity; and when, about half-way throughthe publication of _Pickwick_, his old teacher sent a silver snuff-boxwith admiring inscription to the "inimitable Boz, " it reminded him ofpraise far more precious obtained by him at his first year's examinationin the Clover Lane academy, when his recitation of a piece out of the_Humorist's Miscellany_ about Doctor Bolus had received, unless hisyouthful vanity bewildered him, a double encore. A habit, the only badone taught him by Mr. Giles, of taking for a time, in very moderatequantities, the snuff called Irish blackguard, was the result of thisgift from his old master; but he abandoned it after some few years, andit was never resumed. It was in the boys' playing-ground near Clover Lane in which the schoolstood, that, according to one of his youthful memories, he had been, inthe hay-making time, delivered from the dungeons of Seringapatam, animmense pile "(of haycock), " by his countrymen the victorious British"(boy next door and his two cousins), " and had been recognized withecstasy by his affianced one "(Miss Green), " who had come all the wayfrom England "(second house in the terrace)" to ransom and marry him. Itwas in this playing-field, too, as he has himself recorded, he firstheard in confidence from one whose father was greatly connected, "beingunder government, " of the existence of a terrible banditti called _theradicals_, whose principles were that the prince-regent wore stays, thatnobody had a right to any salary, and that the army and navy ought to beput down; horrors at which he trembled in his bed, after supplicatingthat the radicals might be speedily taken and hanged. Nor was it theleast of the disappointments of his visit in after-life to the scenes ofhis boyhood that he found this play-field had been swallowed up by arailway station. It was gone, with its two beautiful trees of hawthorn;and where the hedge, the turf, and all the buttercups and daisies hadbeen, there was nothing but the stoniest of jolting roads. He was not much over nine years old when his father was recalled fromChatham to Somerset House, and he had to leave this good master, and theold place endeared to him by recollections that clung to him afterwardsall his life long. It was here he had made the acquaintance not only ofthe famous books that David Copperfield specially names, of _RoderickRandom_, _Peregrine Pickle_, _Humphrey Clinker_, _Tom Jones_, the _Vicarof Wakefield_, _Don Quixote_, _Gil Blas_, _Robinson Crusoe_, the_Arabian Nights_, and the _Tales of the Genii_, but also of the_Spectator_, the _Tatler_, the _Idler_, the _Citizen of the World_, andMrs. Inchbald's _Collection of Farces_. These latter had been, as well, in the little library to which access was open to him; and of all ofthem his earliest remembrance was the having read them over and over atChatham, not for the first, the second, or the third time. They were ahost of friends when he had no single friend; and in leaving the place, I have often heard him say, he seemed to be leaving them too, andeverything that had given his ailing little life its picturesqueness orsunshine. It was the birthplace of his fancy; and he hardly knew whatstore he had set by its busy varieties of change and scene, until he sawthe falling cloud that was to hide its pictures from him forever. Thegay bright regiments always going and coming, the continual paradingsand firings, the successions of sham sieges and sham defenses, the playsgot up by his cousin in the hospital, the navy-pay yacht in which he hadsailed to Sheerness with his father, and the ships floating out in theMedway with their far visions of sea, --he was to lose them all. He wasnever to watch the boys at their games any more, or see them sham overagain the sham sieges and sham defenses. He was to be taken to Londoninside the stage-coach Commodore; and Kentish woods and fields, Cobhampark and hall, Rochester cathedral and castle, and all the wonderfulromance together, including the red-cheeked baby he had been wildly inlove with, were to vanish like a dream. "On the night before we cameaway, " he told me, "my good master came flitting in among thepacking-cases to give me Goldsmith's _Bee_ as a keepsake. Which I keptfor his sake, and its own, a long time afterwards. " A longer timeafterwards he recollected the stage-coach journey, and said in one ofhis published papers that never had he forgotten, through all theintervening years, the smell of the damp straw in which he was packedand forwarded like game, carriage-paid. "There was no other insidepassenger, and I consumed my sandwiches in solitude and dreariness, andit rained hard all the way, and I thought life sloppier than I expectedto find it. " The earliest impressions received and retained by him in London were ofhis father's money involvements; and now first he heard mentioned "thedeed, " representing that crisis of his father's affairs in fact which isascribed in fiction to Mr. Micawber's. He knew it in later days to havebeen a composition with creditors; though at this earlier date he wasconscious of having confounded it with parchments of a much moredemoniacal description. One result from the awful document soon showeditself in enforced retrenchment. The family had to take up its abode ina house in Bayham Street, Camden-town. Bayham Street was about the poorest part of the London suburbs then, andthe house was a mean small tenement, with a wretched little back-gardenabutting on a squalid court. Here was no place for new acquaintances tohim: no boys were near with whom he might hope to become in any wayfamiliar. A washerwoman lived next door, and a Bow-Street officer livedover the way. Many, many times has he spoken to me of this, and how heseemed at once to fall into a solitary condition apart from all otherboys of his own age, and to sink into a neglected state at home whichhad been always quite unaccountable to him. "As I thought, " he said onone occasion very bitterly, "in the little back-garret in Bayham Street, of all I had lost in losing Chatham, what would I have given, if I hadhad anything to give, to have been sent back to any other school, tohave been taught something anywhere!" He was at another school already, not knowing it. The self-education forced upon him was teaching him, allunconsciously as yet, what, for the future that awaited him, it mostbehooved him to know. That he took, from the very beginning of this Bayham-Street life, hisfirst impression of that struggling poverty which is nowhere morevividly shown than in the commoner streets of the ordinary Londonsuburb, and which enriched his earliest writings with a freshness oforiginal humor and quite unstudied pathos that gave them much of theirsudden popularity, there cannot be a doubt. "I certainly understood it, "he has often said to me, "quite as well then as I do now. " But he wasnot conscious yet that he did so understand it, or of the influence itwas exerting on his life even then. It seems almost too much to assertof a child, say at nine or ten years old, that his observation ofeverything was as close and good, or that he had as much intuitiveunderstanding of the character and weaknesses of the grown-up peoplearound him, as when the same keen and wonderful faculty had made himfamous among men. But my experience of him led me to put implicit faithin the assertion he unvaryingly himself made, that he had never seen anycause to correct or change what in his boyhood was his own secretimpression of anybody whom he had had, as a grown man, the opportunityof testing in later years. How it came that, being what he was, he should now have fallen into themisery and neglect of the time about to be described, was a subject onwhich thoughts were frequently interchanged between us; and on oneoccasion he gave me a sketch of the character of his father, which, as Ican here repeat it in the exact words employed by him, will be the bestpreface I can make to what I feel that I have no alternative but totell. "I know my father to be as kind-hearted and generous a man asever lived in the world. Everything that I can remember of his conductto his wife, or children, or friends, in sickness or affliction, isbeyond all praise. By me, as a sick child, he has watched night and day, unweariedly and patiently, many nights and days. He never undertook anybusiness, charge, or trust, that he did not zealously, conscientiously, punctually, honorably discharge. His industry has always been untiring. He was proud of me, in his way, and had a great admiration of the comicsinging. But, in the ease of his temper, and the straitness of hismeans, he appeared to have utterly lost at this time the idea ofeducating me at all, and to have utterly put from him the notion that Ihad any claim upon him, in that regard, whatever. So I degenerated intocleaning his boots of a morning, and my own; and making myself useful inthe work of the little house; and looking after my younger brothers andsisters (we were now six in all); and going on such poor errands asarose out of our poor way of living. " The cousin by marriage of whom I have spoken, James Lamert, who hadlately completed his education at Sandhurst and was waiting in hopes ofa commission, lived now with the family in Bayham Street, and had notlost his taste for the stage, or his ingenuities in connection with it. Taking pity on the solitary lad, he made and painted a little theatrefor him. It was the only fanciful reality of his present life; but itcould not supply what he missed most sorely, the companionship of boysof his own age, with whom he might share in the advantages of school andcontend for its prizes. His sister Fanny was at about this time electedas a pupil to the Royal Academy of Music; and he has told me what astab to his heart it was, thinking of his own disregarded condition, tosee her go away to begin her education, amid the tearful good wishes ofeverybody in the house. Nevertheless, as time went on, his own education still unconsciouslywent on as well, under the sternest and most potent of teachers; and, neglected and miserable as he was, he managed gradually to transfer toLondon all the dreaminess and all the romance with which he had investedChatham. There were then at the top of Bayham Street some almshouses, and were still when he revisited it with me nearly twenty-seven yearsago; and to go to this spot, he told me, and look from it over thedust-heaps and dock-leaves and fields (no longer there when we saw ittogether) at the cupola of St. Paul's looming through the smoke, was atreat that served him for hours of vague reflection afterwards. To betaken out for a walk into the real town, especially if it were anywhereabout Covent Garden or the Strand, perfectly entranced him withpleasure. But most of all he had a profound attraction of repulsion toSt. Giles's. If he could only induce whomsoever took him out to take himthrough Seven-Dials, he was supremely happy. "Good Heaven!" he wouldexclaim, "what wild visions of prodigies of wickedness, want, andbeggary arose in my mind out of that place!" He was all this time, thereader will remember, still subject to continual attacks of illness, and, by reason of them, a very small boy even for his age. That part of his boyhood is now very near of which, when the days offame and prosperity came to him, he felt the weight upon his memory asa painful burden until he could lighten it by sharing it with a friend;and an accident I will presently mention led him first to reveal it. There is, however, an interval of some months still to be described, ofwhich, from conversations or letters that passed between us, after orbecause of this confidence, and that already have yielded fruit to thesepages, I can supply some vague and desultory notices. The use thus madeof them, it is due to myself to remark, was contemplated then; forthough, long before his death, I had ceased to believe it likely that Ishould survive to write about him, he had never withdrawn the wish atthis early time strongly expressed, or the confidences, not only thenbut to the very eve of his death reposed in me, that were to enable meto fulfill it. [4] The fulfillment indeed he had himself rendered moreeasy by partially uplifting the veil in _David Copperfield_. The visits made from Bayham Street were chiefly to two connections ofthe family, his mother's elder brother and his godfather. The latter, who was a rigger, and mast-, oar-, and block-maker, lived at Limehousein a substantial handsome sort of way, and was kind to his godchild. Itwas always a great treat to him to go to Mr. Huffham's; and the Londonnight-sights as he returned were a perpetual joy and marvel. Here, too, the comic-singing accomplishment was brought into play so greatly to theadmiration of one of the godfather's guests, an honest boat-builder, that he pronounced the little lad to be a "progidy. " The visits to theuncle who was at this time fellow-clerk with his father, in SomersetHouse, were nearer home. Mr. Thomas Barrow, the eldest of his mother'sfamily, had broken his leg in a fall; and, while laid up with thisillness, his lodging was in Gerrard Street, Soho, in the upper part ofthe house of a worthy gentleman then recently deceased, a booksellernamed Manson, father to the partner in the celebrated firm of Christie &Manson, whose widow at this time carried on the business. Attracted bythe look of the lad as he went up-stairs, these good people lent himbooks to amuse him; among them Miss Porter's _Scottish Chiefs_, Holbein's _Dance of Death_, and George Colman's _Broad Grins_. Thelatter seized his fancy very much; and he was so impressed by itsdescription of Covent Garden, in the piece called "The Elder Brother, "that he stole down to the market by himself to compare it with the book. He remembered, as he said in telling me this, snuffing up the flavor ofthe faded cabbage-leaves as if it were the very breath of comic fiction. Nor was he far wrong, as comic fiction then and for some time after was. It was reserved for himself to give sweeter and fresher breath to it. Many years were to pass first, but he was beginning already to make thetrial. His uncle was shaved by a very odd old barber out of Dean Street, Soho, who was never tired of reviewing the events of the last war, andespecially of detecting Napoleon's mistakes, and rearranging his wholelife for him on a plan of his own. The boy wrote a description of thisold barber, but never had courage to show it. At about the same time, taking for his model the description of the canon's housekeeper in _GilBlas_, he sketched a deaf old woman who waited on them in Bayham Street, and who made delicate hashes with walnut-ketchup. As little did he dareto show this, either; though he thought it, himself, extremely clever. In Bayham Street, meanwhile, affairs were going on badly; the poor boy'svisits to his uncle, while the latter was still kept a prisoner by hisaccident, were interrupted by another attack of fever; and on hisrecovery the mysterious "deed" had again come uppermost. His father'sresources were so low, and all his expedients so thoroughly exhausted, that trial was to be made whether his mother might not come to therescue. The time was arrived for her to exert herself, she said; and she"must do something. " The godfather down at Limehouse was reported tohave an Indian connection. People in the East Indies always sent theirchildren home to be educated. She would set up a school. They would allgrow rich by it. And then, thought the sick boy, "perhaps even I mightgo to school myself. " A house was soon found at number four, Gower Street north; a large brassplate on the door announced MRS. DICKENS'S ESTABLISHMENT; and the resultI can give in the exact words of the then small actor in the comedy, whose hopes it had raised so high: "I left, at a great many other doors, a great many circulars calling attention to the merits of theestablishment. Yet nobody ever came to school, nor do I recollect thatanybody ever proposed to come, or that the least preparation was made toreceive anybody. But I know that we got on very badly with the butcherand baker; that very often we had not too much for dinner; and that atlast my father was arrested. " The interval between the sponging-houseand the prison was passed by the sorrowful lad in running errands andcarrying messages for the prisoner, delivered with swollen eyes andthrough shining tears; and the last words said to him by his fatherbefore he was finally carried to the Marshalsea were to the effect thatthe sun was set upon him forever. "I really believed at the time, " saidDickens to me, "that they had broken my heart. " He took afterwards amplerevenge for this false alarm by making all the world laugh at them in_David Copperfield_. The readers of Mr. Micawber's history who remember David's first visitto the Marshalsea prison, and how upon seeing the turnkey he recalledthe turnkey in the blanket in _Roderick Random_, will read with curiousinterest what follows, written as a personal experience of fact two orthree years before the fiction had even entered into his thoughts: "My father was waiting for me in the lodge, and we went up to his room(on the top story but one), and cried very much. And he told me, Iremember, to take warning by the Marshalsea, and to observe that if aman had twenty pounds a year and spent nineteen pounds nineteenshillings and sixpence, he would be happy; but that a shilling spent theother way would make him wretched. I see the fire we sat before, now;with two bricks inside the rusted grate, one on each side, to preventits burning too many coals. Some other debtor shared the room with him, who came in by-and-by; and, as the dinner was a joint-stock repast, Iwas sent up to 'Captain Porter' in the room overhead, with Mr. Dickens'scompliments, and I was his son, and could he, Captain P. , lend me aknife and fork? "Captain Porter lent the knife and fork, with his compliments in return. There was a very dirty lady in his little room; and two wan girls, hisdaughters, with shock heads of hair. I thought I should not have likedto borrow Captain Porter's comb. The captain himself was in the lastextremity of shabbiness; and if I could draw at all, I would draw anaccurate portrait of the old, old, brown great-coat he wore, with noother coat below it. His whiskers were large. I saw his bed rolled up ina corner; and what plates, and dishes, and pots he had, on a shelf; andI knew (God knows how) that the two girls with the shock heads wereCaptain Porter's natural children, and that the dirty lady was notmarried to Captain P. My timid, wondering station on his threshold wasnot occupied more than a couple of minutes, I dare say; but I came downagain to the room below with all this as surely in my knowledge as theknife and fork were in my hand. " How there was something agreeable and gipsy-like in the dinner afterall, and how he took back the captain's knife and fork early in theafternoon, and how he went home to comfort his mother with an account ofhis visit, David Copperfield has also accurately told. Then, at home, came many miserable daily struggles that seemed to last an immense time, yet did not perhaps cover many weeks. Almost everything by degrees wassold or pawned, little Charles being the principal agent in thosesorrowful transactions. Such of the books as had been brought fromChatham--_Peregrine Pickle_, _Roderick Random_, _Tom Jones_, _HumphreyClinker_, and all the rest--went first. They were carried off from thelittle chiffonier, which his father called the library, to a booksellerin the Hampstead Road, the same that David Copperfield describes as inthe City Road; and the account of the sales, as they actually occurredand were told to me long before David was born, was reproduced word forword in his imaginary narrative: "The keeper of this bookstall, wholived in a little house behind it, used to get tipsy every night, and tobe violently scolded by his wife every morning. More than once, when Iwent there early, I had audience of him in a turn-up bedstead, with acut in his forehead or a black eye bearing witness to his excessesovernight (I am afraid he was quarrelsome in his drink); and he, with ashaking hand, endeavoring to find the needful shillings in one or otherof the pockets of his clothes, which lay upon the floor, while his wife, with a baby in her arms and her shoes down at heel, never left offrating him. Sometimes he had lost his money, and then he would ask me tocall again; but his wife had always got some (had taken his, I dare say, while he was drunk), and secretly completed the bargain on the stairs, as we went down together. " The same pawnbroker's shop, too, which was so well known to David, became not less familiar to Charles; and a good deal of notice was heretaken of him by the pawnbroker, or by his principal clerk who officiatedbehind the counter, and who, while making out the duplicate, liked ofall things to hear the lad conjugate a Latin verb and translate ordecline his _musa_ and _dominus_. Everything to this accompaniment wentgradually; until, at last, even of the furniture of Gower Street numberfour there was nothing left except a few chairs, a kitchen table, andsome beds. Then they encamped, as it were, in the two parlors of theemptied house, and lived there night and day. All which is but the prelude to what remains to be described. FOOTNOTES: [1] "I shall cut this letter short, for they are playing Masaniello inthe drawing-room, and I feel much as I used to do when I was a smallchild a few miles off, and Somebody (who, I wonder, and which way did_She_ go, when she died) hummed the evening hymn to me, and I cried onthe pillow, --either with the remorseful consciousness of having kickedSomebody else, or because still Somebody else had hurt my feelings inthe course of the day. " From Gadshill, 24 Sept. 1857. "Being here again, or as much here as anywhere in particular. " [2] "The mistress of the establishment holds no place in our memory;but, rampant on one eternal door-mat, in an eternal entry long andnarrow, is a puffy pug-dog, with a personal animosity towards us, whotriumphs over Time. The bark of that baleful Pug, a certain radiatingway he had of snapping at our undefended legs, the ghastly grinning ofhis moist black muzzle and white teeth, and the insolence of his crisptail curled like a pastoral crook, all live and flourish. From anotherwise unaccountable association of him with a fiddle, we concludethat he was of French extraction, and his name _Fidèle_. He belonged tosome female, chiefly inhabiting a back parlor, whose life appears to usto have been consumed in sniffing, and in wearing a brown beaverbonnet. "--_Reprinted Pieces_, 287. (In such quotations as are made fromhis writings, the _Charles Dickens Edition_ will be used. ) [3] "A few weeks' residence at home convinced me, who had till then beenan only child in the house of my grandfather, that a quarrel betweenbrothers was a very natural event. "--Lockhart's _Life_, i. 30. [4] The reader will forgive my quoting from a letter of the date of the22d April, 1848. "I desire no better for my fame, when my personaldustiness shall be past the control of my love of order, than such abiographer and such a critic. " "You know me better, " he wrote, resumingthe same subject on the 6th of July, 1862, "than any other man does, orever will. " In an entry of my diary during the interval between theseyears, I find a few words that not only mark the time when I first sawin its connected shape the autobiographical fragment which will form thesubstance of the second chapter of this biography, but also express hisown feeling respecting it when written: "20 January, 1849. Thedescription may make none of the impression on others that the realitymade on him. . . . Highly probable that it may never see the light. Nowish. Left to J. F. Or others. " The first number of _David Copperfield_appeared five months after this date; but though I knew, even before headapted his fragment of autobiography to the eleventh number, that hehad now abandoned the notion of completing it under his own name, the"_no wish_, " or the discretion left me, was never in any waysubsequently modified. What follows, from the same entry, refers to themanuscript of the fragment: "No blotting, as when writing fiction; butstraight on, as when writing ordinary letter. " CHAPTER II. HARD EXPERIENCES IN BOYHOOD. 1822-1824. Mr. Dilke's Half-crown--Story of Boyhood told--D. C. And C. D. --Enterprise of the Cousins Lamert--First Employment in Life--Blacking-Warehouse--A Poor Little Drudge--Bob Fagin and Poll Green--"Facilis Descensus"--Crushed Hopes--The Home in Gower Street--Regaling Alamode--Home broken up--At Mrs. Roylance's in Camden-town--Sundays in Prison--Pudding-Shops and Coffee-Shops--What was and might have been--Thomas and Harry--A Lodging in Lant Street--Meals in the Marshalsea--C. D. And the Marchioness--Originals of Garland Family--Adventure with Bob Fagin--Saturday-Night Shows--Appraised officially--Publican and Wife at Cannon Row--Marshalsea Incident in _Copperfield_--Incident as it occurred--Materials for _Pickwick_--Sister Fanny's Musical Prize--From Hungerford Stairs to Chandos Street--Father's Quarrel with James Lamert--Quits the Warehouse--Bitter Associations of Servitude--What became of the Blacking-Business. THE incidents to be told now would probably never have been known to me, or indeed any of the occurrences of his childhood and youth, but for theaccident of a question which I put to him one day in the March or Aprilof 1847. I asked if he remembered ever having seen in his boyhood our friend theelder Mr. Dilke, his father's acquaintance and contemporary, who hadbeen a clerk in the same office in Somerset House to which Mr. JohnDickens belonged. Yes, he said, he recollected seeing him at a house inGerrard Street, where his uncle Barrow lodged during an illness, and Mr. Dilke had visited him. Never at any other time. Upon which I told himthat some one else had been intended in the mention made to me, for thatthe reference implied not merely his being met accidentally, but hishaving had some juvenile employment in a warehouse near the Strand; atwhich place Mr. Dilke, being with the elder Dickens one day, had noticedhim, and received, in return for the gift of a half-crown, a very lowbow. He was silent for several minutes; I felt that I hadunintentionally touched a painful place in his memory; and to Mr. DilkeI never spoke of the subject again. It was not, however, then, but someweeks later, that Dickens made further allusion to my thus having struckunconsciously upon a time of which he never could lose the remembrancewhile he remembered anything, and the recollection of which, atintervals, haunted him and made him miserable, even to that hour. Very shortly afterwards I learnt in all their detail the incidents thathad been so painful to him, and what then was said to me or writtenrespecting them revealed the story of his boyhood. The idea of _DavidCopperfield_, which was to take all the world into his confidence, hadnot at this time occurred to him; but what it had so startled me toknow, his readers were afterwards told with only such change or additionas for the time might sufficiently disguise himself under cover of hishero. For the poor little lad, with good ability and a most sensitivenature, turned at the age of ten into a "laboring hind" in the serviceof "Murdstone and Grinby, " and conscious already of what made it seemvery strange to him that he could so easily have been thrown away atsuch an age, was indeed himself. His was the secret agony of soul atfinding himself "companion to Mick Walker and Mealy Potatoes, " and histhe tears that mingled with the water in which he and they rinsed andwashed out bottles. It had all been written, as fact, before he thoughtof any other use for it; and it was not until several months later, whenthe fancy of _David Copperfield_, itself suggested by what he had sowritten of his early troubles, began to take shape in his mind, that heabandoned his first intention of writing his own life. Those warehouseexperiences fell then so aptly into the subject he had chosen, that hecould not resist the temptation of immediately using them; and themanuscript recording them, which was but the first portion of what hehad designed to write, was embodied in the substance of the eleventh andearlier chapters of his novel. What already had been sent to me, however, and proof-sheets of the novel interlined at the time, enable menow to separate the fact from the fiction, and to supply to the story ofthe author's childhood those passages, omitted from the book, which, apart from their illustration of the growth of his character, present tous a picture of tragical suffering, and of tender as well as humorousfancy, unsurpassed in even the wonders of his published writings. The person indirectly responsible for the scenes to be described was theyoung relative James Lamert, the cousin by his aunt's marriage of whom Ihave made frequent mention, who got up the plays at Chatham, and afterpassing at Sandhurst had been living with the family in Bayham Street inthe hope of obtaining a commission in the army. This did not come untillong afterwards, when, in consideration of his father's services, hereceived it, and relinquished it then in favor of a younger brother; buthe had meanwhile, before the family removed from Camden-town, ceased tolive with them. The husband of a sister of his (of the same name ashimself, being indeed his cousin, George Lamert), a man of someproperty, had recently embarked in an odd sort of commercialspeculation, and had taken him into his office and his house, to assistin it. I give now the fragment of the autobiography of Dickens: "This speculation was a rivalry of 'Warren's Blacking, 30, Strand, '--atthat time very famous. One Jonathan Warren (the famous one was Robert), living at 30, Hungerford Stairs, or Market, Strand (for I forget whichit was called then), claimed to have been the original inventor orproprietor of the blacking-recipe, and to have been deposed and ill usedby his renowned relation. At last he put himself in the way of sellinghis recipe, and his name, and his 30, Hungerford Stairs, Strand (30, Strand, very large, and the intermediate direction very small), for anannuity; and he set forth by his agents that a little capital would makea great business of it. The man of some property was found in GeorgeLamert, the cousin and brother-in-law of James. He bought this right andtitle, and went into the blacking-business and the blacking-premises. "--In an evil hour for me, as I often bitterly thought. Its chiefmanager, James Lamert, the relative who had lived with us in BayhamStreet, seeing how I was employed from day to day, and knowing what ourdomestic circumstances then were, proposed that I should go into theblacking-warehouse, to be as useful as I could, at a salary, I think, ofsix shillings a week. I am not clear whether it was six or seven. I aminclined to believe, from my uncertainty on this head, that it was sixat first, and seven afterwards. At any rate, the offer was accepted verywillingly by my father and mother, and on a Monday morning I went downto the blacking-warehouse to begin my business life. "It is wonderful to me how I could have been so easily cast away at suchan age. It is wonderful to me that, even after my descent into the poorlittle drudge I had been since we came to London, no one had compassionenough on me--a child of singular abilities, quick, eager, delicate, andsoon hurt, bodily or mentally--to suggest that something might have beenspared, as certainly it might have been, to place me at any commonschool. Our friends, I take it, were tired out. No one made any sign. Myfather and mother were quite satisfied. They could hardly have been moreso if I had been twenty years of age, distinguished at a grammar-school, and going to Cambridge. "The blacking-warehouse was the last house on the left-hand side of theway, at old Hungerford Stairs. It was a crazy, tumble-down old house, abutting of course on the river, and literally overrun with rats. Itswainscoted rooms, and its rotten floors and staircase, and the old grayrats swarming down in the cellars, and the sound of their squeaking andscuffling coming up the stairs at all times, and the dirt and decay ofthe place, rise up visibly before me, as if I were there again. Thecounting-house was on the first floor, looking over the coal-barges andthe river. There was a recess in it, in which I was to sit and work. Mywork was to cover the pots of paste-blacking; first with a piece ofoil-paper, and then with a piece of blue paper; to tie them round with astring; and then to clip the paper close and neat, all round, until itlooked as smart as a pot of ointment from an apothecary's shop. When acertain number of grosses of pots had attained this pitch of perfection, I was to paste on each a printed label, and then go on again with morepots. Two or three other boys were kept at similar duty down-stairs onsimilar wages. One of them came up, in a ragged apron and a paper cap, on the first Monday morning, to show me the trick of using the stringand tying the knot. His name was Bob Fagin; and I took the liberty ofusing his name, long afterwards, in _Oliver Twist_. "Our relative had kindly arranged to teach me something in thedinner-hour; from twelve to one, I think it was; every day. But anarrangement so incompatible with counting-house business soon died away, from no fault of his or mine; and, for the same reason, my smallwork-table, and my grosses of pots, my papers, string, scissors, paste-pot, and labels, by little and little, vanished out of the recessin the counting-house, and kept company with the other smallwork-tables, grosses of pots, papers, string, scissors, and paste-pots, down-stairs. It was not long before Bob Fagin and I, and another boywhose name was Paul Green, but who was currently believed to have beenchristened Poll (a belief which I transferred, long afterwards again, to Mr. Sweedlepipe, in _Martin Chuzzlewit_), worked generally, side byside. Bob Fagin was an orphan, and lived with his brother-in-law, awaterman. Poll Green's father had the additional distinction of being afireman, and was employed at Drury Lane theatre; where another relationof Poll's, I think his little sister, did imps in the pantomimes. "No words can express the secret agony of my soul as I sunk into thiscompanionship; compared these every-day associates with those of myhappier childhood; and felt my early hopes of growing up to be a learnedand distinguished man, crushed in my breast. The deep remembrance of thesense I had of being utterly neglected and hopeless; of the shame I feltin my position; of the misery it was to my young heart to believe that, day by day, what I had learned, and thought, and delighted in, andraised my fancy and my emulation up by, was passing away from me, neverto be brought back any more; cannot be written. My whole nature was sopenetrated with the grief and humiliation of such considerations, thateven now, famous and caressed and happy, I often forget in my dreamsthat I have a dear wife and children; even that I am a man; and wanderdesolately back to that time of my life. "My mother and my brothers and sisters (excepting Fanny in the RoyalAcademy of Music) were still encamped, with a young servant-girl fromChatham workhouse, in the two parlors in the emptied house in GowerStreet north. It was a long way to go and return within the dinner-hour, and usually I either carried my dinner with me, or went and bought it atsome neighboring shop. In the latter case, it was commonly a saveloyand a penny loaf; sometimes, a fourpenny plate of beef from a cook'sshop; sometimes, a plate of bread and cheese, and a glass of beer, froma miserable old public-house over the way: the Swan, if I rememberright, or the Swan and something else that I have forgotten. Once, Iremember tucking my own bread (which I had brought from home in themorning) under my arm, wrapped up in a piece of paper like a book, andgoing into the best dining-room in Johnson's alamode beef-house in ClareCourt, Drury Lane, and magnificently ordering a small plate of alamodebeef to eat with it. What the waiter thought of such a strange littleapparition, coming in all alone, I don't know; but I can see him now, staring at me as I ate my dinner, and bringing up the other waiter tolook. I gave him a halfpenny, and I wish, now, that he hadn't taken it. " I lose here for a little while the fragment of direct narrative, but Iperfectly recollect that he used to describe Saturday night as his greattreat. It was a grand thing to walk home with six shillings in hispocket, and to look in at the shop-windows and think what it would buy. Hunt's roasted corn, as a British and patriotic substitute for coffee, was in great vogue just then; and the little fellow used to buy it, androast it on the Sunday. There was a cheap periodical of selected piecescalled the _Portfolio_, which he had also a great fancy for taking homewith him. The new proposed "deed, " meanwhile, had failed to propitiatehis father's creditors; all hope of arrangement passed away; and the endwas that his mother and her encampment in Gower Street north broke upand went to live in the Marshalsea. I am able at this point to resumehis own account: "The key of the house was sent back to the landlord, who was very gladto get it; and I (small Cain that I was, except that I had never doneharm to any one) was handed over as a lodger to a reduced old lady, longknown to our family, in Little College Street, Camden-town, who tookchildren in to board, and had once done so at Brighton; and who, with afew alterations and embellishments, unconsciously began to sit for Mrs. Pipchin in _Dombey_ when she took in me. "She had a little brother and sister under her care then; somebody'snatural children, who were very irregularly paid for; and a widow'slittle son. The two boys and I slept in the same room. My own exclusivebreakfast, of a penny cottage loaf and a penny-worth of milk, I providedfor myself. I kept another small loaf, and a quarter of a pound ofcheese, on a particular shelf of a particular cupboard; to make mysupper on when I came back at night. They made a hole in the six orseven shillings, I know well; and I was out at the blacking-warehouseall day, and had to support myself upon that money all the week. Isuppose my lodging was paid for, by my father. I certainly did not payit myself; and I certainly had no other assistance whatever (the makingof my clothes, I think, excepted), from Monday morning until Saturdaynight. No advice, no counsel, no encouragement, no consolation, nosupport, from any one that I can call to mind, so help me God. "Sundays, Fanny and I passed in the prison. I was at the academy inTenterden Street, Hanover Square, at nine o'clock in the morning, tofetch her; and we walked back there together, at night. "I was so young and childish, and so little qualified--how could I beotherwise?--to undertake the whole charge of my own existence, that, ingoing to Hungerford Stairs of a morning, I could not resist the stalepastry put out at half-price on trays at the confectioners' doors inTottenham Court Road; and I often spent in that the money I should havekept for my dinner. Then I went without my dinner, or bought a roll, ora slice of pudding. There were two pudding-shops between which I wasdivided, according to my finances. One was in a court close to St. Martin's Church (at the back of the church) which is now removedaltogether. The pudding at that shop was made with currants, and wasrather a special pudding, but was dear: two penn'orth not being largerthan a penn'orth of more ordinary pudding. A good shop for the latterwas in the Strand, somewhere near where the Lowther Arcade is now. Itwas a stout, hale pudding, heavy and flabby; with great raisins in it, stuck in whole, at great distances apart. It came up hot, at about noonevery day; and many and many a day did I dine off it. "We had half an hour, I think, for tea. When I had money enough, I usedto go to a coffee-shop, and have half a pint of coffee, and a slice ofbread-and-butter. When I had no money, I took a turn in Covent Gardenmarket, and stared at the pineapples. The coffee-shops to which I mostresorted were, one in Maiden Lane; one in a court (non-existent now)close to Hungerford market; and one in St. Martin's Lane, of which Ionly recollect that it stood near the church, and that in the doorthere was an oval glass plate, with COFFEE-ROOM painted on it, addressedtowards the street. If I ever find myself in a very different kind ofcoffee-room now, but where there is such an inscription on glass, andread it backward on the wrong side MOOR-EEFFOC (as I often used to dothen, in a dismal reverie, ) a shock goes through my blood. "I know I do not exaggerate, unconsciously and unintentionally, thescantiness of my resources and the difficulties of my life. I know thatif a shilling or so were given me by any one, I spent it in a dinner ora tea. I know that I worked, from morning to night, with common men andboys, a shabby child. I know that I tried, but ineffectually, not toanticipate my money, and to make it last the week through; by putting itaway in a drawer I had in the counting-house, wrapped into six littleparcels, each parcel containing the same amount and labeled with adifferent day. I know that I have lounged about the streets, insufficiently and unsatisfactorily fed. I know that, but for the mercyof God, I might easily have been, for any care that was taken of me, alittle robber or a little vagabond. "But I held some station at the blacking-warehouse too. Besides that myrelative at the counting-house did what a man so occupied, and dealingwith a thing so anomalous, could, to treat me as one upon a differentfooting from the rest, I never said, to man or boy, how it was that Icame to be there, or gave the least indication of being sorry that I wasthere. That I suffered in secret, and that I suffered exquisitely, noone ever knew but I. How much I suffered, it is, as I have said already, utterly beyond my power to tell. No man's imagination can overstep thereality. But I kept my own counsel, and I did my work. I knew from thefirst that, if I could not do my work as well as any of the rest, Icould not hold myself above slight and contempt. I soon became at leastas expeditious and as skillful with my hands as either of the otherboys. Though perfectly familiar with them, my conduct and manners weredifferent enough from theirs to place a space between us. They, and themen, always spoke of me as 'the young gentleman. ' A certain man (asoldier once) named Thomas, who was the foreman, and another namedHarry, who was the carman and wore a red jacket, used to call me'Charles' sometimes, in speaking to me; but I think it was mostly whenwe were very confidential, and when I had made some efforts to entertainthem over our work with the results of some of the old readings, whichwere fast perishing out of my mind. Poll Green uprose once, and rebelledagainst the 'young gentleman' usage; but Bob Fagin settled him speedily. "My rescue from this kind of existence I considered quite hopeless, andabandoned as such, altogether; though I am solemnly convinced that Inever, for one hour, was reconciled to it, or was otherwise thanmiserably unhappy. I felt keenly, however, the being so cut off from myparents, my brothers and sisters, and, when my day's work was done, going home to such a miserable blank; and _that_, I thought, might becorrected. One Sunday night I remonstrated with my father on this head, so pathetically, and with so many tears, that his kind nature gave way. He began to think that it was not quite right. I do believe he hadnever thought so before, or thought about it. It was the firstremonstrance I had ever made about my lot, and perhaps it opened up alittle more than I intended. A back-attic was found for me at the houseof an insolvent-court agent, who lived in Lant Street in the borough, where Bob Sawyer lodged many years afterwards. A bed and bedding weresent over for me, and made up on the floor. The little window had apleasant prospect of a timber-yard; and when I took possession of my newabode I thought it was a Paradise. " There is here another blank, which it is, however, not difficult tosupply from letters and recollections of my own. What was to him ofcourse the great pleasure of his paradise of a lodging was its bringinghim again, though after a fashion sorry enough, within the circle ofhome. From this time he used to breakfast "at home, "--in other words, inthe Marshalsea; going to it as early as the gates were open, and for themost part much earlier. They had no want of bodily comforts there. Hisfather's income, still going on, was amply sufficient for that; and inevery respect indeed but elbow-room, I have heard him say, the familylived more comfortably in prison than they had done for a long time outof it. They were waited on still by the maid-of-all-work from BayhamStreet, the orphan girl of the Chatham workhouse, from whose sharplittle worldly and also kindly ways he took his first impression of theMarchioness in the _Old Curiosity Shop_. She also had a lodging in theneighborhood, that she might be early on the scene of her duties; andwhen Charles met her, as he would do occasionally, in his lounging-placeby London Bridge, he would occupy the time before the gates opened bytelling her quite astonishing fictions about the wharves and the tower. "But I hope I believed them myself, " he would say. Besides breakfast, hehad supper also in the prison, and got to his lodging generally at nineo'clock. The gates closed always at ten. I must not omit what he told me of the landlord of this little lodging. He was a fat, good-natured, kind old gentleman. He was lame, and had aquiet old wife; and he had a very innocent grown-up son, who was lametoo. They were all very kind to the boy. He was taken with one of hisold attacks of spasm one night, and the whole three of them were abouthis bed until morning. They were all dead when he told me this; but inanother form they still live very pleasantly as the Garland family inthe _Old Curiosity Shop_. He had a similar illness one day in the warehouse, which I can describein his own words: "Bob Fagin was very good to me on the occasion of abad attack of my old disorder. I suffered such excruciating pain thattime, that they made a temporary bed of straw in my old recess in thecounting-house, and I rolled about on the floor, and Bob filled emptyblacking-bottles with hot water, and applied relays of them to my side, half the day. I got better, and quite easy towards evening; but Bob (whowas much bigger and older than I) did not like the idea of my going homealone, and took me under his protection. I was too proud to let him knowabout the prison, and, after making several efforts to get rid of him, to all of which Bob Fagin in his goodness was deaf, shook hands with himon the steps of a house near Southwark Bridge on the Surrey side, making believe that I lived there. As a finishing piece of reality incase of his looking back, I knocked at the door, I recollect, and asked, when the woman opened it, if that was Mr. Robert Fagin's house. " The Saturday nights continued, as before, to be precious to him. "Myusual way home was over Blackfriars Bridge, and down that turning in theBlackfriars Road which has Rowland Hill's chapel on one side, and thelikeness of a golden dog licking a golden pot over a shop-door on theother. There are a good many little low-browed old shops in that street, of a wretched kind; and some are unchanged now. I looked into one a fewweeks ago, where I used to buy boot-laces on Saturday nights, and sawthe corner where I once sat down on a stool to have a pair of ready-madehalf-boots fitted on. I have been seduced more than once, in that streeton a Saturday night, by a show-van at a corner; and have gone in, with avery motley assemblage, to see the Fat-pig, the Wild-indian, and theLittle-lady. There were two or three hat-manufactories there then (Ithink they are there still); and among the things which, encounteredanywhere or under any circumstances, will instantly recall that time, isthe smell of hat-making. " His father's attempts to avoid going through the court having failed, all needful ceremonies had to be undertaken to obtain the benefit of theinsolvent debtors' act; and in one of these little Charles had his partto play. One condition of the statute was that the wearing-apparel andpersonal matters retained were not to exceed twenty pounds sterling invalue. "It was necessary, as a matter of form, that the clothes I woreshould be seen by the official appraiser. I had a half-holiday toenable me to call upon him, at his own time, at a house somewhere beyondthe Obelisk. I recollect his coming out to look at me with his mouthfull, and a strong smell of beer upon him, and saying good-naturedlythat 'that would do, ' and 'it was all right. ' Certainly the hardestcreditor would not have been disposed (even if he had been legallyentitled) to avail himself of my poor white hat, little jacket, orcorduroy trowsers. But I had a fat old silver watch in my pocket, whichhad been given me by my grandmother before the blacking-days, and I hadentertained my doubts as I went along whether that valuable possessionmight not bring me over the twenty pounds. So I was greatly relieved, and made him a bow of acknowledgment as I went out. " Still, the want felt most by him was the companionship of boys of hisown age. He had no such acquaintance. Sometimes he remembered to haveplayed on the coal-barges at dinner-time, with Poll Green and Bob Fagin;but those were rare occasions. He generally strolled alone, about theback streets of the Adelphi, or explored the Adelphi arches. One of hisfavorite localities was a little public-house by the water-side, calledthe Fox-under-the-hill, approached by an underground passage which weonce missed in looking for it together; and he had a vision which he hasmentioned in _Copperfield_ of sitting eating something on a benchoutside, one fine evening, and looking at some coal-heavers dancingbefore the house. "I wonder what they thought of me, " says David. He hadhimself already said the same in his fragment of autobiography. Another characteristic little incident he made afterwards one ofDavid's experiences, but I am able to give it here without the disguisesthat adapt it to the fiction: "I was such a little fellow, with my poorwhite hat, little jacket, and corduroy trowsers, that frequently, when Iwent into the bar of a strange public-house for a glass of ale or porterto wash down the saveloy and the loaf I had eaten in the street, theydidn't like to give it me. I remember, one evening (I had been somewherefor my father, and was going back to the borough over WestminsterBridge), that I went into a public-house in Parliament Street, --which isstill there, though altered, --at the corner of the short street leadinginto Cannon Row, and said to the landlord behind the bar, 'What is yourvery best--the VERY _best_--ale, a glass?' For the occasion was afestive one, for some reason: I forget why. It may have been mybirthday, or somebody else's. 'Two-pence, ' says he. 'Then, ' says I, 'just draw me a glass of that, if you please, with a good head to it. 'The landlord looked at me, in return, over the bar, from head to foot, with a strange smile on his face, and, instead of drawing the beer, looked round the screen and said something to his wife, who came outfrom behind it, with her work in her hand, and joined him in surveyingme. Here we stand, all three, before me now, in my study in DevonshireTerrace. The landlord, in his shirt-sleeves, leaning against the barwindow-frame; his wife, looking over the little half-door; and I, insome confusion, looking up at them from outside the partition. Theyasked me a good many questions, as what my name was, how old I was, where I lived, how I was employed, etc. Etc. To all of which, that Imight commit nobody, I invented appropriate answers. They served me withthe ale, though I suspect it was not the strongest on the premises; andthe landlord's wife, opening the little half-door and bending down, gaveme a kiss that was half admiring and half compassionate, but all womanlyand good, I am sure. " A later, and not less characteristic, incident of the true story of thistime found also a place, three or four years after it was written, inhis now famous fiction. It preceded but by a short time the discharge, from the Marshalsea, of the elder Dickens; to whom a rather considerablelegacy from a relative had accrued not long before ("some hundreds, " Iunderstood), and had been paid into court during his imprisonment. Thescene to be described arose on the occasion of a petition drawn up byhim before he left, praying, not for the abolition of imprisonment fordebt, as David Copperfield relates, but for the less dignified but moreaccessible boon of a bounty to the prisoners to drink his majesty'shealth on his majesty's forthcoming birthday. "I mention the circumstance because it illustrates, to me, my earlyinterest in observing people. When I went to the Marshalsea of a night, I was always delighted to hear from my mother what she knew about thehistories of the different debtors in the prison; and when I heard ofthis approaching ceremony, I was so anxious to see them all come in, oneafter another (though I knew the greater part of them already, to speakto, and they me), that I got leave of absence on purpose, andestablished myself in a corner, near the petition. It was stretchedout, I recollect, on a great ironing-board, under the window, which inanother part of the room made a bedstead at night. The internalregulations of the place, for cleanliness and order, and for thegovernment of a common room in the ale-house, where hot water and somemeans of cooking, and a good fire, were provided for all who paid a verysmall subscription, were excellently administered by a governingcommittee of debtors, of which my father was chairman for the timebeing. As many of the principal officers of this body as could be gotinto the small room without filling it up, supported him, in front ofthe petition; and my old friend Captain Porter (who had washed himself, to do honor to so solemn an occasion) stationed himself close to it, toread it to all who were unacquainted with its contents. The door wasthen thrown open, and they began to come in, in a long file; severalwaiting on the landing outside, while one entered, affixed hissignature, and went out. To everybody in succession, Captain Portersaid, 'Would you like to hear it read?' If he weakly showed the leastdisposition to hear it, Captain Porter, in a loud sonorous voice, gavehim every word of it. I remember a certain luscious roll he gave to suchwords as 'Majesty--gracious Majesty--your gracious Majesty's unfortunatesubjects--your Majesty's well-known munificence, '--as if the words weresomething real in his mouth, and delicious to taste; my poor fathermeanwhile listening with a little of an author's vanity, andcontemplating (not severely) the spikes on the opposite wall. Whateverwas comical in this scene, and whatever was pathetic, I sincerelybelieve I perceived in my corner, whether I demonstrated or not, quiteas well as I should perceive it now. I made out my own little characterand story for every man who put his name to the sheet of paper. I mightbe able to do that now, more truly: not more earnestly, or with a closerinterest. Their different peculiarities of dress, of face, of gait, ofmanner, were written indelibly upon my memory. I would rather have seenit than the best play ever played; and I thought about it afterwards, over the pots of paste-blacking, often and often. When I looked, with mymind's eye, into the Fleet prison during Mr. Pickwick's incarceration, Iwonder whether half a dozen men were wanting from the Marshalsea crowdthat came filing in again, to the sound of Captain Porter's voice!" When the family left the Marshalsea they all went to lodge with the ladyin Little College Street, a Mrs. Roylance, who has obtained unexpectedimmortality as Mrs. Pipchin; and they afterwards occupied a small housein Somers-town. But, before this time, Charles was present with some ofthem in Tenterden Street to see his sister. Fanny received one of theprizes given to the pupils of the Royal Academy of Music. "I could notbear to think of myself--beyond the reach of all such honorableemulation and success. The tears ran down my face. I felt as if my heartwere rent. I prayed, when I went to bed that night, to be lifted out ofthe humiliation and neglect in which I was. I never had suffered so muchbefore. There was no envy in this. " There was little need that he shouldsay so. Extreme enjoyment in witnessing the exercise of her talents, theutmost pride in every success obtained by them, he manifested always toa degree otherwise quite unusual with him; and on the day of herfuneral, which we passed together, I had most affecting proof of histender and grateful memory of her in these childish days. A few moresentences, certainly not less touching than any that have gone before, will bring the story of them to its close. They stand here exactly aswritten by him: "I am not sure that it was before this time, or after it, that theblacking-warehouse was removed to Chandos Street, Covent Garden. It isno matter. Next to the shop at the corner of Bedford Street in ChandosStreet are two rather old-fashioned houses and shops adjoining oneanother. They were one then, or thrown into one, for theblacking-business; and had been a butter-shop. Opposite to them was, andis, a public-house, where I got my ale, under these new circumstances. The stones in the street may be smoothed by my small feet going acrossto it at dinner-time, and back again. The establishment was larger now, and we had one or two new boys. Bob Fagin and I had attained to greatdexterity in tying up the pots. I forget how many we could do in fiveminutes. We worked, for the light's sake, near the second window as youcome from Bedford Street; and we were so brisk at it that the peopleused to stop and look in. Sometimes there would be quite a little crowdthere. I saw my father coming in at the door one day when we were verybusy, and I wondered how he could bear it. "Now, I generally had my dinner in the warehouse. Sometimes I brought itfrom home, so I was better off. I see myself coming across RussellSquare from Somers-town, one morning, with some cold hotch-potch in asmall basin tied up in a handkerchief. I had the same wanderings aboutthe streets as I used to have, and was just as solitary andself-dependent as before; but I had not the same difficulty in merelyliving. I never, however, heard a word of being taken away, or of beingotherwise than quite provided for. "At last, one day, my father, and the relative so often mentioned, quarreled; quarreled by letter, for I took the letter from my father tohim which caused the explosion, but quarreled very fiercely. It wasabout me. It may have had some backward reference, in part, for anythingI know, to my employment at the window. All I am certain of is, that, soon after I had given him the letter, my cousin (he was a sort ofcousin, by marriage) told me he was very much insulted about me, andthat it was impossible to keep me after that. I cried very much, partlybecause it was so sudden, and partly because in his anger he was violentabout my father, though gentle to me. Thomas, the old soldier, comfortedme, and said he was sure it was for the best. With a relief so strangethat it was like oppression, I went home. "My mother set herself to accommodate the quarrel, and did so next day. She brought home a request for me to return next morning, and a highcharacter of me, which I am very sure I deserved. My father said Ishould go back no more, and should go to school. I do not writeresentfully or angrily; for I know how all these things have workedtogether to make me what I am; but I never afterwards forgot, I nevershall forget, I never can forget, that my mother was warm for my beingsent back. "From that hour until this at which I write, no word of that part of mychildhood which I have now gladly brought to a close has passed my lipsto any human being. I have no idea how long it lasted; whether for ayear, or much more, or less. From that hour until this my father and mymother have been stricken dumb upon it. I have never heard the leastallusion to it, however far off and remote, from either of them. I havenever, until I now impart it to this paper, in any burst of confidencewith any one, my own wife not excepted, raised the curtain I thendropped, thank God. "Until old Hungerford market was pulled down, until old HungerfordStairs were destroyed, and the very nature of the ground changed, Inever had the courage to go back to the place where my servitude began. I never saw it. I could not endure to go near it. For many years, when Icame near to Robert Warren's in the Strand, I crossed over to theopposite side of the way, to avoid a certain smell of the cement theyput upon the blacking-corks, which reminded me of what I was once. Itwas a very long time before I liked to go up Chandos Street. My old wayhome by the borough made me cry, after my eldest child could speak. "In my walks at night I have walked there often, since then, and bydegrees I have come to write this. It does not seem a tithe of what Imight have written, or of what I meant to write. " The substance of some after-talk explanatory of points in the narrative, of which a note was made at the time, may be briefly added. He couldhardly have been more than twelve years old when he left the place, andwas still unusually small for his age; much smaller, though two yearsolder, than his own eldest son was at the time of these confidences. Hismother had been in the blacking-warehouse many times; his father notmore than once or twice. The rivalry of Robert Warren by Jonathan'srepresentatives, the cousins George and James, was carried to wonderfulextremes in the way of advertisement; and they were all very proud, hetold me, of the cat scratching the boot, which was _their_ house'sdevice. The poets in the house's regular employ he remembered, too, andmade his first study from one of them for the poet of Mrs. Jarley'swax-work. The whole enterprise, however, had the usual end of suchthings. The younger cousin tired of the concern; and a Mr. Wood, theproprietor who took James's share and became George's partner, sold itultimately to Robert Warren. It continued to be his at the time Dickensand myself last spoke of it together, and he had made an excellentbargain of it. CHAPTER III. SCHOOL-DAYS AND START IN LIFE. 1824-1830. Outcome of Boyish Trials--Disadvantage in Later Years--Advantages--Next Move in Life--Wellington House Academy--Revisited and Described--Letter from a Schoolfellow--C. D. 's Recollections of School--Schoolfellow's Recollections of C. D. --Fac-simile of Schoolboy Letter--Daniel Tobin--Another Schoolfellow's Recollections--Writing Tales and getting up Plays--Master Beverley Scene-Painter--Street-acting--The Schoolfellows after Forty Years--Smallness of the World--In Attorneys' Offices--At Minor Theatres--The Father on the Son's Education--Studying Short-hand--In British Museum Reading Room--Preparing for the Gallery--D. C. For C. D. --A Real Dora in 1829--The same Dora in 1855--Dora changed into Flora--Ashes of Youth and Hope. IN what way these strange experiences of his boyhood affected himafterwards, this narrative of his life must show; but there wereinfluences that made themselves felt even on his way to manhood. What at once he brought out of the humiliation that had impressed him sodeeply, though scarcely as yet quite consciously, was a natural dread ofthe hardships that might still be in store for him, sharpened by what hehad gone through; and this, though in its effect for the presentimperfectly understood, became by degrees a passionate resolve, evenwhile he was yielding to circumstances, _not to be_ what circumstanceswere conspiring to make him. All that was involved in what he hadsuffered and sunk into, could not have been known to him at the time;but it was plain enough later, as we see; and in conversation with meafter the revelation was made, he used to find, at extreme points in hislife, the explanation of himself in those early trials. He had derivedgreat good from them, but not without alloy. The fixed and eagerdetermination, the restless and resistless energy, which opened to himopportunities of escape from many mean environments, not by turning offfrom any path of duty, but by resolutely rising to such excellence ordistinction as might be attainable in it, brought with it somedisadvantage among many noble advantages. Of this he was himself aware, but not to the full extent. What it was that in society made him oftenuneasy, shrinking, and over-sensitive, he knew; but all the danger heran in bearing down and overmastering the feeling, he did not know. Atoo great confidence in himself, a sense that everything was possible tothe will that would make it so, laid occasionally upon him self-imposedburdens greater than might be borne by any one with safety. In thatdirection there was in him, at such times, something even hard andaggressive; in his determinations a something that had almost the toneof fierceness; something in his nature that made his resolvesinsuperable, however hasty the opinions on which they had been formed. So rare were these manifestations, however, and so little did theyprejudice a character as entirely open and generous as it was at alltimes ardent and impetuous, that only very infrequently, towards theclose of the middle term of a friendship which lasted without theinterruption of a day for more than three-and-thirty years, were theyever unfavorably presented to me. But there they were; and when I haveseen strangely present, at such chance intervals, a stern and even coldisolation of self-reliance side by side with a susceptivity almostfeminine and the most eager craving for sympathy, it has seemed to me asthough his habitual impulses for everything kind and gentle had sunk, for the time, under a sudden hard and inexorable sense of what fate haddealt to him in those early years. On more than one occasion, indeed, Ihad confirmation of this. "I must entreat you, " he wrote to me in June, 1862, "to pause for an instant, and go back to what you know of mychildish days, and to ask yourself whether it is natural that somethingof the character formed in me then, and lost under happiercircumstances, should have reappeared in the last five years. Thenever-to-be-forgotten misery of that old time bred a certain shrinkingsensitiveness in a certain ill-clad ill-fed child, that I have foundcome back in the never-to-be-forgotten misery of this later time. " One good there was, however, altogether without drawback, and whichclaims simply to be mentioned before my narrative is resumed. The storyof his childish misery has itself sufficiently shown that he neverthroughout it lost his precious gift of animal spirits, or his nativecapacity for humorous enjoyment; and there were positive gains to himfrom what he underwent, which were also rich and lasting. To what in theoutset of his difficulties and trials gave the decisive bent to hisgenius, I have already made special reference; and we are to observe, of what followed, that with the very poor and unprosperous, out of whosesufferings and strugglings, and the virtues as well as vices born ofthem, his not least splendid successes were wrought, his childishexperiences had made him actually one. They were not his clients whosecause he pleaded with such pathos and humor, and on whose side he gotthe laughter and tears of all the world, but in some sort his very self. Nor was it a small part of this manifest advantage that he should haveobtained his experience as a child and not as a man; that only the goodpart, the flower and fruit of it, was plucked by him; and that nothingof the evil part, none of the earth in which the seed was planted, remained to soil him. His next move in life can also be given in his own language: "There wasa school in the Hampstead Road kept by Mr. Jones, a Welshman, to whichmy father dispatched me to ask for a card of terms. The boys were atdinner, and Mr. Jones was carving for them with a pair of hollandsleeves on, when I acquitted myself of this commission. He came out, andgave me what I wanted; and hoped I should become a pupil. I did. Atseven o'clock one morning, very soon afterwards, I went as day-scholarto Mr. Jones's establishment, which was in Mornington Place, and had itsschool-room sliced away by the Birmingham Railway, when that change cameabout. The school-room, however, was not threatened by directors orcivil engineers then, and there was a board over the door, graced withthe words WELLINGTON HOUSE ACADEMY. " At Wellington House Academy he remained nearly two years, being a littleover fourteen years of age when he quitted it. In his minor writings aswell as in _Copperfield_ will be found general allusions to it, andthere is a paper among his pieces reprinted from _Household Words_ whichpurports specifically to describe it. To the account therein given ofhimself when he went to the school, as advanced enough, so safely hadhis memory retained its poor fragments of early schooling, to be putinto _Virgil_, as getting sundry prizes, and as attaining to the eminentposition of its first boy, one of his two schoolfellows with whom I havehad communication makes objection; but both admit that the generalfeatures of the place are reproduced with wonderful accuracy, and moreespecially in those points for which the school appears to have beenmuch more notable than for anything connected with the scholarship ofits pupils. In the reprinted piece Dickens describes it as remarkable for whitemice. He says that red-polls, linnets, and even canaries were kept bythe boys in desks, drawers, hat-boxes, and other strange refuges forbirds; but that white mice were the favorite stock, and that the boystrained the mice much better than the master trained the boys. Herecalled in particular one white mouse who lived in the cover of a Latindictionary, ran up ladders, drew Roman chariots, shouldered muskets, turned wheels, and even made a very creditable appearance on the stageas the dog of Montàrgis, who might have achieved greater things but forhaving had the misfortune to mistake his way in a triumphal processionto the Capitol, when he fell into a deep inkstand and was dyed black anddrowned. Nevertheless he mentions the school as one also of some celebrity inits neighborhood, though nobody could have said why; and adds that amongthe boys the master was supposed to know nothing, and one of the usherswas supposed to know everything. "We are still inclined to think thefirst-named supposition perfectly correct. We went to look at the placeonly this last midsummer, and found that the railway had cut it up, rootand branch. A great trunk line had swallowed the playground, sliced awaythe school-room, and pared off the corner of the house. Which, thuscurtailed of its proportions, presented itself in a green stage ofstucco, profile-wise towards the road, like a forlorn flat-iron withouta handle, standing on end. " One who knew him in those early days, Mr. Owen P. Thomas, thus writes tome (February, 1871): "I had the honor of being Mr. Dickens'sschoolfellow for about two years (1824-1826), both being day-scholars, at Mr. Jones's 'Classical and Commercial Academy, ' as then inscribed infront of the house, and which was situated at the corner of GranbyStreet and the Hampstead Road. The house stands now in its originalstate, but the school and large playground behind disappeared on theformation of the London and Northwestern Railway, which at this pointruns in a slanting direction from Euston Square underneath the HampsteadRoad. We were all companions and playmates when out of school, as wellas fellow-students therein. " (Mr. Thomas includes in this remark thenames of Henry Danson, now a physician in practice in London; of DanielTobin, whom I remember to have been frequently assisted by his oldschoolfellow in later years; and of Richard Bray. ) "You will find agraphic sketch of the school by Mr. Dickens himself in _HouseholdWords_ of 11th October, 1851. The article is entitled Our School. Thenames of course are feigned; but, allowing for slight coloring, thepersons and incidents described are all true to life, and easilyrecognizable by any one who attended the school at the time. The Latinmaster was Mr. Manville, or Mandeville, who for many years was wellknown at the library of the British Museum. The academy, after therailroad overthrew it, was removed to another house in the neighborhood, but Mr. Jones and two at least of his assistant masters have long agodeparted this life. " One of the latter was the usher believed to know everything, who waswriting-master, mathematical master, English master, divided the littleboys with the Latin master, made out the bills, mended the pens, andalways called at parents' houses to inquire after sick boys, because hehad gentlemanly manners. This picture my correspondent recognized; aswell as those of the fat little dancing-master who taught themhornpipes, of the Latin master who stuffed his ears with onions for hisdeafness, of the gruff serving-man who nursed the boys in scarlet fever, and of the principal himself, who was always ruling ciphering-books witha bloated mahogany ruler, smiting the palms of offenders with the samediabolical instrument, or viciously drawing a pair of pantaloons tightwith one of his large hands and caning the wearer with the other. "My recollection of Dickens whilst at school, " Mr. Thomas continues, "isthat of a healthy-looking boy, small but well built, with a more thanusual flow of spirits, inducing to harmless fun, seldom or never Ithink to mischief, to which so many lads at that age are prone. I cannotrecall anything that then indicated he would hereafter become a literarycelebrity; but perhaps he was too young then. He usually held his headmore erect than lads ordinarily do, and there was a general smartnessabout him. His weekday dress of jacket and trowsers, I can clearlyremember, was what is called pepper-and-salt; and, instead of the frillthat most boys of his age wore then, he had a turn-down collar, so thathe looked less youthful in consequence. He invented what we termed a'lingo, ' produced by the addition of a few letters of the same sound toevery word; and it was our ambition, walking and talking thus along thestreet, to be considered foreigners. As an alternate amusement thepresent writer well remembers extemporizing tales of some sort, andreciting them offhand, with Dickens and Danson or Tobin walking oneither side of him. I inclose you a copy of a note I received from himwhen he was between thirteen and fourteen years of age, perhaps one ofthe earliest productions of his pen. The Leg referred to was the Legendof something, a pamphlet romance I had lent him; the Clavis was ofcourse the Latin school-book so named. " There is some underlying whim or fun in the "Leg" allusions which Mr. Thomas appears to have overlooked, and certainly fails to explain; butthe note, which is here given in fac-simile, may be left to speak foritself; and in the signature the reader will be amused to see the firstfaint beginning of a flourish afterwards famous. "After a lapse of years, " Mr. Thomas continues, "I recognized thecelebrated writer as the individual I had known so well as a boy, fromhaving preserved this note; and upon Mr. Dickens visiting Reading inDecember, 1854, to give one of his earliest readings for the benefit ofthe literary institute, of which he had become president on Mr. JusticeTalfourd's death, I took the opportunity of showing it to him, when hewas much diverted therewith. On the same occasion we conversed aboutmutual schoolfellows, and among others Daniel Tobin was referred to, whom I remembered to have been Dickens's _most_ intimate companion inthe school-days (1824 to 1826). His reply was that Tobin either wasthen, or had previously been, assisting him in the capacity ofamanuensis; but there is a subsequent mystery about Tobin, in connectionwith his friend and patron, which I have never been able to comprehend;for I understood shortly afterwards that there was entire separationbetween them, and it must have been an offense of some gravity to havesundered an acquaintance formed in early youth, and which had endured, greatly to Tobin's advantage, so long. He resided in our school-days inone of the now old and grimy-looking stone-fronted houses in GeorgeStreet, Euston Road, a few doors from the Orange-tree tavern. It is theopinion of the other schoolfellow with whom we were intimate, DoctorDanson, that upon leaving school Mr. Dickens and Tobin entered the samesolicitor's office, and this he thinks was either in or near Lincoln'sInn Fields. " [Illustration: Handwritten note: Punctuation and capitalization, retained: Tim/ I am quite ashamed I have not returned your Leg but you shall have it by Harry to-morrow If you would like to purchase my Clavis you shall have it at a very ~reduced price~ Cheaper in comparison than a Leg. Yours &c ~C Dickens. ~ PS. I suppose all this time you have had ~a wooden~ leg. I have weighed yours every saturday Night (No date, but was written in latter part of 1825. )] The offense of Tobin went no deeper than the having at last worn outeven Dickens's patience and kindness. His applications for relief wereso incessantly repeated, that to cut him and them adrift altogether wasthe only way of escape from what had become an intolerable nuisance. ToMr. Thomas's letter the reader will thank me for adding one not lessinteresting with which Dr. Henry Danson has favored me. We have here, with the same fun and animal spirits, a little of the proneness tomischief which his other schoolfellow says he was free from; but themischief is all of the harmless kind, and might perhaps have been betterdescribed as but part of an irrepressible vivacity: "My impression is that I was a schoolfellow of Dickens for nearly twoyears: he left before me, I think at about fifteen years of age. Mr. Jones's school, called the Wellington Academy, was in the HampsteadRoad, at the northeast corner of Granby Street. The school-house wasafterwards removed for the London and Northwestern Railway. It wasconsidered at the time a very superior sort of school, --one of the best, indeed, in that part of London; but it was most shamefully mismanaged, and the boys made but very little progress. The proprietor, Mr. Jones, was a Welshman; a most ignorant fellow, and a mere tyrant; whose chiefemployment was to scourge the boys. Dickens has given a very livelyaccount of this place in his paper entitled Our School, but it is verymythical in many respects, and more especially in the compliment he paysin it to himself. I do not remember that Dickens distinguished himselfin any way, or carried off any prizes. My belief is that he did notlearn Greek or Latin there; and you will remember there is no allusionto the classics in any of his writings. He was a handsome, curly-headedlad, full of animation and animal spirits, and probably was connectedwith every mischievous prank in the school. I do not think he came infor any of Mr. Jones's scourging propensity: in fact, together withmyself, he was only a day-pupil, and with these there was a wholesomefear of tales being carried home to the parents. His personal appearanceat that time is vividly brought home to me in the portrait of him takena few years later by Mr. Lawrence. He resided with his friends in a verysmall house in a street leading out of Seymour Street, north of Mr. Judkin's chapel. "Depend on it, he was quite a self-made man, and his wonderful knowledgeand command of the English language must have been acquired by long andpatient study after leaving his last school. "I have no recollection of the boy you name. His chief associates were, I think, Tobin, Mr. Thomas, Bray, and myself. The first-named was hischief ally, and his acquaintance with him appears to have continued manyyears afterwards. At about that time Penny and Saturday Magazines werepublished weekly, and were greedily read by us. We kept bees, whitemice, and other living things clandestinely in our desks; and themechanical arts were a good deal cultivated, in the shape ofcoach-building, and making pumps and boats, the motive power of whichwas the white mice. "I think at that time Dickens took to writing small tales, and we had asort of club for lending and circulating them. Dickens was also verystrong in using a sort of lingo, which made us quite unintelligible tobystanders. We were very strong, too, in theatricals. We mounted smalltheatres, and got up very gorgeous scenery to illustrate the _Miller andhis Men_ and _Cherry and Fair Star_. I remember the present Mr. Beverley, the scene-painter, assisted us in this. Dickens was always aleader at these plays, which were occasionally presented with muchsolemnity before an audience of boys and in the presence of the ushers. My brother, assisted by Dickens, got up the _Miller and his Men_, in avery gorgeous form. Master Beverley constructed the mill for us in sucha way that it could tumble to pieces with the assistance of crackers. Atone representation the fireworks in the last scene, ending with thedestruction of the mill, were so very real that the police interferedand knocked violently at the doors. Dickens's after-taste fortheatricals might have had its origin in these small affairs. "I quite remember Dickens on one occasion heading us in Drummond Streetin pretending to be poor boys, and asking the passers-by forcharity, --especially old ladies, one of whom told us she 'had no moneyfor beggar-boys. ' On these adventures, when the old ladies were quitestaggered by the impudence of the demand, Dickens would explode withlaughter and take to his heels. "I met him one Sunday morning shortly after he left the school, and wevery piously attended the morning service at Seymour Street Chapel. I amsorry to say Master Dickens did not attend in the slightest degree tothe service, but incited me to laughter by declaring his dinner wasready and the potatoes would be spoiled, and in fact behaved in such amanner that it was lucky for us we were not ejected from the chapel. "I heard of him some time after from Tobin, whom I met carrying afoaming pot of London particular in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and I thenunderstood that Dickens was in the same or some neighboring office. "Many years elapsed after this before I became aware, from accidentallyreading Our School, that the brilliant and now famous Dickens was my oldschoolfellow. I didn't like to intrude myself upon him; and it was notuntil three or four years ago, when he presided at the UniversityCollege dinner at Willis's rooms, and made a most brilliant andeffective speech, that I sent him a congratulatory note reminding him ofour former fellowship. To this he sent me a kind note in reply, andwhich I value very much. I send you copies of these. "[5] From Dickens himself I never heard much allusion to the school thusdescribed; but I knew that, besides being the subject dealt with in_Household Words_, it had supplied some of the lighter traits of SalemHouse for _Copperfield_; and that to the fact of one of its tutors beingafterwards engaged to teach a boy of Macready's, our common friend, Dickens used to point for one of the illustrations of his favoritetheory as to the smallness of the world, and how things and personsapparently the most unlikely to meet were continually knocking upagainst each other. The employment as his amanuensis of his schoolfellowTobin dates as early as his Doctors'-Commons days, but both mycorrespondents are mistaken in the impression they appear to havereceived that Tobin had been previously his fellow-clerk in the sameattorney's office. I had thought him more likely to have beenaccompanied there by another of his boyish acquaintances who becameafterwards a solicitor, Mr. Mitton, not recollected by either of mycorrespondents in connection with the school, but whom I frequently metwith him in later years, and for whom he had the regard arising out ofsuch early associations. In this, however, I have since discovered myown mistake: the truth being that it was this gentleman's connection, not with the Wellington Academy, but with a school kept by Mr. Dawson inHunter Street, Brunswick Square, where the brothers of Dickens weresubsequently placed, which led to their early knowledge of each other. Ifancy that they were together also, for a short time, at Mr. Molloy's inNew Square, Lincoln's Inn; but, whether or not this was so, Dickenscertainly had not quitted school many months before his father had madesufficient interest with an attorney of Gray's Inn, Mr. EdwardBlackmore, to obtain him regular employment in his office. In thiscapacity of clerk, our only trustworthy glimpse of him we owe to thelast-named gentleman, who has described briefly, and I do not doubtauthentically, the services so rendered by him to the law. It cannot besaid that they were noteworthy, though it might be difficult to find amore distinguished person who has borne the title, unless we makeexception for the very father of literature himself, whom Chaucer, withamusing illustration of the way in which words change their meanings, calls "that conceited clerke Homère. " "I was well acquainted, " writes Mr. Edward Blackmore of Alresford, "withhis parents, and, being then in practice in Gray's Inn, they asked me ifI could find employment for him. He was a bright, clever-looking youth, and I took him as a clerk. He came to me in May, 1827, and left inNovember, 1828; and I have now an account-book which he used to keep ofpetty disbursements in the office, in which he charged himself with themodest salary first of thirteen shillings and sixpence, and afterwardsof fifteen shillings, a week. Several incidents took place in the officeof which he must have been a keen observer, as I recognized some of themin his _Pickwick_ and _Nickleby_; and I am much mistaken if some of hischaracters had not their originals in persons I well remember. His tastefor theatricals was much promoted by a fellow-clerk named Potter, sincedead, with whom he chiefly associated. They took every opportunity, thenunknown to me, of going together to a minor theatre, where (I afterwardsheard) they not unfrequently engaged in parts. After he left me I sawhim at times in the lord chancellor's court, taking notes of cases as areporter. I then lost sight of him until his _Pickwick_ made itsappearance. " This letter indicates the position he held at Mr. Blackmore's; and we have but to turn to the passage in _Pickwick_ whichdescribes the several grades of attorney's clerk, to understand it moreclearly. He was very far below the articled clerk, who has paid apremium and is attorney in perspective. He was not so high as thesalaried clerk, with nearly the whole of his weekly thirty shillingsspent on his personal pleasures. He was not even on the level with hismiddle-aged copying-clerk, always needy and uniformly shabby. He wassimply among, however his own nature may have lifted him above, the"office-lads in their first surtouts, who feel a befitting contempt forboys at day-schools, club as they go home at night for saveloys andporter, and think there's nothing like life. " Thus far, not more orless, had he now reached. He was one of the office-lads, and probably inhis first surtout. But, even thus, the process of education went on, defying what seemed tointerrupt it; and in the amount of his present equipment for his needsof life, what he brought from the Wellington House Academy can haveborne but the smallest proportion to his acquirement at Mr. Blackmore's. Yet to seek to identify, without help from himself, any passages in hisbooks with those boyish law-experiences, would be idle and hopelessenough. In the earliest of his writings, and down to the very latest, heworked exhaustively the field which is opened by an attorney's office toa student of life and manners; but we have not now to deal with hisnumerous varieties of the _genus_ clerk drawn thus for the amusement ofothers, but with the acquisitions which at present he was storing up forhimself from the opportunities such offices opened to him. Nor would itbe possible to have better illustrative comment on all these years thanis furnished by his father's reply to a friend it was now hoped tointerest on his behalf, which more than once I have heard himwhimsically, but good-humoredly, imitate. "Pray, Mr. Dickens, where wasyour son educated?" "Why, indeed, sir--ha! ha!--he may be said to haveeducated himself!" Of the two kinds of education which Gibbon says thatall men who rise above the common level receive, --the first, that of histeachers, and the second, more personal and more important, _hisown_, --he had the advantage only of the last. It nevertheless sufficedfor him. Very nearly another eighteen months were now to be spent mainly inpractical preparation for what he was, at this time, led finally tochoose as an employment from which a fair income was certain with suchtalents as he possessed; his father already having taken to it, in theselatter years, in aid of the family resources. In his father's house, which was at Hampstead through the first portion of the MorningtonStreet school time, then in the house out of Seymour Street mentioned byDr. Danson, and afterwards, upon the elder Dickens going into thegallery, in Bentinck Street, Manchester Square, Charles had continued tolive; and, influenced doubtless by the example before him, he tooksudden determination to qualify himself thoroughly for what his fatherwas lately become, a newspaper parliamentary reporter. He setresolutely, therefore, to the study of short-hand; and, for theadditional help of such general information about books as afairly-educated youth might be expected to have, as well as to satisfysome higher personal cravings, he became an assiduous attendant in theBritish Museum reading-room. He would frequently refer to these days asdecidedly the usefulest to himself he had ever passed; and, judging fromthe results, they must have been so. No man who knew him in later years, and talked to him familiarly of books and things, would have suspectedhis education in boyhood, almost entirely self-acquired as it was, tohave been so rambling or hap-hazard as I have here described it. Thesecret consisted in this, that, whatever for the time he had to do, helifted himself, there and then, to the level of, and at no timedisregarded the rules that guided the hero of his novel. "Whatever Ihave tried to do in life, I have tried with all my heart to do well. What I have devoted myself to, I have devoted myself to completely. Never to put one hand to anything on which I could throw my whole self, and never to affect depreciation of my work, whatever it was, I find nowto have been my golden rules. " Of the difficulties that beset his short-hand studies, as well as ofwhat first turned his mind to them, he has told also something in_Copperfield_. He had heard that many men distinguished in variouspursuits had begun life by reporting the debates in parliament, and hewas not deterred by a friend's warning that the mere mechanicalaccomplishment for excellence in it might take a few years to masterthoroughly; "a perfect and entire command of the mystery of short-handwriting and reading being about equal in difficulty to the mastery ofsix languages. " Undaunted, he plunged into it, self-teaching in this asin graver things, and, having bought Mr. Gurney's half-guinea book, worked steadily his way through its distractions. "The changes that wererung upon dots, which in such a position meant such a thing, and in suchanother position something else entirely different; the wonderfulvagaries that were played by circles; the unaccountable consequencesthat resulted from marks like flies' legs; the tremendous effects of acurve in a wrong place; not only troubled my waking hours, butreappeared before me in my sleep. When I had groped my way, blindly, through these difficulties, and had mastered the alphabet, there thenappeared a procession of new horrors, called arbitrary characters; themost despotic characters I have ever known; who insisted, for instance, that a thing like the beginning of a cobweb meant expectation, and thata pen-and-ink sky-rocket stood for disadvantageous. When I had fixedthese wretches in my mind, I found that they had driven everything elseout of it; then, beginning again, I forgot them; while I was pickingthem up, I dropped the other fragments of the system: in short, it wasalmost heart-breaking. " What it was that made it not quite heart-breaking to the hero of thefiction, its readers know; and something of the same kind was now toenter into the actual experience of its writer. First let me say, however, that after subduing to his wants in marvelously quick time thisunruly and unaccommodating servant of stenography, what he most desiredwas still not open to him. "There never _was_ such a short-hand writer, "has been often said to me by Mr. Beard, the friend he first made in thatline when he entered the gallery, and with whom to the close of his lifehe maintained the friendliest intercourse. But there was no opening forhim in the gallery yet. He had to pass nearly two years as a reporterfor one of the offices in Doctors' Commons, practicing in this and theother law courts, before he became a sharer in parliamentary toils andtriumphs; and what sustained his young hero through something of thesame sort of trial was also his own support. He too had his Dora, atapparently the same hopeless elevation; striven for as the one onlything to be attained, and even more unattainable, for neither did hesucceed nor happily did she die; but the one idol, like the other, supplying a motive to exertion for the time, and otherwise opening outto the idolater, both in fact and fiction, a highly unsubstantial, happy, foolish time. I used to laugh and tell him I had no belief in anybut the book Dora, until the incident of a sudden reappearance of thereal one in his life, nearly six years after _Copperfield_ was written, convinced me there had been a more actual foundation for those chaptersof his book than I was ready to suppose. Still, I would hardly admit it, and, that the matter could possibly affect him then, persisted in astout refusal to believe. His reply (1855) throws a little light on thisjuvenile part of his career, and I therefore venture to preserve it: "I don't quite apprehend what you mean by my overrating the strength ofthe feeling of five-and-twenty years ago. If you mean of my own feeling, and will only think what the desperate intensity of my nature is, andthat this began when I was Charley's age; that it excluded every otheridea from my mind for four years, at a time of life when four years areequal to four times four; and that I went at it with a determination toovercome all the difficulties, which fairly lifted me up into thatnewspaper life, and floated me away over a hundred men's heads; then youare wrong, because nothing can exaggerate that. I have positively stoodamazed at myself ever since!--And so I suffered, and so worked, and sobeat and hammered away at the maddest romances that ever got into anyboy's head and stayed there, that to see the mere cause of it all, now, loosens my hold upon myself. Without for a moment sincerely believingthat it would have been better if we had never got separated, I cannotsee the occasion of so much emotion as I should see any one else. Noone can imagine in the most distant degree what pain the recollectiongave me in _Copperfield_. And, just as I can never open that book as Iopen any other book, I cannot see the face (even at four-and-forty), orhear the voice, without going wandering away over the ashes of all thatyouth and hope in the wildest manner. " More and more plainly seen, however, in the light of four-and-forty, the romance glided visiblyaway, its work being fairly done; and at the close of the monthfollowing that in which this letter was written, during which he hadvery quietly made a formal call with his wife at his youthful Dora'shouse, and contemplated with a calm equanimity, in the hall, her stuffedfavorite Jip, he began the fiction in which there was a Flora to setagainst its predecessor's Dora, both derived from the same original. Thefancy had a comic humor in it he found it impossible to resist, but itwas kindly and pleasant to the last;[6] and if the later picture showedhim plenty to laugh at in this retrospect of his youth, there wasnothing he thought of more tenderly than the earlier, as long as he wasconscious of anything. FOOTNOTES: [5] The reader will probably think them worth subjoining. Dr. Dansonwrote: "_April, 1864. _ DEAR SIR, On the recent occasion of the U. C. H. Dinner, you would probably have been amused and somewhat surprised tolearn that one of those whom you addressed had often accompanied youover that 'field of forty footsteps' to which you so aptly and amusinglyalluded. It is now some years since I was accidentally reading a paperwritten by yourself in the _Household Words_, when I was first impressedwith the idea that the writer described scenes and persons with which Iwas once familiar, and that he must necessarily be the veritable CharlesDickens of 'our school, '--the school of Jones! I did not then, however, like to intrude myself upon you, for I could hardly hope that you wouldretain any recollection of myself; indeed, it was only barely possibleyou should do so, however vividly _I_ might recall you in many scenes offun and frolic of my school-days. I happened to be present at the dinnerof Tuesday last (being interested as an old student in the school of thehospital), and was seated very near you; I was tempted during theevening to introduce myself to you, but feared lest an explanation suchas this in a public room might attract attention and be disagreeable toyourself. A man who has attained a position and celebrity such as yourswill probably have many early associates and acquaintances claiming hisnotice. I beg of you to believe that such is not my object, but thathaving so recently met you I feel myself unable to repress the desire toassure you that no one in the room could appreciate the fame and rankyou have so fairly won, or could wish you more sincerely long life andhappiness to enjoy them, than, Dear Sir, your old schoolfellow, HENRYDANSON. " To this Dickens replied: "GADSHILL PLACE, _Thursday, 5th May, 1864_. DEAR SIR, I should have assured you before now that the receiptof your letter gave me great pleasure, had I not been too much occupiedto have leisure for correspondence. I perfectly recollect your name asthat of an old schoolfellow, and distinctly remember your appearance anddress as a boy, and believe you had a brother who was unfortunatelydrowned in the Serpentine. If you had made yourself personally known tome at the dinner, I should have been well pleased; though in that case Ishould have lost your modest and manly letter. Faithfully yours, CHARLESDICKENS. " [6] I take other fanciful allusions to the lady from two of hisoccasional writings. The first from his visit to the city churches(written during the Dombey time, when he had to select a church for themarriage of Florence): "Its drowsy cadence soon lulls the three oldwomen asleep, and the unmarried tradesman sits looking out at window, and the married tradesman sits looking at his wife's bonnet, and thelovers sit looking at one another, so superlatively happy, that I mindwhen I, turned of eighteen, went with my Angelica to a city church onaccount of a shower (by this special coincidence that it was in HugginLane), and when I said to my Angelica, 'Let the blessed event, Angelica, occur at no altar but this!' and when my Angelica consented that itshould occur at no other--which it certainly never did, for it neveroccurred anywhere. And O, Angelica, what has become of you, this presentSunday morning when I can't attend to the sermon? and, more difficultquestion than that, what has become of Me as I was when I sat by yourside?" The second, from his pleasant paper on birthdays: "I gave a partyon the occasion. She was there. It is unnecessary to name Her, moreparticularly; She was older than I, and had pervaded every chink andcrevice of my mind for three or four years. I had held volumes ofImaginary Conversations with her mother on the subject of our union, andI had written letters more in number than Horace Walpole's, to thatdiscreet woman, soliciting her daughter's hand in marriage. I had neverhad the remotest intention of sending any of those letters; but to writethem, and after a few days tear them up, had been a sublime occupation. " CHAPTER IV. REPORTERS' GALLERY AND NEWSPAPER LITERATURE. 1831-1835. Reporting for _True Sun_--First seen by me--Reporting for _Mirror_ and _Chronicle_--First Published Piece--Discipline and Experiences of Reporting--Life as a Reporter--John Black--Mr. Thomas Beard--A Letter to his Editor--Incident of Reporting Days--The same more correctly told--Origin of "Boz"--Captain Holland--Mr. George Hogarth--Sketches in _Evening Chronicle_--C. D. 's First Hearty Appreciator. DICKENS was nineteen years old when at last he entered the gallery. Hisfather, with whom he still lived in Bentinck Street, had already, as wehave seen, joined the gallery as a reporter for one of the morningpapers, and was now in the more comfortable circumstances derived fromthe addition to his official pension which this praiseworthy laborinsured; but his own engagement on the _Chronicle_ dates somewhat later. His first parliamentary service was given to the _True Sun_, a journalwhich had then on its editorial staff some dear friends of mine, throughwhom I became myself a contributor to it, and afterwards, in common withall concerned, whether in its writing, reporting, printing, orpublishing, a sharer in its difficulties. The most formidable of thesearrived one day in a general strike of the reporters; and I wellremember noticing at this dread time, on the staircase of themagnificent mansion we were lodged in, a young man of my own age, whosekeen animation of look would have arrested attention anywhere, and whosename, upon inquiry, I then for the first time heard. It was coupled withthe fact, which gave it interest even then, that "young Dickens" hadbeen spokesman for the recalcitrant reporters, and conducted their casetriumphantly. He was afterwards during two sessions engaged for the_Mirror of Parliament_, which one of his uncles by the mother's sideoriginated and conducted; and finally, in his twenty-third year, hebecame a reporter for the _Morning Chronicle_. A step far more momentous to him (though then he did not know it) he hadtaken shortly before. In the December number for 1833 of what then wascalled the _Old Monthly Magazine_, his first published piece of writinghad seen the light. He has described himself dropping this paper (Mr. Minns and his Cousin, as he afterwards entitled it, but which appearedin the magazine as A Dinner at Poplar Walk) stealthily one evening attwilight, with fear and trembling, into a dark letter-box in a darkoffice up a dark court in Fleet Street; and he has told his agitationwhen it appeared in all the glory of print: "On which occasion I walkeddown to Westminster Hall, and turned into it for half an hour, becausemy eyes were so dimmed with joy and pride that they could not bear thestreet, and were not fit to be seen there. " He had purchased themagazine at a shop in the Strand; and exactly two years afterwards, inthe younger member of a publishing firm who had called, at the chambersin Furnival's Inn to which he had moved soon after entering thegallery, with the proposal that originated _Pickwick_, he recognized theperson he had bought that magazine from, and whom before or since he hadnever seen. This interval of two years more than comprised what remained of hiscareer in the gallery and the engagements connected with it; but thatthis occupation was of the utmost importance in its influence on hislife, in the discipline of his powers as well as of his character, therecan be no doubt whatever. "To the wholesome training of severe newspaperwork, when I was a very young man, I constantly refer my firstsuccesses, " he said to the New York editors when he last took leave ofthem. It opened to him a wide and varied range of experience, which hiswonderful observation, exact as it was humorous, made entirely his own. He saw the last of the old coaching-days, and of the old inns that werea part of them; but it will be long before the readers of his livingpage see the last of the life of either. "There never was, " he oncewrote to me (in 1845), "anybody connected with newspapers who, in thesame space of time, had so much express and post-chaise experience as I. And what gentlemen they were to serve, in such things, at the old_Morning Chronicle_! Great or small it did not matter. I have had tocharge for half a dozen break-downs in half a dozen times as many miles. I have had to charge for the damage of a great-coat from the drippingsof a blazing wax candle, in writing through the smallest hours of thenight in a swift-flying carriage-and-pair. I have had to charge for allsorts of breakages fifty times in a journey without question, such beingthe ordinary results of the pace which we went at. I have charged forbroken hats, broken luggage, broken chaises, broken harness--everythingbut a broken head, which is the only thing they would have grumbled topay for. " Something to the same effect he said publicly twenty years later, on theoccasion of his presiding, in May, 1865, at the second annual dinner ofthe Newspaper Press Fund, when he condensed within the compass of hisspeech a summary of the whole of his reporting life. "I am not here, " hesaid, "advocating the case of a mere ordinary client of whom I havelittle or no knowledge. I hold a brief to-night for my brothers. I wentinto the gallery of the House of Commons as a parliamentary reporterwhen I was a boy, and I left it--I can hardly believe the inexorabletruth--nigh thirty years ago. I have pursued the calling of a reporterunder circumstances of which many of my brethren here can form noadequate conception. I have often transcribed for the printer, from myshort-hand notes, important public speeches in which the strictestaccuracy was required, and a mistake in which would have been to a youngman severely compromising, writing on the palm of my hand, by the lightof a dark-lantern, in a post-chaise and four, galloping through a wildcountry, and through the dead of the night, at the then surprising rateof fifteen miles an hour. The very last time I was at Exeter, I strolledinto the castle-yard there, to identify, for the amusement of a friend, the spot on which I once 'took, ' as we used to call it, anelection-speech of Lord John Russell at the Devon contest, in the midstof a lively fight maintained by all the vagabonds in that division ofthe county, and under such a pelting rain that I remember twogood-natured colleagues, who chanced to be at leisure, held apocket-handkerchief over my note-book, after the manner of a statecanopy in an ecclesiastical procession. I have worn my knees by writingon them on the old back row of the old gallery of the old House ofCommons; and I have worn my feet by standing to write in a preposterouspen in the old House of Lords, where we used to be huddled together likeso many sheep, --kept in waiting, say, until the woolsack might wantrestuffing. Returning home from exciting political meetings in thecountry to the waiting press in London, I do verily believe I have beenupset in almost every description of vehicle known in this country. Ihave been, in my time, belated on miry by-roads, towards the smallhours, forty or fifty miles from London, in a wheelless carriage, withexhausted horses and drunken post-boys, and have got back in time forpublication, to be received with never-forgotten compliments by the lateMr. Black, coming in the broadest of Scotch from the broadest of heartsI ever knew. These trivial things I mention as an assurance to you thatI never have forgotten the fascination of that old pursuit. The pleasurethat I used to feel in the rapidity and dexterity of its exercise hasnever faded out of my breast. Whatever little cunning of hand or head Itook to it, or acquired in it, I have so retained as that I fullybelieve I could resume it to-morrow, very little the worse from longdisuse. To this present year of my life, when I sit in this hall, orwhere not, hearing a dull speech (the phenomenon does occur), Isometimes beguile the tedium of the moment by mentally following thespeaker in the old, old way; and sometimes, if you can believe me, Ieven find my hand going on the table-cloth, taking an imaginary note ofit all. " The latter I have known him do frequently. It was indeed aquite ordinary habit with him. Mr. James Grant, a writer who was himself in the gallery with Dickens, and who states that among its eighty or ninety reporters he occupied thevery highest rank, not merely for accuracy in reporting but formarvelous quickness in transcribing, has lately also told us that whilethere he was exceedingly reserved in his manners, and that, thoughshowing the usual courtesies to all he was concerned with in his duties, the only personal intimacy he formed was with Mr. Thomas Beard, then tooreporting for the _Morning Chronicle_. I have already mentioned thefriendly and familiar relations maintained with this gentleman to theclose of his life; and in confirmation of Mr. Grant's statement I canfurther say that the only other associate of these early reporting daysto whom I ever heard him refer with special regard was the late Mr. Vincent Dowling, many years editor of _Bell's Life_, with whom he didnot continue much personal intercourse, but of whose character as wellas talents he had formed a very high opinion. Nor is there anything toadd to the notice of these days which the reader's fancy may not easilysupply. A letter has been kept as written by him while engaged on one ofhis "expresses;" but it is less for its saying anything new, than forits confirming with a pleasant vividness what has been said already, that its contents will justify mention here. He writes, on a "Tuesday morning" in May, 1835, from the Bush Inn, Bristol; the occasion that has taken him to the west, connected with areporting party, being Lord John Russell's Devonshire contest abovenamed, and his associate-chief being Mr. Beard, intrusted with commandfor the _Chronicle_ in this particular express. He expects to forward"the conclusion of Russell's dinner" by Cooper's company's coach leavingthe Bush at half-past six next morning; and by the first Ball's coach onThursday morning he will forward the report of the Bath dinner, indorsing the parcel for immediate delivery, with extra rewards for theporter. Beard is to go over to Bath next morning. He is himself to comeback by the mail from Marlborough; he has no doubt, if Lord John makes aspeech of any ordinary dimensions, it can be done by the timeMarlborough is reached; "and taking into consideration the immenseimportance of having the addition of saddle-horses from thence, it is, beyond all doubt, worth an effort. . . . I need not say, " he continues, "that it will be sharp work and will require two of us; for we shallboth be up the whole of the previous night, and shall have to sit up allnight again to get it off in time. " He adds that as soon as they havehad a little sleep they will return to town as quickly as they can; butthey have, if the express succeeds, to stop at sundry places along theroad to pay money and notify satisfaction. And so, for himself andBeard, he is his editor's very sincerely. Another anecdote of these reporting days, with its sequel, may be addedfrom his own alleged relation, in which, however, mistakes occur that itseems strange he should have made. The story, as told, is that the lateLord Derby, when Mr. Stanley, had on some important occasion made aspeech which all the reporters found it necessary greatly to abridge;that its essential points had nevertheless been so well given in the_Chronicle_ that Mr. Stanley, having need of it for himself in greaterdetail, had sent a request to the reporter to meet him in Carlton HouseTerrace and take down the entire speech; that Dickens attended and didthe work accordingly, much to Mr. Stanley's satisfaction; and that, onhis dining with Mr. Gladstone in recent years, and finding the aspect ofthe dining-room strangely familiar, he discovered afterwards on inquirythat it was there he had taken the speech. The story, as it actuallyoccurred, is connected with the brief life of the _Mirror ofParliament_. It was not at any special desire of Mr. Stanley's, but forthat new record of the debates, which had been started by one of theuncles of Dickens and professed to excel _Hansard_ in giving verbatimreports, that the famous speech against O'Connell was taken asdescribed. The young reporter went to the room in Carlton Terracebecause the work of his uncle Barrow's publication required to be donethere; and if, in later years, the great author was in the same room asthe guest of the prime minister, it must have been but a month or twobefore he died, when for the first time he visited and breakfasted withMr. Gladstone. The mention of his career in the gallery may close with the incident. Iwill only add that his observation while there had not led him to formany high opinion of the House of Commons or its heroes, and that of thePickwickian sense which so often takes the place of common sense in ourlegislature he omitted no opportunity of declaring his contempt atevery part of his life. The other occupation had meanwhile not been lost sight of, and for thiswe are to go back a little. Since the first sketch appeared in the_Monthly Magazine_, nine others have enlivened the pages of laternumbers of the same magazine, the last in February, 1835, and that whichappeared in the preceding August having first had the signature of Boz. This was the nickname of a pet child, his youngest brother Augustus, whom in honor of the _Vicar of Wakefield_ he had dubbed Moses, whichbeing facetiously pronounced through the nose became Boses, and beingshortened became Boz. "Boz was a very familiar household word to me, long before I was an author, and so I came to adopt it. " Thus had hefully invented his Sketches by Boz before they were even so called, orany one was ready to give much attention to them; and the next inventionneedful to himself was some kind of payment in return for them. Themagazine was owned as well as conducted at this time by a Mr. Holland, who had come back from Bolivar's South American campaigns with the rankof captain, and had hoped to make it a popular mouthpiece for his ardentliberalism. But this hope, as well as his own health, quite failed; andhe had sorrowfully to decline receiving any more of the sketches whenthey had to cease as voluntary offerings. I do not think that either heor the magazine lived many weeks after an evening I passed with him inDoughty Street in 1837, when he spoke in a very touching way of thefailure of this and other enterprises of his life, and of the help thatDickens had been to him. Nothing thus being forthcoming from the _Monthly_, it was of course butnatural the sketches too should cease to be forthcoming; and, evenbefore the above-named February number appeared, a new opening had beenfound for them. An evening offshoot to the _Morning Chronicle_ had beenlately in hand; and to a countryman of Black's engaged in thepreparations for it, Mr. George Hogarth, Dickens was communicating fromhis rooms in Furnival's Inn, on the evening of Tuesday, the 20th ofJanuary, 1835, certain hopes and fancies he had formed. This was thebeginning of his knowledge of an accomplished and kindly man, with whosefamily his relations were soon to become so intimate as to have aninfluence on all his future career. Mr. Hogarth had asked him, as afavor to himself, to write an original sketch for the first number ofthe enterprise, and in writing back to say with what readiness he shouldcomply, and how anxiously he should desire to do his best for the personwho had made the request, he mentioned what had arisen in his mind. Ithad occurred to him that he might not be unreasonably or improperlytrespassing farther on Mr. Hogarth if, trusting to his kindness to referthe application to the proper quarter, he begged to ask whether it wasprobable, if he commenced a regular series of articles under someattractive title for the _Evening Chronicle_, its conductors would thinkhe had any claim to _some_ additional remuneration (of course, of nogreat amount) for doing so. In short, he wished to put it to theproprietors--first, whether a continuation of some chapters of lightpapers in the style of his street-sketches would be considered of use tothe new journal; and secondly, if so, whether they would not think itfair and reasonable that, taking his share of the ordinary reportingbusiness of the _Chronicle_ besides, he should receive something for thepapers beyond his ordinary salary as a reporter. The request was thoughtfair, he began the sketches, and his salary was raised from five toseven guineas a week. They went on, with undiminished spirit and freshness, throughout theyear; and, much as they were talked of outside as well as in the worldof newspapers, nothing in connection with them delighted the writer halfso much as the hearty praise of his own editor. Mr. Black is one of themen who has passed without recognition out of a world his labors largelybenefited, but with those who knew him no man was so popular, as wellfor his broad kindly humor as for his honest great-hearted enjoyment ofwhatever was excellent in others. Dickens to the last remembered that itwas most of all the cordial help of this good old mirth-loving man whichhad started him joyfully on his career of letters. "It was John Blackthat flung the slipper after me, " he would often say. "Dear old Black!my first hearty out-and-out appreciator, " is an expression in one of hisletters written to me in the year he died. CHAPTER V. FIRST BOOK, AND ORIGIN OF PICKWICK. 1836. _Sketches by Boz_--Fancy-piece by N. P. Willis: a Poor English Author--Start of _Pickwick_--Marriage to Miss Hogarth--First Connection with Chapman & Hall--Mr. Seymour's Part in _Pickwick_--Letters relating thereto--C. D. 's own Account--False Claims refuted--Pickwick's Original, his Figure and his Name--First Sprightly Runnings of Genius--The _Sketches_ characterized--Mr. Seymour's Death--New Illustrator chosen--Mr. Hablot K. Browne--C. D. Leaves the Gallery--_Strange Gentleman_ and _Village Coquettes_. THE opening of 1836 found him collecting into two volumes the firstseries of _Sketches by Boz_, of which he had sold the copyright for aconditional payment of (I think) a hundred and fifty pounds to a youngpublisher named Macrone, whose acquaintance he had made through Mr. Ainsworth a few weeks before. [7] At this time also, we are told in aletter before quoted, the editorship of the _Monthly Magazine_ havingcome into Mr. James Grant's hands, this gentleman, applying to himthrough its previous editor to know if he would again contribute to it, learned two things: the first, that he was going to be married; and thesecond, that, having entered into an arrangement to write a monthlyserial, his duties in future would leave him small spare time. Bothpieces of news were soon confirmed. The _Times_ of the 26th of March, 1836, gave notice that on the 31st would be published the first shillingnumber of the _Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, edited by Boz_;and the same journal of a few days later announced that on the 2d ofApril Mr. Charles Dickens had married Catherine, the eldest daughter ofMr. George Hogarth, whom already we have met as his fellow-worker on the_Chronicle_. The honeymoon was passed in the neighborhood to which atall times of interest in his life he turned with a strange recurringfondness; and while the young couple are at the quiet little village ofChalk, on the road between Gravesend and Rochester, I will relateexactly the origin of the ever-memorable Mr. Pickwick. A young publishing-house had started recently, among other enterprisesingenious rather than important, a Library of Fiction; among the authorsthey wished to enlist in it was the writer of the sketches in the_Monthly_; and, to the extent of one paper during the past year, theyhad effected this through their editor, Mr. Charles Whitehead, a veryingenious and very unfortunate man. "I was not aware, " wrote the eldermember of the firm to Dickens, thirteen years later, in a letter towhich reference was made[8] in the preface to _Pickwick_ in one of hislater editions, "that you were writing in the _Chronicle_, or what yourname was; but Whitehead, who was an old _Monthly_ man, recollected it, and got you to write The Tuggs's at Ramsgate. " And now comes another person on the scene. "In November, 1835, "continues Mr. Chapman, "we published a little book called the _SquibAnnual_, with plates by Seymour; and it was during my visit to him tosee after them that he said he should like to do a series ofcockney-sporting plates of a superior sort to those he had alreadypublished. I said I thought they might do, if accompanied byletter-press and published in monthly parts; and, this being agreed to, we wrote to the author of _Three Courses and a Dessert_, and proposedit; but, receiving no answer, the scheme dropped for some months, tillSeymour said he wished us to decide, as another job had offered whichwould fully occupy his time; and it was on this we decided to ask you todo it. Having opened already a connection with you for our Library ofFiction, we naturally applied to you to do the _Pickwick_; but I do notthink we even mentioned our intention to Mr. Seymour, and I am quitesure that from the beginning to the end nobody but yourself had anythingwhatever to do with it. Our prospectus was out at the end of February, and it had all been arranged before that date. " The member of the firm who carried the application to him in Furnival'sInn was not the writer of this letter, but Mr. Hall, who had sold himtwo years before, not knowing that he was the purchaser, the magazine inwhich his first effusion was printed; and he has himself described whatpassed at the interview: "The idea propounded to me was that the monthlysomething should be a vehicle for certain plates to be executed by Mr. Seymour; and there was a notion, either on the part of that admirablehumorous artist, or of my visitor, that a NIMROD CLUB, the members ofwhich were to go out shooting, fishing, and so forth, and gettingthemselves into difficulties through their want of dexterity, would bethe best means of introducing these. I objected, on consideration that, although born and partly bred in the country, I was no great sportsman, except in regard to all kinds of locomotion; that the idea was notnovel, and had already been much used; that it would be infinitelybetter for the plates to arise naturally out of the text; and that Iwould like to take my own way, with a freer range of English scenes andpeople, and was afraid I should ultimately do so in any case, whatevercourse I might prescribe to myself at starting. My views being deferredto, I thought of Mr. Pickwick, and wrote the first number; from theproof-sheets of which Mr. Seymour made his drawing of the club and hishappy portrait of its founder. I connected Mr. Pickwick with a club, because of the original suggestion; and I put in Mr. Winkle expresslyfor the use of Mr. Seymour. " Mr. Hall was dead when this statement was first made, in the preface tothe cheap edition in 1847; but Mr. Chapman clearly recollected hispartner's account of the interview, and confirmed every part of it, inhis letter of 1849, [9] with one exception. In giving Mr. Seymour creditfor the figure by which all the habitable globe knows Mr. Pickwick, andwhich certainly at the outset helped to make him a reality, it had giventhe artist too much. The reader will hardly be so startled as I was oncoming to the closing line of Mr. Chapman's confirmatory letter: "Asthis letter is to be historical, I may as well claim what little belongsto me in the matter, and that is the figure of Pickwick. Seymour's firstsketch was of a long, thin man. The present immortal one he made from mydescription of a friend of mine at Richmond, a fat old beau, who wouldwear, in spite of the ladies' protests, drab tights and black gaiters. His name was John Foster. " On the coincidences, resemblances, and surprises of life, Dickens likedespecially to dwell, and few things moved his fancy so pleasantly. Theworld, he would say, was so much smaller than we thought it; we were allso connected by fate without knowing it; people supposed to be far apartwere so constantly elbowing each other; and to-morrow bore so close aresemblance to nothing half so much as to yesterday. Here were the onlytwo leading incidents of his own life before I knew him, his marriageand the first appearance of his Pickwick; and it turned out after allthat I had some shadowy association with both. He was married on theanniversary of my birthday, and the original of the figure of Mr. Pickwick bore my name. [10] The first number had not yet appeared when his _Sketches by Boz, Illustrative of Every-Day Life and Every-Day People_, came forth in twoduodecimos with some capital cuts by Cruikshank, and with a preface inwhich he spoke of the nervousness he should have had in venturing alonebefore the public, and of his delight in getting the help of Cruikshank, who had frequently contributed to the success, though his well-earnedreputation rendered it impossible for him ever to have shared thehazard, of similar undertakings. It very soon became apparent that therewas no hazard here. The _Sketches_ were much more talked about than thefirst two or three numbers of _Pickwick_, and I remember still with whathearty praise the book was first named to me by my dear friend AlbanyFonblanque, as keen and clear a judge as ever lived either of books ormen. Richly did it merit all the praise it had, and more, I will add, than he was ever disposed to give to it himself. He decidedly underratedit. He gave, in subsequent writings, so much more perfect form andfullness to everything it contained, that he did not care to credithimself with the marvel of having yet so early anticipated so much. Butthe first sprightly runnings of his genius are undoubtedly here. Mr. Bumble is in the parish sketches, and Mr. Dawkins the dodger in the OldBailey scenes. There is laughter and fun to excess, never misapplied;there are the minute points and shades of character, with all thediscrimination and nicety of detail, afterwards so famous; there iseverywhere the most perfect ease and skill of handling. The observationshown throughout is nothing short of wonderful. Things are paintedliterally as they are, and, whatever the picture, whether of every-dayvulgar, shabby-genteel, or downright low, with neither the condescendingair which is affectation, nor the too familiar one which is slang. Thebook altogether is a perfectly unaffected, unpretentious, honestperformance. Under its manly, sensible, straightforward vein of talkthere is running at the same time a natural flow of sentiment neversentimental, of humor always easy and unforced, and of pathos for themost part dramatic or picturesque, under which lay the germ of what hismature genius took afterwards most delight in. Of course there areinequalities in it, and some things that would have been better away;but it is a book that might have stood its ground, even if it had stoodalone, as containing unusually truthful observation of a sort of lifebetween the middle class and the low, which, having few attractions forbookish observers, was quite unhackneyed ground. It had otherwise alsothe very special merit of being in no respect bookish or commonplace inits descriptions of the old city with which its writer was so familiar. It was a picture of every-day London at its best and worst, in itshumors and enjoyments as well as its sufferings and sins, pervadedeverywhere not only with the absolute reality of the things depicted, but also with that subtle sense and mastery of feeling which gives tothe reader's sympathies invariably right direction, and awakensconsideration, tenderness, and kindness precisely for those who mostneed such help. Between the first and the second numbers of _Pickwick_, the artist, Mr. Seymour, died by his own hand; and the number came out with threeinstead of four illustrations. Dickens had seen the unhappy man onlyonce, forty-eight hours before his death; when he went to Furnival's Innwith an etching for the "stroller's tale" in that number, which, alteredat Dickens's suggestion, he brought away again for the few furthertouches that occupied him to a late hour of the night before hedestroyed himself. A notice attached to the number informed the publicof this latter fact. There was at first a little difficulty in replacinghim, and for a single number Mr. Buss was interposed. But before thefourth number a choice had been made, which as time went on was sothoroughly justified, that through the greater part of the wonderfulcareer which was then beginning the connection was kept up, and Mr. Hablot Browne's name is not unworthily associated with the masterpiecesof Dickens's genius. An incident which I heard related by Mr. Thackerayat one of the Royal Academy dinners belongs to this time: "I canremember when Mr. Dickens was a very young man, and had commenceddelighting the world with some charming humorous works in covers whichwere colored light green and came out once a month, that this young manwanted an artist to illustrate his writings; and I recollect walking upto his chambers in Furnival's Inn, with two or three drawings in myhand, which, strange to say, he did not find suitable. " Dickens hashimself described another change now made in the publication: "Westarted with a number of twenty-four pages and four illustrations. Mr. Seymour's sudden and lamented death before the second number waspublished, brought about a quick decision upon a point already inagitation: the number became one of thirty-two pages with only twoillustrations, and remained so to the end. " The Session of 1836 terminated his connection with the gallery, and somefruits of his increased leisure showed themselves before the close ofthe year. His eldest sister's musical attainments and connections hadintroduced him to many cultivators and professors of that art; he wasled to take much interest in Mr. Braham's enterprise at the St. James'stheatre; and in aid of it he wrote a farce for Mr. Harley, founded uponone of his sketches, and the story and songs for an opera composed byhis friend Mr. Hullah. Both the _Strange Gentleman_, acted in September, and the _Village Coquettes_, produced in December, 1836, had a goodsuccess; and the last is memorable to me for having brought me firstinto personal communication with Dickens. FOOTNOTES: [7] To this date belongs a visit paid him at Furnival's Inn in Mr. Macrone's company by the notorious Mr. N. P. Willis, who calls him "ayoung paragraphist for the _Morning Chronicle_, " and thus sketches hisresidence and himself: "In the most crowded part of Holborn, within adoor or two of the Bull-and-Mouth Inn, we pulled up at the entrance of alarge building used for lawyers' chambers. I followed by a long flightof stairs to an upper story, and was ushered into an uncarpeted andbleak-looking room, with a deal table, two or three chairs and a fewbooks, a small boy and Mr. Dickens, for the contents. I was only struckat first with one thing (and I made a memorandum of it that evening asthe strongest instance I had seen of English obsequiousness toemployers), the degree to which the poor author was overpowered with thehonor of his publisher's visit! I remember saying to myself, as I satdown on a rickety chair, 'My good fellow, if you were in America withthat fine face and your ready quill, you would have no need to becondescended to by a publisher. ' Dickens was dressed very much as he hassince described Dick Swiveller, _minus_ the swell look. His hair wascropped close to his head, his clothes scant, though jauntily cut, and, after changing a ragged office-coat for a shabby blue, he stood by thedoor, collarless and buttoned up, the very personification, I thought, of a close sailer to the wind. " I remember, while my friend lived, ourlaughing heartily at this description, hardly a word of which is true;and I give it now as no unfair specimen of the kind of garbage thatsince his death also has been served up only too plentifully by some ofhis own as well as by others of Mr. Willis's countrymen. [8] Not quoted in detail, on that or any other occasion; though referredto. It was, however, placed in my hands, for use if occasion shouldarise, when Dickens went to America in 1867. The letter bears date the7th July, 1849, and was Mr. Chapman's answer to the question Dickens hadasked him, whether the account of the origin of _Pickwick_ which he hadgiven in the preface to the cheap edition in 1847 was not strictlycorrect. "It is so correctly described, " was Mr. Chapman's openingremark, "that I can throw but little additional light on it. " The nameof his hero, I may add, Dickens took from that of a celebratedcoach-proprietor of Bath. [9] The appeal was then made to him because of recent foolish statementsby members of Mr. Seymour's family, which Dickens thus contradicted: "Itis with great unwillingness that I notice some intangible and incoherentassertions which have been made, professedly on behalf of Mr. Seymour, to the effect that he had some share in the invention of this book, orof anything in it, not faithfully described in the foregoing paragraph. With the moderation that is due equally to my respect for the memory ofa brother-artist, and to my self-respect, I confine myself to placing onrecord here the facts--That Mr. Seymour never originated or suggested anincident, a phrase, or a word, to be found in this book. That Mr. Seymour died when only twenty-four pages of this book were published, and when assuredly not forty-eight were written. That I believe I neversaw Mr. Seymour's handwriting in my life. That I never saw Mr. Seymourbut once in my life, and that was on the night but one before his death, when he certainly offered no suggestion whatsoever. That I saw him thenin the presence of two persons, both living, perfectly acquainted withall these facts, and whose written testimony to them I possess. Lastly, that Mr. Edward Chapman (the survivor of the original firm of Chapman &Hall) has set down in writing, for similar preservation, his personalknowledge of the origin and progress of this book, of the monstrosity ofthe baseless assertions in question, and (tested by details) even of theself-evident impossibility of there being any truth in them. " The"written testimony" alluded to is also in my possession, having beeninclosed to me by Dickens, in 1867, with Mr. Chapman's letter herereferred to. [10] Whether Mr. Chapman spelt the name correctly, or has unconsciouslydeprived his fat beau of the letter "r, " I cannot say; but experiencetells me that the latter is probable. I have been trying all my life toget my own name spelt correctly, and have only very imperfectlysucceeded. CHAPTER VI. WRITING THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 1837. First Letter from him--As he was Thirty-five Years ago--Mrs. Carlyle and Leigh Hunt--Birth of Eldest Son--From Furnival's Inn to Doughty Street--A Long-Remembered Sorrow--I visit him--Hasty Compacts with Publishers--Self-sold into Quasi-Bondage--Agreements for Editorship and Writing--Mr. Macrone's Scheme to reissue _Sketches_--Attempts to prevent it--Exorbitant Demand--Impatience of Suspense--Purchase advised--_Oliver Twist_--Characters real to himself--Sense of Responsibility for his Writings--Criticism that satisfied him--Help given with his Proofs--Writing _Pickwick_, Nos. 14 and 15--Scenes in a Debtors' Prison--A Recollection of Smollett--Reception of _Pickwick_--A Popular Rage--Mr. Carlyle's "Dreadful" Story--Secrets of Success--_Pickwick_ inferior to Later Books--Exception for Sam Weller and Mr. Pickwick--Personal Habits of C. D. --Reliefs after Writing--Natural Discontents--The Early Agreements--Tale to follow _Oliver Twist_--Compromise with Mr. Bentley--Trip to Flanders--First Visit to Broadstairs--Piracies of _Pickwick_--A Sufferer from Agreements--First Visit to Brighton--What he is doing with _Oliver Twist_--Reading De Foe--"No Thoroughfare"--Proposed Help to Macready. THE first letter I had from him was at the close of 1836, fromFurnival's Inn, when he sent me the book of his opera of the _VillageCoquettes_, which had been published by Mr. Bentley; and this wasfollowed, two months later, by his collected _Sketches_, both first andsecond series; which he desired me to receive "as a very small testimonyof the donor's regard and obligations, as well as of his desire tocultivate and avail himself of a friendship which has been so pleasantlythrown in his way. . . . In short, if you will receive them for my sake andnot for their own, you will very greatly oblige me. " I had met him inthe interval at the house of our common friend Mr. Ainsworth, and Iremember vividly the impression then made upon me. Very different was his face in those days from that which photographyhas made familiar to the present generation. A look of youthfulnessfirst attracted you, and then a candor and openness of expression whichmade you sure of the qualities within. The features were very good. Hehad a capital forehead, a firm nose with full wide nostril, eyeswonderfully beaming with intellect and running over with humor andcheerfulness, and a rather prominent mouth strongly marked withsensibility. The head was altogether well formed and symmetrical, andthe air and carriage of it were extremely spirited. The hair so scantand grizzled in later days was then of a rich brown and most luxuriantabundance, and the bearded face of his last two decades had hardly avestige of hair or whisker; but there was that in the face as I firstrecollect it which no time could change, and which remained implanted onit unalterably to the last. This was the quickness, keenness, andpractical power, the eager, restless, energetic outlook on each severalfeature, that seemed to tell so little of a student or writer of books, and so much of a man of action and business in the world. Light andmotion flashed from every part of it. _It was as if made of steel_, wassaid of it, four or five years after the time to which I am referring, by a most original and delicate observer, the late Mrs. Carlyle. "Whata face is his to meet in a drawing-room!" wrote Leigh Hunt to me, themorning after I made them known to each other. "It has the life and soulin it of fifty human beings. " In such sayings are expressed not alonethe restless and resistless vivacity and force of which I have spoken, but that also which lay beneath them of steadiness and hard endurance. Several unsuccessful efforts were made by each to get the other to hishouse before the door of either was opened at last. A son had been bornto him on Twelfth-day (the 6th January, 1837), and before the close ofthe following month he and his wife were in the lodgings at Chalk theyhad occupied after their marriage. Early in March there is a letter fromhim accounting for the failure of a promise to call on me because of "acrew of house-agents and attorneys" through whom he had nearly missedhis conveyance to Chalk, and been made "more than half wild besides. "This was his last letter from Furnival's Inn. In that same month he wentto 48, Doughty Street; and in his first letter to me from that address, dated at the close of the month, there is this passage: "We only calledupon you a second time in the hope of getting you to dine with us, andwere much disappointed not to find you. I have delayed writing a replyto your note, meaning to call upon you. I have been so much engaged, however, in the pleasant occupation of 'moving' that I have not hadtime; and I am obliged at last to write and say that I have been longengaged to the _Pickwick_ publishers to a dinner in honor of that herowhich comes off to-morrow. I am consequently unable to accept your kindinvite, which I frankly own I should have liked much better. " That Saturday's celebration of his twelfth number, the anniversary ofthe birth of _Pickwick_, preceded by but a few weeks a personal sorrowwhich profoundly moved him. His wife's next younger sister, Mary, wholived with them, and by sweetness of nature even more than by graces ofperson had made herself the ideal of his life, died with a terriblesuddenness that for the time completely bore him down. [11] His grief andsuffering were intense, and affected him, as will be seen, through manyafter-years. The publication of _Pickwick_ was interrupted for twomonths, the effort of writing it not being possible to him. He moved forchange of scene to Hampstead, and here, at the close of May, I visitedhim, and became first his guest. More than ordinarily susceptible at themoment to all kindliest impressions, his heart opened itself to mine. Ileft him as much his friend, and as entirely in his confidence, as if Ihad known him for years. Nor had many weeks passed before he addressedto me from Doughty Street words which it is my sorrowful pride toremember have had literal fulfillment: "I look back with unmingledpleasure to every link which each ensuing week has added to the chain ofour attachment. It shall go hard, I hope, ere anything but Death impairsthe toughness of a bond now so firmly riveted. " It remained unweakenedtill death came. There were circumstances that drew us at once into frequent and closecommunication. What the sudden popularity of his writings implied, wasknown to others some time before it was known to himself; and he wasonly now becoming gradually conscious of all the disadvantage this hadplaced him at. He would have laughed if, at this outset of his wonderfulfortune in literature, his genius acknowledged by all without misgiving, young, popular, and prosperous, any one had compared him to the lucklessmen of letters of former days, whose common fate was to be sold into aslavery which their later lives were passed in vain endeavors to escapefrom. Not so was his fate to be, yet something of it he was doomed toexperience. He had unwittingly sold himself into a quasi-bondage, andhad to purchase his liberty at a heavy cost, after considerablesuffering. It was not until the fourth or fifth number of _Pickwick_ (in the latterSam Weller made his first appearance) that its importance began to beunderstood by "the trade, " and on the eve of the issue of its sixthnumber, the 22d August, 1836, he had signed an agreement with Mr. Bentley to undertake the editorship of a monthly magazine to be startedthe following January, to which he was to supply a serial story; andsoon afterwards he had agreed with the same publisher to write two othertales, the first at a specified early date; the expressed remunerationin each case being certainly quite inadequate to the claims of a writerof any marked popularity. Under these Bentley agreements he was nowwriting, month by month, the first half of _Oliver Twist_, and, underhis Chapman & Hall agreement, the last half of _Pickwick_, not even by aweek in advance of the printer with either; when a circumstance becameknown to him of which he thus wrote to me: "I heard half an hour ago, on authority which leaves me in no doubtabout the matter (from the binder of _Pickwick_, in fact), that Macroneintends publishing a new issue of my _Sketches_ in monthly parts ofnearly the same size and in just the same form as the _Pickwick Papers_. I need not tell you that this is calculated to injure me most seriously, or that I have a very natural and most decided objection to beingsupposed to presume upon the success of the _Pickwick_, and thus foistthis old work upon the public in its new dress for the mere purpose ofputting money in my own pocket. Neither need I say that the fact of myname being before the town, attached to three publications at the sametime, must prove seriously prejudicial to my reputation. As you areacquainted with the circumstances under which these copyrights weredisposed of, and as I know I may rely on your kind help, may I beg youto see Macrone, and to state in the strongest and most emphatic mannermy feeling on this point? I wish him to be reminded of the sums he paidfor those books; of the sale he has had for them; of the extent to whichhe has already pushed them; and of the very great profits he mustnecessarily have acquired from them. I wish him also to be reminded thatno intention of publishing them in this form was in the remotest mannerhinted to me, by him or on his behalf, when he obtained possession ofthe copyright. I then wish you to put it to his feelings of commonhonesty and fair dealing whether after this communication he willpersevere in his intention. " What else the letter contained need not bequoted, but it strongly moved me to do my best. I found Mr. Macrone inaccessible to all arguments of persuasion, however. That he had bought the book for a small sum at a time when thesmallest was not unimportant to the writer, shortly before his marriage, and that he had since made very considerable profits by it, in no waydisturbed his position that he had a right to make as much as he couldof what was his, without regard to how it had become so. There wasnothing for it but to change front, and, admitting it might be a lessevil to the unlucky author to repurchase than to let the monthly issueproceed, to ask what further gain was looked for; but so wide a mouthwas opened at this that I would have no part in the costly process offilling it. I told Dickens so, and strongly counseled him to keep quietfor a time. But the worry and vexation were too great with all the work he had inhand, and I was hardly surprised next day to receive the letter sent me;which yet should be prefaced with the remark that suspense of any kindwas at all times intolerable to the writer. The interval between theaccomplishment of anything, and "its first motion, " Dickens never couldendure, and he was too ready to make any sacrifice to abridge or end it. This did not belong to the strong side of his character, and advantagewas frequently taken of the fact. "I sent down just now to know whetheryou were at home (two o'clock), as Chapman & Hall were with me, and, thecase being urgent, I wished to have the further benefit of your kindadvice and assistance. Macrone and H---- (arcades ambo) waited on themthis morning, and after a long discussion peremptorily refused to takeone farthing less than the two thousand pounds. H---- repeated thestatement of figures which he made to you yesterday, and put it to Hallwhether he could say from his knowledge of such matters that theestimate of probable profit was exorbitant. Hall, whose judgment may berelied on in such matters, could not dispute the justice of thecalculation. And so the matter stood. In this dilemma it occurred tothem (my _Pickwick_ men), whether, if the _Sketches_ _must_ appear inmonthly numbers, it would not be better for them to appear for theirbenefit and mine conjointly than for Macrone's sole use and behoof;whether they, having all the _Pickwick_ machinery in full operation, could not obtain for them a much larger sale than Macrone could everget; and whether, even at this large price of two thousand pounds, wemight not, besides retaining the copyright, reasonably hope for a goodprofit on the outlay. These suggestions having presented themselves, they came straight to me (having obtained a few hours' respite) andproposed that we should purchase the copyrights between us for the twothousand pounds, and publish them in monthly parts. I need not say thatno other form of publication would repay the expenditure; and they wishme to explain by an address that _they_, who may be fairly put forwardas the parties, have been driven into that mode of publication, or thecopyrights would have been lost. I considered the matter in everypossible way. I sent for you, but you were out. I thought of"--what neednot be repeated, now that all is past and gone--"and consented. Was Iright? I think you will say yes. " I could not say no, though I was gladto have been no party to a price so exorbitant; which yet profitedextremely little the person who received it. He died in hardly more thantwo years; and if Dickens had enjoyed the most liberal treatment at hishands, he could not have exerted himself more generously for the widowand children. His new story was now beginning largely to share attention with his_Pickwick Papers_, and it was delightful to see how real all its peoplebecame to him. What I had most, indeed, to notice in him, at the veryoutset of his career, was his indifference to any praise of hisperformances on the merely literary side, compared with the higherrecognition of them as bits of actual life, with the meaning and purposeon their part, and the responsibility on his, of realities rather thancreatures of fancy. The exception that might be drawn from _Pickwick_ israther in seeming than substance. A first book has its immunities, andthe distinction of this from the rest of the writings appears in whathas been said of its origin. The plan of it was simply to amuse. It wasto string together whimsical sketches of the pencil by entertainingsketches of the pen; and, at its beginning, where or how it was to endwas as little known to himself as to any of its readers. But genius is amaster as well as a servant, and when the laughter and fun were at theirhighest something graver made its appearance. He had to defend himselffor this; and he said that, though the mere oddity of a new acquaintancewas apt to impress one at first, the more serious qualities werediscovered when we became friends with the man. In other words he mighthave said that the change was become necessary for his ownsatisfaction. The book itself, in teaching him what his power was, hadmade him more conscious of what would be expected from its use; and thisnever afterwards quitted him. In what he was to do hereafter, as in allhe was doing now, with _Pickwick_ still to finish and _Oliver_ onlybeginning, it constantly attended him. Nor could it well be otherwise, with all those fanciful creations so real, to a nature in itself sopractical and earnest; and in this spirit I had well understood theletter accompanying what had been published of _Oliver_ since itscommencement the preceding February, which reached me the day after Ivisited him. Something to the effect of what has just been said, I hadremarked publicly of the portion of the story sent to me; and hisinstant warm-hearted acknowledgment, of which I permit myself to quote aline or two, showed me in what perfect agreement we were: "How can Ithank you? Can I do better than by saying that the sense of poorOliver's reality, which I know you have had from the first, has been thehighest of all praise to me? None that has been lavished upon me have Ifelt half so much as that appreciation of my intent and meaning. Youknow I have ever done so, for it was your feeling for me and mine foryou that first brought us together, and I hope will keep us so tilldeath do us part. Your notices make me grateful, but very proud: so havea care of them. " There was nothing written by him after this date which I did not seebefore the world did, either in manuscript or proofs; and in connectionwith the latter I shortly began to give him the help which he publiclymentioned twenty years later in dedicating his collected writings to me. One of his letters reminds me when these corrections began, and theywere continued very nearly to the last. They lightened for him a laborof which he had more than enough imposed upon him at this time byothers, and they were never anything but an enjoyment to me. "I have, "he wrote, "so many sheets of the _Miscellany_ to correct before I canbegin _Oliver_, that I fear I shall not be able to leave home thismorning. I therefore send your revise of the _Pickwick_ by Fred, who ison his way with it to the printers. You will see that my alterations arevery slight, but I think for the better. " This was the fourteenth numberof the _Pickwick Papers_. Fred was his next younger brother, who livedwith him at the time. The number following this was the famous one in which the hero findshimself in the Fleet; and another of his letters will show whatenjoyment the writing of it had given to himself. I had sent to ask himwhere we were to meet for a proposed ride that day. "HERE, " was hisreply. "I am slippered and jacketed, and, like that same starling who isso very seldom quoted, can't get out. I am getting on, thank Heaven, like 'a house o' fire, ' and think the next _Pickwick_ will bang all theothers. I shall expect you at one, and we will walk to the stabletogether. If you know anybody at Saint Paul's, I wish you'd send roundand ask them not to ring the bell so. I can hardly hear my own ideas asthey come into my head, and say what they mean. " The exulting tone of confidence in what he had thus been writing wasindeed well justified. He had as yet done nothing so remarkable, inblending humor with tragedy, as his picture of what the poor side of adebtors' prison was in the days of which we have seen that he hadhimself had bitter experience; and we have but to recall, as it risessharply to the memory, what is contained in this portion of a work thatwas not only among his earliest but his least considered as to plan, tounderstand what it was that not alone had given him his fame so early, but that in itself held the germ of the future that awaited him. Everypoint was a telling one, and the truthfulness of the whole unerring. Thedreadful restlessness of the place, undefined yet unceasing, unsatisfying and terrible, was pictured throughout with De Foe's minutereality; while points of character were handled in that greater stylewhich connects with the richest oddities of humor an insight intoprinciples of character universal as nature itself. When he resolvedthat Sam Weller should be occupant of the prison with Mr. Pickwick, hewas perhaps thinking of his favorite Smollett, and how, when PeregrinePickle was inmate of the Fleet, Hatchway and Pipes refused to leave him;but Fielding himself might have envied his way of setting about it. Noris any portion of his picture less admirable than this. The comedygradually deepening into tragedy; the shabby vagabonds who are thegrowth of debtors' prisons, contrasting with the poor simple creatureswho are their sacrifices and victims; Mr. Mivins and Mr. Smangle side byside with the cobbler ruined by his legacy, who sleeps under the tableto remind himself of his old four-poster; Mr. Pickwick's first night inthe marshal's room, Sam Weller entertaining Stiggins in the snuggery, Jingle in decline, and the chancery prisoner dying; in all these scenesthere was writing of the first order, a deep feeling of character, thatdelicate form of humor which has a quaintly pathetic turn in it as well, comedy of the richest and broadest kind, and the easy handlingthroughout of a master in his art. We place the picture by the side ofthose of the great writers of this style, of fiction in our language, and it does not fall by the comparison. Of what the reception of the book had been up to this time, and of thepopularity Dickens had won as its author, this also will be the properplace to speak. For its kind, its extent, and the absence of everythingunreal or factitious in the causes that contributed to it, it isunexampled in literature. Here was a series of sketches, without thepretense to such interest as attends a well-constructed story; put forthin a form apparently ephemeral as its purpose; having none that seemedhigher than to exhibit some studies of cockney manners with help from acomic artist; and after four or five parts had appeared, withoutnewspaper notice or puffing, and itself not subserving in the publicanything false or unworthy, it sprang into a popularity that each partcarried higher and higher, until people at this time talked of nothingelse, tradesmen recommended their goods by using its name, and its sale, outstripping at a bound that of all the most famous books of thecentury, had reached to an almost fabulous number. Of part one, thebinder prepared four hundred; and of part fifteen, his order was formore than forty thousand. Every class, the high equally with the low, was attracted to it. The charm of its gayety and good humor, itsinexhaustible fun, its riotous overflow of animal spirits, itsbrightness and keenness of observation, and, above all, the incomparableease of its many varieties of enjoyment, fascinated everybody. Judges onthe bench and boys in the street, gravity and folly, the young and theold, those who were entering life and those who were quitting it, alikefound it to be irresistible. "An archdeacon, " wrote Mr. Carlyleafterwards to me, "with his own venerable lips, repeated to me, theother night, a strange profane story: of a solemn clergyman who had beenadministering ghostly consolation to a sick person; having finished, satisfactorily as he thought, and got out of the room, he heard the sickperson ejaculate, 'Well, thank God, _Pickwick_ will be out in ten daysany way!'--This is dreadful. " Let me add that there was something more in it all than thegratification of mere fun and laughter, more even than the rarerpleasure that underlies the outbreak of all forms of genuine humor. Another chord had been struck. Over and above the lively painting ofmanners which at first had been so attractive, there was something thatleft deeper mark. Genial and irrepressible enjoyment, affectionateheartiness of tone, unrestrained exuberance of mirth, these are not moredelightful than they are fleeting and perishable qualities; but theattention eagerly excited by the charm of them in _Pickwick_ founditself retained by something more permanent. We had all become suddenlyconscious, in the very thick of the extravaganza of adventure and funset before us, that here were real people. It was not somebody talkinghumorously about them, but they were there themselves. That a number ofpersons belonging to the middle and lower ranks of life (Wardles, Winkles, Wellers, Tupmans, Bardells, Snubbinses, Perkers, Bob Sawyers, Dodsons, and Foggs) had been somehow added to his intimate and familiaracquaintance, the ordinary reader knew before half a dozen numbers wereout; and it took not many more to make clear to the intelligent readerthat a new and original genius in the walk of Smollett and Fielding hadarisen in England. I do not, for reasons to be hereafter stated, think the _PickwickPapers_ comparable to the later books; but, apart from the new vein ofhumor it opened, its wonderful freshness and its unflagging animalspirits, it has two characters that will probably continue to attract toit an unfading popularity. Its pre-eminent achievement is of course SamWeller, --one of those people that take their place among the supremesuccesses of fiction, as one that nobody ever saw but everybodyrecognizes, at once perfectly natural and intensely original. Who isthere that has ever thought him tedious? Who is so familiar with him asnot still to be finding something new in him? Who is so amazed by hisinexhaustible resources, or so amused by his inextinguishable laughter, as to doubt of his being as ordinary and perfect a reality, nevertheless, as anything in the London streets? When indeed the relishhas been dulled that makes such humor natural and appreciable, and nothis native fun only, his ready and rich illustration, his imperturbableself-possession, but his devotion to his master, his chivalry and hisgallantry, are no longer discovered, or believed no longer to exist, inthe ranks of life to which he belongs, it will be worse for all of usthan for the fame of his creator. Nor, when faith is lost in thatpossible combination of eccentricities and benevolences, shrewdness andsimplicity, good sense and folly, all that suggests the ludicrous andnothing that suggests contempt for it, which form the delightful oddityof Pickwick, will the mistake committed be one merely of criticalmisjudgment. But of this there is small fear. Sam Weller and Mr. Pickwick are the Sancho and the Quixote of Londoners, and as littlelikely to pass away as the old city itself. Dickens was very fond of riding in these early years, and there was norecreation he so much indulged, or with such profit to himself, in theintervals of his hardest work. I was his companion oftener than I couldwell afford the time for, the distances being great and nothing else tobe done for the day; but when a note would unexpectedly arrive while Iknew him to be hunted hard by one of his printers, telling me he hadbeen sticking to work so closely that he must have rest, and, by way ofgetting it, proposing we should start together that morning at eleveno'clock for "a fifteen-mile ride out, ditto in, and a lunch on the road"with a wind-up of six o'clock dinner in Doughty Street, I could notresist the good fellowship. His notion of finding rest from mentalexertion in as much bodily exertion of equal severity, continued withhim to the last; taking in the later years what I always thought the toogreat strain of as many miles in walking as he now took in the saddle, and too often indulging it at night; for, though he was alwayspassionately fond of walking, he observed as yet a moderation in it, even accepting as sufficient my seven or eight miles' companionship. "What a brilliant morning for a country walk!" he would write, with notanother word in his dispatch. Or, "Is it possible that you can't, oughtn't, shouldn't, mustn't, _won't_ be tempted, this gorgeous day?"Or, "I start precisely--precisely, mind--at half-past one. Come, come, _come_, and walk in the green lanes. You will work the better for it allthe week. Come! I shall expect you. " Or, "You don't feel disposed, doyou, to muffle yourself up and start off with me for a good brisk walkover Hampstead Heath? I knows a good 'ous there where we can have ared-hot chop for dinner, and a glass of good wine:" which led to ourfirst experience of Jack Straw's Castle, memorable for many happymeetings in coming years. But the rides were most popular and frequent. "I think, " he would write, "Richmond and Twickenham, thro' the park, outat Knightsbridge, and over Barnes Common, would make a beautiful ride. "Or, "Do you know, I shouldn't object to an early chop at some villageinn?" Or, "Not knowing whether my head was off or on, it became soaddled with work, I have gone riding the old road, and should be trulydelighted to meet or be overtaken by you. " Or, "Where shall it be--_oh, where_--Hampstead, Greenwich, Windsor? WHERE?????? while the day isbright, not when it has dwindled away to nothing! For who can be of anyuse whatsomdever such a day as this, excepting out of doors?" Or itmight be interrogatory summons to "A hard trot of three hours?" orintimation as laconic "To be heard of at Eel-pie House, Twickenham!"When first I knew him, I may add, his carriage for his wife's use was asmall chaise with a smaller pair of ponies, which, having a habit ofmaking sudden rushes up by-streets in the day and peremptory standstillsin ditches by night, were changed in the following year for a moresuitable equipage. To this mention of his habits while at work when our friendship began, Ihave to add what will complete the relation already given, in connectionwith his _Sketches_, of the uneasy sense accompanying his labor that itwas yielding insufficient for himself while it enriched others, which isa needful part of his story at this time. At midsummer, 1837, replyingto some inquiries, and sending his agreement with Mr. Bentley for the_Miscellany_ under which he was writing _Oliver_, he went on: "It is avery extraordinary fact (I forgot it on Sunday) that I have NEVER HADfrom him a copy of the agreement respecting the novel, which I never sawbefore or since I signed it at his house one morning long ago. Shall Iask him for a copy or no? I have looked at some memoranda I made at thetime, and I _fear_ he has my second novel on the same terms, under thesame agreement. This is a bad lookout, but we must try and mend it. Youwill tell me you are very much surprised at my doing business in thisway. So am I, for in most matters of labor and application I ampunctuality itself. The truth is (though you do not need I shouldexplain the matter to you, my dear fellow), that if I had allowed myselfto be worried by these things, I could never have done as much as Ihave. But I much fear, in my desire to avoid present vexations, I havelaid up a bitter store for the future. " The second novel, which he hadpromised in a complete form for a very early date, and had alreadyselected subject and title for, was published four years later as_Barnaby Rudge_; but of the third he at present knew nothing but that hewas expected to begin it, if not in the magazine, somewhere or otherindependently within a specified time. The first appeal made, in taking action upon his letter, had referenceto the immediate pressure of the _Barnaby_ novel; but it also opened upthe question of the great change of circumstances since these variousagreements had been precipitately signed by him, the very differentsituation brought about by the extraordinary increase in the popularityof his writings, and the advantage it would be to both Mr. Bentley andhimself to make more equitable adjustment of their relations. Somemisunderstandings followed, but were closed by a compromise inSeptember, 1837; by which the third novel was abandoned[12] on certainconditions, and _Barnaby_ was undertaken to be finished by November, 1838. This involved a completion of the new story during the progress of_Oliver_, whatever might be required to follow on the close of_Pickwick_; and I doubted its wisdom. But it was accepted for the time. He had meanwhile taken his wife abroad for a ten days' summer holiday, accompanied by the shrewd observant young artist, Mr. Hablot Browne, whose admirable illustrations to _Pickwick_ had more than supplied Mr. Seymour's loss; and I had a letter from him on their landing at Calaison the 2d of July: "We have arranged for a post-coach to take us to Ghent, Brussels, Antwerp, and a hundred other places, that I cannot recollect now andcouldn't spell if I did. We went this afternoon in a barouche to somegardens where the people dance, and where they were footing it mostheartily, --especially the women, who in their short petticoats and lightcaps look uncommonly agreeable. A gentleman in a blue surtout and silkenberlins accompanied us from the hotel, and acted as curator. He evenwaltzed with a very smart lady (just to show us, condescendingly, how itought to be done), and waltzed elegantly, too. We rang for slippersafter we came back, and it turned out that this gentleman was theBoots. " His later sea-side holiday was passed at Broadstairs, as were those ofmany subsequent years, and the little watering-place has been madememorable by his pleasant sketch of it. From his letters to myself a fewlines may be given of his first doings and impressions there. Writing on the 3d of September, he reports himself just risen from anattack of illness. "I am much better, and hope to begin _Pickwick No. 18_ to-morrow. You will imagine how queer I must have been when I tellyou that I have been compelled for four-and-twenty mortal hours toabstain from porter or other malt liquor!!! I have done itthough--really. . . . I have discovered that the landlord of the Albion hasdelicious hollands (but what is that to _you_? for you cannot sympathizewith my feelings), and that a cobbler who lives opposite to my bedroomwindow is a Roman Catholic, and gives an hour and a half to hisdevotions every morning behind his counter. I have walked upon thesands at low-water from this place to Ramsgate, and sat upon the same athigh-ditto till I have been flayed with the cold. I have seen ladies andgentlemen walking upon the earth in slippers of buff, and picklingthemselves in the sea in complete suits of the same. I have seen stoutgentlemen looking at nothing through powerful telescopes for hours, and, when at last they saw a cloud of smoke, fancying a steamer behind it, and going home comfortable and happy. I have found out that our nextneighbor has a wife and something else under the same roof with the restof his furniture, --the wife deaf and blind, and the something else givento drinking. And if you ever get to the end of this letter _you_ willfind out that I subscribe myself on paper, as on everything else (someatonement perhaps for its length and absurdity), " etc. Etc. In his next letter (from 12, High Street, Broadstairs, on the 7th) thereis allusion to one of the many piracies of _Pickwick_, which haddistinguished itself beyond the rest by a preface abusive of the writerplundered: "I recollect this 'member of the Dramatic Authors' Society'bringing an action once against Chapman who rented the City theatre, inwhich it was proved that he had undertaken to write under specialagreement seven melodramas for five pounds, to enable him to do which aroom had been hired in a gin-shop close by. The defendant's plea wasthat the plaintiff was always drunk, and had not fulfilled his contract. Well, if the _Pickwick_ has been the means of putting a few shillings inthe vermin-eaten pockets of so miserable a creature, and has saved himfrom a workhouse or a jail, let him empty out his little pot of filthand welcome. I am quite content to have been the means of relieving him. Besides, he seems to have suffered by agreements!" His own troubles in that way were compromised for the time, as alreadyhinted, at the close of this September month; and at the end of themonth following, after finishing _Pickwick_ and resuming _Oliver_, thelatter having been suspended by him during the recent disputes, he madehis first visit to Brighton. The opening of his letter of Friday the 3dof November is full of regrets that I had been unable to join themthere: "It is a beautiful day, and we have been taking advantage of it, but the wind until to-day has been so high and the weather so stormythat Kate has been scarcely able to peep out of doors. On Wednesday itblew a perfect hurricane, breaking windows, knocking down shutters, carrying people off their legs, blowing the fires out, and causinguniversal consternation. The air was for some hours darkened with ashower of black hats (second-hand), which are supposed to have beenblown off the heads of unwary passengers in remote parts of the town, and have been industriously picked up by the fishermen. Charles Kean wasadvertised for _Othello_ 'for the benefit of Mrs. Sefton, having mostkindly postponed for this one day his departure for London. ' I have notheard whether he got to the theatre, but I am sure nobody else did. Theydo _The Honeymoon_ to-night, on which occasion I mean to patronize thedrayma. We have a beautiful bay-windowed sitting-room here, fronting thesea, but I have seen nothing of B. 's brother who was to have shown methe lions, and my notions of the place are consequently somewhatconfined: being limited to the pavilion, the chain-pier, and the sea. The last is quite enough for me, and, unless I am joined by some malecompanion (_do you think I shall be?_), is most probably all I shallmake acquaintance with. I am glad you like _Oliver_ this month:especially glad that you particularize the first chapter. I hope to dogreat things with Nancy. If I can only work out the idea I have formedof her, and of the female who is to contrast with her, I think I maydefy Mr. ---- and all his works. [13] I have had great difficulty inkeeping my hands off Fagin and the rest of them in the evenings; but, asI came down for rest, I have resisted the temptation, and steadilyapplied myself to the labor of being idle. Did you ever read (of courseyou have, though) De Foe's _History of the Devil_? What a capital thingit is! I bought it for a couple of shillings yesterday morning, and havebeen quite absorbed in it ever since. We must have been jolter-headedgeniuses not to have anticipated M. 's reply. My best remembrances tohim. I see H. At this moment. I must be present at a rehearsal of thatopera. It will be better than any comedy that was ever played. Talkingof comedies, I still see NO THOROUGHFARE staring me in the face, everytime I look down that road. I have taken places for Tuesday next. Weshall be at home at six o'clock, and I shall hope at least to see youthat evening. I am afraid you will find this letter extremely dear ateightpence, but if the warmest assurances of friendship and attachment, and anxious lookings-forward to the pleasure of your society, be worthanything, throw them into the balance, together with a hundred goodwishes and one hearty assurance that I am, " etc. Etc. "CHARLES DICKENS. No room for the flourish--I'll finish it the next time I write to you. " The flourish that accompanied his signature is familiar to every one. The allusion to the comedy expresses a fancy he at this time had ofbeing able to contribute some such achievement in aid of Macready'sgallant efforts at Covent Garden to bring back to the stage its higherassociations of good literature and intellectual enjoyment. It connectscuriously now that unrealized hope with the exact title of the onlystory he ever helped himself to dramatize, and which Mr. Fechter playedat the Adelphi three years before his death. FOOTNOTES: [11] Her epitaph, written by him, remains upon a gravestone in thecemetery at Kensal Green: "Young, beautiful, and good, God numbered heramong his angels at the early age of seventeen. " [12] I have a memorandum in Dickens's writing that five hundred poundswas to have been given for it, and an additional two hundred and fiftypounds on its sale reaching three thousand copies; but I feel certain itwas surrendered on more favorable terms. [13] The allusion was to the supposed author of a paper in the_Quarterly Review_ (Oct. 1837), in the course of which there was muchhigh praise, but where the writer said at the close, "Indications arenot wanting that the particular vein of humor which has hitherto yieldedso much attractive metal is worked out. . . . The fact is, Mr. Dickenswrites too often and too fast. . . . If he persists much longer in thiscourse, it requires no gift of prophecy to foretell his fate:--he hasrisen like a rocket, and he will come down like the stick. " CHAPTER VII. BETWEEN PICKWICK AND NICKLEBY. 1837-1838. Edits _Life of Grimaldi_--His Own Opinion of it--An Objection answered--His Recollections of 1823--Completion of _Pickwick_--A Purpose long entertained--Relations with Chapman & Hall--Payments made for _Pickwick_--Agreement for _Nicholas Nickleby_--_Oliver Twist_ characterized--Reasons for Acceptance with every Class--Nightmare of an Agreement--Letter to Mr. Bentley--Proposal as to _Barnaby Rudge_--Result of it--Birth of Eldest Daughter--_Young Gentlemen and Young Couples_--First Number of _Nicholas Nickleby_--2d of April, 1838. NOT remotely bearing on the stage, nevertheless, was the employment onwhich I found him busy at his return from Brighton; one result of hismore satisfactory relations with Mr. Bentley having led to a promise toedit for him a life of the celebrated clown Grimaldi. The manuscript hadbeen prepared from autobiographical notes by a Mr. Egerton Wilks, andcontained one or two stories told so badly, and so well worth bettertelling, that the hope of enlivening their dullness at the cost of verylittle labor constituted a sort of attraction for him. Except thepreface, he did not write a line of this biography, such modificationsor additions as he made having been dictated by him to his father; whomI found often in the supreme enjoyment of the office of amanuensis. Hehad also a most indifferent opinion of the mass of material which ingeneral composed it, describing it to me as "twaddle, " and his ownmodest estimate of the book, on its completion, may be guessed from thenumber of notes of admiration (no less than thirty) which accompaniedhis written mention to me of the sale with which it started in the firstweek of its publication: "Seventeen hundred _Grimaldis_ have beenalready sold, and the demand increases daily!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" It was not to have all its own way, however. A great many criticalfaults were found; and one point in particular was urged against hishandling such a subject, that he could never himself even have seenGrimaldi. To this last objection he was moved to reply, and had prepareda letter for the _Miscellany_, "from editor to sub-editor, " which it wasthought best to suppress, but of which the opening remark may now be notunamusing: "I understand that a gentleman unknown is going about thistown privately informing all ladies and gentlemen of discontentednatures, that, on a comparison of dates and putting together of manylittle circumstances which occur to his great sagacity, he has made theprofound discovery that I can never have seen Grimaldi whose life I haveedited, and that the book must therefore of necessity be bad. Now, sir, although I was brought up from remote country parts in the dark ages of1819 and 1820 to behold the splendor of Christmas pantomimes and thehumor of Joe, in whose honor I am informed I clapped my hands with greatprecocity, and although I even saw him act in the remote times of 1823, yet as I had not then aspired to the dignity of a tail-coat, thoughforced by a relentless parent into my first pair of boots, I amwilling, with the view of saving this honest gentleman further time andtrouble, to concede that I had not arrived at man's estate when Grimaldileft the stage, and that my recollections of his acting are, to my loss, but shadowy and imperfect. Which confession I now make publickly, andwithout mental qualification or reserve, to all whom it may concern. Butthe deduction of this pleasant gentleman that therefore the Grimaldibook must be bad, I must take leave to doubt. I don't think that to edita man's biography from his own notes it is essential you should haveknown him, and I don't believe that Lord Braybrooke had more than thevery slightest acquaintance with Mr. Pepys, whose memoirs he edited twocenturies after he died. " Enormous meanwhile, and without objection audible on any side, had beenthe success of the completed _Pickwick_, which we celebrated by adinner, with himself in the chair and Talfourd in the vice-chair, everybody in hearty good humor with every other body; and a copy ofwhich I received from him on the 11th of December in the most luxuriousof Hayday's bindings, with a note worth preserving for its closingallusion. The passage referred to in it was a comment, in delicatelychosen words, that Leigh Hunt had made on the inscription at the gravein Kensal Green:[14] "Chapman & Hall have just sent me, with a copy ofour deed, three 'extra-super' bound copies of _Pickwick_, as perspecimen inclosed. The first I forward to you, the second I havepresented to our good friend Ainsworth, and the third Kate has retainedfor herself. Accept your copy with one sincere and most comprehensiveexpression of my warmest friendship and esteem; and a hearty renewal, ifthere need be any renewal when there has been no interruption, of allthose assurances of affectionate regard which our close friendship andcommunion for a long time back has every day implied. . . . That beautifulpassage you were so kind and considerate as to send me, has given me theonly feeling akin to pleasure (sorrowful pleasure it is) that I have yethad, connected with the loss of my dear young friend and companion; forwhom my love and attachment will never diminish, and by whose side, ifit please God to leave me in possession of sense to signify my wishes, my bones, whenever or wherever I die, will one day be laid. Tell LeighHunt when you have an opportunity how much he has affected me, and howdeeply I thank him for what he has done. You cannot say it toostrongly. " The "deed" mentioned was one executed in the previous month to restoreto him a third ownership in the book which had thus far enriched allconcerned but himself. The original understanding respecting it Mr. Edward Chapman thus describes for me: "There was no agreement about_Pickwick_ except a verbal one. Each number was to consist of a sheetand a half, for which we were to pay fifteen guineas; and we paid himfor the first two numbers at once, as he required the money to go andget married with. We were also to pay more according to the sale, and Ithink _Pickwick_ altogether cost us three thousand pounds. " Adjustmentto the sale would have cost four times as much, and of the actualpayments I have myself no note; but, as far as my memory serves, theyare overstated by Mr. Chapman. My impression is that, above and beyondthe first sum due for each of the twenty numbers (making no allowancefor their extension after the first to thirty-two pages), successivechecks were given, as the work went steadily on to the enormous sale itreached, which brought up the entire sum received to two thousand fivehundred pounds. I had, however, always pressed so strongly theimportance to him of some share in the copyright, that this at last wasconceded in the deed above mentioned, though five years were to elapsebefore the right should accrue; and it was only yielded as partconsideration for a further agreement entered into at the same date (the19th of November, 1837), whereby Dickens engaged to "write a new work, the title whereof shall be determined by him, of a similar character andof the same extent as the _Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club_, " thefirst number of which was to be delivered on the 15th of the followingMarch, and each of the numbers on the same day of each of the successivenineteen months; which was also to be the date of the payment to him, byMessrs. Chapman & Hall, of twenty several sums of one hundred and fiftypounds each for five years' use of the copyright, the entire ownershipin which was then to revert to Dickens. The name of this new book, asall the world knows, was _The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby_;and between April, 1838, and October, 1839, it was begun and finishedaccordingly. All through the interval of these arrangements _Oliver Twist_ had beensteadily continued. Month by month, for many months, it had run itsopening course with the close of _Pickwick_, as we shall see it closewith the opening of _Nickleby_; and the expectations of those who hadbuilt most confidently on the young novelist were more than confirmed. Here was the interest of a story simply but well constructed; andcharacters with the same impress of reality upon them, but morecarefully and skillfully drawn. Nothing could be meaner than thesubject, the progress of a parish or workhouse boy, nothing less so thanits treatment. As each number appeared, his readers generally becamemore and more conscious of what already, as we have seen, had revealeditself amid even the riotous fun of _Pickwick_, that the purpose was notsolely to amuse; and, far more decisively than its predecessor, the newstory further showed what were the not least potent elements in thestill increasing popularity that was gathering around the writer. Hisqualities could be appreciated as well as felt in an almost equal degreeby all classes of his various readers. Thousands were attracted to himbecause he placed them in the midst of scenes and characters with whichthey were already themselves acquainted; and thousands were reading himwith no less avidity because he introduced them to passages of natureand life of which they before knew nothing, but of the truth of whichtheir own habits and senses sufficed to assure them. Only to genius areso revealed the affinities and sympathies of high and low, in regard tothe customs and usages of life; and only a writer of the first rank canbear the application of such a test. For it is by the alliance ofcommon habits, quite as much as by the bonds of a common humanity, thatwe are all of us linked together; and the result of being above thenecessity of depending on other people's opinions, and that of beingbelow it, are pretty much the same. It would equally startle both highand low to be conscious of the whole that is implied in this closeapproximation; but for the common enjoyment of which I speak suchconsciousness is not required; and for the present Fagin may be leftundisturbed in his school of practical ethics with only the Dodger, Charley Bates, and his other promising scholars. With such work as this in hand, it will hardly seem surprising that asthe time for beginning _Nickleby_ came on, and as he thought of hispromise for November, he should have the sense of "something hangingover him like a hideous nightmare. " He felt that he could not completethe _Barnaby Rudge_ novel by the November of that year, as promised, andthat the engagement he would have to break was unfitting him forengagements he might otherwise fulfill. He had undertaken what, intruth, was impossible. The labor of at once editing the _Miscellany_ andsupplying it with monthly portions of _Oliver_ more than occupied allthe time left him by other labors absolutely necessary. "I no sooner getmyself up, " he wrote, "high and dry, to attack _Oliver_ manfully, thanup come the waves of each month's work, and drive me back again into asea of manuscript. " There was nothing for it but that he should makefurther appeal to Mr. Bentley. "I have recently, " he wrote to him on the11th of February, 1838, "been thinking a great deal about _BarnabyRudge_. _Grimaldi_ has occupied so much of the short interval I hadbetween the completion of the _Pickwick_ and the commencement of the newwork, that I see it will be wholly impossible for me to produce it bythe time I had hoped, with justice to myself or profit to you. What Iwish you to consider is this: would it not be far more to your interest, as well as within the scope of my ability, if _Barnaby Rudge_ began inthe _Miscellany_ immediately on the conclusion of _Oliver Twist_, andwere continued there for the same time, and then published in threevolumes? Take these simple facts into consideration. If the _Miscellany_is to keep its ground, it _must_ have some continuous tale from me when_Oliver_ stops. If I sat down to _Barnaby Rudge_, writing a little of itwhen I could (and with all my other engagements it would necessarily bea very long time before I could hope to finish it that way), it would beclearly impossible for me to begin a new series of papers in the_Miscellany_. The conduct of three different stories at the same time, and the production of a large portion of each, every month, would havebeen beyond Scott himself. Whereas, having _Barnaby_ for the_Miscellany_, we could at once supply the gap which the cessation of_Oliver_ must create, and you would have all the advantage of thatprestige in favor of the work which is certain to enhance the value of_Oliver Twist_ considerably. Just think of this at your leisure. I amreally anxious to do the best I can for you as well as for myself, andin this case the pecuniary advantage must be all on your side. " Thisletter nevertheless, which had also requested an overdue account of thesales of the _Miscellany_, led to differences which were only adjustedafter six months' wrangling; and I was party to the understanding thenarrived at, by which, among other things, _Barnaby_ was placed upon thefooting desired, and was to begin when _Oliver_ closed. Of the progress of his _Oliver_, and his habits of writing at the time, it may perhaps be worth giving some additional glimpses from his lettersof 1838. "I was thinking about _Oliver_ till dinner-time yesterday, " hewrote on the 9th of March, [15] "and, just as I had fallen upon him toothand nail, was called away to sit with Kate. I did eight slips, however, and hope to make them fifteen this morning. " Three days before, a littledaughter had been born to him, who became a little god-daughter to me;on which occasion (having closed his announcement with a postscript of"I can do nothing this morning. What time will you ride? The sooner thebetter, for a good long spell"), we rode out fifteen miles on the greatnorth road, and, after dining at the Red Lion in Barnet on our way home, distinguished the already memorable day by bringing in both hacks deadlame. On that day week, Monday, the 13th, after describing himself "sittingpatiently at home waiting for _Oliver Twist_ who has not yet arrived, "which was his pleasant form of saying that his fancy had fallen intosluggishness that morning, he made addition not less pleasant as to somepiece of painful news I had sent him, now forgotten: "I have not yetseen the paper, and you throw me into a fever. The comfort is, that allthe strange and terrible things come uppermost, and that the good andpleasant things are mixed up with every moment of our existence soplentifully that we scarcely heed them. " At the close of the month Mrs. Dickens was well enough to accompany him to Richmond, for now the timewas come to start _Nickleby_; and, having been away from town when_Pickwick's_ first number came out, he made it a superstition to beabsent at all future similar times. The magazine-day of that Aprilmonth, I remember, fell upon a Saturday, and the previous evening hadbrought me a peremptory summons: "Meet me at the Shakspeare on Saturdaynight at eight; order your horse at midnight, and ride back with me. "Which was done accordingly. The smallest hour was sounding from St. Paul's into the night before we started, and the night was none of thepleasantest; but we carried news that lightened every part of the road, for the sale of _Nickleby_ had reached that day the astonishing numberof nearly fifty thousand! I left him working with unusual cheerfulnessat _Oliver Twist_ when I left the Star and Garter on the next day butone, after celebrating with both friends on the previous evening ananniversary[16] which concerned us all (their second and mytwenty-sixth), and which we kept always in future at the same place, except when they were living out of England, for twenty successiveyears. It was a part of his love of regularity and order, as well as ofhis kindliness of nature, to place such friendly meetings as these underrules of habit and continuance. FOOTNOTES: [14] See _ante_, p. 120. [15] There is an earlier allusion I may quote, from a letter in January, for its mention of a small piece written by him at this time, but notincluded in his acknowledged writings: "I am as badly off as you. I havenot done the _Young Gentlemen_, nor written the preface to _Grimaldi_, nor thought of _Oliver Twist_, or even supplied a subject for theplate. " The _Young Gentlemen_ was a small book of sketches which hewrote anonymously as the companion to a similar half-crown volume of_Young Ladies_ (not written by him), for Messrs. Chapman & Hall. Headded subsequently a like volume of _Young Couples_, also without hisname. [16] See _ante_, p. 113. CHAPTER VIII. OLIVER TWIST. 1838. Interest in Characters at Close of _Oliver_--Writing of the Last Chapter--Cruikshank Illustrations--Etchings for Last Volume--How executed--Slander respecting them exposed--Falsehood ascribed to the Artist--Reputation of the New Tale--Its Workmanship--Social Evils passed away--Living only in what destroyed them--Chief Design of the Story--Its Principal Figures--Comedy and Tragedy of Crime--Reply to Attacks--Le Sage, Gay, and Fielding--Likeness to them--Again the Shadow of _Barnaby_--Appeal to Mr. Bentley for Delay--A Very Old Story--"Sic Vos non Vobis"--_Barnaby_ given up by Mr. Bentley--Resignation of _Miscellany_--Parent parting from Child. THE whole of his time not occupied by _Nickleby_ was now given to_Oliver_, and as the story shaped itself to its close it tookextraordinary hold of him. I never knew him work so frequently afterdinner, or to such late hours (a practice he afterwards abhorred), asduring the final months of this task; which it was now his hope tocomplete before October, though its close in the magazine would not bedue until the following March. "I worked pretty well last night, " hewrites, referring to it in May, "very well indeed; but, although I dideleven close slips before half-past twelve, I have four to write tocomplete the chapter; and, as I foolishly left them till this morning, have the steam to get up afresh. " A month later he writes, "I got tothe sixteenth slip last night, and shall try hard to get to thethirtieth before I go to bed. "[17] Then, on a "Tuesday night, " at theopening of August, he wrote, "Hard at work still. Nancy is no more. Ishowed what I have done to Kate last night, who was in an unspeakable'_state_:' from which and my own impression I augur well. When I havesent Sikes to the devil, I must have yours. " "No, no, " he wrote, in thefollowing month: "don't, don't let us ride till to-morrow, not havingyet disposed of the Jew, who is such an out-and-outer that I don't knowwhat to make of him. " No small difficulty to an inventor, where thecreatures of his invention are found to be as real as himself; but thisalso was mastered; and then there remained but the closing quiet chapterto tell the fortunes of those who had figured in the tale. To this hesummoned me in the first week of September, replying to a request ofmine that he'd give me a call that day: "Come and give _me_ a call, andlet us have 'a bit o' talk' before we have a bit o' som'at else. Mymissis is going out to dinner, and I ought to go, but I have got a badcold. So do you come, and sit here, and read, or work, or do something, while I write the LAST chapter of _Oliver_, which will be arter a lambchop. " How well I remember that evening! and our talk of what should bethe fate of Charley Bates, on behalf of whom (as indeed for the Dodgertoo) Talfourd had pleaded as earnestly in mitigation of judgment asever at the bar for any client he had most respected. The publication had been announced for October, but the third-volumeillustrations intercepted it a little. This part of the story, as wehave seen, had been written in anticipation of the magazine, and thedesigns for it, having to be executed "in a lump, " were necessarily donesomewhat hastily. The matter supplied in advance of the monthly portionsin the magazine formed the bulk of the last volume as published in thebook; and for this the plates had to be prepared by Cruikshank also inadvance of the magazine, to furnish them in time for the separatepublication: Sikes and his dog, Fagin in the cell, and Rose Maylie andOliver, being the three last. None of these Dickens had seen until hesaw them in the book on the eve of its publication; when he so stronglyobjected to one of them that it had to be canceled. "I returned suddenlyto town yesterday afternoon, " he wrote to the artist at the end ofOctober, "to look at the latter pages of _Oliver Twist_ before it wasdelivered to the booksellers, when I saw the majority of the plates inthe last volume for the first time. With reference to the lastone, --Rose Maylie and Oliver, --without entering into the question ofgreat haste, or any other cause, which may have led to its being what itis, I am quite sure there can be little difference of opinion between uswith respect to the result. May I ask you whether you will object todesigning this plate afresh, and doing so _at once_, in order that asfew impressions as possible of the present one may go forth? I feelconfident you know me too well to feel hurt by this inquiry, and withequal confidence in you I have lost no time in preferring it. " Thisletter, printed from a copy in Dickens's handwriting fortunatelycommitted to my keeping, entirely disposes of a wonderful story[18]originally promulgated in America with a minute particularity of detailthat might have raised the reputation of Sir Benjamin Backbite himself. Whether all Sir Benjamin's laurels, however, should fall to the personby whom the tale is told, [19] or whether any part belongs to theauthority alleged for it, is unfortunately not quite clear. There wouldhardly have been a doubt, if the fable had been confined to the otherside of the Atlantic; but it has been reproduced and widely circulatedon this side also; and the distinguished artist whom it calumniates byattributing the invention to him has been left undefended from itsslander. Dickens's letter spares me the necessity of characterizing, bythe only word which would have been applicable to it, a tale of suchincredible and monstrous absurdity as that one of the masterpieces ofits author's genius had been merely an illustration of etchings by Mr. Cruikshank! The completed _Oliver Twist_ found a circle of admirers, not so wide inits range as those of others of his books, but of a character and markthat made their honest liking for it, and steady advocacy of it, important to his fame; and the book has held its ground in the firstclass of his writings. It deserves that place. The admittedexaggerations in _Pickwick_ are incident to its club's extravaganza ofadventure, of which they are part, and are easily separable from thereality of its wit and humor, and its incomparable freshness; but nosuch allowances were needed here. Make what deduction the too scrupulousreader of _Oliver_ might please for "lowness" in the subject, theprecision and the unexaggerated force of the delineation were not to bedisputed. The art of copying from nature as it really exists in thecommon walks had not been carried by any one to greater perfection, orto better results in the way of combination. Such was his handling ofthe piece of solid, existing, every-day life, which he made here thegroundwork of his wit and tenderness, that the book which did much tohelp out of the world the social evils it portrayed will probablypreserve longest the picture of them as they then were. Thus far, indeed, he had written nothing to which in a greater or less degree thisfelicity did not belong. At the time of which I am speaking, thedebtors' prisons described in _Pickwick_, the parochial managementdenounced in _Oliver_, and the Yorkshire schools exposed in _Nickleby_, were all actual existences, --which now have no vivider existence than inthe forms he thus gave to them. With wiser purposes, he superseded theold petrifying process of the magician in the Arabian tale, and struckthe prisons and parish abuses of his country, and its schools of neglectand crime, into palpable life forever. A portion of the truth of thepast, of the character and very history of the moral abuses of his time, will thus remain always in his writings; and it will be remembered thatwith only the light arms of humor and laughter, and the gentle ones ofpathos and sadness, he carried cleansing and reform into those Augeanstables. Not that such intentions are in any degree ever intruded by this leastdidactic of writers. It is the fact that teaches, and not anysermonizing drawn from it. _Oliver Twist_ is the history of a child bornin a workhouse and brought up by parish overseers, and there is nothingintroduced that is out of keeping with the design. It is a series ofpictures from the tragi-comedy of lower life, worked out by perfectlynatural agencies, from the dying mother and the starved wretches of thefirst volume, through the scenes and gradations of crime, careless ordeliberate, which have a frightful consummation in the last volume, butare never without the reliefs and self-assertions of humanity even inscenes and among characters so debased. It is indeed the primary purposeof the tale to show its little hero, jostled as he is in the miserablecrowd, preserved everywhere from the vice of its pollution by anexquisite delicacy of natural sentiment which clings to him under everydisadvantage. There is not a more masterly touch in fiction, and it isby such that this delightful fancy is consistently worked out to thelast, than Oliver's agony of childish grief on being brought away fromthe branch-workhouse, the wretched home associated only with sufferingand starvation, and with no kind word or look, but containing still hislittle companions in misery. Of the figures the book has made familiar to every one it is not mypurpose to speak. To name one or two will be enough. Bumble and hiswife; Charley Bates and the Artful Dodger; the cowardly charity-boy, Noah Claypole, whose _Such agony, please, sir_, puts the whole of aschool-life into one phrase; the so-called merry old Jew, supple andblack-hearted Fagin; and Bill Sikes, the bolder-faced bulky-leggedruffian, with his white hat and white shaggy dog, --who does not knowthem all, even to the least points of dress, look, and walk, and all thesmall peculiarities that express great points of character? I haveomitted poor wretched Nancy; yet it is to be said of her, with suchhonest truthfulness her strength and weakness are shown, in the virtuethat lies neighbored in her nature so closely by vice, that the peoplemeant to be entirely virtuous show poorly beside her. But, though Roseand her lover are trivial enough beside Bill and his mistress, beingindeed the weak part of the story, it is the book's pre-eminent meritthat vice is nowhere made attractive in it. Crime is not more intenselyodious, all through, than it is also most wretched and most unhappy. Notmerely when its exposure comes, when the latent recesses of guilt arelaid bare, and all the agonies of remorse are witnessed; not in thegreat scenes only, but in those lighter passages where no such aim mightseem to have guided the apparently careless hand, this is emphaticallyso. Whether it be the comedy or the tragedy of crime, terror andretribution dog closely at its heels. They are as plainly visible whenFagin is first shown in his den, boiling the coffee in the saucepan andstopping every now and then to listen when there is the least noisebelow, --the villainous confidence of habit never extinguishing in himthe anxious watchings and listenings of crime, --as when we see him atthe last in the condemned cell, like a poisoned human rat in a hole. A word may be added upon the attacks directed against the subject of thebook, to which Dickens made reply in one of his later editions, declaring his belief that he had tried to do a service to society, andhad certainly done no disservice, in depicting a knot of such associatesin crime in all their deformity and squalid wretchedness, skulkinguneasily through a miserable life to a painful and shameful death. Itis, indeed, never the subject that can be objectionable, if thetreatment is not so, as we may see by much popular writing since, wheresubjects unimpeachably high are brought low by degrading sensualism. When the object of a writer is to exhibit the vulgarity of vice, and notits pretensions to heroism or cravings for sympathy, he may measure hissubject with the highest. We meet with a succession of swindlers andthieves in _Gil Blas_; we shake hands with highwaymen and housebreakersall round in the _Beggars' Opera_; we pack cards with La Ruse or pickpockets with Jonathan in Fielding's _Mr. Wild the Great_; we followcruelty and vice from its least beginning to its grossest ends in theprints of Hogarth; but our morals stand none the looser for any of them. As the spirit of the Frenchman was pure enjoyment, the strength of theEnglishmen lay in wisdom and satire. The low was set forth to pull downthe false pretensions of the high. And though for the most part theydiffer in manner and design from Dickens in this tale, desiring less todiscover the soul of goodness in things evil than to brand the stamp ofevil on things apt to pass for good, their objects and results aresubstantially the same. Familiar with the lowest kind of abasement oflife, the knowledge is used, by both him and them, to teach whatconstitutes its essential elevation; and by the very coarseness andvulgarity of the materials employed we measure the gentlemanliness andbeauty of the work that is done. The quack in morality will always callsuch writing immoral, and the impostors will continue to complain of itstreatment of imposture, but for the rest of the world it will stillteach the invaluable lesson of what men ought to be from what they are. We cannot learn it more than enough. We cannot too often be told that asthe pride and grandeur of mere external circumstance is the falsest ofearthly things, so the truth of virtue in the heart is the most lovelyand lasting; and from the pages of _Oliver Twist_ this teaching is onceagain to be taken by all who will look for it there. And now, while _Oliver_ was running a great career of popularity andsuccess, the shadow of the tale of _Barnaby Rudge_, which he was towrite on similar terms, and to begin in the _Miscellany_ when the othershould have ended, began to darken everything around him. We had muchdiscussion respecting it, and I had no small difficulty in restraininghim from throwing up the agreement altogether; but the real hardship ofhis position, and the considerate construction to be placed on everyeffort made by him to escape from obligations incurred in ignorance ofthe sacrifices implied by them, will be best understood from his ownfrank and honest statement. On the 21st of January, 1839, inclosing methe copy of a letter which he proposed to send to Mr. Bentley thefollowing morning, he thus wrote: "From what I have already said to you, you will have been led to expect that I entertained some suchintention. I know you will not endeavor to dissuade me from sending it. Go it MUST. It is no fiction to say that at present I _cannot_ writethis tale. The immense profits which _Oliver_ has realized to itspublisher and is still realizing; the paltry, wretched, miserable sum itbrought to me (not equal to what is every day paid for a novel thatsells fifteen hundred copies at most); the recollection of this, and theconsciousness that I have still the slavery and drudgery of another workon the same journeyman-terms; the consciousness that my books areenriching everybody connected with them but myself, and that I, withsuch a popularity as I have acquired, am struggling in old toils, andwasting my energies in the very height and freshness of my fame, and thebest part of my life, to fill the pockets of others, while for those whoare nearest and dearest to me I can realize little more than a genteelsubsistence: all this puts me out of heart and spirits. And Icannot--cannot and will not--under such circumstances that keep me downwith an iron hand, distress myself by beginning this tale until I havehad time to breathe, and until the intervention of the summer, and somecheerful days in the country, shall have restored me to a more genialand composed state of feeling. There--for six months _Barnaby Rudge_stands over. And but for you, it should stand over altogether. For I domost solemnly declare that morally, before God and man, I hold myselfreleased from such hard bargains as these, after I have done so much forthose who drove them. This net that has been wound about me so chafesme, so exasperates and irritates my mind, that to break it at whatevercost--_that_ I should care nothing for--is my constant impulse. But Ihave not yielded to it. I merely declare that I must have a postponementvery common in all literary agreements; and for the time I havementioned--six months from the conclusion of _Oliver_ in the_Miscellany_--I wash my hands of any fresh accumulation of labor, andresolve to proceed as cheerfully as I can with that which alreadypresses upon me. "[20] To describe what followed upon this is not necessary. It will suffice tostate the results. Upon the appearance in the _Miscellany_, in the earlymonths of 1839, of the last portion of _Oliver Twist_, its author, having been relieved altogether from his engagement to the magazine, handed over, in a familiar epistle from a parent to his child, theeditorship to Mr. Ainsworth; and the still subsisting agreement to write_Barnaby Rudge_ was, upon the overture of Mr. Bentley himself in June ofthe following year, 1840, also put an end to, on payment by Dickens, forthe copyright of _Oliver Twist_ and such printed stock as remained ofthe edition then on hand, of two thousand two hundred and fifty pounds. What was further incident to this transaction will be told hereafter;and a few words may meanwhile be taken, not without significance inregard to it, from the parent's familiar epistle. It describes the childas aged two years and two months (so long had he watched over it); givessundry pieces of advice concerning its circulation, and the importancethereto of light and pleasant articles of food; and concludes, aftersome general moralizing on the shiftings and changes of this worldhaving taken so wonderful a turn that mail-coach guards were become nolonger judges of horse-flesh, "I reap no gain or profit by parting fromyou, nor will any conveyance of your property be required, for in thisrespect you have always been literally Bentley's Miscellany and nevermine. " FOOTNOTES: [17] Here is another of the same month: "All day I have been at work on_Oliver_, and hope to finish the chapter by bedtime. I wish you'd let meknow what Sir Francis Burdett has been saying about him at someBirmingham meeting. B. Has just sent me the _Courier_ containing somereference to his speech; but the speech I haven't seen. " [18] Reproduced as below, in large type, and without a word ofcontradiction or even doubt, in a biography of Mr. Dickens put forth byMr. Hotten: "Dr. Shelton McKenzie, in the American _Round Table_, relates this anecdote of _Oliver Twist_: In London I was intimate withthe brothers Cruikshank, Robert and George, but more particularly withthe latter. Having called upon him one day at his house (it was then inMyddelton Terrace, Pentonville), I had to wait while he was finishing anetching, for which a printer's boy was waiting. To while away the time, I gladly complied with his suggestion that I should look over aportfolio crowded with etchings, proofs, and drawings, which lay uponthe sofa. Among these, carelessly tied together in a wrap of brownpaper, was a series of some twenty-five or thirty drawings, verycarefully finished, through most of which were carried the well-knownportraits of Fagin, Bill Sikes and his dog, Nancy, the Artful Dodger, and Master Charles Bates--all well known to the readers of _OliverTwist_. There was no mistake about it; and when Cruikshank turned round, his work finished, I said as much. He told me that it had long been inhis mind to show the life of a London thief by a series of drawingsengraved by himself, in which, without a single line of letter-press, the story would be strikingly and clearly told. 'Dickens, ' he continued, 'dropped in here one day, just as you have done, and, while waitinguntil I could speak with him, took up that identical portfolio, andferreted out that bundle of drawings. When he came to that one whichrepresents Fagin in the condemned cell, he studied it for half an hour, and told me that he was tempted to change the whole plot of his story;not to carry Oliver Twist through adventures in the country, but to takehim up into the thieves' den in London, show what their life was, andbring Oliver through it without sin or shame. I consented to let himwrite up to as many of the designs as he thought would suit his purpose;and that was the way in which Fagin, Sikes, and Nancy were created. Mydrawings suggested them, rather than his strong individuality suggestedmy drawings. '" [19] This question has been partly solved, since my last edition, by Mr. Cruikshank's announcement in the _Times_, that, though Dr. Mackenzie had"confused some circumstances with respect to Mr. Dickens looking oversome drawings and sketches, " the substance of his information as to whoit was that originated _Oliver Twist_, and all its characters, had beenderived from Mr. Cruikshank himself. The worst part of the foregoingfable, therefore, has not Dr. Mackenzie for its author; and Mr. Cruikshank is to be congratulated on the prudence of his rigid silencerespecting it as long as Mr. Dickens lived. [20] Upon receiving this letter I gently reminded him that I had madeobjection at the time to the arrangement on the failure of which heempowered me to bring about the settlement it was now proposed tosupersede. I cannot give his reply, as it would be unbecoming to repeatthe warmth of its expression to myself, but I preserve its first fewlines to guard against any possible future misstatement: "If you supposethat anything in my letter could by the utmost latitude of constructionimply the smallest dissatisfaction on my part, for God's sake dismisssuch a thought from your mind. I have never had a momentary approach todoubt or discontent where you have been mediating for me. . . . I could saymore, but you would think me foolish and rhapsodical; and such feelingas I have for you is better kept within one's own breast than vented inimperfect and inexpressive words. " CHAPTER IX. NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 1838-1839. Doubts of Success dispelled--Realities of English Life--Characters self-revealed--Miss Bates and Mrs. Nickleby--Smike and Dotheboys--A Favorite Type of Humanity--Sydney Smith and Newman Noggs--Kindliness and Breadth of Humor--Goldsmith and Smollett--Early and Later Books--Biographical not critical--Characteristics--Materials for the Book--Birthday Letter--A Difficulty at Starting--Never in Advance with _Nickleby_--Always with Later Books--Enjoying a Play--At the Adelphi--Writing Mrs. Nickleby's Love-scene--Sydney Smith vanquished--Winding up the Story--Parting from Creatures of his Fancy--The Nickleby Dinner--Persons present--The Maclise Portrait. I WELL recollect the doubt there was, mixed with the eager expectationwhich the announcement of his second serial story had awakened, whetherthe event would justify all that interest, and if indeed it werepossible that the young writer could continue to walk steadily under theburden of the popularity laid upon him. The first number dispersed thiscloud of a question in a burst of sunshine; and as much of the gayety ofnations as had been eclipsed by old Mr. Pickwick's voluntary exile toDulwich was restored by the cheerful confidence with which young Mr. Nicholas Nickleby stepped into his shoes. Everything that had givencharm to the first book was here, with more attention to the importantrequisite of a story, and more wealth as well as truth of character. How this was poured forth in each successive number, it hardly needsthat I should tell. To recall it now, is to talk of what since has sointerwoven itself with common speech and thought as to have becomealmost part of the daily life of us all. It was well said of him, soonafter his death, in mentioning how largely his compositions hadfurnished one of the chief sources of intellectual enjoyment to thisgeneration, that his language had become part of the language of everyclass and rank of his countrymen, and his characters were a portion ofour contemporaries. "It seems scarcely possible, " continued thisotherwise not too indulgent commentator, "to believe that there neverwere any such persons as Mr. Pickwick and Mrs. Nickleby and Mrs. Gamp. They are to us not only types of English life, but types actuallyexisting. They at once revealed the existence of such people, and madethem thoroughly comprehensible. They were not studies of persons, butpersons. And yet they were idealized in the sense that the reader didnot think that they were drawn from the life. They were alive; they werethemselves. " The writer might have added that this is proper to all truemasters of fiction who work in the higher regions of their calling. Nothing certainly could express better what the new book was at thistime making manifest to its thousands of readers; not simply anastonishing variety in the creations of character, but what it was thatmade these creations so real; not merely the writer's wealth of genius, but the secret and form of his art. There never was any one who hadless need to talk about his characters, because never were characters sosurely revealed by themselves; and it was thus their reality made itselffelt at once. They talked so well that everybody took to repeating whatthey said, as the writer just quoted has pointed out; and the sayingsbeing the constituent elements of the characters, these also ofthemselves became part of the public. This, which must always be anovelist's highest achievement, was the art carried to exquisiteperfection on a more limited stage by Miss Austen; and, under widelydifferent conditions both of art and work, it was pre-eminently that ofDickens. I told him, on reading the first dialogue of Mrs. Nickleby andMiss Knag, that he had been lately reading Miss Bates in _Emma_, but Ifound that he had not at this time made the acquaintance of that finewriter. Who that recollects the numbers of _Nickleby_ as they appeared can haveforgotten how each number added to the general enjoyment? All that hadgiven _Pickwick_ its vast popularity, the overflowing mirth, heartyexuberance of humor, and genial kindliness of satire, had here theadvantage of a better-laid design, more connected incidents, and greaterprecision of character. Everybody seemed immediately to know theNickleby family as well as his own. Dotheboys, with all that renderedit, like a piece by Hogarth, both ludicrous and terrible, became ahousehold word. Successive groups of Mantalinis, Kenwigses, Crummleses, introduced each its little world of reality, lighted up everywhere withtruth and life, with capital observation, the quaintest drollery, andquite boundless mirth and fun. The brothers Cheeryble brought with themall the charities. With Smike came the first of those pathetic picturesthat filled the world with pity for what cruelty, ignorance, or neglectmay inflict upon the young. And Newman Noggs ushered in that class ofthe creatures of his fancy in which he took himself perhaps the mostdelight, and which the oftener he dealt with the more he seemed to knowhow to vary and render attractive: gentlemen by nature, however shockingbad their hats or ungenteel their dialects; philosophers of modestendurance, and needy but most respectable coats; a sort of humble angelsof sympathy and self-denial, though without a particle of splendor oreven good looks about them, except what an eye as fine as their ownfeelings might discern. "My friends, " wrote Sydney Smith, describing toDickens the anxiety of some ladies of his acquaintance to meet him atdinner, "have not the smallest objection to be put into a number, but onthe contrary would be proud of the distinction; and Lady Charlotte, inparticular, you may marry to Newman Noggs. " Lady Charlotte was not amore real person to Sydney than Newman Noggs; and all the world thatDickens attracted to his books could draw from them the same advantageas the man of wit and genius. It has been lately objected that humanityis not seen in them in its highest or noblest types, and the assertionmay hereafter be worth considering; but what is very certain is, thatthey have inculcated humanity in familiar and engaging forms tothousands and tens of thousands of their readers, who can hardly havefailed each to make his little world around him somewhat the better fortheir teaching. From first to last they were never for a moment aliento either the sympathies or the understandings of any class; and therewere crowds of people at this time that could not have told you whatimagination meant, who were adding month by month to their limitedstores the boundless gains of imagination. One other kindliest product of humor in _Nickleby_, not to be passedover in even thus briefly recalling a few first impressions of it, wasthe good little miniature-painter Miss La Creevy, living by herself, overflowing with affections she has nobody to bestow on, but alwayscheerful by dint of industry and good-heartedness. When she isdisappointed in the character of a woman she has been to see, she easesher mind by saying a very cutting thing at her expense _in a soliloquy_:and thereby illustrates one of the advantages of having lived alone solong, that she made always a confidante of herself; was as sarcastic asshe could be, by herself, on people who offended her; pleased herself, and did no harm. Here was one of those touches, made afterwards familiarto the readers of Dickens by innumerable similar fancies, which addedaffection to their admiration for the writer, and enabled them toanticipate the feeling with which posterity would regard him as indeedthe worthy companion of the Goldsmiths and Fieldings. There was a pieceof writing, too, within not many pages of it, of which Leigh Huntexclaimed on reading it that it surpassed the best things of the kind inSmollett that he was able to call to mind. This was the letter of MissSqueers to Ralph Nickleby, giving him her version of the chastisementinflicted by Nicholas on the schoolmaster: "My pa requests me to writeto you, the doctors considering it doubtful whether he will everrecuvver the use of his legs which prevents his holding a pen. We are ina state of mind beyond everything, and my pa is one mask of brooses bothblue and green likewise two forms are steepled in his Goar. . . . Me and mybrother were then the victims of his feury since which we have sufferedvery much which leads us to the arrowing belief that we have receivedsome injury in our insides, especially as no marks of violence arevisible externally. I am screaming out loud all the time I write and sois my brother which takes off my attention rather and I hope will excusemistakes". . . . Thus rapidly may be indicated some elements that contributed to thesudden and astonishingly wide popularity of these books. I purposelyreserve from my present notices of them, which are biographical ratherthan critical, any statement of the reasons for which I think theminferior in imagination and fancy to some of the later works; but therewas continued and steady growth in them on the side of humor, observation, and character, while freshness and raciness of stylecontinued to be an important help. There are faults of occasionalexaggeration in the writing, but none that do not spring from animalspirits and good humor, or a pardonable excess, here and there, on theside of earnestness; and it has the rare virtue, whether gay or grave, of being always thoroughly intelligible and for the most part thoroughlynatural, of suiting itself without effort to every change of mood, asquick, warm, and comprehensive as the sympathies it is taxed to express. The tone also is excellent. We are never repelled by egotism orconceit, and misplaced ridicule never disgusts us. When good is goingon, we are sure to see all the beauty of it; and when there is evil, weare in no danger of mistaking it for good. No one can paint morepicturesquely by an apposite epithet, or illustrate more happily by achoice allusion. Whatever he knows or feels, too, is always at hisfingers' ends, and is present through whatever he is doing. What Rebeccasays to Ivanhoe of the black knight's mode of fighting would not bewholly inapplicable to Dickens's manner of writing: "There is more thanmere strength, there seems as if the whole soul and spirit of thechampion were given to every blow he deals. " This, when a man deals hisblows with a pen, is the sort of handling that freshens with new lifethe oldest facts, and breathes into thoughts the most familiar anemotion not felt before. There seemed to be not much to add to ourknowledge of London until his books came upon us, but each in thisrespect outstripped the other in its marvels. In _Nickleby_ the old cityreappears under every aspect; and whether warmth and light are playingover what is good and cheerful in it, or the veil is uplifted from itsdarker scenes, it is at all times our privilege to see and feel it as itabsolutely is. Its interior hidden life becomes familiar as itscommonest outward forms, and we discover that we hardly knew anything ofthe places we supposed that we knew the best. Of such notices as his letters give of his progress with _Nickleby_, which occupied him from February, 1838, to October, 1839, something maynow be said. Soon after the agreement for it was signed, before theChristmas of 1837 was over, he went down into Yorkshire with Mr. HablotBrowne to look up the Cheap Schools in that county to which publicattention had been painfully drawn by a law-case in the previous year;which had before been notorious for cruelties committed in them, whereofhe had heard as early as in his childish days;[21] and which he was bentupon destroying if he could. I soon heard the result of his journey; andthe substance of that letter, returned to him for the purpose, is in hispreface to the story written for the collected edition. He came backconfirmed in his design, and in February set to work upon his firstchapter. On his birthday he wrote to me, "I _have_ begun! I wrote fourslips last night, so you see the beginning is made. And what is more, Ican go on: so I hope the book is in training at last. " "The firstchapter of _Nicholas_ is done, " he wrote two days later. "It took time, but I think answers the purpose as well as it could. " Then, after adozen days more, "I wrote twenty slips of _Nicholas_ yesterday, leftonly four to do this morning (up at 8 o'clock too!), and have ordered myhorse at one. " I joined him as he expected, and we read together atdinner that day the first number of _Nicholas Nickleby_. In the following number there was a difficulty which it was marvelousshould not oftener have occurred to him in this form of publication. "Icould not write a line till three o'clock, " he says, describing theclose of that number, "and have yet five slips to finish, and don't knowwhat to put in them, for I have reached the point I meant to leave offwith. " He found easy remedy for such a miscalculation at his outset, andit was nearly his last as well as first misadventure of the kind: hisdifficulty in _Pickwick_, as he once told me, having always been, notthe running short, but the running over: not the whip, but the drag, that was wanted. Sufflaminandus erat, as Ben Jonson said of Shakspeare. And in future works, with such marvelous nicety could he do always whathe had planned, strictly within the space available, that only anothersimilar instance is remembered by me. The third number introduced theschool; and "I remain dissatisfied until you have seen and read numberthree, " was his way of announcing to me his own satisfaction with thatfirst handling of Dotheboys Hall. Nor had it the least part in myadmiration of his powers at this time that he never wrote without theprinter at his heels; that, always in his later works two or threenumbers in advance, he was never a single number in advance with thisstory; that the more urgent the call upon him the more readily he roseto it; and that his astonishing animal spirits never failed him. As latein the November month of 1838 as the 20th, he thus wrote to me: "I havejust begun my second chapter; cannot go out to-night; must get on; thinkthere _will_ be a _Nickleby_ at the end of this month now (I doubted itbefore); and want to make a start towards it if I possibly can. " Thatwas on Tuesday; and on Friday morning in the same week, explaining to methe failure of something that had been promised the previous day, hetells me, "I was writing incessantly until it was time to dress; andhave not yet got the subject of my last chapter, which _must be_finished to-night. " But this was not all. Between that Tuesday and Friday an indecentassault had been committed on his book by a theatrical adapter namedStirling, who seized upon it without leave while yet only a third of itwas written; hacked, cut, and garbled its dialogue to the shape of oneor two farcical actors; invented for it a plot and an ending of his own, and produced it at the Adelphi; where the outraged author, hard pressedas he was with an unfinished number, had seen it in the interval betweenthe two letters I have quoted. He would not have run such a risk inlater years, but he threw off lightly at present even such offenses tohis art; and though I was with him at a representation of his _OliverTwist_ the following month at the Surrey theatre, when in the middle ofthe first scene he laid himself down upon the floor in a corner of thebox and never rose from it until the drop-scene fell, he had been ableto sit through _Nickleby_ and to see a kind of merit in some of theactors. Mr. Yates had a sufficiently humorous meaning in his wildestextravagance, and Mr. O. Smith could put into his queer angular odditiesenough of a hard dry pathos, to conjure up shadows at least of Mantaliniand Newman Noggs; of Ralph Nickleby there was indeed nothing visiblesave a wig, a spencer, and a pair of boots; but there was a quaint actornamed Wilkinson who proved equal to the drollery though not to thefierce brutality of Squeers; and even Dickens, in the letter that amazedme by telling me of his visit to the theatre, was able to praise "theskillful management and dressing of the boys, the capital manner andspeech of Fanny Squeers, the dramatic representation of her card-partyin Squeers's parlor, the careful making-up of all the people, and theexceedingly good tableaux formed from Browne's sketches. . . . Mrs. Keeley's first appearance beside the fire (see wollum), and all the restof Smike, was excellent; bating sundry choice sentiments and rubbishregarding the little robins in the fields which have been put in theboy's mouth by Mr. Stirling the adapter. " His toleration could hardly beextended to the robins, and their author he very properly punished byintroducing and denouncing him at Mr. Crummles's farewell supper. The story was well in hand at the next letter to be quoted, for I limitmyself to those only with allusions that are characteristic orillustrative. "I must be alone in my glory to-day, " he wrote, "and seewhat I can do. I perpetrated a great amount of work yesterday, and haveevery day indeed since Monday, but I must buckle-to again and endeavorto get the steam up. If this were to go on long, I should 'bust' theboiler. I think Mrs. Nickleby's love-scene will come out rather unique. "The steam doubtless rose dangerously high when such happy inspirationcame. It was but a few numbers earlier than this, while that eccentriclady was imparting her confidences to Miss Knag, that Sydney Smithconfessed himself vanquished by a humor against which his own had longstriven to hold out. "_Nickleby_ is _very good_, " he wrote to Sir GeorgePhillips after the sixth number. "I stood out against Mr. Dickens aslong as I could, but he has conquered me. "[22] The close of the story was written at Broadstairs, from which (he hadtaken a house "two doors from the Albion Hotel, where we had that merrynight two years ago") he wrote to me on the 9th September, 1839, "I amhard at it, but these windings-up wind slowly, and I shall think I havedone great things if I have entirely finished by the 20th. Chapman &Hall came down yesterday with Browne's sketches, and dined here. Theyimparted their intentions as to a Nicklebeian fête which will make youlaugh heartily--so I reserve them till you come. It has been blowinggreat guns for the last three days, and last night (I wish you couldhave seen it!) there was such a sea! I staggered down to the pier, and, creeping under the lee of a large boat which was high and dry, watchedit breaking for nearly an hour. Of course I came back wet through. " Onthe afternoon of Wednesday, the 18th, he wrote again: "I shall notfinish entirely before Friday, sending Hicks the last twenty pages ofmanuscript by the night-coach. I have had pretty stiff work, as you maysuppose, and I have taken great pains. The discovery is made, Ralph isdead, the loves have come all right, Tim Linkinwater has proposed, and Ihave now only to break up Dotheboys and the book together. I am veryanxious that you should see this conclusion before it leaves my hands, and I plainly see therefore that I must come to town myself on Saturdayif I would not endanger the appearance of the number. So I have writtento Hicks to send proofs to your chambers as soon as he can that evening;and, if you don't object, I will dine with you any time after five, andwe will devote the night to a careful reading. I have not written toMacready, for they have not yet sent me the title-page of dedication, which is merely 'To W. C. Macready, Esq. , the following pages areinscribed, as a slight token of admiration and regard, by his friend theAuthor. ' Meanwhile will you let him know that I have fixed the Nicklebydinner for Saturday, the 5th of October? Place, the Albion in AldersgateStreet. Time, six for half-past exactly. . . . I shall be more glad than Ican tell you to see you again, and I look forward to Saturday, and theevenings that are to follow it, with most joyful anticipation. I havehad a good notion for _Barnaby_, of which more anon. " The shadow from the old quarter, we see, the unwritten _Barnaby_ tale, intrudes itself still; though hardly, as of old, making other pleasanteranticipations less joyful. Such, indeed, at this time was his buoyancyof spirit that it cost him little, compared with the suffering it gavehim at all subsequent similar times, to separate from the people who fortwenty months had been a part of himself. The increased success they hadachieved left no present room but for gladness and well-won pride; andso, to welcome them into the immortal family of the English novel, andopen cheerily to their author "fresh woods and pastures new, " we had thedinner celebration. But there is small need now to speak of what hasleft, to one of the few survivors, only the sadness of remembering thatall who made the happiness of it are passed away. There was Talfourd, facile and fluent of kindliest speech, with whom we were in constant andcordial intercourse, and to whom, grateful for his copyright exertionsin the House of Commons, he had dedicated _Pickwick_; there was Maclise, dear and familiar friend to us both, whose lately-painted portrait ofDickens hung in the room;[23] and there was the painter of the Rent-day, who made a speech as good as his pictures, rich in color and quaint withhomely allusion, all about the reality of Dickens's genius, and howthere had been nothing like him issuing his novels part by part sinceRichardson issued his novels volume by volume, and how in both casespeople talked about the characters as if they were next-door neighborsor friends; and as many letters were written to the author of _Nickleby_to implore him not to kill poor Smike, as had been sent by young ladiesto the author of _Clarissa_ to "save Lovelace's soul alive. " These andothers are gone. Of those who survive, only three arise to mymemory, --Macready, who spoke his sense of the honor done him by thededication in English as good as his delivery of it, Mr. Edward Chapman, and Mr. Thomas Beard. FOOTNOTES: [21] "I cannot call to mind now how I came to hear about Yorkshireschools when I was a not very robust child, sitting in by-places nearRochester castle, with a head full of Partridge, Strap, Tom Pipes, andSancho Panza; but I know that my first impressions of them were pickedup at that time. " [22] Moore, in his _Diary_ (April, 1837), describes Sydney crying downDickens at a dinner in the Row, "and evidently without having given hima fair trial. " [23] This portrait was given to Dickens by his publishers, for whom itwas painted with a view to an engraving for _Nickleby_, which, however, was poorly executed, and of a size too small to do the original any kindof justice. To the courtesy of its present possessor, the Rev. SirEdward Repps Joddrell, and to the careful art of Mr. Robert Graves, A. R. A. , I owe the illustration at the opening of this volume, in whichthe head is for the first time worthily expressed. In some sort to helpalso the reader's fancy to a complete impression, Maclise having caughtas happily the figure as the face, a skillful outline of the paintinghas been executed for the present page by Mr. Jeens. "As a likeness, "said Mr. Thackeray of the work, and no higher praise could be given toit, "it is perfectly amazing. A looking-glass could not render a betterfac-simile. We have here the real identical man Dickens, the inward aswell as the outward of him. " CHAPTER X. DURING AND AFTER NICKLEBY. 1838-1839. The Cottage at Twickenham--Daniel Maclise--Ainsworth and other Friends--Mr. Stanley of Alderley--Petersham Cottage--Childish Enjoyments--Writes a Farce for Covent Garden--Entered at the Middle Temple--We see Wainewright in Newgate--_Oliver Twist_ and the _Quarterly_--Hood's _Up the Rhine_--Shakspeare Society--Birth of Second Daughter--House-Hunting--_Barnaby_ at his Tenth Page--Letter from Exeter--A Landlady and her Friends--A Home for his Father and Mother--Autobiographical--Visit to an Upholsterer--Visit from the Same. THE name of his old gallery-companion may carry me back from the days towhich the close of _Nickleby_ had led me to those when it was onlybeginning. "This snow will take away the cold weather, " he had written, in that birthday letter of 1838 already quoted, "and then forTwickenham. " Here a cottage was taken, nearly all the summer was passed, and a familiar face there was Mr. Beard's. There, with Talfourd and withThackeray and Jerrold, we had many friendly days, too; and the socialcharm of Maclise was seldom wanting. Nor was there anything thatexercised a greater fascination over Dickens than the grand enjoyment ofidleness, the ready self-abandonment to the luxury of laziness, which weboth so laughed at in Maclise, under whose easy swing of indifference, always the most amusing at the most aggravating events and times, weknew that there was artist-work as eager, energy as unwearying, andobservation almost as penetrating as Dickens's own. A greater enjoymentthan the fellowship of Maclise at this period it would indeed bedifficult to imagine. Dickens hardly saw more than he did, while yet heseemed to be seeing nothing; and the small esteem in which this rarefaculty was held by himself, a quaint oddity that gave to shrewdnessitself in him an air of Irish simplicity, his unquestionable turn forliterature, and a varied knowledge of it not always connected with suchintense love and such unwearied practice of one special and absorbingart, combined to render him attractive far beyond the common. His finegenius and his handsome person, of neither of which at any time heseemed himself to be in the slightest degree conscious, completed thecharm. Edwin Landseer, all the world's favorite, and the excellentStanfield, came a few months later, in the Devonshire-Terrace days; butanother painter-friend was George Cattermole, who had then enough and tospare of fun as well as fancy to supply ordinary artists and humoristsby the dozen, and wanted only a little more ballast and steadiness tohave had all that could give attraction to good-fellowship. A friend nowespecially welcome, too, was the novelist Mr. Ainsworth, who shared withus incessantly for the three following years in the companionship whichbegan at his house; with whom we visited, during two of those years, friends of art and letters in his native Manchester, from among whomDickens brought away his Brothers Cheeryble, and to whose sympathy intastes and pursuits, accomplishments in literature, open-heartedgenerous ways, and cordial hospitality, many of the pleasures of lateryears were due. Frederick Dickens, to whom soon after this a treasuryclerkship was handsomely given, on Dickens's application, by Mr. Stanleyof Alderley, known in and before those Manchester days, was for thepresent again living with his father, but passed much time in hisbrother's home; and another familiar face was that of Mr. Thomas Mitton, who had known him when himself a law-clerk in Lincoln's Inn, throughwhom there was introduction of the relatives of a friend and partner, Mr. Smithson, the gentleman connected with Yorkshire mentioned in hispreface to _Nickleby_, who became very intimate in his house. These, hisfather and mother and their two younger sons, with members of his wife'sfamily, and his married sisters and their husbands, Mr. And Mrs. Burnettand Mr. And Mrs. Austin, are figures that all associate themselvesprominently with the days of Doughty Street and the cottages ofTwickenham and Petersham as remembered by me in the summers of 1838 and1839. In the former of these years the sports were necessarily quieter[24]than at Petersham, where extensive garden-grounds admitted of muchathletic competition, from the more difficult forms of which I ingeneral modestly retired, but where Dickens for the most part held hisown against even such accomplished athletes as Maclise and Mr. Beard. Bar-leaping, bowling, and quoits were among the games carried on withthe greatest ardor; and in sustained energy, what is called keeping itup, Dickens certainly distanced every competitor. Even the lighterrecreations of battledoor and bagatelle were pursued with relentlessactivity; and at such amusements as the Petersham races, in those daysrather celebrated, and which he visited daily while they lasted, heworked much harder himself than the running horses did. What else his letters of these years enable me to recall, that couldpossess any interest now, may be told in a dozen sentences. He wrote afarce by way of helping the Covent Garden manager which the actors couldnot agree about, and which he turned afterwards into a story called _TheLamplighter_. He entered his name among the students at the inn of theMiddle Temple, though he did not eat dinners there until many yearslater. We made together a circuit of nearly all the London prisons, and, in coming to the prisoners under remand while going over Newgate, accompanied by Macready and Mr. Hablot Browne, [25] were startled by asudden tragic cry of "My God! there's Wainewright!" In theshabby-genteel creature, with sandy disordered hair and dirty moustache, who had turned quickly round with a defiant stare at our entrance, looking at once mean and fierce, and quite capable of the cowardlymurders he had committed, Macready had been horrified to recognize a manfamiliarly known to him in former years, and at whose table he haddined. Between the completion of _Oliver_ and its publication, Dickenswent to see something of North Wales; and, joining him at Liverpool, Ireturned with him. [26] Soon after his arrival he had pleasantcommunication with Lockhart, dining with him at Cruikshank's a littlelater; and this was the prelude to a _Quarterly_ notice of _Oliver_ byMr. Ford, written at the instance of Lockhart, but without the racinesshe would have put into it, in which amende was made for previous lessfavorable remarks in that review. Dickens had not, however, waited forthis to express publicly his hearty sympathy with Lockhart's handling ofsome passages in his admirable _Life of Scott_ that had drawn down uponhim the wrath of the Ballantynes. This he did in the _Examiner_; wherealso I find him noticing a book by Thomas Hood: "rather poor, but I havenot said so, because Hood is too, and ill besides. " In the course of theyear he was taken into Devonshire to select a home for his father, onthe removal of the latter (who had long given up his reporting duties)from his London residence; and this he found in a cottage at Alphington, near Exeter, where he placed the elder Dickens with his wife and theiryoungest son. The same year closed Macready's Covent Garden management, and at the dinner to the retiring manager, when the Duke of Cambridgetook the chair, Dickens spoke with that wonderful instinct of knowingwhat to abstain from saying, as well as what to say, which made hisafter-dinner speeches quite unique. Nor should mention be omitted of theShakspeare Society, now diligently attended, of which Procter, Talfourd, Macready, Thackeray, Henry Davison, Blanchard, Charles Knight, JohnBell, Douglas Jerrold, Maclise, Stanfield, George Cattermole, the goodTom Landseer, Frank Stone, and other old friends were members, andwhere, out of much enjoyment and many disputings, [27] there arose, fromDickens and all of us, plenty of after-dinner oratory. The closingmonths of this year of 1839 had special interest for him. At the end ofOctober another daughter was born to him, who bears the name of thatdear friend of his and mine, Macready, whom he asked to be hergodfather; and before the close of the year he had moved out of DoughtyStreet into Devonshire Terrace, a handsome house with a garden ofconsiderable size, shut out from the New Road by a high brick wallfacing the York Gate into Regent's Park. These various matters, and hisattempts at the _Barnaby_ novel on the conclusion of _Nickleby_, are thesubject of his letters between October and December. "Thank God, all goes famously. I have worked at _Barnaby_ all day, andmoreover seen a beautiful (and reasonable) house in Kent Terrace, whereMacready once lived, but larger than his. " Again (this having gone off):"_Barnaby_ has suffered so much from the house-hunting, that I mustn'tchop to-day. " Then (for the matter of the Middle Temple), "I return theform. It's the right temple, I take for granted. _Barnaby_ moves, not atrace-horse speed, but yet as fast (I think) as under these unsettledcircumstances could possibly be expected. " Or again: "All well. _Barnaby_ has reached his tenth page. I have just turned lazy, and havepassed into _Christabel_, and thence to _Wallenstein_. " At last thechoice was made. "A house of great promise (and great premium), 'undeniable' situation, and excessive splendor, is in view. Mitton isin treaty, and I am in ecstatic restlessness. Kate wants to know whetheryou have any books to send her, so please to shoot here any literaryrubbish on hand. " To these I will only add a couple of extracts from hisletters while in Exeter arranging his father's and mother's new home. They are very humorous; and the vividness with which everything, onceseen, was photographed in his mind and memory, is pleasantly shown inthem. "I took a little house for them this morning" (5th March, 1839: fromthe New London Inn), "and if they are not pleased with it I shall begrievously disappointed. Exactly a mile beyond the city on the Plymouthroad there are two white cottages: one is theirs and the other belongsto their landlady. I almost forget the number of rooms, but there isan excellent parlor with two other rooms on the ground floor, there isreally a beautiful little room over the parlor which I am furnishingas a drawing-room, and there is a splendid garden. The paint and paperthroughout is new and fresh and cheerful-looking, the place is cleanbeyond all description, and the neighborhood I suppose the mostbeautiful in this most beautiful of English counties. Of the landlady, a Devonshire widow with whom I had the honor of taking lunchto-day, I must make most especial mention. She is a fat, infirm, splendidly-fresh-faced country dame, rising sixty and recovering from anattack 'on the nerves'--I thought they never went off the stones, but Ifind they try country air with the best of us. In the event of mymother's being ill at any time, I really think the vicinity of thisgood dame, the very picture of respectability and good humor, will bethe greatest possible comfort. _Her_ furniture and domestic arrangementsare a capital picture, but that I reserve till I see you, when Ianticipate a hearty laugh. She bears the highest character with thebankers and the clergyman (who formerly lived in _my_ cottage himself), and is a kind-hearted worthy capital specimen of the sort of life, or Ihave no eye for the real and no idea of finding it out. "This good lady's brother and his wife live in the next nearest cottage, and the brother transacts the good lady's business, the nerves notadmitting of her transacting it herself, although they leave her in herdebilitated state something sharper than the finest lancet. Now, thebrother having coughed all night till he coughed himself into such aperspiration that you might have 'wringed his hair, ' according to theasseveration of eye-witnesses, his wife was sent for to negotiate withme; and if you could have seen me sitting in the kitchen with the twoold women, endeavoring to make them comprehend that I had no evilintentions or covert designs, and that I had come down all that way totake some cottage and had _happened_ to walk down that road and see thatparticular one, you would never have forgotten it. Then, to see theservant-girl run backwards and forwards to the sick man, and when thesick man had signed one agreement which I drew up and the old womaninstantly put away in a disused tea-caddy, to see the trouble and thenumber of messages it took before the sick man could be brought to signanother (a duplicate) that we might have one apiece, was one of therichest scraps of genuine drollery I ever saw in all my days. How, whenthe business was over, we became conversational; how I was facetious, and at the same time virtuous and domestic; how I drank toasts in thebeer, and stated on interrogatory that I was a married man and thefather of two blessed infants; how the ladies marveled thereat; how oneof the ladies, having been in London, inquired where I lived, and, beingtold, remembered that Doughty Street and the Foundling Hospital were inthe Old Kent Road, which I didn't contradict, --all this and a great dealmore must make us laugh when I return, as it makes me laugh now to thinkof. Of my subsequent visit to the upholsterer recommended by thelandlady; of the absence of the upholsterer's wife, and the timidity ofthe upholsterer fearful of acting in her absence; of my sitting behind ahigh desk in a little dark shop, calling over the articles inrequisition and checking off the prices as the upholsterer exhibited thegoods and called them out; of my coming over the upholsterer's daughterwith many virtuous endearments, to propitiate the establishment andreduce the bill; of these matters I say nothing, either, for the samereason as that just mentioned. The discovery of the cottage I seriouslyregard as a blessing (not to speak it profanely) upon our efforts inthis cause. I had heard nothing from the bank, and walked straightthere, by some strange impulse, directly after breakfast. I am sure theymay be happy there; for if I were older, and my course of activity wererun, I am sure _I_ could, with God's blessing, for many and many ayear. ". . . "The theatre is open here, and Charles Kean is to-night playing for hislast night. If it had been the 'rig'lar' drama I should have gone, but Iwas afraid Sir Giles Overreach might upset me, so I stayed away. Myquarters are excellent, and the head-waiter is _such_ a waiter! Knowles(not Sheridan Knowles, but Knowles of the Cheetham Hill Road[28]) is anass to him. This sounds bold, but truth is stranger than fiction. By-the-by, not the least comical thing that has occurred was the visitof the upholsterer (with some further calculations) since I began thisletter. I think they took me here at the New London for the WonderfulBeing I am; they were amazingly sedulous; and no doubt they looked formy being visited by the nobility and gentry of the neighborhood. Myfirst and only visitor came to-night: a ruddy-faced man in faded black, with extracts from a feather-bed all over him; an extraordinary andquite miraculously dirty face; a thick stick; and the personalappearance altogether of an amiable bailiff in a green old age. I havenot seen the proper waiter since, and more than suspect I shall notrecover this blow. He was announced (by _the_ waiter) as 'a person. ' Iexpect my bill every minute. . . . "The waiter is laughing outside the door with another waiter--this isthe latest intelligence of my condition. " FOOTNOTES: [24] We had at Twickenham a balloon club for the children, of which Iappear to have been elected the president on condition of supplying allthe balloons, a condition which I seem so insufficiently to havecomplied with as to bring down upon myself the subjoined resolution. TheSnodgering Blee and Popem Jee were the little brother and sister, forwhom, as for their successors, he was always inventing these surprisingdescriptive epithets. "Gammon Lodge, Saturday evening, June 23d, 1838. Sir, I am requested to inform you that at a numerous meeting of theGammon Aeronautical Association for the Encouragement of Science and theConsumption of Spirits (of Wine)--Thomas Beard Esquire, Mrs. CharlesDickens, Charles Dickens, Esquire, the Snodgering Blee, Popem Jee, andother distinguished characters being present and assenting, the vote ofcensure of which I inclose a copy was unanimously passed upon you forgross negligence in the discharge of your duty, and most unjustifiabledisregard of the best interests of the Society. I am, Sir, your mostobedient servant, Charles Dickens, Honorary Secretary. To John Forster, Esquire. " [25] Not Mr. Procter, as, by an oversight of his own, Dickens caused tobe said in an interesting paper on Wainewright which appeared in hisweekly periodical. [26] I quote from a letter dated Llangollen, Friday morning, 3d Nov. 1838: "I wrote to you last night, but by mistake the letter has gone onHeaven knows where in my portmanteau. I have only time to say, gostraight to Liverpool by the first Birmingham train on Monday morning, and at the Adelphi Hotel in that town you will find me. I trust to youto see my dear Kate and bring the latest intelligence of her and thedarlings. My best love to them. " [27] One of these disputes is referred to by Charles Knight in hisAutobiography; and I see in Dickens's letters the mention of another inwhich I seem to have been turned by his kindly counsel from some folly Iwas going to commit: "I need not, I am sure, impress upon you thesincerity with which I make this representation. Our close and heartyfriendship happily spares me the necessity. But I will add this--thatfeeling for you an attachment which no ties of blood or otherrelationship could ever awaken, and hoping to be to the end of my lifeyour affectionate and chosen friend, I am convinced that I counsel younow as you would counsel me if I were in the like case; and I hope andtrust that you will be led by an opinion which I am sure cannot be wrongwhen it is influenced by such feelings as I bear towards you, and somany warm and grateful considerations. " [28] This was the butler of Mr. Gilbert Winter, one of the kindManchester friends whose hospitality we had enjoyed with Mr. Ainsworth, and whose shrewd, quaint, old-world ways come delightfully back to me asI write his once well-known and widely-honored name. CHAPTER XI. NEW LITERARY PROJECT. 1839. Thoughts for the Future--Doubts of old Serial Form--Suggestion for his Publishers--My Mediation with them--Proposed Weekly Publication--Design of it--Old Favorites to be revived--Subjects to be dealt with--Chapters on Chambers--Gog and Magog Relaxations--Savage Chronicles--Others as well as himself to write--Travels to Ireland and America in View--Stipulation as to Property and Payments--Great Hopes of Success--Assent of his Publishers--No Planned Story--Terms of Agreement--Notion for his Hero--A Name hit upon--Sanguine of the Issue. THE time was now come for him seriously to busy himself with a successorto _Pickwick_ and _Nickleby_, which he had not, however, waited thuslong before turning over thoroughly in his mind. _Nickleby's_ successhad so far outgone even the expectation raised by _Pickwick's_, that, without some handsome practical admission of this fact at the close, itspublishers could hardly hope to retain him. This had been frequentlydiscussed by us, and was well understood. But, apart from the questionof his resuming with them at all, he had persuaded himself it might beunsafe to resume in the old way, believing the public likely to tire ofthe same twenty numbers over again. There was also another and moresufficient reason for change which naturally had great weight with him, and this was the hope that, by invention of a new mode as well as kindof serial publication, he might be able for a time to discontinue thewriting of a long story with all its strain on his fancy, in any case toshorten and vary the length of the stories written by himself, andperhaps ultimately to retain all the profits of a continuous publicationwithout necessarily himself contributing every line that was to bewritten for it. These considerations had been discussed still moreanxiously; and for several months some such project had been taking formin his thoughts. While he was at Petersham (July, 1839) he thus wrote to me: "I have beenthinking that subject over. Indeed, I have been doing so to the greatstoppage of _Nickleby_ and the great worrying and fidgeting of myself. Ihave been thinking that if Chapman & Hall were to admit you into theirconfidence with respect to what they mean to do at the conclusion of_Nickleby_, without admitting me, it would help us very much. You knowthat I am well disposed towards them, and that if they do somethinghandsome, even handsomer perhaps than they dreamt of doing, they willfind it their interest, and will find me tractable. You know also that Ihave had straightforward offers from responsible men to publish anythingfor me at a percentage on the profits and take all the risk; but that Iam unwilling to leave them, and have declared to you that if they behavewith liberality to me I will not on any consideration, although to acertain extent I certainly and surely must gain by it. Knowing all this, I feel sure that if you were to put before them the glories of our newproject, and, reminding them that when _Barnaby_ is published I am clearof all engagements, were to tell them that if they wish to secure me andperpetuate our connection now is the time for them to step gallantlyforward and make such proposals as will produce that result, --I feelquite sure that if this should be done by you, as you only can do it, the result will be of the most vital importance to me and mine, and thata very great deal may be effected, thus, to recompense your friend forvery small profits and very large work as yet. I shall see you, pleaseGod, on Tuesday night; and if they wait upon you on Wednesday, I shallremain in town until that evening. " They came; and the tenor of the interview was so favorable that I wishedhim to put in writing what from time to time had been discussed inconnection with the new project. This led to the very interesting letterI shall now quote, written also in the same month from Petersham. I didnot remember, until I lately read it, that the notion of a possiblevisit to America had been in his thoughts so early. "I should be willing to commence on the thirty-first of March, 1840, anew publication, consisting entirely of original matter, of which onenumber, price threepence, should be published every week, and of which acertain amount of numbers should form a volume, to be published atregular intervals. The best general idea of the plan of the work mightbe given, perhaps, by reference to the _Spectator_, the _Tatler_, andGoldsmith's _Bee_; but it would be far more popular both in the subjectsof which it treats and its mode of treating them. "I should propose to start, as the _Spectator_ does, with some pleasantfiction relative to the origin of the publication; to introduce a littleclub or knot of characters and to carry their personal histories andproceedings through the work; to introduce fresh characters constantly;to reintroduce Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller, the latter of whom mightfurnish an occasional communication with great effect; to write amusingessays on the various foibles of the day as they arise; to takeadvantage of all passing events; and to vary the form of the papers bythrowing them into sketches, essays, tales, adventures, letters fromimaginary correspondents, and so forth, so as to diversify the contentsas much as possible. "In addition to this general description of the contents, I may add thatunder particular heads I should strive to establish certain features inthe work, which should be so many veins of interest and amusementrunning through the whole. Thus the Chapters on Chambers, which I havelong thought and spoken of, might be very well incorporated with it; anda series of papers has occurred to me containing stories anddescriptions of London as it was many years ago, as it is now, and as itwill be many years hence, to which I would give some such title as TheRelaxations of Gog and Magog, dividing them into portions like the_Arabian Nights_, and supposing Gog and Magog to entertain each otherwith such narrations in Guildhall all night long, and to break off everymorning at daylight. An almost inexhaustible field of fun, raillery, andinterest would be laid open by pursuing this idea. "I would also commence, and continue from time to time, a series ofsatirical papers purporting to be translated from some SavageChronicles, and to describe the administration of justice in somecountry that never existed, and record the proceedings of its wise men. The object of this series (which if I can compare it with anything wouldbe something between _Gulliver's Travels_ and the _Citizen of theWorld_) would be to keep a special lookout upon the magistrates in townand country, and never to leave those worthies alone. "The quantity of each number that should be written by myself would be amatter for discussion and arrangement. Of course I should pledge andbind myself upon that head. Nobody but myself would ever pursue _theseideas_, but I must have assistance of course, and there must be somecontents of a different kind. Their general nature might be agreed uponbeforehand, but I should stipulate that this assistance is chosen solelyby myself, and that the contents of every number are as much under myown control, and subject to as little interference, as those of a numberof _Pickwick_ or _Nickleby_. "In order to give fresh novelty and interest to this undertaking, Ishould be ready to contract to go at any specified time (say in themidsummer or autumn of the year, when a sufficient quantity of matter inadvance should have been prepared, or earlier if it were thought fit)either to Ireland or to America, and to write from thence a series ofpapers descriptive of the places and people I see, introducing localtales, traditions, and legends, something after the plan of WashingtonIrving's _Alhambra_. I should wish the republication of these papers ina separate form, with others to render the subject complete (if weshould deem it advisable), to form part of the arrangement for the work;and I should wish the same provision to be made for the republication ofthe Gog and Magog series, or indeed any that I undertook. "This is a very rough and slight outline of the project I have in view. I am ready to talk the matter over, to give any further explanations, toconsider any suggestions, or to go into the details of the subjectimmediately. I say nothing of the novelty of such a publicationnowadays, or its chances of success. Of course I think them very great, very great indeed, --almost beyond calculation, --or I should not seek tobind myself to anything so extensive. "The heads of the terms upon which I should be prepared to go into thisundertaking would be--That I be made a proprietor in the work and asharer in the profits. That when I bind myself to write a certainportion of every number, I am insured, _for_ that writing in everynumber, a certain sum of money. That those who assist me, and contributethe remainder of every number, shall be paid by the publishersimmediately after its appearance, according to a scale to be calculatedand agreed upon, on presenting my order for the amount to which they maybe respectively entitled. Or, if the publishers prefer it, that theyagree to pay me a certain sum for the _whole_ of every number, and leaveme to make such arrangements for that part which I may not write, as Ithink best. Of course I should require that for these payments, or anyother outlay connected with the work, I am not held accountable in anyway; and that no portion of them is to be considered as received by meon account of the profits. I need not add that some arrangement wouldhave to be made, if I undertake my Travels, relative to the expenses oftraveling. "Now, I want our publishing friends to take these things intoconsideration, and to give me the views and proposals they would bedisposed to entertain when they have maturely considered the matter. " The result of their consideration was, on the whole, satisfactory. Anadditional fifteen hundred pounds was to be paid at the close of_Nickleby_, the new adventure was to be undertaken, and Cattermole wasto be joined with Browne as its illustrator. Nor was its plan muchmodified before starting, though it was felt by us all that, for theopening numbers at least, Dickens would have to be sole contributor, andthat, whatever otherwise might be its attraction, or the success of thedetached papers proposed by him, some reinforcement of them from time totime, by means of a story with his name continued at reasonable if notregular intervals, would be found absolutely necessary. Without any suchplanned story, however, the work did actually begin, its courseafterwards being determined by circumstances stronger than any projecthe had formed. The agreement, drawn up in contemplation of a meremiscellany of detached papers or essays, and in which no mention of anystory appeared, was signed at the end of March; and its terms were suchas to place him in his only proper and legitimate position in regard toall such contracts, of being necessarily a gainer in any case, and, inthe event of success, the greatest gainer of all concerned in theundertaking. All the risk of every kind was to be undergone by thepublishers; and, as part of the expenses to be defrayed by them of eachweekly number, he was to receive fifty pounds. Whatever the success orfailure, this was always to be paid. The numbers were then to beaccounted for separately, and half the realized profits paid to him, theother half going to the publishers; each number being held strictlyresponsible for itself, and the loss upon it, supposing any, not carriedto the general account. The work was to be continued for twelve monthscertain, with leave to the publishers then to close it; but if theyelected to go on, he was himself bound to the enterprise for five years, and the ultimate copyright as well as profit was to be equally divided. Six weeks before signature of this agreement, while a title was stillundetermined, I had this letter from him: "I will dine with you. Iintended to spend the evening in strict meditation (as I did lastnight); but perhaps I had better go out, lest all work and no playshould make me a dull boy. _I_ have a list of titles too, but the finaltitle I have determined on--or something very near it. I have a notionof this old file in the queer house, opening the book by an account ofhimself, and, among other peculiarities, of his affection for an oldquaint queer-cased clock; showing how that when they have sat alonetogether in the long evenings, he has got accustomed to its voice, andcome to consider it as the voice of a friend; how its striking, in thenight, has seemed like an assurance to him that it was still, a cheerfulwatcher at his chamber-door; and now its very face has seemed to havesomething of welcome in its dusty features, and to relax from itsgrimness when he has looked at it from his chimney-corner. Then I meanto tell how that he has kept odd manuscripts in the old, deep, dark, silent closet where the weights are; and taken them from thence to read(mixing up his enjoyments with some notion of his clock); and how, whenthe club came to be formed, they, by reason of their punctuality and hisregard for this dumb servant, took their name from it. And thus I shallcall the book either _Old Humphrey's Clock_, or _Master Humphrey'sClock_; beginning with a woodcut of old Humphrey and his clock, andexplaining the why and wherefore. All Humphrey's own papers will bedated then From my clock-side, and I have divers thoughts about the bestmeans of introducing the others. I thought about this all day yesterdayand all last night till I went to bed. I am sure I can make a good thingof this opening, which I have thoroughly warmed up to in consequence. " A few days later: "I incline rather more to _Master Humphrey's Clock_than _Old Humphrey's_--if so be that there is no danger of the pensiveconfounding master with a boy. " After two days more: "I was thinking allyesterday, and have begun at _Master Humphrey_ to-day. " Then, a weeklater: "I have finished the first number, but have not been able to domore in the space than lead up to the Giants, who are just on thescene. " CHAPTER XII. THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 1840-1841. Visit to Walter Landor--First Thought of Little Nell--Hopeful of Master Humphrey--A Title for the Child-Story--First Sale of _Master Humphrey's Clock_--Its Original Plan abandoned--Reasons for this--To be limited to One Story--Disadvantages of Weekly Publication--A Favorite Description--In Bevis Marks for Sampson Brass--At Lawn House, Broadstairs--Dedication of his First Volume to Rogers--Chapters 43-45--Dick Swiveller and the Marchioness--Masterpiece of Kindly Fun--Closing of the Tale--Effect upon the Writer--Making-believe very much--The End approaching--The Realities of Fiction--Death of Little Nell--My Share in the Close--A Suggestion adopted by him--Success of the Story--Useful Lessons--Its Mode of Construction--Character and Characteristics--The Art of it--A Recent Tribute--Harte's "Dickens in Camp. " A DAY or two after the date of the last letter quoted, Dickens and hiswife, with Maclise and myself, visited Landor in Bath, and it was duringthree happy days we passed together there that the fancy which wasshortly to take the form of Little Nell first occurred to itsauthor, [29]--but as yet with the intention only of making out of it atale of a few chapters. On the 1st of March we returned from Bath; andon the 4th I had this letter: "If you can manage to give me a call inthe course of the day or evening, I wish you would. I am laboriouslyturning over in my mind how I can best effect the improvement we spokeof last night, which I will certainly make by hook or by crook, andwhich I would like you to see _before_ it goes finally to the printer's. I have determined not to put that witch-story into number 3, for I am byno means satisfied of the effect of its contrast with Humphrey. I thinkof lengthening Humphrey, finishing the description of the society, andclosing with the little child-story, which is SURE to be effective, especially after the old man's quiet way. " Then there came hard uponthis: "What do you think of the following double title for the beginningof that little tale? 'PERSONAL ADVENTURES OF MASTER HUMPHREY: _The OldCuriosity Shop_. ' I have thought of _Master Humphrey's Tale_, _MasterHumphrey's Narrative_, _A Passage in Master Humphrey's Life_--but Idon't think any does as well as this. I have also thought of _The OldCuriosity Dealer and the Child_ instead of _The Old Curiosity Shop_. Perpend. Topping waits. "----And thus was taking gradual form, with lessdirect consciousness of design on his own part than I can remember inany other instance of all his career, a story which was to add largelyto his popularity, more than any other of his works to make the bondbetween himself and his readers one of personal attachment, and verywidely to increase the sense entertained of his powers as a pathetic aswell as humorous writer. He had not written more than two or three chapters, when the capabilityof the subject for more extended treatment than he had at first proposedto give to it pressed itself upon him, and he resolved to throweverything else aside, devoting himself to the one story only. Therewere other strong reasons for this. Of the first number of the _Clock_nearly seventy thousand were sold; but with the discovery that there wasno continuous tale the orders at once diminished, and a change must havebeen made even if the material and means for it had not been ready. There had been an interval of three numbers between the first and secondchapters, which the society of Mr. Pickwick and the two Wellers madepleasant enough; but after the introduction of Dick Swiveller there werethree consecutive chapters; and in the continued progress of the taleto its close there were only two more breaks, one between the fourth andfifth chapters and one between the eighth and ninth, pardonable andenjoyable now for the sake of Sam and his father. The reintroduction ofthese old favorites, it will have been seen, formed part of his originalplan; of his abandonment of which his own description may be added, fromhis preface to the collected edition: "The first chapter of this taleappeared in the fourth number of _Master Humphrey's Clock_, when I hadalready been made uneasy by the desultory character of that work, andwhen, I believe, my readers had thoroughly participated in the feeling. The commencement of a story was a great satisfaction to me, and I hadreason to believe that my readers participated in this feeling too. Hence, being pledged to some interruptions and some pursuit of theoriginal design, I set cheerfully about disentangling myself from thoseimpediments as fast as I could; and, this done, from that time until itscompletion _The Old Curiosity Shop_ was written and published from weekto week, in weekly parts. " He had very early himself become greatly taken with it. "I am very gladindeed, " he wrote to me after the first half-dozen chapters, "that youthink so well of the _Curiosity Shop_, and especially that what may begot out of Dick strikes you. I _mean_ to make much of him. I feel thestory extremely myself, which I take to be a good sign; and am alreadywarmly interested in it. I shall run it on now for four whole numberstogether, to give it a fair chance. " Every step lightened the road as itbecame more and more real with each character that appeared in it, andI still recall the glee with which he told me what he intended to do notonly with Dick Swiveller, but with Septimus Brass, changed afterwards toSampson. Undoubtedly, however, Dick was his favorite. "Dick's behaviorin the matter of Miss Wackles will, I hope, give you satisfaction, " isthe remark of another of his letters. "I cannot yet discover that hisaunt has any belief in him, or is in the least degree likely to send hima remittance, so that he will probably continue to be the sport ofdestiny. " His difficulties were the quickly recurring times ofpublication, the confined space in each number that yet had tocontribute its individual effect, and (from the suddenness with which hehad begun) the impossibility of getting in advance. "I was obliged tocramp most dreadfully what I thought a pretty idea in the last chapter. I hadn't room to turn:" to this or a similar effect his complaints arefrequent, and of the vexations named it was by far the worst. But hesteadily bore up against all, and made a triumph of the little story. To help his work he went twice to Broadstairs, in June and in September. From this he wrote to me (17th June), "It's now four o'clock, and I havebeen at work since half-past eight. I have really dried myself up into acondition which would almost justify me in pitching off the cliff, headfirst--but I must get richer before I indulge in a crowning luxury. Number 15, which I began to-day, I anticipate great things from. Thereis a description of getting gradually out of town, and passing throughneighborhoods of distinct and various characters, with which, if I hadread it as anybody else's writing, I think I should have been very muchstruck. The child and the old man are on their journey of course, andthe subject is a very pretty one. " Between these two Broadstairs visitshe wrote to me, "I intended calling on you this morning on my way backfrom Bevis Marks, whither I went to look at a house for Sampson Brass. But I got mingled up in a kind of social paste with the Jews ofHoundsditch, and roamed about among them till I came out in Moorfields, quite unexpectedly. So I got into a cab, and came home again, verytired, by way of the City Road. " At the opening of September he wasagain at Broadstairs. The residence he most desired there, Fort House, stood prominently at the top of a breezy hill on the road to Kingsgate, with a corn-field between it and the sea, and this in many subsequentyears he always occupied; but he was fain to be content, as yet, withLawn House, a smaller villa between the hill and the corn-field, fromwhich he now wrote of his attentions to Mr. Sampson Brass's sister: "Ihave been at work of course" (2d September), "and have just finished anumber. I have effected a reform by virtue of which we breakfast at aquarter-before eight, so that I get to work at half-past, and amcommonly free by one o'clock or so, which is a great happiness. Dick isnow Sampson's clerk, and I have touched Miss Brass in Number 25, lightly, but effectively I hope. " At this point it became necessary to close the first volume of the_Clock_, which was issued accordingly with a dedication to Rogers, and apreface to which allusion will be made hereafter. "I have opened thesecond volume, " he wrote to me on the 9th of September, "with Kit; andI saw this morning looking out at the sea, as if a veil had been liftedup, an affecting thing that I can do with him by-and-by. Nous verrons. ""I am glad you like that Kit number, " he wrote twelve days later; "Ithought you would. I have altered that about the opera-going. Of courseI had no intention to delude the many-headed into a false beliefconcerning opera-nights, but merely to specify a class of senators. Ineedn't have done it, however, for God knows they're pretty well allalike. " This referred to an objection made by me to something he hadwritten of "opera-going senators on Wednesday nights;" and, of anotherchange made in compliance with some other objection of mine, he wrote onthe 4th of October, "You will receive the proof herewith. I have alteredit. You must let it stand now. I really think the dead mankind a millionfathoms deep, the best thing in the sentence. I have a notion of thedreadful silence down there, and of the stars shining down upon theirdrowned eyes, --the fruit, let me tell you, of a solitary walk bystarlight on the cliffs. As to the child-image, I have made a note of itfor alteration. In number thirty there will be some cutting needed, Ithink. I have, however, something in my eye near the beginning which Ican easily take out. You will recognize a description of the road wetraveled between Birmingham and Wolverhampton; but I had conceived it sowell in my mind that the execution doesn't please me quite as well as Iexpected. I shall be curious to know whether you think there's anythingin the notion of the man and his furnace-fire. It would have been a goodthing to have opened a new story with, I have been thinking since. " In the middle of October he returned to town, and by the end of themonth he had so far advanced that the close of the story began to be notfar distant. "Tell me what you think, " he had written just before hisreturn, "of 36 and 37? The way is clear for Kit now, and for a greateffect at the last with the Marchioness. " The last allusion I could notin the least understand, until I found, in the numbers just sent me, those exquisite chapters of the tale, the 57th and 58th, in which DickSwiveller realizes his threat to Miss Wackles, discovers the smallcreature that his destiny is expressly saving up for him, dubs herMarchioness, and teaches her the delights of hot purl and cribbage. Thisis comedy of the purest kind; its great charm being the good-heartedfellow's kindness to the poor desolate child hiding itself under coverof what seems only mirth and fun. Altogether, and because of rather thanin spite of his weakness, Dick is a captivating person. His gayety andgood humor survive such accumulations of "staggerers, " he makes suchdiscoveries of the "rosy" in the very smallest of drinks, and becomeshimself by his solacements of verse such a "perpetual grand Apollo, "that his failings are all forgiven, and hearts resolutely shut againstvictims of destiny in general open themselves freely to Dick Swiveller. At the opening of November, there seems to have been a wish on Maclise'spart to try his hand at an illustration for the story; but I do notremember that it bore other fruit than a very pleasant day at JackStraw's Castle, where Dickens read one of the later numbers to us. "Maclise and myself (alone in the carriage), " he wrote, "will be withyou at two exactly. We propose driving out to Hampstead and walkingthere, if it don't rain in buckets'-full. I sha'n't send Bradburys' theMS. Of next number till to-morrow, for it contains the shadow of thenumber after that, and I want to read it to Mac, as, if he likes thesubject, it will furnish him with one, I think. You can't imagine(gravely I write and speak) how exhausted I am to-day with yesterday'slabors. I went to bed last night utterly dispirited and done up. Allnight I have been pursued by the child; and this morning I amunrefreshed and miserable. I don't know what to do with myself. . . . Ithink the close of the story will be great. " Connected with the samedesign on Maclise's part there was another reading, this time at myhouse, and of the number shadowed forth by what had been read atHampstead. "I will bring the MS. , " he writes on the 12th of November, "and, for Mac's information if needful, the number before it. I haveonly this moment put the finishing touch to it. The difficulty has beentremendous--the anguish unspeakable. I didn't say six. Therefore dine athalf-past five like a Christian. I shall bring Mac at that hour. " He had sent me, shortly before, the chapters in which the Marchionessnurses Dick in his fever, and puts his favorite philosophy to the hardtest of asking him whether he has ever put pieces of orange-peel intocold water and made believe it was wine. "If you make believe very much, it's quite nice; but if you don't, you know, it hasn't much flavor:" soit stood originally, and to the latter word in the little creature'smouth I seem to have objected. Replying (on the 16th of December) hewrites, "'If you make believe very much, it's quite nice; but if youdon't, you know, it seems as if it would bear a little more seasoning, certainly. ' I think that's better. Flavor is a common word in cookery, and among cooks, and so I used it. The part you cut out in the othernumber, which was sent me this morning, I had put in with a view toQuilp's last appearance on any stage, which is casting its shadow uponmy mind; but it will come well enough without such a preparation, so Imade no change. I mean to shirk Sir Robert Inglis, and work to-night. Ihave been solemnly revolving the general story all this morning. Theforty-fifth number will certainly close. Perhaps this forty-first, whichI am now at work on, had better contain the announcement of _Barnaby_? Iam glad you like Dick and the Marchioness in that sixty-fourth chapter. I thought you would. " Fast shortening as the life of little Nell was now, the dying year mighthave seen it pass away; but I never knew him wind up any tale with sucha sorrowful reluctance as this. He caught at any excuse to hold his handfrom it, and stretched to the utmost limit the time left to complete itin. Christmas interposed its delays too, so that Twelfth-night had comeand gone when I wrote to him in the belief that he was nearly done. "Done!" he wrote back to me on Friday, the 7th; "Done!!! Why, bless you, I shall not be done till Wednesday night. I only began yesterday, andthis part of the story is not to be galloped over, I can tell you. Ithink it will come famously--but I am the wretchedest of the wretched. It casts the most horrible shadow upon me, and it is as much as I cando to keep moving at all. I tremble to approach the place a great dealmore than Kit; a great deal more than Mr. Garland; a great deal morethan the Single Gentleman. I sha'n't recover it for a long time. Nobodywill miss her like I shall. It is such a very painful thing to me, thatI really cannot express my sorrow. Old wounds bleed afresh when I onlythink of the way of doing it: what the actual doing it will be, Godknows. I can't preach to myself the schoolmaster's consolation, though Itry. Dear Mary died yesterday, when I think of this sad story. I don'tknow what to say about dining to-morrow--perhaps you'll send upto-morrow morning for news? That'll be the best way. I have refusedseveral invitations for this week and next, determining to go nowheretill I had done. I am afraid of disturbing the state I have been tryingto get into, and having to fetch it all back again. " He had finished, all but the last chapter, on the Wednesday named; that was the 12th ofJanuary; and on the following night he read to me the two chapters ofNell's death, the seventy-first and seventy-second, with the resultdescribed in a letter to me of the following Monday, the 17th January, 1841: "I can't help letting you know how much your yesterday's letter pleasedme. I felt sure you liked the chapters when we read them on Thursdaynight, but it was a great delight to have my impression so strongly andheartily confirmed. You know how little value I should set on what I haddone, if all the world cried out that it was good, and those whose goodopinion and approbation I value most were silent. The assurance thatthis little closing of the scene touches and is felt by you so strongly, is better to me than a thousand most sweet voices out of doors. When Ifirst began, _on your valued suggestion_, to keep my thoughts upon thisending of the tale, I resolved to try and do something which might beread by people about whom Death had been, with a softened feeling, andwith consolation. . . . After you left last night, I took my deskup-stairs, and, writing until four o'clock this morning, finished theold story. It makes me very melancholy to think that all these peopleare lost to me forever, and I feel as if I never could become attachedto any new set of characters. " The words printed in italics, asunderlined by himself, give me my share in the story which had gone soclosely to his heart. I was responsible for its tragic ending. He hadnot thought of killing her, when, about half-way through, I asked him toconsider whether it did not necessarily belong even to his ownconception, after taking so mere a child through such a tragedy ofsorrow, to lift her also out of the commonplace of ordinary happyendings so that the gentle pure little figure and form should neverchange to the fancy. All that I meant he seized at once, and neverturned aside from it again. The published book was an extraordinary success, and, in America moreespecially, very greatly increased the writer's fame. The pathetic veinit had opened was perhaps mainly the cause of this, but opinion at homecontinued still to turn on the old characteristics, --the freshness ofhumor of which the pathos was but another form and product, the grasp ofreality with which character had again been seized, the discernment ofgood under its least attractive forms and of evil in its mostcaptivating disguises, the cordial wisdom and sound heart, the enjoymentand fun, luxuriant yet under proper control. No falling-off was found inthese; and I doubt if any of his people have been more widely liked thanDick Swiveller and the Marchioness. The characters generally, indeed, work out their share in the purpose of the tale; the extravagances ofsome of them help to intensify its meaning; and the sayings and doingsof the worst and the best alike have their point and applicability. Manyan oversuspicious person will find advantage in remembering what a tooliberal application of Foxey's principle of suspecting everybody broughtMr. Sampson Brass to; and many an overhasty judgment of poor humannature will unconsciously be checked, when it is remembered that Mr. Christopher Nubbles _did_ come back to work out that shilling. But the main idea and chief figure of the piece constitute its interestfor most people, and give it rank upon the whole with the mostattractive productions of English fiction. I am not acquainted with anystory in the language more adapted to strengthen in the heart what mostneeds help and encouragement, to sustain kindly and innocent impulses, and to awaken everywhere the sleeping germs of good. It includesnecessarily much pain, much uninterrupted sadness; and yet thebrightness and sunshine quite overtop the gloom. The humor is sobenevolent; the view of errors that have no depravity of heart in themis so indulgent; the quiet courage under calamity, the purity thatnothing impure can soil, are so full of tender teaching. Its effect as amere piece of art, too, considering the circumstances in which I haveshown it to be written, I think very noteworthy. It began with a planfor but a short half-dozen chapters; it grew into a full-proportionedstory under the warmth of the feeling it had inspired its writer with;its very incidents created a necessity at first not seen; and it wascarried to a close only contemplated after a full half of it had beenwritten. Yet, from the opening of the tale to that undesignedending, --from the image of little Nell asleep amid the quaint grotesquefigures of the old curiosity warehouse to that other final sleep shetakes among the grim forms and carvings of the old church aisle, --themain purpose seems to be always present. The characters and incidentsthat at first appear most foreign to it are found to have had with it aclose relation. The hideous lumber and rottenness that surround thechild in her grandfather's home take shape again in Quilp and his filthygang. In the first still picture of Nell's innocence in the midst ofstrange and alien forms, we have the forecast of her after-wanderings, her patient miseries, her sad maturity of experience before its time. Without the show-people and their blended fictions and realities, theirwax-works, dwarfs, giants, and performing dogs, the picture would havewanted some part of its significance. Nor could the genius of Hogarthhimself have given it higher expression than in the scenes by thecottage door, the furnace-fire, and the burial-place of the old church, over whose tombs and gravestones hang the puppets of Mr. Punch's showwhile the exhibitors are mending and repairing them. And when, at last, Nell sits within the quiet old church where all her wanderings end, andgazes on those silent monumental groups of warriors, --helmets, swords, and gauntlets wasting away around them, --the associations among whichher life had opened seem to have come crowding on the scene again, to bepresent at its close, --but stripped of their strangeness; deepened intosolemn shapes by the suffering she has undergone; gently fusing everyfeeling of a life past into hopeful and familiar anticipation of a lifeto come; and already imperceptibly lifting her, without grief or pain, from the earth she loves, yet whose grosser paths her light steps onlytouched to show the track through them to heaven. This is genuine art, and such as all cannot fail to recognize who read the book in a rightsympathy with the conception that pervades it. Nor, great as thediscomfort was of reading it in brief weekly snatches, can I be whollycertain that the discomfort of so writing it involved nothing butdisadvantage. With so much in every portion to do, and so little spaceto do it in, the opportunities to a writer for mere self-indulgence werenecessarily rare. Of the innumerable tributes the story has received, and to none other byDickens have more or more various been paid, there is one, the verylast, which has much affected me. Not many months before my friend'sdeath, he had sent me two _Overland Monthlies_ containing two sketchesby a young American writer far away in California, "The Luck of RoaringCamp, " and "The Outcasts of Poker Flat, " in which he had found suchsubtle strokes of character as he had not anywhere else in late yearsdiscovered; the manner resembling himself, but the matter fresh to adegree that had surprised him; the painting in all respects masterly, and the wild rude thing painted a quite wonderful reality. I haverarely known him more honestly moved. A few months passed;telegraph-wires flashed over the world that he had passed away on the9th of June; and the young writer of whom he had then written to me, allunconscious of that praise, put his tribute of gratefulness and sorrowinto the form of a poem called _Dickens in Camp_. [30] It embodies thesame kind of incident which had so affected the master himself, in thepapers to which I have referred; it shows the gentler influences which, in even those Californian wilds, can restore outlawed "roaring camps" tosilence and humanity; and there is hardly any form of posthumous tributewhich I can imagine likely to have better satisfied his desire of famethan one which should thus connect, with the special favorite among allhis heroines, the restraints and authority exerted by his genius overthe rudest and least civilized of competitors in that far fierce racefor wealth. "Above the pines the moon was slowly drifting, The river sang below; The dim Sierras, far beyond, uplifting Their minarets of snow: "The roaring camp-fire, with rude humor, painted The ruddy tints of health On haggard face and form that drooped and fainted In the fierce race for wealth; "Till one arose, and from his pack's scant treasure A hoarded volume drew, And cards were dropped from hands of listless leisure To hear the tale anew; "And then, while round them shadows gathered faster, And as the fire-light fell, He read aloud the book wherein the Master Had writ of 'Little Nell:' "Perhaps 'twas boyish fancy, --for the reader Was youngest of them all, -- But, as he read, from clustering pine and cedar A silence seemed to fall; "The fir-trees, gathering closer in the shadows, Listened in every spray, While the whole camp with 'Nell' on English meadows Wandered and lost their way. "And so in mountain solitudes--o'ertaken As by some spell divine-- Their cares dropped from them like the needles shaken From out the gusty pine. "Lost is that camp, and wasted all its fire; And he who wrought that spell?-- Ah, towering pine and stately Kentish spire, Ye have one tale to tell! "Lost is that camp! but let its fragrant story Blend with the breath that thrills With hop-vines' incense all the pensive glory That fills the Kentish hills. "And on that grave where English oak and holly And laurel wreaths entwine, Deem it not all a too presumptuous folly, -- This spray of Western pine! "July, 1870. " FOOTNOTES: [29] I have mentioned the fact in my _Life of Landor_; and to thepassage I here add the comment made by Dickens when he read it: "It wasat a celebration of his birthday in the first of his Bath lodgings, 35, St. James's Square, that the fancy which took the form of Little Nell inthe _Curiosity Shop_ first dawned on the genius of its creator. Nocharacter in prose fiction was a greater favorite with Landor. Hethought that, upon her, Juliet might for a moment have turned her eyesfrom Romeo, and that Desdemona might have taken her hair-breadth escapesto heart, so interesting and pathetic did she seem to him; and when, some years later, the circumstance I have named was recalled to him, hebroke into one of those whimsical bursts of comical extravagance out ofwhich arose the fancy of Boythorn. With tremendous emphasis he confirmedthe fact, and added that he had never in his life regretted anything somuch as his having failed to carry out an intention he had formedrespecting it; for he meant to have purchased that house, 35, St. James's Square, and then and there to have burnt it to the ground, tothe end that no meaner association should ever desecrate the birthplaceof Nell. Then he would pause a little, become conscious of our sense ofhis absurdity, and break into a thundering peal of laughter. " Dickenshad himself proposed to tell this story as a contribution to mybiography of our common friend, but his departure for America preventedhim. "I see, " he wrote to me, as soon as the published book reached him, "you have told, with what our friend would have called _won_-derfulaccuracy, the little St. James's Square story, which a certain faithlesswretch was to have related. " [30] _Poems. _ By Bret Harte (Boston: Osgood & Co. , 1871), pp. 32-35. CHAPTER XIII. DEVONSHIRE TERRACE AND BROADSTAIRS. 1840. A Good Saying--Landor mystified--The Mirthful Side of Dickens--Extravagant Flights--Humorous Despair--Riding Exercise--First of the Ravens--The Groom Topping--The Smoky Chimneys--Juryman at an Inquest--Practical Humanity--Publication of _Clock's_ First Number--Transfer of _Barnaby_ settled--A True Prediction--Revisiting Old Scenes--C. D. To Chapman & Hall--Terms of Sale of _Barnaby_--A Gift to a Friend--Final Escape from Bondage--Published Libels about him--Said to be demented--To be insane and turned Catholic--Begging Letter-Writers--A Donkey asked for--Mr. Kindheart--Friendly Meetings--Social Talk--Reconciling Friends--Hint for judging Men. IT was an excellent saying of the first Lord Shaftesbury, that, seeingevery man of any capacity holds within himself two men, the wise and thefoolish, each of them ought freely to be allowed his turn; and it wasone of the secrets of Dickens's social charm that he could, in strictaccordance with this saying, allow each part of him its turn; couldafford thoroughly to give rest and relief to what was serious in him, and, when the time came to play his gambols, could surrender himselfwholly to the enjoyment of the time, and become the very genius andembodiment of one of his own most whimsical fancies. Turning back from the narrative of his last piece of writing to recalla few occurrences of the year during which it had occupied him, I findhim at its opening in one of these humorous moods, and another friend, with myself, enslaved by its influence. "What on earth does it allmean?" wrote poor puzzled Mr. Landor to me, inclosing a letter from himof the date of the 11th of February, the day after the royal nuptials ofthat year. In this he had related to our old friend a wonderfulhallucination arising out of that event, which had then taken entirepossession of him. "Society is unhinged here, " thus ran the letter, "byher majesty's marriage, and I am sorry to add that I have fallenhopelessly in love with the Queen, and wander up and down with vague anddismal thoughts of running away to some uninhabited island with a maidof honor, to be entrapped by conspiracy for that purpose. Can yousuggest any particular young person, serving in such a capacity, whowould suit me? It is too much perhaps to ask you to join the band ofnoble youths (Forster is in it, and Maclise) who are to assist me inthis great enterprise, but a man of your energy would be invaluable. Ihave my eye upon Lady . . . , principally because she is very beautifuland has no strong brothers. Upon this, and other points of the scheme, however, we will confer more at large when we meet; and meanwhile burnthis document, that no suspicion may arise or rumor get abroad. " The maid of honor and the uninhabited island were flights of fancy, butthe other daring delusion was for a time encouraged to such whimsicallengths, not alone by him, but (under his influence) by the two friendsnamed, that it took the wildest forms of humorous extravagance; and ofthe private confidences much interchanged, as well as of the style ofopen speech in which our joke of despairing unfitness for any furtheruse or enjoyment of life was unflaggingly kept up, to the amazement ofbystanders knowing nothing of what it meant, and believing we had halflost our senses, I permit myself to give from his letters one furtherillustration. "I am utterly lost in misery, " he writes to me on the 12thof February, "and can do nothing. I have been reading _Oliver_, _Pickwick_, and _Nickleby_ to get my thoughts together for the neweffort, but all in vain: "My heart is at Windsor, My heart isn't here; My heart is at Windsor. A following my dear. I saw the Responsibilities this morning, and burst into tears. Thepresence of my wife aggravates me. I loathe my parents. I detest myhouse. I begin to have thoughts of the Serpentine, of the Regent'sCanal, of the razors up-stairs, of the chemist's down the street, ofpoisoning myself at Mrs. ----'s table, of hanging myself upon thepear-tree in the garden, of abstaining from food and starving myself todeath, of being bled for my cold and tearing off the bandage, of fallingunder the feet of cab-horses in the New Road, of murdering Chapman &Hall and becoming great in story (SHE must hear something of methen--perhaps sign the warrant: or is that a fable?), of turningChartist, of heading some bloody assault upon the palace and saving Herby my single hand--of being anything but what I have been, and doinganything but what I have done. Your distracted friend, C. D. " The wildderangement of asterisks in every shape and form, with which thisincoherence closed, cannot here be given. Some ailments which dated from an earlier period in his life madethemselves felt in the spring of the year, as I remember, and increasedhorse-exercise was strongly recommended to him. "I find it will bepositively necessary to go, for five days in the week, at least, " hewrote to me in March, "on a perfect regimen of diet and exercise, and amanxious therefore not to delay treating for a horse. " We were now inconsequence, when he was not at the sea-side, much on horseback insuburban lanes and roads; and the spacious garden of his new house wasalso turned to healthful use at even his busiest times of work. I markthis, too, as the time when the first of his ravens took up residencethere; and as the beginning of disputes with two of his neighbors aboutthe smoking of the stable-chimney, which his groom Topping, a highlyabsurd little man with flaming red hair, so complicated by secretdevices of his own, meant to conciliate each complainant alternately andhaving the effect of aggravating both, that law-proceedings were onlybarely avoided. "I shall give you, " he writes, "my latest report of thechimney in the form of an address from Topping, made to me on our wayfrom little Hall's at Norwood the other night, where he and Chapman andI had been walking all day, while Topping drove Kate, Mrs. Hall, and hersisters, to Dulwich. Topping had been regaled upon the premises, and wasjust drunk enough to be confidential. 'Beggin' your pardon, sir, but thegenelman next door sir, seems to be gettin' quite comfortable andpleasant about the chimley. '--'I don't think he is, Topping. '--'Yes heis sir I think. He comes out in the yard this morning and says, _Coachman_ he says' (observe the vision of a great large fat man calledup by the word) _is that your raven_ he says, _Coachman? or is it Mr. Dickens's raven?_ he says. My master's sir, I says. Well, he says, It'sa fine bird. _I think the chimley 'ill do now Coachman, --now the jint'staken off the pipe_ he says. I hope it will sir, I says; my master's agenelman as wouldn't annoy no genelman if he could help it, I'm sure;and my missis is so afraid of havin' a bit o' fire that o' Sundays ourlittle bit o' weal or wot not, goes to the baker's a purpose. --_Damn thechimley, Coachman_, he says, _it's a smokin' now_. --It ain't a smokin'your way sir, I says; Well he says _no more it is, Coachman, and as longas it smokes anybody else's way, it's all right and I'm agreeable_. ' Ofcourse I shall now have the man from the other side upon me, and verylikely with an action of nuisance for smoking into his conservatory. " A graver incident, which occurred to him also among his earliestexperiences as tenant of Devonshire Terrace, illustrates too well thealways practical turn of his kindness and humanity not to deserverelation here. He has himself described it in one of his minor writings, in setting down what he remembered as the only good that ever came of abeadle. Of that great parish functionary, he says, "having newly takenthe lease of a house in a certain distinguished metropolitan parish, ahouse which then appeared to me to be a frightfully first-class familymansion involving awful responsibilities, I became the prey. " In otherwords, he was summoned, and obliged to sit, as juryman at an inquest onthe body of a little child alleged to have been murdered by its mother;of which the result was, that, by his persevering exertion, seconded bythe humane help of the coroner, Mr. Wakley, the verdict of himself andhis fellow-jurymen charged her only with concealment of the birth. "Thepoor desolate creature dropped upon her knees before us withprotestations that we were right (protestations among the most affectingthat I have ever heard in my life), and was carried away insensible. Icaused some extra care to be taken of her in the prison, and counsel tobe retained for her defense when she was tried at the Old Bailey; andher sentence was lenient, and her history and conduct proved that it wasright. " How much he felt the little incident, at the actual time of itsoccurrence, may be judged from the few lines written to me next morning:"Whether it was the poor baby, or its poor mother, or the coffin, or myfellow-jurymen, or what not, I can't say, but last night I had a mostviolent attack of sickness and indigestion, which not only prevented mefrom sleeping, but even from lying down. Accordingly Kate and I sat upthrough the dreary watches. " The day of the first publication of _Master Humphrey_ (Saturday, 4thApril) had by this time come, and, according to the rule observed in histwo other great ventures, he left town with Mrs. Dickens on Friday, the3d. With Maclise we had been together at Richmond the previous night;and I joined him at Birmingham the day following with news of the saleof the whole sixty thousand copies to which the first working had beenlimited, and of orders already in hand for ten thousand more! Theexcitement of the success somewhat lengthened our holiday; and, aftervisiting Shakspeare's house at Stratford and Johnson's at Lichfield, wefound our resources so straitened in returning, that, employing as ourmessenger of need his younger brother Alfred, who had joined us fromTamworth, where he was a student-engineer, we had to pawn our goldwatches at Birmingham. At the end of the following month he went to Broadstairs, and not manydays before (on the 20th of May) a note from Mr. Jordan on behalf of Mr. Bentley opened the negotiations formerly referred to, [31] whichtransferred to Messrs. Chapman & Hall the agreement for _Barnaby Rudge_. I was myself absent when he left, and in a letter announcing hisdeparture he had written, "I don't know of a word of news in all London, but there will be plenty next week, for I am going away, and I hopeyou'll send me an account of it. I am doubtful whether it will be amurder, a fire, a vast robbery, or the escape of Gould, but it will besomething remarkable no doubt. I almost blame myself for the death ofthat poor girl who leaped off the monument upon my leaving town lastyear. She would not have done it if I had remained, neither would thetwo men have found the skeleton in the sewers. " His prediction was quiteaccurate, for I had to tell him, after not many days, of the potboy whoshot at the queen. "It's a great pity, " he replied, very sensibly, "theycouldn't suffocate that boy, Master Oxford, and say no more about it. To have put him quietly between two feather beds would have stopped hisheroic speeches, and dulled the sound of his glory very much. As it is, she will have to run the gauntlet of many a fool and madman, some ofwhom may perchance be better shots and use other than Brummagemfirearms. " How much of this actually came to pass, the reader knows. From the letters of his present Broadstairs visit, there is littlefurther to add to their account of his progress with his story; but acouple more lines may be given for their characteristic expression ofhis invariable habit upon entering any new abode, whether to stay in itfor days or for years. On a Monday night he arrived, and on the Tuesday(2d of June) wrote to me, "_Before_ I tasted bit or drop yesterday, Iset out my writing-table with extreme taste and neatness, and improvedthe disposition of the furniture generally. " He stayed till the end ofJune; when Maclise and myself joined him for the pleasure of postingback home with him and Mrs. Dickens, by way of his favorite Chatham andRochester and Cobham, where we passed two agreeable days in revisitingwell-remembered scenes. I had meanwhile brought to a close the treatyfor repurchase of _Oliver_ and surrender of _Barnaby_, upon terms whichare succinctly stated in a letter written by him to Messrs. Chapman &Hall on the 2d of July, the day after our return: "The terms upon which you advance the money to-day for the purchase ofthe copyright and stock[32] of _Oliver_ on my behalf are understoodbetween us to be these. That this 2250_l. _ is to be deducted from thepurchase-money of a work by me entitled _Barnaby Rudge_, of which twochapters are now in your hands, and of which the whole is to be writtenwithin some convenient time to be agreed upon between us. But if itshould not be written (which God forbid!) within five years, you are tohave a lien to this amount on the property belonging to me that is nowin your hands, namely, my shares in the stock and copyright of _Sketchesby Boz_, _The Pickwick Papers_, _Nicholas Nickleby_, _Oliver Twist_, and_Master Humphrey's Clock_; in which we do not include any share of thecurrent profits of the last-named work, which I shall remain at libertyto draw at the times stated in our agreement. Your purchase of _BarnabyRudge_ is made upon the following terms. It is to consist of mattersufficient for ten monthly numbers of the size of _Pickwick_ and_Nickleby_, which you are, however, at liberty to divide and publish infifteen smaller numbers if you think fit. The terms for the purchase ofthis edition in numbers, and for the copyright of the whole book for sixmonths after the publication of the last number, are 3000_l. _ At theexpiration of the six months the whole copyright reverts to me. " Thesequel was, as all the world knows, that Barnaby became successor toLittle Nell, the money being repaid by the profits of the _Clock_; but Iought to mention also the more generous sequel that my own smallservice had, on my receiving from him, after not many days, an antiquesilver-mounted jug of great beauty of form and workmanship, but with awealth far beyond jeweler's chasing or artist's design in the writtenwords that accompanied it. [33] I accepted them to commemorate, not thehelp they would have far overpaid, but the gladness of his own escapefrom the last of the agreements that had hampered the opening of hiscareer, and the better future that was now before him. At the opening of August he was with Mrs. Dickens for some days inDevonshire, on a visit to his father, but he had to take his work withhim; and, as he wrote to me, they had only one real holiday, whenDawlish, Teignmouth, Babbicombe, and Torquay were explored, returning toExeter at night. In the beginning of September he was again atBroadstairs. "I was just going to work, " he wrote on the 9th, "when I got thisletter, and the story of the man who went to Chapman & Hall's knockedme down flat. I wrote until now (a quarter to one) against the grain, and have at last given it up for one day. Upon my word it isintolerable. I have been grinding my teeth all the morning. I think Icould say in two lines something about the general report withpropriety. I'll add them to the proof" (the preface to the first volumeof the _Clock_ was at this time in preparation), "giving you full powerto cut them out if you should think differently from me, and from C. AndH. , who in such a matter must be admitted judges. " He refers here to areport, rather extensively circulated at the time, and which throughvarious channels had reached his publishers, that he was suffering fromloss of reason and was under treatment in an asylum. [34] I would havewithheld from him the mention of it, as an absurdity that must quicklypass away, but against my wish it had been communicated to him, and Ihad difficulty in keeping within judicious bounds his extreme and verynatural wrath. A few days later (the 15th) he wrote, "I have been rather surprised oflate to have applications from Roman Catholic clergymen, demanding(rather pastorally, and with a kind of grave authority) assistance, literary employment, and so forth. At length it struck me that, throughsome channel or other, I must have been represented as belonging to thatreligion. Would you believe that in a letter from Lamert, at Cork, to mymother, which I saw last night, he says, 'What do the papers mean bysaying that Charles is demented, and, further, _that he has turned RomanCatholic_?'--!" Of the begging-letter-writers, hinted at here, I oughtearlier to have said something. In one of his detached essays he hasdescribed, without a particle of exaggeration, the extent to which hewas made a victim by this class of swindler, and the extravagance of thedevices practiced on him; but he has not confessed, as he might, thatfor much of what he suffered he was himself responsible, by giving solargely, as at first he did, to almost every one who applied to him. What at last brought him to his senses in this respect, I think, was therequest made by the adventurer who had exhausted every other expedient, and who desired finally, after describing himself reduced to thecondition of a traveling Cheap Jack in the smallest way of crockery, that a donkey might be left out for him next day, which he would dulycall for. This I perfectly remember, and I much fear that the applicantwas the Daniel Tobin before mentioned. [35] Many and delightful were other letters written from Broadstairs at thisdate, filled with whimsical talk and humorous description relatingchiefly to an eccentric friend who stayed with him most of the time, and is sketched in one of his published papers as Mr. Kindheart; but alltoo private for reproduction now. He returned in the middle of October, when we resumed our almost daily ridings, foregatherings with Maclise atHampstead and elsewhere, and social entertainments with Macready, Talfourd, Procter, Stanfield, Fonblanque, Elliotson, Tennent, D'Orsay, Quin, Harness, Wilkie, Edwin Landseer, Rogers, Sydney Smith, and Bulwer. Of the genius of the author of _Pelham_ and _Eugene Aram_ he had, earlyand late, the highest admiration, and he took occasion to express itduring the present year in a new preface which he published to _OliverTwist_. Other friends became familiar in later years; but, disinclinedas he was to the dinner-invitations that reached him from every quarter, all such meetings with those whom I have named, and in an especialmanner the marked attentions shown him by Miss Coutts which began withthe very beginning of his career, were invariably welcome. To speak here of the pleasure his society afforded, would anticipate thefitter mention to be made hereafter. But what in this respectdistinguishes nearly all original men, he possessed eminently. His placewas not to be filled up by any other. To the most trivial talk he gavethe attraction of his own character. It might be a smallmatter, --something he had read or observed during the day, some quaintodd fancy from a book, a vivid little out-door picture, the laughingexposure of some imposture, or a burst of sheer mirthful enjoyment, --butof its kind it would be something unique, because genuinely part ofhimself. This, and his unwearying animal spirits, made him the mostdelightful of companions; no claim on good-fellowship ever found himwanting; and no one so constantly recalled to his friends thedescription Johnson gave of Garrick, as the cheerfulest man of his age. Of what occupied him in the way of literary labor in the autumn andwinter months of the year, some description has been given; and, apartfrom what has already thus been said of his work at the closing chaptersof _The Old Curiosity Shop_, nothing now calls for more specialallusion, except that in his town-walks in November, impelled thereto byspecimens recently discovered in his country-walks between Broadstairsand Ramsgate, he thoroughly explored the ballad literature ofSeven-Dials, and took to singing himself, with an effect that justifiedhis reputation for comic singing in his childhood, not a few of thesewonderful productions. His last successful labor of the year was thereconciliation of two friends; and his motive, as well as the principlethat guided him, as they are described by himself, I think worthpreserving. For the first: "In the midst of this child's death, I, overwhom something of the bitterness of death has passed, not lightlyperhaps, was reminded of many old kindnesses, and was sorry in my heartthat men who really liked each other should waste life at arm's length. "For the last: "I have laid it down as a rule in my judgment of men, toobserve narrowly whether some (of whom one is disposed to think badly)don't carry all their faults upon the surface, and others (of whom oneis disposed to think well) don't carry many more beneath it. I have longago made sure that our friend is in the first class; and when I knowall the foibles a man has, with little trouble in the discovery, I beginto think he is worth liking. " His latest letter of the year, dated theday following, closed with the hope that we might, he and I, enjoytogether "fifty more Christmases, at least, in this world, and eternalsummers in another. " Alas! FOOTNOTES: [31] See _ante_, p. 163. [32] By way of a novelty to help off the stock, he had suggested (17thJune), "Would it not be best to print new title-pages to the copiessheets and publish them as a new edition, with an interesting Preface? Iam talking about all this as though the treaty were concluded, but Ihope and trust that in effect it is, for negotiation and delay are worseto me than drawn daggers. " See my remark _ante_, p. 123. [33] "Accept from me" (July 8, 1840), "as a slight memorial of yourattached companion, the poor keepsake which accompanies this. My heartis not an eloquent one on matters which touch it most, but suppose thisclaret-jug the urn in which it lies, and believe that its warmest andtruest blood is yours. This was the object of my fruitless search, andyour curiosity, on Friday. At first I scarcely knew what trifle (youwill deem it valuable, I know, for the giver's sake) to send you; but Ithought it would be pleasant to connect it with our jovial moments, andto let it add, to the wine we shall drink from it together, a flavorwhich the choicest vintage could never impart. Take it from myhand, --filled to the brim and running over with truth and earnestness. Ihave just taken one parting look at it, and it seems the most elegantthing in the world to me, for I lose sight of the vase in the crowd ofwelcome associations that are clustering and wreathing themselves aboutit. " [34] Already he had been the subject of similar reports on the occasionof the family sorrow which compelled him to suspend the publication of_Pickwick_ for two months (_ante_, p. 120), when, upon issuing a briefaddress in resuming his work (30th June, 1837), he said, "By one set ofintimate acquaintances, especially well informed, he has been killedoutright; by another, driven mad; by a third, imprisoned for debt; by afourth, sent per steamer to the United States; by a fifth, renderedincapable of mental exertion for evermore; by all, in short, representedas doing anything but seeking in a few weeks' retirement the restorationof that cheerfulness and peace of which a sad bereavement hadtemporarily deprived him. " [35] See _ante_, p. 81. CHAPTER XIV. BARNABY RUDGE. 1841. Advantage in beginning _Barnaby_--Birth of Fourth Child and Second Son--The Raven--A Loss in the Family--Grip's Death--C. D. Describes his Illness--Family Mourners--Apotheosis by Maclise--Grip the Second--The Inn at Chigwell--A _Clock_ Dinner--Lord Jeffrey in London--The _Lamplighter_--The _Pic Nic Papers_--Character of Lord George Gordon--A Doubtful Fancy--Interest in New Labor--Constraints of Weekly Publication--The Prison-Riots--A Serious Illness--Close of _Barnaby_--Character of the Tale--Defects in the Plot--The No-Popery Riots--Descriptive Power displayed--Leading Persons in Story--Mr. Dennis the Hangman. THE letters of 1841 yield similar fruit as to his doings and sayings, and may in like manner first be consulted for the literary work he hadin hand. He had the advantage of beginning _Barnaby Rudge_ with a fair amount ofstory in advance, which he had only to make suitable, by occasionalreadjustment of chapters, to publication in weekly portions; and on thishe was engaged before the end of January. "I am at present" (22dJanuary, 1841) "in what Leigh Hunt would call a kind of impossiblestate, --thinking what on earth Master Humphrey can think of through fourmortal pages. I added, here and there, to the last chapter of the_Curiosity Shop_ yesterday, and it leaves me only four pages to write. "(They were filled by a paper from Humphrey introductory of the newtale, in which will be found a striking picture of London from midnightto the break of day. ) "I also made up, and wrote the needful insertionsfor, the second number of _Barnaby_, --so that I came back to the mill alittle. " Hardly yet; for after four days he writes, having meanwhiledone nothing, "I have been looking (three o'clock) with an appearance ofextraordinary interest and study at _one leaf_ of the _Curiosities ofLiterature_ ever since half-past ten this morning--I haven't the heartto turn over. " Then on Friday the 29th better news came. "I didn't stirout yesterday, but sat and _thought_ all day; not writing a line; not somuch as the cross of a t or dot of an i. I imaged forth a good deal of_Barnaby_ by keeping my mind steadily upon him; and am happy to say Ihave gone to work this morning in good twig, strong hope, and cheerfulspirits. Last night I was unutterably and impossible-to-form-an-idea-of-ablymiserable. . . . By-the-by, don't engage yourself otherwise than to mefor Sunday week, because it's my birthday. I have no doubt we shall havegot over our troubles here by that time, and I purpose having a snugdinner in the study. " We had the dinner, though the troubles were notover; but the next day another son was born to him. "Thank God, " hewrote on the 9th, "quite well. I am thinking hard, and have just writtento Browne inquiring when he will come and confer about the raven. " Hehad by this time resolved to make that bird, whose accomplishments hadbeen daily ripening and enlarging for the last twelve months to theincreasing mirth and delight of all of us, a prominent figure in_Barnaby_; and the invitation to the artist was for a conference howbest to introduce him graphically. The next letter mentioning _Barnaby_ was from Brighton (25th February), whither he had flown for a week's quiet labor: "I have (it's fouro'clock) done a very fair morning's work, at which I have sat veryclose, and been blessed besides with a clear view of the end of thevolume. As the contents of one number usually require a day's thought atthe very least, and often more, this puts me in great spirits. Ithink--that is, I hope--the story takes a great stride at this point, and takes it WELL. Nous verrons. Grip will be strong, and I buildgreatly on the Varden household. " Upon his return he had to lament a domestic calamity, which, for itsconnection with that famous personage in _Barnaby_, must be mentionedhere. The raven had for some days been ailing, and Topping had reportedof him, as Shakspeare of Hamlet, that he had lost his mirth and foregoneall customary exercises; but Dickens paid no great heed, remembering hisrecovery from an illness of the previous summer when he swallowed somewhite paint; so that the graver report which led him to send for thedoctor came upon him unexpectedly, and nothing but his own language canworthily describe the result. Unable from the state of his feelings towrite two letters, he sent the narrative to Maclise, under an enormousblack seal, for transmission to me; and thus it befell that thisfortunate bird receives a double passport to fame, so great a humoristhaving celebrated his farewell to the present world, and so great apainter his welcome to another. "You will be greatly shocked" (the letter is dated Friday evening, March 12, 1841) "and grieved to hear that the Raven is no more. Heexpired to-day at a few minutes after twelve o'clock at noon. He hadbeen ailing for a few days, but we anticipated no serious result, conjecturing that a portion of the white paint he swallowed last summermight be lingering about his vitals without having any serious effectupon his constitution. Yesterday afternoon he was taken so much worsethat I sent an express for the medical gentleman (Mr. Herring), whopromptly attended, and administered a powerful dose of castor oil. Underthe influence of this medicine, he recovered so far as to be able ateight o'clock P. M. To bite Topping. His night was peaceful. This morningat daybreak he appeared better; received (agreeably to the doctor'sdirections) another dose of castor oil; and partook plentifully of somewarm gruel, the flavor of which he appeared to relish. Towards eleveno'clock he was so much worse that it was found necessary to muffle thestable-knocker. At half-past, or thereabouts, he was heard talking tohimself about the horse and Topping's family, and to add some incoherentexpressions which are supposed to have been either a foreboding of hisapproaching dissolution, or some wishes relative to the disposal of hislittle property: consisting chiefly of half-pence which he had buried indifferent parts of the garden. On the clock striking twelve he appearedslightly agitated, but he soon recovered, walked twice or thrice alongthe coach-house, stopped to bark, staggered, exclaimed _Halloa oldgirl!_ (his favorite expression), and died. "He behaved throughout with a decent fortitude, equanimity, andself-possession, which cannot be too much admired. I deeply regret thatbeing in ignorance of his danger I did not attend to receive his lastinstructions. Something remarkable about his eyes occasioned Topping torun for the doctor at twelve. When they returned together our friend wasgone. It was the medical gentleman who informed me of his decease. Hedid it with great caution and delicacy, preparing me by the remark that'a jolly queer start had taken place;' but the shock was very greatnotwithstanding. I am not wholly free from suspicions of poison. Amalicious butcher has been heard to say that he would 'do' for him: hisplea was that he would not be molested in taking orders down the mews, by any bird that wore a tail. Other persons have also been heard tothreaten: among others, Charles Knight, who has just started a weeklypublication price fourpence: _Barnaby_ being, as you know, threepence. Ihave directed a post-mortem examination, and the body has been removedto Mr. Herring's school of anatomy for that purpose. "I could wish, if you can take the trouble, that you could inclose thisto Forster immediately after you have read it. I cannot discharge thepainful task of communication more than once. Were they ravens who tookmanna to somebody in the wilderness? At times I hope they were, and atothers I fear they were not, or they would certainly have stolen it bythe way. In profound sorrow, I am ever your bereaved friend C. D. Kateis as well as can be expected, but terribly low, as you may suppose. Thechildren seem rather glad of it. He bit their ankles. But that wasplay. " [Illustration: [Sideways text: apotheosis] My dear Forster Dickens desires me transmit to you the enclosed announcement of theRaven's decease - which took place in Devonshire Terrace March 1841 HIC DM] Maclise's covering letter was an apotheosis, to be rendered only infac-simile. In what way the loss was replaced, so that _Barnaby_ should have thefruit of continued study of the habits of the family of birds which Griphad so nobly represented, Dickens has told in the preface to the story;and another, older, and larger Grip, obtained through Mr. Smithson, wasinstalled in the stable, almost before the stuffed remains of hishonored predecessor had been sent home in a glass case, by way ofornament to his master's study. I resume our correspondence on what he was writing: "I see there is yetroom for a few lines" (25th March), "and you are quite right in wishingwhat I cut out to be restored. I did not want Joe to be so short aboutDolly, and really wrote his references to that young lady carefully, --asnatural things with a meaning in them. Chigwell, my dear fellow, is thegreatest place in the world. Name your day for going. Such a deliciousold inn opposite the churchyard, --such a lovely ride, --such beautifulforest scenery, --such an out-of-the-way, rural place, --such a sexton! Isay again, name your day. " The day was named at once; and the whitest ofstones marks it, in now sorrowful memory. His promise was exceeded byour enjoyment; and his delight in the double recognition, of himself andof _Barnaby_, by the landlord of the nice old inn, far exceeded anypride he would have taken in what the world thinks the highest sort ofhonor. "I have shut myself up" (26th March) "by myself to-day, and mean to tryand 'go it' at the _Clock_; Kate being out, and the house peacefullydismal. I don't remember altering the exact part you object to, but ifthere be anything here you object to, knock it out ruthlessly. " "Don'tfail" (April the 5th) "to erase anything that seems to you too strong. It is difficult for me to judge what tells too much, and what does not. I am trying a very quiet number to set against this necessary one. Ihope it will be good, but I am in very sad condition for work. Glad youthink this powerful. What I have put in is more relief, from the raven. "Two days later: "I have done that number, and am now going to work onanother. I am bent (please Heaven) on finishing the first chapter byFriday night. I hope to look in upon you to-night, when we'll dispose ofthe toasts for Saturday. Still bilious--but a good number, I hope, notwithstanding. Jeffrey has come to town, and was here yesterday. " Thetoasts to be disposed of were those to be given at the dinner on the10th to celebrate the second volume of _Master Humphrey_: when Talfourdpresided, when there was much jollity, and, according to the memorandumdrawn up that Saturday night now lying before me, we all in the greatestgood humor glorified each other: Talfourd proposing the _Clock_, Macready Mrs. Dickens, Dickens the publishers, and myself the artists;Macready giving Talfourd, Talfourd Macready, Dickens myself, and myselfthe comedian Mr. Harley, whose humorous songs had been the not leastconsiderable element in the mirth of the evening. Five days later he writes, "I finished the number yesterday, and, although I dined with Jeffrey, and was obliged to go to Lord Denman'safterwards (which made me late), have done eight slips of the_Lamplighter_ for Mrs. Macrone, this morning. When I have got that offmy mind, I shall try to go on steadily, fetching up the _Clock_lee-way. " The _Lamplighter_ was his old farce, [36] which he now turnedinto a comic tale; and this, with other contributions given him byfriends and edited by him as _Pic Nic Papers_, enabled him to help thewidow of his old publisher in her straitened means by a gift of £300. Hehad finished his work of charity before he next wrote of _BarnabyRudge_, but he was fetching up his lee-way lazily. "I am getting on"(29th of April) "very slowly. I want to stick to the story; and the fearof committing myself, because of the impossibility of trying back oraltering a syllable, makes it much harder than it looks. It was too badof me to give you the trouble of cutting the number, but I knew so wellyou would do it in the right places. For what Harley would call the'onward work' I really think I have some famous thoughts. " There is aninterval of a month before the next allusion: "Solomon's expression" (3dof June) "I meant to be one of those strong ones to which strongcircumstances give birth in the commonest minds. Deal with it as youlike. . . . Say what you please of Gordon" (I had objected to some pointsin his view of this madman, stated much too favorably as I thought), "hemust have been at heart a kind man, and a lover of the despised andrejected, after his own fashion. He lived upon a small income, andalways within it; was known to relieve the necessities of many people;exposed in his place the corrupt attempt of a minister to buy him outof Parliament; and did great charities in Newgate. He always spoke onthe people's side, and tried against his muddled brains to expose theprofligacy of both parties. He never got anything by his madness, andnever sought it. The wildest and most raging attacks of the time allowhim these merits: and not to let him have 'em in their full extent, remembering in what a (politically) wicked time he lived, would lie uponmy conscience heavily. The libel he was imprisoned for when he died, wason the Queen of France; and the French government interested themselveswarmly to procure his release, --which I think they might have done, butfor Lord Grenville. " I was more successful in the counsel I gave againsta fancy he had at this part of the story, that he would introduce asactors in the Gordon riots three splendid fellows who should order, lead, control, and be obeyed as natural guides of the crowd in thatdelirious time, and who should turn out, when all was over, to havebroken out from Bedlam; but, though he saw the unsoundness of this, hecould not so readily see, in Gordon's case, the danger of taxingingenuity to ascribe a reasonable motive to acts of sheer insanity. Thefeeblest parts of the book are those in which Lord George and hissecretary appear. He left for Scotland after the middle of June, but he took work withhim. "You may suppose, " he wrote from Edinburgh on the 30th, "I have notdone much work; but by Friday night's post from here I hope to send thefirst long chapter of a number and both the illustrations; from LochEarn on Tuesday night, the closing chapter of that number; from the sameplace on Thursday night, the first long chapter of another, with boththe illustrations; and, from some place which no man ever spelt butwhich sounds like Ballyhoolish, on Saturday, the closing chapter of thatnumber, which will leave us all safe till I return to town. " Nine dayslater he wrote from "Ballechelish, " "I have done all I can or need do inthe way of _Barnaby_ until I come home, and the story is progressing (Ihope you will think) to good strong interest. I have left it, I think, at an exciting point, with a good dawning of the riots. In the first ofthe two numbers I have written since I have been away, I forget whetherthe blind man, in speaking to Barnaby about riches, tells him they areto be found in _crowds_. If I have not actually used that word, will youintroduce it? A perusal of the proof of the following number (70) willshow you how, and why. " "Have you, " he wrote shortly after his return(29th July), "seen No. 71? I thought there was a good glimpse of acrowd, from a window--eh?" He had now taken thoroughly to the interestof his closing chapters, and felt more than ever the constraints of hisform of publication. "I am warming up very much" (on the 5th August fromBroadstairs) "about _Barnaby_. Oh! if I only had him, from this time tothe end, in monthly numbers. _N'importe!_ I hope the interest will bepretty strong, --and, in every number, stronger. " Six days later, fromthe same place: "I was always sure I could make a good thing of_Barnaby_, and I think you'll find that it comes out strong to the lastword. I have another number ready, all but two slips. Don't fear foryoung Chester. The time hasn't come----there we go again, you see, withthe weekly delays. I am in great heart and spirits with the story, andwith the prospect of having time to think before I go on again. " Amonth's interval followed, and what occupied it will be describedshortly. On the 11th September he wrote, "I have just burnt intoNewgate, and am going in the next number to tear the prisoners out bythe hair of their heads. The number which gets into the jail you'll havein proof by Tuesday. " This was followed up a week later: "I have let allthe prisoners out of Newgate, burnt down Lord Mansfield's, and playedthe very devil. Another number will finish the fires, and help us ontowards the end. I feel quite smoky when I am at work. I want elbow-roomterribly. " To this trouble, graver supervened at his return, a seriouspersonal sickness not the least; but he bore up gallantly, and I hadnever better occasion than now to observe his quiet endurance of pain, how little he thought of himself where the sense of self is commonlysupreme, and the manful duty with which everything was done that, ailingas he was, he felt it necessary to do. He was still in his sick-room(22d October) when he wrote, "I hope I sha'n't leave off any more, now, until I have finished _Barnaby_. " Three days after that, he was busyinghimself eagerly for others; and on the 2d of November the printersreceived the close of _Barnaby Rudge_. This tale was Dickens's first attempt out of the sphere of the life ofthe day and its actual manners. Begun during the progress of _OliverTwist_, it had been for some time laid aside; the form it ultimatelytook had been comprised only partially within its first design; and thestory in its finished shape presented strongly a special purpose, thecharacteristic of all but his very earliest writings. Its scene is laidat the time when the incessant execution of men and women, comparativelyinnocent, disgraced every part of the country; demoralizing thousands, whom it also prepared for the scaffold. In those days the theft of a fewrags from a bleaching-ground, or the abstraction of a roll of ribbonsfrom a counter, was visited with the penalty of blood; and such lawsbrutalized both their ministers and victims. It was the time, too, whena false religious outcry brought with it appalling guilt and misery. These are vices that leave more behind them than the first formsassumed, and they involve a lesson sufficiently required to justify awriter in dealing with them. There were also others grafted on them. InBarnaby himself it was desired to show what sources of comfort theremight be, for the patient and cheerful heart, in even the worst of allhuman afflictions; and in the hunted life of his outcast father, whosecrime had entailed not that affliction only but other more fearfulwretchedness, we have as powerful a picture as any in his writings ofthe inevitable and unfathomable consequences of sin. But, as the storywent on, it was incident to these designs that what had beenaccomplished in its predecessor could hardly be attained here, insingleness of purpose, unity of idea, or harmony of treatment; and otherdefects supervened in the management of the plot. The interest withwhich the tale begins has ceased to be its interest before the close;and what has chiefly taken the reader's fancy at the outset almostwholly disappears in the power and passion with which, in the laterchapters, the great riots are described. So admirable is thisdescription, however, that it would be hard to have to surrender iteven for a more perfect structure of fable. There are few things more masterly in any of his books. From the firstlow mutterings of the storm to its last terrible explosion, this franticoutbreak of popular ignorance and rage is depicted with unabated power. The aimlessness of idle mischief by which the ranks of the rioters areswelled at the beginning; the recklessness induced by the monstrousimpunity allowed to the early excesses; the sudden spread of thisdrunken guilt into every haunt of poverty, ignorance, or mischief in thewicked old city, where the rich materials of crime lie festering; thewild action of its poison on all, without scheme or plan of any kind, who come within its reach; the horrors that are more bewildering forthis complete absence of purpose in them; and, when all is done, themisery found to have been self-inflicted in every cranny and corner ofLondon, as if a plague had swept over the streets: these are features inthe picture of an actual occurrence, to which the manner of thetreatment gives extraordinary force and meaning. Nor, in the sequel, isthere anything displayed with more profitable vividness than the law'sindiscriminate cruelty at last, in contrast with its cowardlyindifference at first; while, among the casual touches lighting up thescene with flashes of reality that illumine every part of it, may beinstanced the discovery, in the quarter from which screams for succorare loudest when Newgate is supposed to be accidentally on fire, of fourmen who were certain in any case to have perished on the drop next day. The story, which has unusually careful writing in it, and much manlyupright thinking, has not so many people eagerly adopted as of kin byeverybody, as its predecessors are famous for; but it has yet a fairproportion of such as take solid form within the mind and keep hold ofthe memory. To these belong in an especial degree Gabriel Varden and hishousehold, on whom are lavished all the writer's fondness and not alittle of his keenest humor. The honest locksmith with his jovial jug, and the tink-tink-tink of his pleasant nature making cheerful music outof steel and iron; the buxom wife, with her plaguy tongue that makesevery one wretched whom her kindly disposition would desire to makehappy; the good-hearted plump little Dolly, coquettish minx of adaughter, with all she suffers and inflicts by her fickle winning waysand her small self-admiring vanities; and Miggs the vicious andslippery, acid, amatory, and of uncomfortable figure, sower of familydiscontents and discords, who swears all the while she wouldn't make ormeddle with 'em "not for a annual gold-mine and found in tea and sugar:"there is not much social painting anywhere with a better domestic moralthan in all these; and a nice propriety of feeling and thought regulatesthe use of such satire throughout. No one knows more exactly how far togo with that formidable weapon, or understands better that whatsatirizes everything, in effect satirizes nothing. Another excellent group is that which the story opens with, in thequaint old kitchen of the Maypole; John Willett and his friends, genuinely comic creations all of them. Then we have Barnaby and hisraven: the light-hearted idiot, as unconscious of guilt as ofsuffering, and happy with no sense but of the influences of nature; andthe grave sly bird, with sufficient sense to make himself as unhappy asrascally habits will make the human animal. There is poor brutish Hugh, too, loitering lazily outside the Maypole door, with a storm of passionsin him raging to be let loose; already the scaffold's withered fruit, ashe is doomed to be its ripe offering; and though with all the worstinstincts of the savage, yet not without also some of the best. Stillfarther out of kindly nature's pitying reach lurks the worst villain ofthe scene: with this sole claim to consideration, that it was byconstant contact with the filthiest instrument of law and state he hadbecome the mass of moral filth he is. Mr. Dennis the hangman is aportrait that Hogarth would have painted with the same wholesomeseverity of satire which is employed upon it in _Barnaby Rudge_. FOOTNOTES: [36] See _ante_, pp. 125 and 183. CHAPTER XV. PUBLIC DINNER IN EDINBURGH. 1841. His Son Walter Landor--Dies in Calcutta (1863)--C. D. And the New Poor-Law--Moore and Rogers--Jeffrey's Praise of Little Nell--Resolve to visit Scotland--Edinburgh Dinner proposed--Sir David Wilkie's Death--Peter Robertson--Professor Wilson--A Fancy of Scott--Lionization made tolerable--Thoughts of Home--The Dinner and Speeches--His Reception--Wilson's Eulogy--Home Yearnings--Freedom of City voted to him--Speakers at the Dinner--Politics and Party Influences--Whig Jealousies--At the Theatre--Hospitalities--Moral of it all--Proposed Visit to the Highlands--Maclise and Macready--Guide to the Highlands--Mr. Angus Fletcher (Kindheart). AMONG the occurrences of the year, apart from the tale he was writing, the birth of his fourth child and second son has been briefly mentioned. "I mean to call the boy Edgar, " he wrote, the day after he was born (9thFebruary), "a good honest Saxon name, I think. " He changed his mind in afew days, however, on resolving to ask Landor to be godfather. Thisintention, as soon as formed, he announced to our excellent old friend, telling him it would give the child something to boast of, to be calledWalter Landor, and that to call him so would do his own heart good. For, as to himself, whatever realities had gone out of the ceremony ofchristening, the meaning still remained in it of enabling him to form arelationship with friends he most loved; and as to the boy, he held thatto give him a name to be proud of was to give him also another reasonfor doing nothing unworthy or untrue when he came to be a man. Walter, alas! only lived to manhood. He obtained a military cadetship throughthe kindness of Miss Coutts, and died at Calcutta on the last day of1863, in his twenty-third year. The interest taken by this distinguished lady in him and in his hadbegun, as I have said, at an earlier date than even this; and Iremember, while _Oliver Twist_ was going on, his pleasure because of herfather's mention of him in a speech at Birmingham, for his advocacy ofthe cause of the poor. Whether to the new poor-law Sir Francis Burdettobjected as strongly as we have seen that Dickens did, as well as manyother excellent men, who forgot the atrocities of the system itdisplaced in their indignation at the needless and cruel harshness withwhich it was worked at the outset, I have not at hand the means ofknowing. But certainly this continued to be strongly the feeling ofDickens, who exulted in nothing so much as at any misadventure to theWhigs in connection with it. "How often used Black and I, " he wrote tome in April, "to quarrel about the effect of the poor-law bill! Waltercomes in upon the cry. See whether the Whigs go out upon it. " It was thestrong desire he had to make himself heard upon it, even in Parliament, that led him not immediately to turn aside from a proposal, nowprivately made by some of the magnates of Reading, to bring him in forthat borough; but the notion was soon dismissed, as, on its revivalmore than once in later times, it continued very wisely to be. Hisopinions otherwise were extremely radical at present, as will beapparent shortly; and he did not at all relish Peel's majority of onewhen it came soon after, and unseated the Whigs. It was just now, I mayadd, he greatly enjoyed a quiet setting-down of Moore by Rogers at SirFrancis Burdett's table, for talking exaggerated toryism. So debased wasthe House of Commons by reform, said Moore, that a Burke, if you couldfind him, would not be listened to. "No such thing, Tommy, " said Rogers;"_find yourself_, and they'd listen even to you. " This was not many days before he hinted to me an intention soon to becarried out in a rather memorable manner: "I have done nothing to-day"(18th March: we had bought books together, the day before, at Tom Hill'ssale) "but cut the _Swift_, looking into it with a delicious laziness inall manner of delightful places, and put poor Tom's books away. I had aletter from Edinburgh this morning, announcing that Jeffrey's visit toLondon will be the week after next; telling me that he drives aboutEdinburgh declaring there has been 'nothing so good as Nell sinceCordelia, ' which he writes also to all manner of people; and informingme of a desire in that romantic town to give me greeting and welcome. For this and other reasons I am disposed to make Scotland my destinationin June rather than Ireland. Think, _do_ think, meantime (here are tengood weeks), whether you couldn't, by some effort worthy of the owner ofthe gigantic helmet, go with us. Think of such a fortnight, --York, Carlisle, Berwick, your own Borders, Edinburgh, Rob Roy's country, railroads, cathedrals, country inns, Arthur's Seat, lochs, glens, andhome by sea. DO think of this, seriously, at leisure. " It was verytempting, but not to be. Early in April Jeffrey came, many feasts and entertainments welcominghim, of which he very sparingly partook; and before he left, the visitto Scotland in June was all duly arranged, to be initiated by thesplendid welcome of a public dinner in Edinburgh, with Lord Jeffreyhimself in the chair. Allan the painter had come up meanwhile, withincreasing note of preparation; and it was while we were all regrettingWilkie's absence abroad, and Dickens with warrantable pride was sayinghow surely the great painter would have gone to this dinner, that theshock of his sudden death[37] came, and there was left but the sorrowfulsatisfaction of honoring his memory. There was one other change beforethe day. "I heard from Edinburgh this morning, " he wrote on the 15th ofJune. "Jeffrey is not well enough to take the chair, so Wilson does. Ithink under all circumstances of politics, acquaintance, and _EdinburghReview_, that it's much better as it is--Don't you?" His first letter from Edinburgh, where he and Mrs. Dickens had taken upquarters at the Royal Hotel on their arrival the previous night, isdated the 23d of June: "I have been this morning to the ParliamentHouse, and am now introduced (I hope) to everybody in Edinburgh. Thehotel is perfectly besieged, and I have been forced to take refuge in asequestered apartment at the end of a long passage, wherein I write thisletter. They talk of 300 at the dinner. We are very well off in point ofrooms, having a handsome sitting-room, another next to it for _Clock_purposes, a spacious bedroom, and large dressing-room adjoining. Thecastle is in front of the windows, and the view noble. There was asupper ready last night which would have been a dinner anywhere. " Thiswas his first practical experience of the honors his fame had won forhim, and it found him as eager to receive as all were eager to give. Very interesting still, too, are those who took leading part in thecelebration; and in his pleasant sketches of them there are some oncefamous and familiar figures not so well known to the present generation. Here, among the first, are Wilson and Robertson. "The renowned Peter Robertson is a large, portly, full-faced man, with amerry eye, and a queer way of looking under his spectacles which ischaracteristic and pleasant. He seems a very warm-hearted earnest mantoo, and I felt quite at home with him forthwith. Walking up and downthe hall of the courts of law (which was full of advocates, writers tothe signet, clerks, and idlers) was a tall, burly, handsome man ofeight-and-fifty, with a gait like O'Connell's, the bluest eye you canimagine, and long hair--longer than mine--falling down in a wild wayunder the broad brim of his hat. He had on a surtout coat, a bluechecked shirt; the collar standing up, and kept in its place with a wispof black neckerchief; no waistcoat; and a large pocket-handkerchiefthrust into his breast, which was all broad and open. At his heelsfollowed a wiry, sharp-eyed, shaggy devil of a terrier, dogging hissteps as he went slashing up and down, now with one man beside him, nowwith another, and now quite alone, but always at a fast, rolling pace, with his head in the air, and his eyes as wide open as he could getthem. I guessed it was Wilson, and it was. A bright, clear-complexioned, mountain-looking fellow, he looks as though he had just come down fromthe Highlands, and had never in his life taken pen in hand. But he hashad an attack of paralysis in his right arm, within this month. Hewinced when I shook hands with him; and once or twice, when we werewalking up and down, slipped as if he had stumbled on a piece oforange-peel. He is a great fellow to look at, and to talk to; and, ifyou could divest your mind of the actual Scott, is just the figure youwould put in his place. " Nor have the most ordinary incidents of the visit any lack of interestfor us now, in so far as they help to complete the picture of himself:"Allan has been squiring me about, all the morning. He and Fletcher havegone to a meeting of the dinner-stewards, and I take the opportunity ofwriting to you. They dine with us to-day, and we are going to-night tothe theatre. M'Ian is playing there. I mean to leave a card for himbefore evening. We are engaged for every day of our stay, already; butthe people I have seen are so very hearty and warm in their manner thatmuch of the horrors of lionization gives way before it. I am glad tofind that they propose giving me for a toast on Friday the Memory ofWilkie. I should have liked it better than anything, if I could havemade my choice. Communicate all particulars to Mac. I would to God youwere both here. Do dine together at the Gray's Inn on Friday, and thinkof me. If I don't drink my first glass of wine to you, may my pistolsmiss fire, and my mare slip her shoulder. All sorts of regard from Kate. She has gone with Miss Allan to see the house she was born in, etc. Write me soon, and long, etc. " His next letter was written the morning after the dinner, on Saturday, the 26th June: "The great event is over; and, being gone, I am a managain. It was the most brilliant affair you can conceive; the completestsuccess possible, from first to last. The room was crammed, and morethan seventy applicants for tickets were of necessity refused yesterday. Wilson was ill, but plucked up like a lion, and spoke famously. [38] Isend you a paper herewith, but the report is dismal in the extreme. Theysay there will be a better one--I don't know where or when. Should therebe, I will send it to you. I _think_ (ahem!) that I spoke rather well. It was an excellent room, and both the subjects (Wilson and ScottishLiterature, and the Memory of Wilkie) were good to go upon. There werenearly two hundred ladies present. The place is so contrived that thecross table is raised enormously: much above the heads of peoplesitting below: and the effect on first coming in (on me, I mean) wasrather tremendous. I was quite self-possessed, however, and, notwithstanding the enthoosemoosy, which was very startling, as cool asa cucumber. I wish to God you had been there, as it is impossible forthe 'distinguished guest' to describe the scene. It beat all natur. ". . . Here was the close of his letter: "I have been expecting every day tohear from you, and not hearing mean to make this the briefest epistlepossible. We start next Sunday (that's to-morrow week). We are going outto Jeffrey's to-day (he is very unwell), and return here to-morrowevening. If I don't find a letter from you when I come back, expect noLights and Shadows of Scottish Life from your indignant correspondent. Murray the manager made very excellent, tasteful, and gentlemanlymention of Macready, about whom Wilson had been asking me diversquestions during dinner. " "A hundred thanks for your letter, " he writesfour days later. "I read it this morning with the greatest pleasure anddelight, and answer it with ditto, ditto. Where shall I begin--about mydarlings? I am delighted with Charley's precocity. He takes arter hisfather, he does. God bless them, you can't imagine (_you!_ how can you?)how much I long to see them. It makes me quite sorrowful to think ofthem. . . . Yesterday, sir, the lord provost, council, and magistratesvoted me by acclamation the freedom of the city, in testimony (I quotethe letter just received from 'James Forrest, lord provost') 'of thesense entertained by them of your distinguished abilities as an author. 'I acknowledged this morning in appropriate terms the honor they haddone me, and through me the pursuit to which I was devoted. It _is_handsome, is it not?" The parchment scroll of the city-freedom, recording the grounds on whichit was voted, hung framed in his study to the last, and was one of hisvalued possessions. Answering some question of mine, he told me furtheras to the speakers, and gave some amusing glimpses of the party-spiritwhich still at that time ran high in the capital of the north. "The men who spoke at the dinner were all the most rising men here, andchiefly at the Bar. They were all, alternately, Whigs and Tories; withsome few Radicals, such as Gordon, who gave the memory of Burns. He isWilson's son-in-law and the lord-advocate's nephew--a very masterlyspeaker indeed, who ought to become a distinguished man. Neaves, whogave the other poets, a _little_ too lawyer-like for my taste, is agreat gun in the courts. Mr. Primrose is Lord Rosebery's son. AdamBlack, the publisher as you know. Dr. Alison, a very popular friend ofthe poor. Robertson you know. Allan you know. Colquhoun is an advocate. All these men were selected for the toasts as being crack speakers, known men, and opposed to each other very strongly in politics. For thisreason, the professors and so forth who sat upon the platform about memade no speeches and had none assigned them. I felt it was veryremarkable to see such a number of gray-headed men gathered about mybrown flowing locks; and it struck most of those who were present veryforcibly. The judges, solicitor-general, lord-advocate, and so forth, were all here to call, the day after our arrival. The judges never goto public dinners in Scotland. Lord Meadowbank alone broke through thecustom, and none of his successors have imitated him. It will give you agood notion of _party_ to hear that the solicitor-general andlord-advocate refused to go, though they had previously engaged, _unless_ the croupier or the chairman were a Whig. Both (Wilson andRobertson) were Tories, simply because, Jeffrey excepted, no Whig couldbe found who was adapted to the office. The solicitor laid strictinjunctions on Napier not to go if a Whig were not in office. No Whigwas, and he stayed away. I think this is good?--bearing in mind that allthe old Whigs of Edinburgh were cracking their throats in the room. Theygave out that they were ill, and the lord-advocate did actually lie inbed all the afternoon; but this is the real truth, and one of the judgestold it me with great glee. It seems they couldn't quite trust Wilson orRobertson, as they thought; and feared some Tory demonstration. Nothingof the kind took place; and ever since, these men have been the loudestin their praises of the whole affair. " The close of his letter tells us all his engagements, and completes hisgraceful picture of the hearty Scottish welcome given him. It has alsosome personal touches that may be thought worth preserving. "A threatreached me last night (they have been hammering at it in their papers, it seems, for some time) of a dinner at Glasgow. But I hope, havingcirculated false rumors of my movements, to get away before they send tome; and only to stop there on my way home, to change horses and send tothe post-office. . . . You will like to know how we have been living. Here's a list of engagements, past and present. Wednesday, we dined athome, and went incog. To the theatre at night, to Murray's box; thepieces admirably done, and M'Ian in the _Two Drovers_ quite wonderfuland most affecting. Thursday, to Lord Murray's; dinner and eveningparty. Friday, _the_ dinner. Saturday, to Jeffrey's, a beautiful placeabout three miles off" (Craigcrook, which at Lord Jeffrey's invitation Iafterwards visited with him), "stop there all night, dine on Sunday, andhome at eleven. Monday, dine at Dr. Alison's, four miles off. Tuesday, dinner and evening party at Allan's. Wednesday, breakfast with Napier, dine with Blackwood's seven miles off, evening party at the treasurer'sof the town-council, supper with all the artists (!!). Thursday, lunchat the solicitor-general's, dine at Lord Gillies's, evening party atJoseph Gordon's, one of Brougham's earliest supporters. Friday, dinnerand evening party at Robertson's. Saturday, dine again at Jeffrey's;back to the theatre, at half-past nine to the moment, for publicappearance;[39] places all let, etc. Etc. Etc. Sunday, off at seveno'clock in the morning to Stirling, and then to Callender, a stagefurther. Next day, to Loch Earn, and pull up there for three days, torest and work. The moral of all this is, that there is no place likehome; and that I thank God most heartily for having given me a quietspirit, and a heart that won't hold many people. I sigh for DevonshireTerrace and Broadstairs, for battledoor and shuttlecock; I want to dinein a blouse with you and Mac; and I feel Topping's merits more acutelythan I have ever done in my life. On Sunday evening, the 17th of July, Ishall revisit my household gods, please Heaven. I wish the day werehere. For God's sake be in waiting. I wish you and Mac would dine inDevonshire Terrace that day with Fred. He has the key of the cellar. _Do. _ We shall be at Inverary in the Highlands on Tuesday week, gettingto it through the Pass of Glencoe, of which you may have heard! OnThursday following we shall be at Glasgow, where I shall hope to receiveyour last letter before we meet. At Inverary, too, I shall make sure offinding at least one, at the post-office. . . . Little Allan is trying hardfor the post of queen's limner for Scotland, vacant by poor Wilkie'sdeath. Every one is in his favor but ----, who is jobbing for some oneelse. Appoint him, will you, and I'll give up the premiership. --How Ibreakfasted to-day in the house where Scott lived seven-and-twentyyears; how I have made solemn pledges to write about missing children inthe _Edinburgh Review_, and will do my best to keep them; how I havedeclined to be brought in, free gratis for nothing and qualified toboot, for a Scotch county that's going a-begging, lest I should bethought to have dined on Friday under false pretenses; these, with othermarvels, shall be yours anon. . . . I must leave off sharp, to get dressedand off upon the seven miles' dinner-trip. Kate's affectionate regards. My hearty loves to Mac and Grim. " Grim was another great artist havingthe same beginning to his name, whose tragic studies had suggested anepithet quite inapplicable to any of his personal qualities. The narrative of the trip to the Highlands must have a chapter to itselfand its incidents of adventure and comedy. The latter chiefly were dueto the guide who accompanied him, a quasi-Highlander himself, named afew pages back as Mr. Kindheart, whose real name was Mr. Angus Fletcher, and to whom it hardly needs that I should give other mention than willbe supplied by such future notices of him as my friend's letters maycontain. He had a wayward kind of talent, which he could neverconcentrate on a settled pursuit; and though at the time we knew himfirst he had taken up the profession of a sculptor, he abandoned it soonafterwards. His mother, a woman distinguished by many remarkablequalities, lived now in the English lake-country; and it was no fault ofhers that this home was no longer her son's. But what mainly had closedit to him was undoubtedly not less the secret of such liking for him asDickens had. Fletcher's eccentricities and absurdities, often divided bythe thinnest partition from the most foolish extravagance, butoccasionally clever, and always the genuine though whimsical outgrowthof the life he led, had a curious sort of charm for Dickens. He enjoyedthe oddity and humor; tolerated all the rest; and to none more freelythan to Kindheart during the next few years, both in Italy and inEngland, opened his house and hospitality. The close of the poorfellow's life, alas! was in only too sad agreement with all the previouscourse of it; but this will have mention hereafter. He is waiting now tointroduce Dickens to the Highlands. FOOTNOTES: [37] Dickens refused to believe it at first. "My heart assures me Wilkieliveth, " he wrote. "He is the sort of man who will be VERY old when hedies"--and certainly one would have said so. [38] The speeches generally were good, but the descriptions in the textby himself will here be thought sufficient. One or two sentences ought, however, to be given to show the tone of Wilson's praise, and I willonly preface them by the remark that Dickens's acknowledgments, as wellas his tribute to Wilkie, were expressed with great felicity, and thatPeter Robertson seems to have thrown the company into convulsions oflaughter by his imitation of Dominie Sampson's PRO-DI-GI-OUS, in asupposed interview between that worthy schoolmaster and Mr. Squeers ofDotheboys. I now quote from Professor Wilson's speech: "Our friend has mingled in the common walks of life; he has made himselffamiliar with the lower orders of society. He has not been deterred bythe aspect of vice and wickedness, and misery and guilt, from seeking aspirit of good in things evil, but has endeavored by the might of geniusto transmute what was base into what is precious as the beaten gold. . . . But I shall be betrayed, if I go on much longer, --which it would beimproper for me to do, --into something like a critical delineation ofthe genius of our illustrious guest. I shall not attempt that; but Icannot but express, in a few ineffectual words, the delight which everyhuman bosom feels in the benign spirit which pervades all his creations. How kind and good a man he is, I need not say; nor what strength ofgenius he has acquired by that profound sympathy with hisfellow-creatures, whether in prosperity and happiness, or overwhelmedwith unfortunate circumstances, but who yet do not sink under theirmiseries, but trust to their own strength of endurance, to thatprinciple of truth and honor and integrity which is no stranger to theuncultivated bosom, and which is found in the lowest abodes in as greatstrength as in the halls of nobles and the palaces of kings. Mr. Dickensis also a satirist. He satirizes human life, but he does not satirize itto degrade it. He does not wish to pull down what is high into theneighborhood of what is low. He does not seek to represent all virtue asa hollow thing, in which no confidence can be placed. He satirizes onlythe selfish, and the hard-hearted, and the cruel. Our distinguishedguest may not have given us, as yet, a full and complete delineation ofthe female character. But this he has done: he has not endeavored torepresent women as charming merely by the aid of accomplishments, however elegant and graceful. He has not depicted those accomplishmentsas their essentials, but has spoken of them rather as always inspired bya love of domesticity, by fidelity, by purity, by innocence, by charity, and by hope, which makes them discharge, under the most difficultcircumstances, their duties, and which brings over their path in thisworld some glimpses of the light of heaven. Mr. Dickens may be assuredthat there is felt for him all over Scotland a sentiment of kindness, affection, admiration, and love; and I know for certain that theknowledge of these sentiments must make him happy. " [39] On this occasion, as he told me afterwards, the orchestra did adouble stroke of business, much to the amazement of himself and hisfriends, by improvising at his entrance _Charley is my Darling_, amidtumultuous shouts of delight. CHAPTER XVI. ADVENTURES IN THE HIGHLANDS. 1841. A Fright--Fletcher's Eccentricities--The Trossachs--The Travelers' Guide--A Comical Picture--Highland Accommodation--Grand Scenery--Changes in Route--A Waterfall--Entrance to Glencoe--The Pass of Glencoe--Loch Leven--A July Evening--Postal Service at Loch Earn Head--The Maid of the Inn--Impressions of Glencoe--An Adventure--Torrents swollen with Rain--Dangerous Traveling--Incidents and Accidents--Broken-down Bridge--A Fortunate Resolve--Post-boy in Danger--The Rescue--Narrow Escape--A Highland Inn and Inmates--English Comfort at Dalmally--Dinner at Glasgow proposed--Eagerness for Home. FROM Loch Earn Head Dickens wrote on Monday, the 5th of July, havingreached it, "wet through, " at four that afternoon: "Having had a greatdeal to do in a crowded house on Saturday night at the theatre, we leftEdinburgh yesterday morning at half-past seven, and traveled, withFletcher for our guide, to a place called Stewart's Hotel, nine milesfurther than Callender. We had neglected to order rooms, and wereobliged to make a sitting-room of our own bed-chamber; in which mygenius for stowing furniture away was of the very greatest service. Fletcher slept in a kennel with three panes of glass in it, which formedpart and parcel of a window; the other three panes whereof belonged to aman who slept on the other side of the partition. He told me thismorning that he had had a nightmare all night, and had screamedhorribly, he knew. The stranger, as you may suppose, hired a gig andwent off at full gallop with the first glimpse of daylight. [40] Beingvery tired (for we had not had more than three hours' sleep on theprevious night) we lay till ten this morning, and at half-past elevenwent through the Trossachs to Loch Katrine, where I walked from thehotel after tea last night. It is impossible to say what a gloriousscene it was. It rained as it never does rain anywhere but here. Weconveyed Kate up a rocky pass to go and see the island of the Lady ofthe Lake, but she gave in after the first five minutes, and we lefther, very picturesque and uncomfortable, with Tom" (the servant they hadbrought with them from Devonshire Terrace) "holding an umbrella over herhead, while we climbed on. When we came back, she had gone into thecarriage. We were wet through to the skin, and came on in that statefour-and-twenty miles. Fletcher is very good-natured, and ofextraordinary use in these outlandish parts. His habit of going intokitchens and bars, disconcerting at Broadstairs, is here of greatservice. Not expecting us till six, they hadn't lighted our fires whenwe arrived here; and if you had seen him (with whom the responsibilityof the omission rested) running in and out of the sitting-room and thetwo bedrooms with a great pair of bellows, with which he distractedlyblew each of the fires out in turn, you would have died of laughing. Hehad on his head a great Highland cap, on his back a white coat, and cutsuch a figure as even the inimitable can't depicter. . . . "The inns, inside and out, are the queerest places imaginable. From theroad, this one, " at Loch Earn Head, "looks like a white wall, withwindows in it by mistake. We have a good sitting-room, though, on thefirst floor: as large (but not as lofty) as my study. The bedrooms areof that size which renders it impossible for you to move, after you havetaken your boots off, without chipping pieces out of your legs. Thereisn't a basin in the Highlands which will hold my face; not a drawerwhich will open, after you have put your clothes in it; not awater-bottle capacious enough to wet your toothbrush. The huts arewretched and miserable beyond all description. The food (for those whocan pay for it) 'not bad, ' as M. Would say: oat-cake, mutton, hotch-potch, trout from the loch, small beer bottled, marmalade, andwhiskey. Of the last-named article I have taken about a pint to-day. Theweather is what they call 'soft'--which means that the sky is a vastwater-spout that never leaves off emptying itself; and the liquor has nomore effect than water. . . . I am going to work to-morrow, and hope beforeleaving here to write you again. The elections have been sad workindeed. That they should return Sibthorp and reject Bulwer, is, byHeaven, a national disgrace. . . . I don't wonder the devil flew overLincoln. The people were far too addle-headed, even for him. . . . I don'tbore you with accounts of Ben this and that, and Lochs of all sorts ofnames, but this is a wonderful region. The way the mists were stalkingabout to-day, and the clouds lying down upon the hills; the deep glens, the high rocks, the rushing waterfalls, and the roaring rivers down indeep gulfs below; were all stupendous. This house is wedged round bygreat heights that are lost in the clouds; and the loch, twelve mileslong, stretches out its dreary length before the windows. In my next Ishall soar to the sublime, perhaps; in this here present writing Iconfine myself to the ridiculous. But I am always, " etc. Etc. His next letter bore the date of "Ballechelish, Friday evening, ninthJuly, 1841, half-past nine, P. M. , " and described what we had oftenlonged to see together, the Pass of Glencoe. . . . "I can't go to bedwithout writing to you from here, though the post will not leave thisplace until we have left it and arrived at another. On looking over theroute which Lord Murray made out for me, I found he had put downThursday next for Abbotsford and Dryburgh Abbey, and a journey ofseventy miles besides! Therefore, and as I was happily able to steal amarch upon myself at Loch Earn Head, and to finish in two days what Ithought would take me three, we shall leave here to-morrow morning; and, by being a day earlier than we intended at all the places between thisand Melrose (which we propose to reach by Wednesday night), we shallhave a whole day for Scott's house and tomb, and still be at York onSaturday evening, and home, God willing, on Sunday. . . . We left Loch EarnHead last night, and went to a place called Killin, eight miles from it, where we slept. I walked some six miles with Fletcher after we gotthere, to see a waterfall; and truly it was a magnificent sight, foamingand crashing down three great steeps of riven rock; leaping over thefirst as far off as you could carry your eye, and rumbling and foamingdown into a dizzy pool below you, with a deafening roar. To-day we havehad a journey of between 50 and 60 miles, through the bleakest and mostdesolate part of Scotland, where the hill-tops are still covered withgreat patches of snow, and the road winds over steep mountain-passes, and on the brink of deep brooks and precipices. The cold all day hasbeen _intense_, and the rain sometimes most violent. It has beenimpossible to keep warm, by any means; even whiskey failed; the wind wastoo piercing even for that. One stage of ten miles, over a place calledthe Black Mount, took us two hours and a half to do; and when we came toa lone public called the King's House, at the entrance to Glencoe, --thiswas about three o'clock, --we were wellnigh frozen. We got a firedirectly, and in twenty minutes they served us up some famous kipperedsalmon, broiled; a broiled fowl; hot mutton ham and poached eggs;pancakes; oat-cake; wheaten bread; butter; bottled porter; hot water, lump sugar, and whiskey; of which we made a very hearty meal. All theway, the road had been among moors and mountains, with huge masses ofrock, which fell down God knows where, sprinkling the ground in everydirection, and giving it the aspect of the burial-place of a race ofgiants. Now and then we passed a hut or two, with neither window norchimney, and the smoke of the peat fire rolling out at the door. Butthere were not six of these dwellings in a dozen miles; and anything sobleak and wild, and mighty in its loneliness, as the whole country, itis impossible to conceive. Glencoe itself is perfectly _terrible_. Thepass is an awful place. It is shut in on each side by enormous rocksfrom which great torrents come rushing down in all directions. Inamongst these rocks on one side of the pass (the left as we came) thereare scores of glens, high up, which form such haunts as you mightimagine yourself wandering in, in the very height and madness of afever. They will live in my dreams for years--I was going to say as longas I live, and I seriously think so. The very recollection of them makesme shudder. . . . Well, I will not bore you with my impressions of thesetremendous wilds, but they really are fearful in their grandeur andamazing solitude. Wales is a mere toy compared with them. " The further mention of his guide's whimsical ways may stand, for itcannot now be the possible occasion of pain or annoyance, or ofanything but very innocent laughter: "We are now in a bare white house on the banks of Loch Leven, but in acomfortably-furnished room on the top of the house, --that is, on thefirst floor, --with the rain pattering against the window as though itwere December, the wind howling dismally, a cold damp mist on everythingwithout, a blazing fire within half way up the chimney, and a mostinfernal Piper practicing under the window for a competition of piperswhich is to come off shortly. . . . The store of anecdotes of Fletcher withwhich we shall return will last a long time. It seems that the F. 's arean extensive clan, and that his father was a Highlander. Accordingly, wherever he goes, he finds out some cotter or small farmer who is hiscousin. I wish you could see him walking into his cousins' curds andcream, and into their dairies generally! Yesterday morning, betweeneight and nine, I was sitting writing at the open window, when thepostman came to the inn (which at Loch Earn Head is the post-office) forthe letters. He is going away, when Fletcher, who has been writingsomewhere below-stairs, rushes out, and cries, 'Halloa there! Is thatthe Post?' 'Yes!' somebody answers. 'Call him back!' says Fletcher:'Just sit down till I've done, _and don't go away till I tellyou_. '--Fancy! The General Post, with the letters of forty villages in aleathern bag! . . . To-morrow at Oban. Sunday at Inverary. Monday atTarbet. Tuesday at Glasgow (and that night at Hamilton). Wednesday atMelrose. Thursday at ditto. Friday I don't know where. Saturday at York. Sunday--how glad I shall be to shake hands with you! My love to Mac. Ithought he'd have written once. Ditto to Macready. I had a very nice andwelcome letter from him, and a most hearty one from Elliotson. . . . P. S. Half asleep. So excuse drowsiness of matter and composition. I shall befull of joy to meet another letter from you! . . . P. P. S. They speak Gaelichere, of course, and many of the common people understand very littleEnglish. Since I wrote this letter, I rang the girl up-stairs, and gaveelaborate directions (you know my way) for a pint of sherry to be madeinto boiling negus; mentioning all the ingredients one by one, andparticularly nutmeg. When I had quite finished, seeing her obviouslybewildered, I said, with great gravity, 'Now you know what you're goingto order?' 'Oh, yes. Sure. ' 'What?'--a pause--'Just'--anotherpause--'Just plenty of _nutbergs_!'" The impression made upon him by the Pass of Glencoe was not overstatedin this letter. It continued with him as he there expressed it; and aswe shall see hereafter, even where he expected to find Nature in hermost desolate grandeur on the dreary waste of an American prairie, hisimagination went back with a higher satisfaction to Glencoe. But hisexperience of it is not yet completely told. The sequel was in a letterof two days' later date, from "Dalmally, Sunday, July the eleventh, 1841:" "As there was no place of this name in our route, you will be surprisedto see it at the head of this present writing. But our being here is apart of such moving accidents by flood and field as will astonish you. If you should happen to have your hat on, take it off, that your hairmay stand on end without any interruption. To get from Ballyhoolish (asI am obliged to spell it when Fletcher is not in the way; and he is outat this moment) to Oban, it is necessary to cross two ferries, one ofwhich is an arm of the sea, eight or ten miles broad. Into thisferry-boat, passengers, carriages, horses, and all, get bodily, and aregot across by hook or by crook if the weather be reasonably fine. Yesterday morning, however, it blew such a strong gale that the landlordof the inn, where we had paid for horses all the way to Oban (thirtymiles), honestly came up-stairs just as we were starting, with the moneyin his hand, and told us it would be impossible to cross. There wasnothing to be done but to come back five-and-thirty miles, throughGlencoe and Inverouran, to a place called Tyndrum, whence a road twelvemiles long crosses to Dalmally, which is sixteen miles from Inverary. Accordingly we turned back, and in a great storm of wind and rain beganto retrace the dreary road we had come the day before. . . . I was not atall ill pleased to have to come again through that awful Glencoe. If ithad been tremendous on the previous day, yesterday it was perfectlyhorrific. It had rained all night, and was raining then, as it only doesin these parts. Through the whole glen, which is ten miles long, torrents were boiling and foaming, and sending up in every directionspray like the smoke of great fires. They were rushing down every hilland mountain side, and tearing like devils across the path, and downinto the depths of the rocks. Some of the hills looked as if they werefull of silver, and had cracked in a hundred places. Others as if theywere frightened, and had broken out into a deadly sweat. In others therewas no compromise or division of streams, but one great torrent cameroaring down with a deafening noise, and a rushing of water that wasquite appalling. Such a _spaet_, in short (that's the country word), hasnot been known for many years, and the sights and sounds were beyonddescription. The post-boy was not at all at his ease, and the horseswere very much frightened (as well they might be) by the perpetualraging and roaring; one of them started as we came down a steep place, and we were within that much (----) of tumbling over a precipice; justthen, too, the drag broke, and we were obliged to go on as we bestcould, without it: getting out every now and then, and hanging on at theback of the carriage to prevent its rolling down too fast, and goingHeaven knows where. Well, in this pleasant state of things we came toKing's House again, having been four hours doing the sixteen miles. Therumble where Tom sat was by this time so full of water that he wasobliged to borrow a gimlet and bore holes in the bottom to let it runout. The horses that were to take us on were out upon the hills, somewhere within ten miles round; and three or four bare-legged fellowswent out to look for 'em, while we sat by the fire and tried to dryourselves. At last we got off again (without the drag and with a brokenspring, no smith living within ten miles), and went limping on toInverouran. In the first three miles we were in a ditch and out again, and lost a horse's shoe. All this time it never once left off raining;and was very windy, very cold, very misty, and most intensely dismal. Sowe crossed the Black Mount, and came to a place we had passed the daybefore, where a rapid river runs over a bed of broken rock. Now, thisriver, sir, had a bridge last winter, but the bridge broke down when thethaw came, and has never since been mended; so travelers cross upon alittle platform, made of rough deal planks stretching from rock to rock;and carriages and horses ford the water, at a certain point. As theplatform is the reverse of steady (we had proved this the day before), is very slippery, and affords anything but a pleasant footing, havingonly a trembling little rail on one side, and on the other nothingbetween it and the foaming stream, Kate decided to remain in thecarriage, and trust herself to the wheels rather than to her feet. Fletcher and I had got out, and it was going away, when I advised her, as I had done several times before, to come with us; for I saw that thewater was very high, the current being greatly swollen by the rain, andthat the post-boy had been eyeing it in a very disconcerted manner forthe last half-hour. This decided her to come out; and Fletcher, she, Tom, and I, began to cross, while the carriage went about a quarter of amile down the bank, in search of a shallow place. The platform shook somuch that we could only come across two at a time, and then it felt asif it were hung on springs. As to the wind and rain! . . . Well, put intoone gust all the wind and rain you ever saw and heard, and you'll havesome faint notion of it! When we got safely to the opposite bank, therecame riding up a wild Highlander, in a great plaid, whom we recognizedas the landlord of the inn, and who, without taking the least notice ofus, went dashing on, --with the plaid he was wrapped in, streaming in thewind, --screeching in Gaelic to the post-boy on the opposite bank, andmaking the most frantic gestures you ever saw, in which he was joined bysome other wild man on foot, who had come across by a short cut, knee-deep in mire and water. As we began to see what this meant, we(that is, Fletcher and I) scrambled on after them, while the boy, horses, and carriage were plunging in the water, which left only thehorses' heads and the boy's body visible. By the time we got up to them, the man on horseback and the men on foot were perfectly mad withpantomime; for as to any of their shouts being heard by the boy, thewater made such a great noise that they might as well have been dumb. Itmade me quite sick to think how I should have felt if Kate had beeninside. The carriage went round and round like a great stone, the boywas as pale as death, the horses were struggling and plashing andsnorting like sea-animals, and we were all roaring to the driver tothrow himself off and let them and the coach go to the devil, whensuddenly it came all right (having got into shallow water), and, alltumbling and dripping and jogging from side to side, climbed up to thedry land. I assure you we looked rather queer, as we wiped our faces andstared at each other in a little cluster round about it. It seemed thatthe man on horseback had been looking at us through a telescope as wecame to the track, and knowing that the place was very dangerous, andseeing that we meant to bring the carriage, had come on at a greatgallop to show the driver the only place where he could cross. By thetime he came up, the man had taken the water at a wrong place, and in aword was as nearly drowned (with carriage, horses, luggage, and all) asever man was. Was _this_ a good adventure? "We all went on to the inn, --the wild man galloping on first, to get afire lighted, --and there we dined on eggs and bacon, oat-cake, andwhiskey; and changed and dried ourselves. The place was a mere knot oflittle outhouses, and in one of these there were fifty Highlanders _alldrunk_. . . . Some were drovers, some pipers, and some workmen engaged tobuild a hunting-lodge for Lord Breadalbane hard by, who had been drivenin by stress of weather. One was a paper-hanger. He had come out threedays before to paper the inn's best room, a chamber almost large enoughto keep a Newfoundland dog in, and, from the first half-hour after hisarrival to that moment, had been hopelessly and irreclaimably drunk. They were lying about in all directions: on forms, on the ground, abouta loft overhead, round the turf-fire wrapped in plaids, on the tables, and under them. We paid our bill, thanked our host very heartily, gavesome money to his children, and after an hour's rest came on again. Atten o'clock at night we reached this place, and were overjoyed to findquite an English inn, with good beds (those we have slept on, yet, havealways been of straw), and every possible comfort. We breakfasted thismorning at half-past ten, and at three go on to Inverary to dinner. Ibelieve the very rough part of the journey is over, and I am really gladof it. Kate sends all kind of regards. I shall hope to find a letterfrom you at Inverary when the post reaches there, to-morrow. I wrote toOban yesterday, desiring the post-office keeper to send any he mighthave for us, over to that place. Love to Mac. " One more letter, brief, but overflowing at every word with his generousnature, must close the delightful series written from Scotland. It wasdated from Inverary the day following his exciting adventure; promisedme another from Melrose (which has unfortunately not been kept with therest); and inclosed the invitation to a public dinner at Glasgow. "Ihave returned for answer that I am on my way home, on pressing businessconnected with my weekly publication, and can't stop. But I have offeredto come down any day in September or October, and accept the honor then. Now, I shall come and return per mail; and, if this suits them, enterinto a solemn league and covenant to come with me. _Do. _ You must. I amsure you will. . . . Till my next, and always afterwards, God bless you. Igot your welcome letter this morning, and have read it a hundred times. What a pleasure it is! Kate's best regards. I am dying for Sunday, andwouldn't stop now for twenty dinners of twenty thousand each. [Illustration: 'Always your affectionate friend 'Doz. ] "Will Lord John meet the Parliament, or resign first?" I agreed toaccompany him to Glasgow; but illness intercepted that celebration. FOOTNOTES: [40] Poor good Mr. Fletcher had, among his other peculiarities, a habitof venting any particular emotion in a wildness of cry that went beyondeven the descriptive power of his friend, who referred to it frequentlyin his Broadstairs letters. Here is an instance (20th Sept, 1840): "Mrs. M. Being in the next machine the other day heard him howl like a wolf(as he does) when he first touched the cold water. I am glad to have myformer story in that respect confirmed. There is no sound on earth likeit. In the infernal regions there may be, but elsewhere there is nocompound addition of wild beasts that could produce its like for theirtotal. The description of the wolves in _Robinson Crusoe_ is the nearestthing; but it's feeble--very feeble--in comparison. " Of the generallyamiable side to all his eccentricities I am tempted to give anillustration from the same letter: "An alarming report being brought tome the other day that he was preaching, I betook myself to the spot, andfound he was reading Wordsworth to a family on the terrace, outside thehouse, in the open air and public way. The whole town were out. When hehad given them a taste of Wordsworth, he sent home for Mrs. Norton'sbook, and entertained them with selections from that. He concluded withan imitation of Mrs. Hemans reading her own poetry, which he performedwith a pocket-handkerchief over his head to imitate her veil--all thisin public, before everybody. " CHAPTER XVII. AGAIN AT BROADSTAIRS. 1841. Peel and his Party--Getting very Radical--Thoughts of colonizing--Political Squib by C. D. --Fine Old English Tory Times--Mesmerism--Metropolitan Prisons--Book by a Workman--An August Day by the Sea--Another Story in Prospect--_Clock_ Discontents--New Adventure--Agreement for it signed--The Book that proved to be _Chuzzlewit_--Peel and Lord Ashley--Visions of America. SOON after his return, at the opening of August, he went to Broadstairs;and the direction in which that last question shows his thoughts to havebeen busy was that to which he turned his first holiday leisure. He sentme some rhymed squibs as his anonymous contribution to the fight theLiberals were then making against what was believed to be intended bythe return to office of the Tories; ignorant as we were how much wiserthan his party the statesman then at the head of it was, or how greatlywhat we all most desired would be advanced by the very success that hadbeen most disheartening. There will be no harm now in giving one ofthese pieces, which will sufficiently show the tone of all of them, andwith what a hearty relish they were written. I doubt indeed if he everenjoyed anything more than the power of thus taking part occasionally, unknown to outsiders, in the sharp conflict the press was waging at thetime. "By Jove, how radical I am getting!" he wrote to me (13th August). "I wax stronger and stronger in the true principles every day. I don'tknow whether it's the sea, or no, but so it is. " He would at times eventalk, in moments of sudden indignation at the political outlook, ofcarrying off himself and his household gods, like Coriolanus, to a worldelsewhere! "Thank God there is a Van Diemen's Land. That's my comfort. Now, I wonder if I should make a good settler! I wonder, if I went to anew colony with my head, hands, legs, and health, I should force myselfto the top of the social milk-pot and live upon the cream! What do youthink? Upon my word, I believe I should. " His political squibs during the Tory interregnum comprised some capitalsubjects for pictures after the manner of Peter Pindar; but that which Iselect has no touch of personal satire in it, and he would himself, forthat reason, have least objected to its revival. Thus ran his newversion of "The Fine Old English Gentleman, to be said or sung at allconservative dinners:" I'll sing you a new ballad, and I'll warrant it first-rate, Of the days of that old gentleman who had that old estate; When they spent the public money at a bountiful old rate On ev'ry mistress, pimp, and scamp, at ev'ry noble gate. In the fine old English Tory times; Soon may they come again! The good old laws were garnished well with gibbets, whips, and chains, With fine old English penalties, and fine old English pains, With rebel heads and seas of blood once hot in rebel veins; For all these things were requisite to guard the rich old gains Of the fine old English Tory times; Soon may they come again! This brave old code, like Argus, had a hundred watchful eyes, And ev'ry English peasant had his good old English spies, To tempt his starving discontent with fine old English lies, Then call the good old Yeomanry to stop his peevish cries, In the fine old English Tory times; Soon may they come again! The good old times for cutting throats that cried out in their need, The good old times for hunting men who held their fathers' creed, The good old times when William Pitt, as all good men agreed, Came down direct from Paradise at more than railroad speed. . . . Oh, the fine old English Tory times; When will they come again? In those rare days, the press was seldom known to snarl or bark, But sweetly sang of men in pow'r, like any tuneful lark; Grave judges, too, to all their evil deeds were in the dark; And not a man in twenty score knew how to make his mark. Oh, the fine old English Tory times; Soon may they come again! . . . But tolerance, though slow in flight, is strong-wing'd in the main; That night must come on these fine days, in course of time was plain; The pure old spirit struggled, but its struggles were in vain; A nation's grip was on it, and it died in choking pain, With the fine old English Tory days, All of the olden time. The bright old day now dawns again; the cry runs through the land, In England there shall be--dear bread! in Ireland--sword and brand! And poverty, and ignorance, shall swell the rich and grand, So, rally round the rulers with the gentle iron hand Of the fine old English Tory days; Hail to the coming time! Of matters in which he had been specially interested before he quittedLondon, one or two may properly be named. He had always sympathized, almost as strongly as Archbishop Whately did, with Dr. Elliotson'smesmeric investigations; and, reinforced as these were in the presentyear by the displays of a Belgian youth whom another friend, Mr. ChauncyHare Townshend, brought over to England, the subject, which to the lasthad an attraction for him, was for the time rather ardently followed up. The improvement during the last few years in the London prisons wasanother matter of eager and pleased inquiry with him; and he tookfrequent means of stating what in this respect had been done, since eventhe date when his _Sketches_ were written, by two most efficient publicofficers at Clerkenwell and Tothill Fields, Mr. Chesterton andLieutenant Tracey, whom the course of these inquiries turned intoprivate friends. His last letter to me before he quitted townsufficiently explains itself. "Slow rises worth by poverty deprest" wasthe thought in his mind at every part of his career, and he never for amoment was unmindful of the duty it imposed upon him: "I subscribed fora couple of copies" (31st July) "of this little book. I knew nothing ofthe man, but he wrote me a very modest letter of two lines, some weeksago. I have been much affected by the little biography at the beginning, and I thought you would like to share the emotion it had raised in me. Iwish we were all in Eden again--for the sake of these toilingcreatures. " In the middle of August (Monday, 16th) I had announcement that he wascoming up for special purposes: "I sit down to write to you without anatom of news to communicate. Yes, I have, --something that will surpriseyou, who are pent up in dark and dismal Lincoln's Inn Fields. It is thebrightest day you ever saw. The sun is sparkling on the water so that Ican hardly bear to look at it. The tide is in, and the fishing-boatsare dancing like mad. Upon the green-topped cliffs the corn is cut andpiled in shocks; and thousands of butterflies are fluttering about, taking the bright little red flags at the mast-heads for flowers, andpanting with delight accordingly. [Here the Inimitable, unable to resistthe brilliancy out of doors, breaketh off, rusheth to the machines, andplungeth into the sea. Returning, he proceedeth:] Jeffrey is just as hewas when he wrote the letter I sent you. No better, and no worse. I hada letter from Napier on Saturday, urging the children's-labor subjectupon me. But, as I hear from Southwood Smith that the report cannot beprinted until the new Parliament has sat at the least six weeks, it willbe impossible to produce it before the January number. I shall be intown on Saturday morning and go straight to you. A letter has come fromlittle Hall begging that when I _do_ come to town I will dine there, asthey wish to talk about the new story. I have written to say that I willdo so on Saturday, and we will go together; but I shall be by no meansgood company. . . . I have more than half a mind to start a bookseller ofmy own. I could; with good capital too, as you know; and ready to spendit. _G. Varden beware!_" Small causes of displeasure had been growing out of the _Clock_, andwere almost unavoidably incident to the position in which he foundhimself respecting it. Its discontinuance had become necessary, thestrain upon himself being too great without the help from others whichexperience had shown to be impracticable; but I thought he had not metthe difficulty wisely by undertaking, which already he had done, tobegin a new story so early as the following March. On his arrival, therefore, we decided on another plan, with which we went armed thatSaturday afternoon to his publishers, and of which the result will bebest told by himself. He had returned to Broadstairs the followingmorning, and next day (Monday, the 23d of August) he wrote to me in veryenthusiastic terms of the share I had taken in what he calls "thedevelopment on Saturday afternoon; when I thought Chapman very manly andsensible, Hall morally and physically feeble though perfectly wellintentioned, and both the statement and reception of the project quitetriumphant. Didn't you think so too?" A fortnight later, Tuesday, the7th of September, the agreement was signed in my chambers, and its termswere to the effect following. The _Clock_ was to cease with the close of_Barnaby Rudge_, the respective ownerships continuing as provided; andthe new work in twenty numbers, similar to those of _Pickwick_ and_Nickleby_, was not to begin until after an interval of twelve months, in November, 1842. During its publication he was to receive two hundredpounds monthly, to be accounted as part of the expenses; for all which, and all risks incident, the publishers made themselves responsible, under conditions the same as in the _Clock_ agreement; except that outof the profits of each number they were to have only a fourth, three-fourths going to him, and this arrangement was to hold good untilthe termination of six months from the completed book, when, uponpayment to him of a fourth of the value of all existing stock, they wereto have half the future interest. During the twelve months' intervalbefore the book began, he was to be paid one hundred and fifty poundseach month; but this was to be drawn from his three-fourths of theprofits, and in no way to interfere with the monthly payments of twohundred pounds while the publication was going on. [41] Such was the"project, " excepting only a provision to be mentioned hereafter againstthe improbable event of the profits being inadequate to the repayment;and my only drawback from the satisfaction of my own share in it arosefrom my fear of the use he was likely to make of the leisure it affordedhim. That this fear was not ill founded appeared at the close of the nextnote I had from him: "There's no news" (13th September) "since my last. We are going to dine with Rogers to-day, and with Lady Essex, who isalso here. Rogers is much pleased with Lord Ashley, who was offered byPeel a post in the government, but resolutely refused to take officeunless Peel pledged himself to factory-improvement. Peel 'hadn't made uphis mind, ' and Lord Ashley was deaf to all other inducements, thoughthey must have been very tempting. Much do I honor him for it. I am inan exquisitely lazy state, bathing, walking, reading, lying in the sun, doing everything but working. This frame of mind is superinduced by theprospect of rest, and the promising arrangements which I owe to you. Iam still haunted by visions of America night and day. To miss thisopportunity would be a sad thing. Kate cries dismally if I mention thesubject. But, God willing, I think it _must_ be managed somehow!" FOOTNOTES: [41] "M. Was quite aghast last night (9th of September) at thebrilliancy of the C. & H. Arrangement: which is worth noting perhaps. " CHAPTER XVIII. EVE OF THE VISIT TO AMERICA. 1841. Greetings from America--Reply to Washington Irving--Difficulties in the Way--Resolve to go--Wish to revisit Scenes of Boyhood--Proposed Book of Travel--Arrangements for the Journey--Impatience of Suspense--Resolve to leave the Children--Mrs. Dickens reconciled--A Grave Illness--Domestic Griefs--The Old Sorrow--At Windsor--Son Walter's Christening--At Liverpool with the Travelers. THE notion of America was in his mind, as we have seen, when he firstprojected the _Clock_; and a very hearty letter from Washington Irvingabout Little Nell and the _Curiosity Shop_, expressing the delight withhis writings and the yearnings to himself which had indeed been pouringin upon him for some time from every part of the States, had verystrongly revived it. He answered Irving with more than his own warmth:unable to thank him enough for his cordial and generous praise, or totell him what lasting gratification it had given. "I wish I could findin your welcome letter, " he added, "some hint of an intention to visitEngland. I should love to go with you, as I have gone, God knows howoften, into Little Britain, and Eastcheap, and Green Arbor Court, andWestminster Abbey. . . . It would gladden my heart to compare notes withyou about all those delightful places and people that I used to walkabout and dream of in the daytime, when a very small andnot-over-particularly-taken-care-of boy. " After interchange of theseletters the subject was frequently revived; upon his return fromScotland it began to take shape as a thing that somehow or other, at novery distant date, _must be_; and at last, near the end of a letterfilled with many unimportant things, the announcement, doublyunderlined, came to me. The decision once taken, he was in his usual fever until itsdifficulties were disposed of. The objections to separation from thechildren led at first to the notion of taking them, but this was asquickly abandoned; and what remained to be overcome yielded readily tothe kind offices of Macready, the offer of whose home to the little onesduring the time of absence, though not accepted to the full extent, gaveyet the assurance needed to quiet natural apprehensions. All this, including an arrangement for publication of such notes as might occur tohim on the journey, took but a few days; and I was reading in mychambers a letter he had written the previous day from Broadstairs, whena note from him reached me, written that morning in London, to tell mehe was on his way to take share of my breakfast. He had come overland byCanterbury after posting his first letter, had seen Macready theprevious night, and had completed some part of the arrangements. Thismode of rapid procedure was characteristic of him at all similar times, and will appear in the few following extracts from his letters: "Now" (19th September) "to astonish you. After balancing, considering, and weighing the matter in every point of view, I HAVE MADE UP MY MIND(WITH GOD'S LEAVE) TO GO TO AMERICA--AND TO START AS SOON AFTERCHRISTMAS AS IT WILL BE SAFE TO GO. " Further information was promisedimmediately; and a request followed, characteristic as any he could haveadded to his design of traveling so far away, that we should visit oncemore together the scenes of his boyhood. "On the ninth of October weleave here. It's a Saturday. If it should be fine dry weather, oranything like it, will you meet us at Rochester, and stop there two orthree days to see all the lions in the surrounding country? Think ofthis. . . . If you'll arrange to come, I'll have the carriage down, andTopping; and, supposing news from Glasgow don't interfere with us, whichI fervently hope it will not, I will insure that we have muchenjoyment. " Three days later than that which announced his resolve, the subject wasresumed: "I wrote to Chapman & Hall asking them what they thought of it, and saying I meant to keep a note-book, and publish it for half a guineaor thereabouts, on my return. They instantly sent the warmest possiblereply, and said they had taken it for granted I would go, and had beenspeaking of it only the day before. I have begged them to make everyinquiry about the fares, cabins, berths, and times of sailing; and Ishall make a great effort to take Kate _and_ the children. In that caseI shall try to let the house furnished, for six months (for I shallremain that time in America); and if I succeed, the rent will nearly paythe expenses out, and home. I have heard of family cabins at £100; and Ithink one of these is large enough to hold us all. A single fare, Ithink, is forty guineas. I fear I could not be happy if we had theAtlantic between us; but leaving them in New York while I ran off athousand miles or so, would be quite another thing. If I can arrange allmy plans before publishing the _Clock_ address, I shall state thereinthat I am going: which will be no unimportant consideration, asaffording the best possible reason for a long delay. How I am to get onwithout you for seven or eight months, I cannot, upon my soul, conceive. I dread to think of breaking up all our old happy habits for so long atime. The advantages of going, however, appear by steady looking-at sogreat, that I have come to persuade myself it is a matter of imperativenecessity. Kate weeps whenever it is spoken of. Washington Irving hasgot a nasty low fever. I heard from him a day or two ago. " His next letter was the unexpected arrival which came by hand fromDevonshire Terrace, when I thought him still by the sea: "This is togive you notice that I am coming to breakfast with you this morning onmy way to Broadstairs. I repeat it, sir, --on my way _to_ Broadstairs. For, directly I got Macready's note yesterday I went to Canterbury, andcame on by day-coach for the express purpose of talking with him; whichI did between 11 and 12 last night in Clarence Terrace. The Americanpreliminaries are necessarily startling, and, to a gentleman of mytemperament, destroy rest, sleep, appetite, and work, unless definitelyarranged. [42] Macready has quite decided me in respect of time and soforth. The instant I have wrung a reluctant consent from Kate, I shalltake our joint passage in the mail-packet for next January. I neverloved my friends so well as now. " We had all discountenanced his firstthought of taking the children; and, upon this and other points, theexperience of our friend who had himself traveled over the States wasvery valuable. His next letter, two days later from Broadstairs, informed me of the result of the Macready conference: "Only a word. Kateis quite reconciled. 'Anne' (her maid) goes, and is amazingly cheerfuland light of heart upon it. And I think, at present, that it's a greatertrial to me than anybody. The 4th of January is the day. Macready's noteto Kate was received and acted upon with a perfect response. She talksabout it quite gayly, and is satisfied to have nobody in the house butFred, of whom, as you know, they are all fond. He has got his promotion, and they give him the increased salary from the day on which the minutewas made by Baring, I feel so amiable, so meek, so fond of people, sofull of gratitudes and reliances, that I am like a sick man. And I amalready counting the days between this and coming home again. " He was soon, alas! to be what he compared himself to. I met him atRochester at the end of September, as arranged; we passed a day andnight there; a day and night in Cobham and its neighborhood, sleeping atthe Leather Bottle; and a day and night at Gravesend. But we were hardlyreturned when some slight symptoms of bodily trouble took suddenlygraver form, and an illness followed involving the necessity of surgicalattendance. This, which with mention of the helpful courage displayed byhim has before been alluded to, [43] put off necessarily the Glasgowdinner; and he had scarcely left his bedroom when a trouble arose nearhome which touched him to the depths of the greatest sorrow of his life, and, in the need of exerting himself for others, what remained of hisown illness seemed to pass away. His wife's younger brother had died with the same unexpected suddennessthat attended her younger sister's death; and the event had followedclose upon the decease of Mrs. Hogarth's mother while on a visit to herdaughter and Mr. Hogarth. "As no steps had been taken towards thefuneral, " he wrote (25th October) in reply to my offer of such serviceas I could render, "I thought it best at once to bestir myself; and noteven you could have saved my going to the cemetery. It is a great trialto me to give up Mary's grave; greater than I can possibly express. Ithought of moving her to the catacombs and saying nothing about it; butthen I remembered that the poor old lady is buried next her at her owndesire, and could not find it in my heart, directly she is laid in theearth, to take her grandchild away. The desire to be buried next her isas strong upon me now as it was five years ago; and I _know_ (for Idon't think there ever was love like that I bear her) that it will neverdiminish. I fear I can do nothing. Do you think I can? They would moveher on Wednesday, if I resolved to have it done. I cannot bear thethought of being excluded from her dust; and yet I feel that herbrothers and sisters, and her mother, have a better right than I to beplaced beside her. It is but an idea. I neither think nor hope (Godforbid) that our spirits would ever mingle _there_. I ought to get thebetter of it, but it is very hard. I never contemplated this--and comingso suddenly, and after being ill, it disturbs me more than it ought. Itseems like losing her a second time. . . . " "No, " he wrote the morningafter, "I tried that. No, there is no ground on either side to be had. Imust give it up. I shall drive over there, please God, on Thursdaymorning, before they get there; and look at her coffin. " He suffered more than he let any one perceive, and was obliged again tokeep his room for some days. On the 2d of November he reported himselfas progressing and ordered to Richmond, which, after a week or so, hechanged to the White Hart at Windsor, where I passed some days with him, Mrs. Dickens, and her younger sister Georgina; but it was not till nearthe close of that month he could describe himself as thoroughly on hislegs again, in the ordinary state on which he was wont to pride himself, bolt upright, staunch at the knees, a deep sleeper, a hearty eater, agood laugher, and nowhere a bit the worse, "bating a little weakness nowand then, and a slight nervousness at times. " We had some days of much enjoyment at the end of the year, when Landorcame up from Bath for the christening of his godson; and the"Britannia, " which was to take the travelers from us in January, broughtover to them in December all sorts of cordialities, anticipations, andstretchings-forth of palms, in token of the welcome awaiting them. OnNew Year's Eve they dined with me, and I with them on New Year's Day;when (his house having been taken for the period of his absence byGeneral Sir John Wilson) we sealed up his wine-cellar, after openingtherein some sparkling Moselle in honor of the ceremony, and drinking itthen and there to his happy return. Next morning (it was a Sunday) Iaccompanied them to Liverpool, Maclise having been suddenly stayed byhis mother's death; the intervening day and its occupations have beenhumorously sketched in his American book; and on the 4th they sailed. Inever saw the Britannia after I stepped from her deck back to the smallsteamer that had taken us to her. "How little I thought" (were the lastlines of his first American letter), "the first time you mounted theshapeless coat, that I should have such a sad association with its backas when I saw it by the paddle-box of that small steamer!" FOOTNOTES: [42] See _ante_, p. 123. [43] See _ante_, p. 244. CHAPTER XIX. FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICA. 1842. Rough Passage--A Steamer in a Storm--Resigned to the Worst--Of Himself and Fellow-travelers--The Atlantic from Deck--The Ladies' Cabin--Its Occupants--Card-playing on the Atlantic--Ship-news--A Wager--Halifax Harbor--Ship aground--Captain Hewitt--Speaker of House of Assembly--Ovation to C. D. --Arrival at Boston--Incursion of Editors--At Tremont House--The Welcome--Deputations--Dr. Channing to C. D. --Public Appearances--A Secretary engaged--Bostonians--General Characteristics--Personal Notices--Perils of Steamers--A Home-thought--American Institutions--How first impressed--Reasons for the Greeting--What was welcomed in C. D. --Old World and New World--Daniel Webster as to C. D. --Channing as to C. D. --Subsequent Disappointments--New York Invitation to Dinner--Fac-similes of Signatures--Additional Fac-similes--New York Invitation to Ball--Fac-similes of Signatures--Additional Fac-similes. THE first lines of that letter were written as soon as he got sight ofearth again, from the banks of Newfoundland, on Monday, the 17th ofJanuary, the fourteenth day from their departure: even then so far fromHalifax that they could not expect to make it before Wednesday night, orto reach Boston until Saturday or Sunday. They had not been fortunate inthe passage. During the whole voyage the weather had beenunprecedentedly bad, the wind for the most part dead against them, thewet intolerable, the sea horribly disturbed, the days dark, and thenights fearful. On the previous Monday night it had blown a hurricane, beginning at five in the afternoon and raging all night. His descriptionof the storm is published, and the peculiarities of a steamer's behaviorin such circumstances are hit off as if he had been all his life asailor. Any but so extraordinary an observer would have described asteamer in a storm as he would have described a sailing-ship in a storm. But any description of the latter would be as inapplicable to myfriend's account of the other as the ways of a jackass to those of a madbull. In the letter from which it was taken, however, there were somethings addressed to myself alone: "For two or three hours we gave it upas a lost thing; and with many thoughts of you, and the children, andthose others who are dearest to us, waited quietly for the worst. Inever expected to see the day again, and resigned myself to God as wellas I could. It was a great comfort to think of the earnest and devotedfriends we had left behind, and to know that the darlings would notwant. " This was not the exaggerated apprehension of a landsman merely. The headengineer, who had been in one or other of the Cunard vessels since theybegan running, had never seen such stress of weather; and I heardCaptain Hewitt himself say afterwards that nothing but a steamer, andone of that strength, could have kept her course and stood it out. Asailing-vessel must have beaten off and driven where she could; whilethrough all the fury of that gale they actually made fifty-four milesheadlong through the tempest, straight on end, not varying their trackin the least. He stood out against sickness only for the day following that on whichthey sailed. For the three following days he kept his bed, miserableenough, and had not, until the eighth day of the voyage, six days beforethe date of his letter, been able to get to work at the dinner-table. What he then observed of his fellow-travelers, and had to tell of theirlife on board, has been set forth in his _Notes_ with delightful humor;but in its first freshness I received it in this letter, and somewhimsical passages, then suppressed, there will be no harm in printingnow: "We have 86 passengers; and such a strange collection of beasts neverwas got together upon the sea, since the days of the Ark. I have neverbeen in the saloon since the first day; the noise, the smell, and thecloseness being quite intolerable. I have only been on deck _once_!--andthen I was surprised and disappointed at the smallness of the panorama. The sea, running as it does and has done, is very stupendous, and viewedfrom the air or some great height would be grand no doubt. But seen fromthe wet and rolling decks, in this weather and these circumstances, itonly impresses one giddily and painfully. I was very glad to turn away, and come below again. "I have established myself, from the first, in the ladies' cabin--youremember it? I'll describe its other occupants, and our way of passingthe time, to you. "First, for the occupants. Kate and I, and Anne--when she is out of bed, which is not often. A queer little Scotch body, a Mrs. P--, [44] whosehusband is a silversmith in New York. He married her at Glasgow threeyears ago, and bolted the day after the wedding; being (which he had nottold her) heavily in debt. Since then she has been living with hermother; and she is now going out under the protection of a male cousin, to give him a year's trial. If she is not comfortable at the expirationof that time, she means to go back to Scotland again. A Mrs. B--, about20 years old, whose husband is on board with her. He is a youngEnglishman domiciled in New York, and by trade (as well as I can makeout) a woolen-draper. They have been married a fortnight. A Mr. And Mrs. C--, marvelously fond of each other, complete the catalogue. Mrs. C--, Ihave settled, is a publican's daughter, and Mr. C-- is running away withher, the till, the time-piece off the bar mantel-shelf, the mother'sgold watch from the pocket at the head of the bed; and othermiscellaneous property. The women are all pretty; unusually pretty. Inever saw such good faces together, anywhere. " Their "way of passing the time" will be found in the _Notes_ much as itwas written to me; except that there was one point connected with thecard-playing which he feared might overtax the credulity of his readers, but which he protested had occurred more than once: "Apropos of rolling, I have forgotten to mention that in playing whist we are obliged to putthe tricks in our pockets, to keep them from disappearing altogether;and that five or six times in the course of every rubber we are allflung from our seats, roll out at different doors, and keep on rollinguntil we are picked up by stewards. This has become such a matter ofcourse, that we go through it with perfect gravity, and, when we arebolstered up on our sofas again, resume our conversation or our game atthe point where it was interrupted. " The news that excited them from dayto day, too, of which little more than a hint appears in the _Notes_, isworth giving as originally written: "As for news, we have more of that than you would think for. One manlost fourteen pounds at vingt-un in the saloon yesterday, or another gotdrunk before dinner was over, or another was blinded with lobster-saucespilt over him by the steward, or another had a fall on deck andfainted. The ship's cook was drunk yesterday morning (having got at somesalt-water-damaged whiskey), and the captain ordered the boatswain toplay upon him with the hose of the fire-engine until he roared formercy--which he didn't get: for he was sentenced to look out, for fourhours at a stretch for four nights running, without a great-coat, and tohave his grog stopped. Four dozen plates were broken at dinner. Onesteward fell down the cabin stairs with a round of beef, and injured hisfoot severely. Another steward fell down after him and cut his eye open. The baker's taken ill; so is the pastry-cook. A new man, sick to death, has been required to fill the place of the latter officer, and has beendragged out of bed and propped up in a little house upon deck, betweentwo casks, and ordered (the captain standing over him) to make and rollout pie-crust; which he protests, with tears in his eyes, it is death tohim in his bilious state to look at. Twelve dozen of bottled porter hasgot loose upon deck, and the bottles are rolling about distractedly, overhead. Lord Mulgrave (a handsome fellow, by-the-by, to look at, andnothing but a good 'un to go) laid a wager with twenty-five other menlast night, whose berths, like his, are in the fore-cabin, which canonly be got at by crossing the deck, that he would reach his cabinfirst. Watches were set by the captain's, and they sallied forth, wrapped up in coats and storm caps. The sea broke over the ship soviolently, that they were _five-and-twenty minutes_ holding on by thehandrail at the starboard paddle-box, drenched to the skin by everywave, and not daring to go on or come back, lest they should be washedoverboard. News! A dozen murders in town wouldn't interest us half asmuch. " Nevertheless their excitements were not over. At the very end of thevoyage came an incident very lightly touched in the _Notes_, but morefreely told to me under date of the 21st January: "We were running intoHalifax harbor on Wednesday night, with little wind and a bright moon;had made the light at its outer entrance, and given the ship in chargeto the pilot; were playing our rubber, all in good spirits (for it hadbeen comparatively smooth for some days, with tolerably dry decks andother unusual comforts), when suddenly the ship STRUCK! A rush upon deckfollowed, of course. The men (I mean the crew! think of this) werekicking off their shoes and throwing off their jackets preparatory toswimming ashore; the pilot was beside himself; the passengers dismayed;and everything in the most intolerable confusion and hurry. Breakerswere roaring ahead; the land within a couple of hundred yards; and thevessel driving upon the surf, although her paddles were workedbackwards, and everything done to stay her course. It is not the customof steamers, it seems, to have an anchor ready. An accident occurred ingetting ours over the side; and for half an hour we were throwing uprockets, burning blue-lights, and firing signals of distress, all ofwhich remained unanswered, though we were so close to the shore that wecould see the waving branches of the trees. All this time, as we veeredabout, a man was heaving the lead every two minutes; the depths of waterconstantly decreasing; and nobody self-possessed but Hewitt. They let gothe anchor at last, got out a boat, and sent her ashore with the fourthofficer, the pilot, and four men aboard, to try and find out where wewere. The pilot had no idea; but Hewitt put his little finger upon acertain part of the chart, and was as confident of the exact spot(though he had never been there in his life) as if he had lived therefrom infancy. The boat's return about an hour afterwards proved him tobe quite right. We had got into a place called the Eastern Passage, in asudden fog and through the pilot's folly. We had struck upon a mud-bank, and driven into a perfect little pond, surrounded by banks and rocks andshoals of all kinds: the only safe speck in the place. Eased by thisreport, and the assurance that the tide was past the ebb, we turned inat three o'clock in the morning, to lie there all night. " The next day's landing at Halifax, and delivery of the mails, aresketched in the _Notes_; but not his personal part in what followed:"Then, sir, comes a breathless man who has been already into the shipand out again, shouting my name as he tears along. I stop, arm in armwith the little doctor whom I have taken ashore for oysters. Thebreathless man introduces himself as The Speaker of the House ofAssembly; _will_ drag me away to his house; and _will_ have a carriageand his wife sent down for Kate, who is laid up with a hideously swolnface. Then he drags me up to the Governor's house (Lord Falkland is thegovernor), and then Heaven knows where; concluding with both houses ofparliament, which happen to meet for the session that very day, and areopened by a mock speech from the throne delivered by the governor, withone of Lord Grey's sons for his aide-de-camp, and a great host ofofficers about him. I wish you could have seen the crowds cheering theinimitable[45] in the streets. I wish you could have seen judges, law-officers, bishops, and law-makers welcoming the inimitable. I wishyou could have seen the inimitable shown to a great elbow-chair by theSpeaker's throne, and sitting alone in the middle of the floor of theHouse of Commons, the observed of all observers, listening withexemplary gravity to the queerest speaking possible, and breaking inspite of himself into a smile as he thought of this commencement to theThousand and One stories in reserve for home and Lincoln's Inn Fieldsand Jack Straw's Castle. --Ah, Forster! when I _do_ come back again!----" He resumed his letter at Tremont House on Saturday, the 28th of January, having reached Boston that day week at five in the afternoon; and, ashis first American experience is very lightly glanced at in the _Notes_, a fuller picture will perhaps be welcome. "As the Cunard boats have awharf of their own at the custom-house, and that a narrow one, we were along time (an hour at least) working in. I was standing in full fig onthe paddle-box beside the captain, staring about me, when suddenly, longbefore we were moored to the wharf, a dozen men came leaping on board atthe peril of their lives, with great bundles of newspapers under theirarms; worsted comforters (very much the worse for wear) round theirnecks; and so forth. 'Aha!' says I, 'this is like our London Bridge;'believing of course that these visitors were news-boys. But what do youthink of their being EDITORS? And what do you think of their tearingviolently up to me and beginning to shake hands like madmen? Oh! if youcould have seen how I wrung their wrists! And if you could but know howI hated one man in very dirty gaiters, and with very protruding upperteeth, who said to all comers after him, 'So you've been introduced toour friend Dickens--eh?' There was one among them, though, who reallywas of use; a Doctor S. , editor of the ----. He ran off here (two milesat least), and ordered rooms and dinner. And in course of time Kate, andI, and Lord Mulgrave (who was going back to his regiment at Montreal onMonday, and had agreed to live with us in the mean while) sat down in aspacious and handsome room to a very handsome dinner, batingpeculiarities of putting on table, and had forgotten the ship entirely. A Mr. Alexander, to whom I had written from England promising to sit fora portrait, was on board directly we touched the land, and brought ushere in his carriage. Then, after sending a present of most beautifulflowers, he left us to ourselves, and we thanked him for it. " What further he had to say of that week's experience finds its firstpublic utterance here. "How can I tell you, " he continues, "what hashappened since that first day? How can I give you the faintest notion ofmy reception here; of the crowds that pour in and out the whole day; ofthe people that line the streets when I go out; of the cheering when Iwent to the theatre; of the copies of verses, letters of congratulation, welcomes of all kinds, balls, dinners, assemblies without end? There isto be a public dinner to me here in Boston, next Tuesday, and greatdissatisfaction has been given to the many by the high price (threepounds sterling each) of the tickets. There is to be a ball next Mondayweek at New York, and 150 names appear on the list of the committee. There is to be a dinner in the same place, in the same week, to which Ihave had an invitation with every known name in America appended to it. But what can I tell you about any of these things which will give youthe slightest notion of the enthusiastic greeting they give me, or thecry that runs through the whole country? I have had deputations from theFar West, who have come from more than two thousand miles' distance:from the lakes, the rivers, the back-woods, the log houses, the cities, factories, villages, and towns. Authorities from nearly all the Stateshave written to me. I have heard from the universities, Congress, Senate, and bodies, public and private, of every sort and kind. 'It isno-nonsense, and no common feeling, ' wrote Dr. Channing to me yesterday. 'It is all heart. There never was, and never will be, such a triumph. 'And it is a good thing, is it not, . . . To find those fancies it hasgiven me and you the greatest satisfaction to think of, at the core ofit all? It makes my heart quieter, and me a more retiring, sober, tranquil man, to watch the effect of those thoughts in all this noiseand hurry, even than if I sat, pen in hand, to put them down for thefirst time. I feel, in the best aspects of this welcome, something ofthe presence and influence of that spirit which directs my life, andthrough a heavy sorrow has pointed upwards with unchanging finger formore than four years past. And if I know my heart, not twenty times thispraise would move me to an act of folly. ". . . There were but two days more before the post left for England, and theclose of this part of his letter sketched the engagements that awaitedhim on leaving Boston: "We leave here next Saturday. We go to a placecalled Worcester, about 75 miles off, to the house of the governor ofthis place; and stay with him all Sunday. On Monday we go on by railroadabout 50 miles further to a town called Springfield, where I am met by a'reception committee' from Hartford 20 miles further, and carried on bythe multitude: I am sure I don't know how, but I shouldn't wonder ifthey appear with a triumphal car. On Wednesday I have a public dinnerthere. On Friday I shall be obliged to present myself in public again, at a place called New Haven, about 30 miles further. On Saturdayevening I hope to be at New York; and there I shall stay ten days or afortnight. You will suppose that I have enough to do. I am sitting for aportrait and for a bust. I have the correspondence of a secretary ofstate, and the engagements of a fashionable physician. I have asecretary whom I take on with me. He is a young man of the name of Q. ;was strongly recommended to me; is most modest, obliging, silent, andwilling; and does his work _well_. He boards and lodges at my expensewhen we travel; and his salary is ten dollars per month--about twopounds five of our English money. There will be dinners and balls atWashington, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and I believe everywhere. InCanada, I have promised to _play_ at the theatre with the officers, forthe benefit of a charity. We are already weary, at times, past allexpression; and I finish this by means of a pious fraud. We were engagedto a party, and have written to say we are both desperately ill. . . . 'Well, ' I can fancy you saying, 'but about his impressions of Boston andthe Americans?'--Of the latter, I will not say a word until I have seenmore of them, and have gone into the interior. I will only say, now, that we have never yet been required to dine at a table-d'hôte; that, thus far, our rooms are as much our own here as they would be at theClarendon; that but for an odd phrase now and then--such as _Snap ofcold weather_; a _tongue-y man_ for a talkative fellow; _Possible?_ as asolitary interrogation; and _Yes?_ for indeed--I should have marked, sofar, no difference whatever between the parties here and those I haveleft behind. The women are very beautiful, but they soon fade; thegeneral breeding is neither stiff nor forward; the good nature, universal. If you ask the way to a place--of some common water-side man, who don't know you from Adam--he turns and goes with you. Universaldeference is paid to ladies; and they walk about at all seasons, whollyunprotected. . . . This hotel is a trifle smaller than Finsbury Square; andis made so infernally hot (I use the expression advisedly) by means of afurnace with pipes running through the passages, that we can hardly bearit. There are no curtains to the beds, or to the bedroom windows. I amtold there never are, hardly, all through America. The bedrooms areindeed very bare of furniture. Ours is nearly as large as your greatroom, and has a wardrobe in it of painted wood not larger (I appeal toK. ) than an English watch-box. I slept in this room for two nights, quite satisfied with the belief that it was a shower-bath. " The last addition made to this letter, from which many vividest pages ofthe _Notes_ (among them the bright quaint picture of Boston streets)were taken with small alteration, bore date the 29th of January: "Ihardly know what to add to all this long and unconnected history. Dana, the author of that _Two Years before the Mast_" (a book which I hadpraised much to him, thinking it like De Foe), "is a very nice fellowindeed; and in appearance not at all the man you would expect. He isshort, mild-looking, and has a care-worn face. His father is exactlylike George Cruikshank after a night's jollity--only shorter. Theprofessors at the Cambridge university, Longfellow, Felton, JaredSparks, are noble fellows. So is Kenyon's friend, Ticknor. Bancroft isa famous man; a straightforward, manly, earnest heart; and talks much ofyou, which is a great comfort. Doctor Channing I will tell you more of, after I have breakfasted alone with him next Wednesday. . . . Sumner is ofgreat service to me. . . . The president of the Senate here presides at mydinner on Tuesday. Lord Mulgrave lingered with us till last Tuesday (wehad our little captain to dinner on the Monday), and then went on toCanada. Kate is quite well, and so is Anne, whose smartness surpassesbelief. They yearn for home, and so do I. "Of course you will not see in the papers any true account of ourvoyage, for they keep the dangers of the passage, when there are any, very quiet. I observed so many perils peculiar to steamers that I amstill undecided whether we shall not return by one of the New Yorkliners. On the night of the storm, I was wondering within myself wherewe should be, if the chimney were blown overboard; in which case, itneeds no great observation to discover that the vessel must be instantlyon fire from stem to stern. When I went on deck next day, I saw that itwas held up by a perfect forest of chains and ropes, which had beenrigged in the night. Hewitt told me (when we were on shore, not before)that they had men lashed, hoisted up, and swinging there, all throughthe gale, getting these stays about it. This is not agreeable--is it? "I wonder whether you will remember that next Tuesday is my birthday!This letter will leave here that morning. "On looking back through these sheets, I am astonished to find howlittle I have told you, and how much I have, even now, in store whichshall be yours by word of mouth. The American poor, the Americanfactories, the institutions of all kinds--I have a book, already. Thereis no man in this town, or in this State of New England, who has not ablazing fire and a meat dinner every day of his life. A flaming sword inthe air would not attract so much attention as a beggar in the streets. There are no charity uniforms, no wearisome repetition of the same dullugly dress, in that blind school. [46] All are attired after their owntastes, and every boy and girl has his or her individuality as distinctand unimpaired as you would find it in their own homes. At the theatres, all the ladies sit in the fronts of the boxes. The gallery are as quietas the dress circle at dear Drury Lane. A man with seven heads would beno sight at all, compared with one who couldn't read and write. "I won't speak (I say 'speak'! I wish I could) about the dear preciouschildren, because I know how much we shall hear about them when wereceive those letters from home for which we long so ardently. " * * * * * Unmistakably to be seen, in this earliest of his letters, is the quitefresh and unalloyed impression first received by him at this memorablevisit; and it is due, as well to himself as to the great country whichwelcomed him, that this should be considered independently of anymodification it afterwards underwent. Of the fervency and universalityof the welcome there could indeed be no doubt, and as little that itsprang from feelings honorable both to giver and receiver. The sourcesof Dickens's popularity in England were in truth multiplied many-fold inAmerica. The hearty, cordial, and humane side of his genius hadfascinated them quite as much; but there was also something beyond this. The cheerful temper that had given new beauty to the commonest forms oflife, the abounding humor which had added largely to all innocentenjoyment, the honorable and in those days rare distinction of Americawhich left no home in the Union inaccessible to such advantages, hadmade Dickens the object everywhere of grateful admiration, for the mostpart of personal affection. But even this was not all. I do not say iteither to lessen or to increase the value of the tribute, but to expresssimply what it was; and there cannot be a question that the youngEnglish author, whom by his language they claimed equally for their own, was almost universally regarded by the Americans as a kind of embodiedprotest against what they believed to be worst in the institutions ofEngland, depressing and overshadowing in a social sense, and adverse topurely intellectual influences. In all the papers of every grade in theUnion, of which many were sent to me at the time, the feeling of triumphover the mother-country in this particular is everywhere predominant. You worship titles, they said, and military heroes, and millionaires, and we of the New World want to show you, by extending the kind ofhomage that the Old World reserves for kings and conquerors, to a youngman with nothing to distinguish him but his heart and his genius, whatit is we think in these parts worthier of honor, than birth, or wealth, a title, or a sword. Well, there was something in this too, apart from amere crowing over the mother-country. The Americans had honestly morethan a common share in the triumphs of a genius which in more than onesense had made the deserts and wildernesses of life to blossom like therose. They were entitled to select for a welcome, as emphatic as theymight please to render it, the writer who pre-eminently in hisgeneration had busied himself to "detect and save, " in human creatures, such sparks of virtue as misery or vice had not availed to extinguish;to discover what is beautiful and comely under what commonly passes forthe ungainly and the deformed; to draw happiness and hopefulness fromdespair itself; and, above all, so to have made known to his owncountrymen the wants and sufferings of the poor, the ignorant, and theneglected, that they could be left in absolute neglect no more. "Atriumph has been prepared for him, " wrote Mr. Ticknor to our dear friendKenyon, "in which the whole country will join. He will have a progressthrough the States unequaled since Lafayette's. " Daniel Webster told theAmericans that Dickens had done more already to ameliorate the conditionof the English poor than all the statesmen Great Britain had sent intoParliament. His sympathies are such, exclaimed Dr. Channing, as torecommend him in an especial manner to us. He seeks out that class, inorder to benefit them, with whom American institutions and lawssympathize most strongly; and it is in the passions, sufferings, andvirtues of the mass that he has found his subjects of most thrillinginterest. "He shows that life in its rudest form may wear a tragicgrandeur; that amidst follies and excesses, provoking laughter or scorn, the moral feelings do not wholly die; and that the haunts of theblackest crime are sometimes lighted up by the presence and influence ofthe noblest souls. His pictures have a tendency to awaken sympathy withour race, and to change the unfeeling indifference which has prevailedtowards the depressed multitude, into a sorrowful and indignantsensibility to their wrongs and woes. " Whatever may be the turn which we are to see the welcome take, bydissatisfaction that arose on both sides, it is well that we should thusunderstand what in its first manifestations was honorable to both. Dickens had his disappointments, and the Americans had theirs; but whatwas really genuine in the first enthusiasm remained without grave alloyfrom either; and the letters, as I proceed to give them, will sonaturally explain and illustrate the misunderstanding as to requirelittle further comment. I am happy to be able here to place on recordfac-similes of the invitations to the public entertainments in New Yorkwhich reached him before he quitted Boston. The mere signatures sufficeto show how universal the welcome was from that great city of theUnion. FOOTNOTES: [44] The initials used here are in no case those of the real names, being employed in every case for the express purpose of disguising thenames. Generally the remark is applicable to all initials used in theletters printed in the course of this work. [45] This word, applied to him by his old master; Mr. Giles (_ante_, p. 33), was for a long time the epithet we called him by. [46] His descriptions of this school, and of the case of LauraBridgeman, will be found in the _Notes_, and have therefore been, ofcourse, omitted here. CHAPTER XX. SECOND IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICA. 1842. Second Letter--International Copyright--Third Letter--The Dinner at Boston--Worcester, Springfield, and Hartford--Queer Traveling--Levees at Hartford and New Haven--At Wallingford--Serenades--Cornelius C. Felton--Payment of Personal Expenses declined--At New York--Irving and Colden--Description of the Ball--Newspaper Accounts--A Phase of Character--Opinion in America--International Copyright--American Authors in regard to it--Outcry against the Nation's Guest--Declines to be silent on Copyright--Speech at Dinner--Irving in the Chair--Chairman's Breakdown--An Incident afterwards in London--Results of Copyright Speeches--A Bookseller's Demand for Help--Suggestion for Copyright Memorial--Henry Clay's Opinion--Life in New York--Distresses of Popularity--Intentions for Future--Refusal of Invitations--Going South and West--As to Return--Dangers incident to Steamers--Slavery--Ladies of America--Party Conflicts--Non-arrival of Cunard Steamer--Copyright Petition for Congress--No Hope of the Caledonia--Substitute for her--Anxiety as to Letters--Of Distinguished Americans--Hotel Bills--Thoughts of the Children--Acadia takes Caledonia's Place--Letter to C. D. From Carlyle--Carlyle on Copyright--Argument against Stealing--Rob Roy's Plan worth bettering--C. D. As to Carlyle. HIS second letter, radiant with the same kindly warmth that gave alwayspre-eminent charm to his genius, was dated from the Carlton Hotel, NewYork, on the 14th February, but its only allusion of any public interestwas to the beginning of his agitation of the question of internationalcopyright. He went to America with no express intention of startingthis question in any way, and certainly with no belief that such remarkupon it as a person in his position could alone be expected to makewould be resented strongly by any sections of the American people. Buthe was not long left in doubt on this head. He had spoken upon it twicepublicly, "to the great indignation of some of the editors here, who areattacking me for so doing, right and left. " On the other hand, all thebest men had assured him that, if only at once followed up in England, the blow struck might bring about a change in the law; and, yielding tothe pleasant hope that the best men could be a match for the worst, heurged me to enlist on his side what force I could, and in particular, ashe had made Scott's claim his war-cry, to bring Lockhart into the field. I could not do much, but I did what I could. Three days later he began another letter; and, as this will be entirelynew to the reader, I shall print it as it reached me, with only suchomission of matter concerning myself as I think it my duty, howeverreluctantly, to make throughout these extracts. There was nothing in itspersonal details, or in those relating to international copyright, available for his _Notes_; from which they were excluded by the tworules he observed in that book, --the first to be altogether silent as tothe copyright discussion, and the second to abstain from all mention ofindividuals. But there can be no harm here in violating either rule, for, as Sydney Smith said with his humorous sadness, "We are all deadnow. " "Carlton House, New York: Thursday, February Seventeenth, 1842. . . . Asthere is a sailing-packet from here to England to-morrow which iswarranted (by the owners) to be a marvelous fast sailer, and as itappears most probable that she will reach home (I write the word with apang) before the Cunard steamer of next month, I indite this letter. Andlest this letter should reach you before another letter which Idispatched from here last Monday, let me say in the first place that I_did_ dispatch a brief epistle to you on that day, together with anewspaper, and a pamphlet touching the Boz ball; and that I put in thepost-office at Boston another newspaper for you containing an account ofthe dinner, which was just about to come off, you remember, when I wroteto you from that city. "It was a most superb affair; and the speaking _admirable_. Indeed, thegeneral talent for public speaking here is one of the most striking ofthe things that force themselves upon an Englishman's notice. As everyman looks on to being a member of Congress, every man prepares himselffor it; and the result is quite surprising. You will observe one oddcustom, --the drinking of sentiments. It is quite extinct with us, buthere everybody is expected to be prepared with an epigram as a matter ofcourse. "We left Boston on the fifth, and went away with the governor of thecity to stay till Monday at his house at Worcester. He married a sisterof Bancroft's, and another sister of Bancroft's went down with us. Thevillage of Worcester is one of the prettiest in New England. . . . OnMonday morning at nine o'clock we started again by railroad and went onto Springfield, where a deputation of two were waiting, and everythingwas in readiness that the utmost attention could suggest. Owing to themildness of the weather, the Connecticut river was 'open, ' videlicet notfrozen, and they had a steamboat ready to carry us on to Hartford; thussaving a land-journey of only twenty-five miles, but on such roads atthis time of year that it takes nearly twelve hours to accomplish! Theboat was very small, the river full of floating blocks of ice, and thedepth where we went (to avoid the ice and the current) not more than afew inches. After two hours and a half of this queer traveling, we gotto Hartford. There, there was quite an English inn; except in respect ofthe bedrooms, which are always uncomfortable; and the best committee ofmanagement that has yet presented itself. They kept us more quiet, andwere more considerate and thoughtful, even to their own exclusion, thanany I have yet had to deal with. Kate's face being horribly bad, Idetermined to give her a rest here; and accordingly wrote to get rid ofmy engagement at New Haven, on that plea. We remained in this town untilthe eleventh: holding a formal levee every day for two hours, andreceiving on each from two hundred to three hundred people. At fiveo'clock on the afternoon of the eleventh, we set off (still by railroad)for New Haven, which we reached about eight o'clock. The moment we hadhad tea, we were forced to open another levee for the students andprofessors of the college (the largest in the States), and thetownspeople. I suppose we shook hands, before going to bed, withconsiderably more than five hundred people; and I stood, as a matter ofcourse, the whole time. . . . "Now, the deputation of two had come on with us from Hartford; and atNew Haven there was another committee; and the immense fatigue andworry of all this, no words can exaggerate. We had been in the morningover jails and deaf and dumb asylums; had stopped on the journey at aplace called Wallingford, where a whole town had turned out to see me, and to gratify whose curiosity the train stopped expressly; had had aday of great excitement and exertion on the Thursday (this beingFriday); and were inexpressibly worn out. And when at last we got to bedand were 'going' to fall asleep, the choristers of the college turnedout in a body, under the window, and serenaded us! We had had, by-the-by, another serenade at Hartford, from a Mr. Adams (a nephew ofJohn Quincy Adams) and a German friend. _They_ were most beautifulsingers: and when they began, in the dead of the night, in a long, musical, echoing passage outside our chamber door; singing, in lowvoices to guitars, about home and absent friends and other topics thatthey knew would interest us; we were more moved than I can tell you. Inthe midst of my sentimentality, though, a thought occurred to me whichmade me laugh so immoderately that I was obliged to cover my face withthe bedclothes. 'Good Heavens!' I said to Kate, 'what a monstrouslyridiculous and commonplace appearance my boots must have, outside thedoor!' I never _was_ so impressed with a sense of the absurdity ofboots, in all my life. "The New Haven serenade was not so good; though there were a great manyvoices, and a 'reg'lar' band. It hadn't the heart of the other. Beforeit was six hours old, we were dressing with might and main, and makingready for our departure; it being a drive of twenty minutes to thesteamboat, and the hour of sailing nine o'clock. After a hasty breakfastwe started off; and after another levee on the deck (actually on thedeck), and 'three times three for Dickens, ' moved towards New York. "I was delighted to find on board a Mr. Felton whom I had known atBoston. He is the Greek professor at Cambridge, and was going on to theball and dinner. Like most men of his class whom I have seen, he is amost delightful fellow, --unaffected, hearty, genial, jolly; quite anEnglishman of the best sort. We drank all the porter on board, ate allthe cold pork and cheese, and were very merry indeed. I should have toldyou, in its proper place, that both at Hartford and New Haven a regularbank was subscribed, by these committees, for _all_ my expenses. No billwas to be got at the bar, and everything was paid for. But as I would onno account suffer this to be done, I stoutly and positively refused tobudge an inch until Mr. Q. Should have received the bills from thelandlord's own hands, and paid them to the last farthing. Finding itimpossible to move me, they suffered me, most unwillingly, to carry thepoint. "About half-past 2 we arrived here. In half an hour more, we reachedthis hotel, where a very splendid suite of rooms was prepared for us;and where everything is very comfortable, and no doubt (as at Boston)_enormously_ dear. Just as we sat down to dinner, David Colden made hisappearance; and when he had gone, and we were taking our wine, Washington Irving came in alone, with open arms. And here he stopped, until ten o'clock at night. " (Through Lord Jeffrey, with whom he wasconnected by marriage, and Macready, of whom he was the cordial friend, we already knew Mr. Colden; and his subsequent visits to Europe led tomany years' intimate intercourse, greatly enjoyed by us both. ) "Havinggot so far, I shall divide my discourse into four points. First, theball. Secondly, some slight specimens of a certain phase of character inthe Americans. Thirdly, international copyright. Fourthly, my life here, and projects to be carried out while I remain. "Firstly, the ball. It came off last Monday (vide pamphlet. ) 'At aquarter-past 9, exactly' (I quote the printed order of proceeding), wewere waited upon by 'David Colden, Esquire, and General George Morris;'habited, the former in full ball costume, the latter in the full dressuniform of Heaven knows what regiment of militia. The general took Kate, Colden gave his arm to me, and we proceeded downstairs to a carriage atthe door, which took us to the stage-door of the theatre, greatly to thedisappointment of an enormous crowd who were besetting the main door andmaking a most tremendous hullaballoo. The scene on our entrance was verystriking. There were three thousand people present in full dress; fromthe roof to the floor, the theatre was decorated magnificently; and thelight, glitter, glare, show, noise, and cheering, baffle my descriptivepowers. We were walked in through the centre of the centre dress-box, the front whereof was taken out for the occasion; so to the back of thestage, where the mayor and other dignitaries received us; and we werethen paraded all round the enormous ball-room, twice, for thegratification of the many-headed. That done, we began to dance--Heavenknows how we did it, for there was no room. And we continued dancinguntil, being no longer able even to stand, we slipped away quietly, andcame back to the hotel. All the documents connected with thisextraordinary festival (quite unparalleled here) we have preserved; soyou may suppose that on this head alone we shall have enough to show youwhen we come home. The bill of fare for supper is, in its amount andextent, quite a curiosity. "Now, the phase of character in the Americans which amuses me most wasput before me in its most amusing shape by the circumstances attendingthis affair. I had noticed it before, and have since; but I cannotbetter illustrate it than by reference to this theme. Of course I can donothing but in some shape or other it gets into the newspapers. Allmanner of lies get there, and occasionally a truth so twisted anddistorted that it has as much resemblance to the real fact as Quilp'sleg to Taglioni's. But with this ball to come off, the newspapers wereif possible unusually loquacious; and in their accounts of me, and myseeings, sayings, and doings on the Saturday night and Sunday before, they describe my manner, mode of speaking, dressing, and so forth. Indoing this, they report that I am a very charming fellow (of course), and have a very free and easy way with me; 'which, ' say they, 'at firstamused a few fashionables;' but soon pleased them exceedingly. Anotherpaper, coming after the ball, dwells upon its splendor and brilliancy;hugs itself and its readers upon all that Dickens saw, and winds up bygravely expressing its conviction that Dickens was never in suchsociety in England as he has seen in New York, and that its high andstriking tone cannot fail to make an indelible impression on his mind!For the same reason I am always represented, whenever I appear inpublic, as being 'very pale;' 'apparently thunderstruck;' and utterlyconfounded by all I see. . . . You recognize the queer vanity which is atthe root of all this? I have plenty of stories in connection with it toamuse you with when I return. " "_Twenty-fourth February. _ "It is unnecessary to say . . . That this letter _didn't_ come by thesailing packet, and _will_ come by the Cunard boat. After the ball I waslaid up with a very bad sore throat, which confined me to the house fourwhole days; and as I was unable to write, or indeed to do anything butdoze and drink lemonade, I missed the ship. . . . I have still ahorrible cold, and so has Kate, but in other respects we are all right. I proceed to my third head: the international copyright question. "I believe there is no country on the face of the earth where there isless freedom of opinion on any subject in reference to which there is abroad difference of opinion, than in this. --There!--I write the wordswith reluctance, disappointment, and sorrow; but I believe it from thebottom of my soul. I spoke, as you know, of international copyright, atBoston; and I spoke of it again at Hartford. My friends were paralyzedwith wonder at such audacious daring. The notion that I, a man alone byhimself, in America, should venture to suggest to the Americans thatthere was one point on which they were neither just to their owncountrymen nor to us, actually struck the boldest dumb! WashingtonIrving, Prescott, Hoffman, Bryant, Halleck, Dana, WashingtonAllston--every man who writes in this country is devoted to thequestion, and not one of them _dares_ to raise his voice and complain ofthe atrocious state of the law. It is nothing that of all men living Iam the greatest loser by it. It is nothing that I have a claim to speakand be heard. The wonder is that a breathing man can be found withtemerity enough to suggest to the Americans the possibility of theirhaving done wrong. I wish you could have seen the faces that I saw, downboth sides of the table at Hartford, when I began to talk about Scott. Iwish you could have heard how I gave it out. My blood so boiled as Ithought of the monstrous injustice that I felt as if I were twelve feethigh when I thrust it down their throats. "I had no sooner made that second speech than such an outcry began (forthe purpose of deterring me from doing the like in this city) as anEnglishman can form no notion of. Anonymous letters, verbal dissuasions;newspaper attacks making Colt (a murderer who is attracting greatattention here) an angel by comparison with me; assertions that I was nogentleman, but a mere mercenary scoundrel; coupled with the mostmonstrous misrepresentations relative to my design and purpose invisiting the United States; came pouring in upon me every day. Thedinner committee here (composed of the first gentlemen in America, remember that) were so dismayed, that they besought me not to pursue thesubject, _although they every one agreed with me_. I answered that Iwould. That nothing should deter me. . . . That the shame was theirs, not mine; and that as I would not spare them when I got home, I wouldnot be silenced here. Accordingly, when the night came, I asserted myright, with all the means I could command to give it dignity, in face, manner, or words; and I believe that if you could have seen and heardme, you would have loved me better for it than ever you did in yourlife. "The _New York Herald_, which you will receive with this, is the_Satirist_ of America; but having a great circulation (on account of itscommercial intelligence and early news) it can afford to secure the bestreporters. . . . My speech is done, upon the whole, with remarkableaccuracy. There are a great many typographical errors in it; and by theomission of one or two words, or the substitution of one word foranother, it is often materially weakened. Thus, I did not say that I'claimed' my right, but that I 'asserted' it; and I did not say that Ihad 'some claim, ' but that I had 'a most righteous claim, ' to speak. Butaltogether it is very correct. " * * * * * Washington Irving was chairman of this dinner, and, having from thefirst a dread that he should break down in his speech, the catastrophecame accordingly. Near him sat the Cambridge professor who had come withDickens by boat from New Haven, with whom already a warm friendship hadbeen formed that lasted for life, and who has pleasantly sketched whathappened. Mr. Felton saw Irving constantly in the interval ofpreparation, and could not but despond at his daily iterated forebodingof _I shall certainly break down_; though besides the real dread therewas a sly humor which heightened its whimsical horror with anirresistible drollery. But the professor plucked up hope a little whenthe night came and he saw that Irving had laid under his plate themanuscript of his speech. During dinner, nevertheless, his oldforeboding cry was still heard, and "at last the moment arrived; Mr. Irving rose; and the deafening and long-continued applause by no meanslessened his apprehension. He began in his pleasant voice; got throughtwo or three sentences pretty easily, but in the next hesitated; and, after one or two attempts to go on, gave it up, with a graceful allusionto the tournament and the troop of knights all armed and eager for thefray; and ended with the toast CHARLES DICKENS, THE GUEST OF THE NATION. _There!_ said he, as he resumed his seat amid applause as great as hadgreeted his rising, _There! I told you I should break down, and I'vedone it!_" He was in London a few months later, on his way to Spain; andI heard Thomas Moore describe[47] at Rogers's table the difficulty therehad been to overcome his reluctance, because of this break-down, to goto the dinner of the Literary Fund on the occasion of Prince Albert'spresiding. "However, " said Moore, "I told him only to attempt a fewwords, and I suggested what they should be, and he said he'd neverthought of anything so easy, and he went, and did famously. " I knew verywell, as I listened, that this had _not_ been the result; but as thedistinguished American had found himself, on this second occasion, notamong orators as in New York, but among men as unable as himself tospeak in public, and equally able to do better things, [48] he wasdoubtless more reconciled to his own failure. I have been led to thisdigression by Dickens's silence on his friend's break-down. He had sogreat a love for Irving that it was painful to speak of him as at anydisadvantage, and of the New York dinner he wrote only in its connectionwith his own copyright speeches. * * * * * "The effect of all this copyright agitation at least has been to awakena great sensation on both sides of the subject; the respectablenewspapers and reviews taking up the cudgels as strongly in my favor, asthe others have done against me. Some of the vagabonds take great creditto themselves (grant us patience!) for having made me popular bypublishing my books in newspapers: as if there were no England, noScotland, no Germany, no place but America in the whole world. Asplendid satire upon this kind of trash has just occurred. A man camehere yesterday, and demanded, not besought but demanded, pecuniaryassistance; and fairly bullied Mr. Q. For money. When I came home, Idictated a letter to this effect, --that such applications reached me invast numbers every day; that if I were a man of fortune, I could notrender assistance to all who sought it; and that, depending on my ownexertion for all the help I could give, I regretted to say I couldafford him none. Upon this, my gentleman sits down and writes me that heis an itinerant bookseller; that he is the first man who sold my booksin New York; that he is distressed in the city where I am reveling inluxury; that he thinks it rather strange that the man who wrote_Nickleby_ should be utterly destitute of feeling; and that he wouldhave me 'take care I don't repent it. ' What do you think of _that_?--asMac would say. I thought it such a good commentary, that I dispatchedthe letter to the editor of the only English newspaper here, and toldhim he might print it if he liked. "I will tell you what _I_ should like, my dear friend, always supposingthat your judgment concurs with mine, and that you would take thetrouble to get such a document. I should like to have a short letteraddressed to me by the principal English authors who signed theinternational copyright petition, expressive of their sense that I havedone my duty to the cause. I am sure I deserve it, but I don't wish iton that ground. It is because its publication in the best journals herewould unquestionably do great good. As the gauntlet is down, let us goon. Clay has already sent a gentleman to me express from Washington(where I shall be on the 6th or 7th of next month) to declare his stronginterest in the matter, his cordial approval of the 'manly' course Ihave held in reference to it, and his desire to stir in it if possible. I have lighted up such a blaze that a meeting of the foremost people onthe other side (very respectfully and properly conducted in reference tome, personally, I am bound to say) was held in this town t'other night. And it would be a thousand pities if we did not strike as hard as wecan, now that the iron is so hot. "I have come at last, and it is time I did, to my life here, andintentions for the future. I can do nothing that I want to do, gonowhere where I want to go, and see nothing that I want to see. If Iturn into the street, I am followed by a multitude. If I stay at home, the house becomes, with callers, like a fair. If I visit a publicinstitution, with only one friend, the directors come downincontinently, waylay me in the yard, and address me in a long speech. Igo to a party in the evening, and am so inclosed and hemmed about bypeople, stand where I will, that I am exhausted for want of air. I dineout, and have to talk about everything, to everybody. I go to church forquiet, and there is a violent rush to the neighborhood of the pew I sitin, and the clergyman preaches _at_ me. I take my seat in arailroad-car, and the very conductor won't leave me alone. I get out ata station, and can't drink a glass of water, without having a hundredpeople looking down my throat when I open my mouth to swallow. Conceivewhat all this is! Then by every post, letters on letters arrive, allabout nothing, and all demanding an immediate answer. This man isoffended because I won't live in his house; and that man is thoroughlydisgusted because I won't go out more than four times in one evening. Ihave no rest or peace, and am in a perpetual worry. "Under these febrile circumstances, which this climate especiallyfavors, I have come to the resolution that I will not (so far as my willhas anything to do with the matter) accept any more publicentertainments or public recognitions of any kind, during my stay in theUnited States; and in pursuance of this determination I have refusedinvitations from Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington, Virginia, Albany, and Providence. Heaven knows whether this will be effectual, but I shallsoon see, for on Monday morning, the 28th, we leave for Philadelphia. There I shall only stay three days. Thence we go to Baltimore, and_there_ I shall only stay three days. Thence to Washington, where we maystay perhaps ten days; perhaps not so long. Thence to Virginia, where wemay halt for one day; and thence to Charleston, where we may pass a weekperhaps, and where we shall very likely remain until your March lettersreach us, through David Colden. I had a design of going from Charlestonto Columbia in South Carolina, and there engaging a carriage, abaggage-tender and negro boy to guard the same, and a saddle-horse formyself, --with which caravan I intended going 'right away, ' as they sayhere, into the West, through the wilds of Kentucky and Tennessee, acrossthe Alleghany Mountains, and so on until we should strike the lakes andcould get to Canada. But it has been represented to me that this is atrack only known to traveling merchants; that the roads are bad, thecountry a tremendous waste, the inns log houses, and the journey onethat would play the very devil with Kate. I am staggered, but notdeterred. If I find it possible to be done in the time, I mean to do it;being quite satisfied that without some such dash I can never be a freeagent, or see anything worth the telling. "We mean to return home in a packet-ship, --not a steamer. Her name isthe George Washington, and she will sail from here, for Liverpool, onthe seventh of June. At that season of the year they are seldom morethan three weeks making the voyage; and I never will trust myself uponthe wide ocean, if it please Heaven, in a steamer again. When I tell youall that I observed on board that Britannia, I shall astonish you. Meanwhile, consider two of their dangers. First, that if the funnel wereblown overboard the vessel must instantly be on fire, from stem tostern; to comprehend which consequence, you have only to understand thatthe funnel is more than 40 feet high, and that at night you see thesolid fire two or three feet above its top. Imagine this swept down by astrong wind, and picture to yourself the amount of flame on deck; andthat a strong wind is likely to sweep it down you soon learn, from theprecautions taken to keep it up in a storm, when it is the first thingthought of. Secondly, each of these boats consumes between London andHalifax 700 tons of coals; and it is pretty clear, from this enormousdifference of weight in a ship of only 1200 tons burden in all, that shemust either be too heavy when she comes out of port, or too light whenshe goes in. The daily difference in her rolling, as she burns the coalsout, is something absolutely fearful. Add to all this, that by day andnight she is full of fire and people, that she has no boats, and thatthe struggling of that enormous machinery in a heavy sea seems as thoughit would rend her into fragments--and you may have a pretty con-sid-erabledamned good sort of a feeble notion that it don't fit nohow; and that ita'n't calculated to make you smart, overmuch; and that you don't feel'special bright; and by no means first-rate; and not at all tonguey (ordisposed for conversation); and that however rowdy you may be by natur', it does use you up com-plete, and that's a fact; and makes you quakeconsiderable, and disposed toe damn the [)e]ngin[)e]!--All of whichphrases, I beg to add, are pure Americanisms of the first water. "When we reach Baltimore, we are in the regions of slavery. It existsthere, in its least shocking and most mitigated form; but there it is. They whisper, here (they dare only whisper, you know, and that belowtheir breaths), that on that place, and all through the South, there isa dull gloomy cloud on which the very word seems written. I shall beable to say, one of these days, that I accepted no public mark ofrespect in any place where slavery was;--and that's something. "The ladies of America are decidedly and unquestionably beautiful. Theircomplexions are not so good as those of Englishwomen; their beauty doesnot last so long; and their figures are very inferior. But they are mostbeautiful. I still reserve my opinion of the national character, --justwhispering that I tremble for a radical coming here, unless he is aradical on principle, by reason and reflection, and from the sense ofright. I fear that if he were anything else, he would return home aTory. . . . I say no more on that head for two months from this time, save that I do fear that the heaviest blow ever dealt at liberty will bedealt by this country, in the failure of its example to the earth. Thescenes that are passing in Congress now, all tending to the separationof the States, fill one with such a deep disgust that I dislike the veryname of Washington (meaning the place, not the man), and am repelled bythe mere thought of approaching it. " "_Twenty-seventh February. Sunday. _ "There begins to be great consternation here, in reference to the Cunardpacket which (we suppose) left Liverpool on the fourth. She has not yetarrived. We scarcely know what to do with ourselves in our extremeanxiety to get letters from home. I have really had serious thoughts ofgoing back to Boston, alone, to be nearer news. We have determined toremain here until Tuesday afternoon, if she should not arrive before, and to send Mr. Q. And the luggage on to Philadelphia to-morrow morning. God grant she may not have gone down! but every ship that comes inbrings intelligence of a terrible gale (which indeed was felt ashorehere) on the night of the fourteenth; and the sea-captains swear (notwithout some prejudice, of course) that no steamer could have livedthrough it, supposing her to have been in its full fury. As there is nosteam-packet to go to England, supposing the Caledonia not to arrive, weare obliged to send our letters by the Garrick ship, which sails earlyto-morrow morning. Consequently I must huddle this up, and dispatch itto the post-office with all speed. I have so much to say that I couldfill quires of paper, which renders this sudden pull-up the moreprovoking. "I have in my portmanteau a petition for an international copyright law, signed by all the best American writers, with Washington Irving attheir head. They have requested me to hand it to Clay for presentation, and to back it with any remarks I may think proper to offer. So'Hoo-roar for the principle, as the money-lender said ven he vouldn'trenoo the bill. ' "God bless you. . . . You know what I would say about home and thedarlings. A hundred times God bless you. . . . Fears are entertained forLord Ashburton also. Nothing has been heard of him. " A brief letter, sent me next day by the minister's bag, was in effect apostscript to the foregoing, and expressed still more strongly thedoubts and apprehensions his voyage out had impressed him with, andwhich, though he afterwards saw reason greatly to modify his misgivings, were not so strange at that time as they appear to us now: "Carlton House, New York, February twenty-eighth, 1842. . . . TheCaledonia, I grieve and regret to say, has not arrived. If she leftEngland to her time, she has been four-and-twenty days at sea. There isno news of her; and on the nights of the fourteenth and eighteenth itblew a terrible gale, which almost justifies the worst suspicions. Formyself, I have hardly any hope of her; having seen enough, in ourpassage out, to convince me that steaming across the ocean in heavyweather is as yet an experiment of the utmost hazard. "As it was supposed that there would be no steamer whatever for Englandthis month (since in ordinary course the Caledonia would have returnedwith the mails on the 2d of March), I hastily got the letters readyyesterday and sent them by the Garrick; which may perhaps be threeweeks out, but is not very likely to be longer. But belonging to theCunard company is a boat called the Unicorn, which in the summertimeplies up the St. Lawrence, and brings passengers from Canada to join theBritish and North American steamers at Halifax. In the winter she liesat the last-mentioned place; from which news has come this morning thatthey have sent her on to Boston for the mails, and, rather thaninterrupt the communication, mean to dispatch her to England in lieu ofthe poor Caledonia. This in itself, by the way, is a daring deed; forshe was originally built to run between Liverpool and Glasgow, and is nomore designed for the Atlantic than a Calais packet-boat; though sheonce crossed it, in the summer season. "You may judge, therefore, what the owners think of the probability ofthe Caledonia's arrival. How slight an alteration in our plans wouldhave made us passengers on board of her! "It would be difficult to tell you, my dear fellow, what an impressionthis has made upon our minds, or with what intense anxiety and suspensewe have been waiting for your letters from home. We were to have goneSouth to-day, but linger here until to-morrow afternoon (having sent thesecretary and luggage forward) for one more chance of news. Love to dearMacready, and to dear Mac, and every one we care for. It's useless tospeak of the dear children. It seems now as though we should never hearof them. . . . "P. S. Washington Irving is a _great_ fellow. We have laughed mostheartily together. He is just the man he ought to be. So is DoctorChanning, with whom I have had an interesting correspondence since Isaw him last at Boston. Halleck is a merry little man. Bryant a sad one, and very reserved. Washington Allston the painter (who wrote _Monaldi_)is a fine specimen of a glorious old genius. Longfellow, whose volume ofpoems I have got for you, is a frank accomplished man as well as a finewriter, and will be in town 'next fall. ' Tell Macready that I suspectprices here must have rather altered since his time. I paid ourfortnight's bill here, last night. We have dined out every day (exceptwhen I was laid up with a sore throat), and only had in all four bottlesof wine. The bill was 70_l. _ English!!! "You will see, by my other letter, how we have been fêted and feasted;and how there is war to the knife about the international copyright; andhow I _will_ speak about it, and decline to be put down. . . . "Oh for news from home! I think of your letters so full of heart andfriendship, with perhaps a little scrawl of Charley's or Mamey's, lyingat the bottom of the deep sea; and am as full of sorrow as if they hadonce been living creatures. --Well! they _may_ come, yet. " * * * * * They did reach him, but not by the Caledonia. His fears as to thatvessel were but too well founded. On the very day when she was due inBoston (the 18th of February) it was learned in London that she hadundergone misadventure; that, her decks having been swept and her ruddertorn away, though happily no lives were lost, she had returned disabledto Cork; and that the Acadia, having received her passengers and mails, was to sail with them from Liverpool next day. Of the main subject of that letter written on the day preceding, --of thequite unpremeditated impulse, out of which sprang his advocacy of claimswhich he felt to be represented in his person, --of the injustice done byhis entertainers to their guest in ascribing such advocacy toselfishness, --and of the graver wrong done by them to their own highestinterests, nay, even to their commonest and most vulgar interests, incontinuing to reject those claims, I will add nothing now to what allthose years ago I labored very hard to lay before many readers. It willbe enough if I here print, from the authors' letters I sent out to himby the next following mail, in compliance with his wish, this whichfollows from a very dear friend of his and mine. I fortunately had ittranscribed before I posted it to him; Mr. Carlyle having in some hastewritten from "Templand, 26 March, 1842, " and taken no copy. "We learn by the newspapers that you everywhere in America stir up thequestion of international copyright, and thereby awaken huge dissonancewhere all else were triumphant unison for you. I am asked my opinion ofthe matter, and requested to write it down in words. "Several years ago, if memory err not, I was one of many English writerswho, under the auspices of Miss Martineau, did already sign a petitionto congress praying for an international copyright between the twoNations, --which properly are not two Nations, but one; _indivisible_ byparliament, congress, or any kind of human law or diplomacy, beingalready _united_ by Heaven's Act of Parliament, and the everlasting lawof Nature and Fact. To that opinion I still adhere, and am like tocontinue adhering. "In discussion of the matter before any congress or parliament, manifoldconsiderations and argumentations will necessarily arise; which to meare not interesting, nor essential for helping me to a decision. Theyrespect the time and manner in which the thing should be; not at allwhether the thing should be or not. In an ancient book, reverenced Ishould hope on both sides of the Ocean, it was thousands of years agowritten down in the most decisive and explicit manner, 'Thou _shalt not_steal. ' That thou belongest to a different 'Nation, ' and canst stealwithout being certainly hanged for it, gives thee no permission tosteal! Thou shalt _not_ in anywise steal at all! So it is written down, for Nations and for Men, in the Law-Book of the Maker of this Universe. Nay, poor Jeremy Bentham and others step in here, and will demonstratethat it is actually our true convenience and expediency not to steal;which I for my share, on the great scale and on the small, and in allconceivable scales and shapes, do also firmly believe it to be. Forexample, if Nations abstained from stealing, what need were there offighting, --with its butcherings and burnings, decidedly the mostexpensive thing in this world? How much more two Nations, which, as Isaid, are but one Nation; knit in a thousand ways by Nature andPractical Intercourse; indivisible brother elements of the same greatSAXONDOM, to which in all honorable ways be long life! "When Mr. Robert Roy M'Gregor lived in the district of Menteith on theHighland border two centuries ago, he for his part found it moreconvenient to supply himself with beef by stealing it alive from theadjacent glens, than by buying it killed in the Stirling butchers'market. It was Mr. Roy's plan of supplying himself with beef in thosedays, this of stealing it. In many a little 'Congress' in the districtof Menteith, there was debating, doubt it not, and much speciousargumentation this way and that, before they could ascertain that, really and truly, buying was the best way to get your beef; which, however, in the long run they did with one assent find it indisputablyto be: and accordingly they hold by it to this day. " This brave letter was an important service rendered at a critical time, and Dickens was very grateful for it. But, as time went on, he had otherand higher causes for gratitude to its writer. Admiration of Carlyleincreased in him with his years; and there was no one whom in later lifehe honored so much, or had a more profound regard for. FOOTNOTES: [47] On the 22d of May, 1842. [48] The dinner was on the 10th of May, and early the following morningI had a letter about it from Mr. Blanchard, containing these words:"Washington Irving couldn't utter a word for trembling, and Moore was aslittle as usual. But, poor Tom Campbell--great Heavens! what aspectacle! Amid roars of laughter he began a sentence three times aboutsomething that Dugald Stewart or Lord Bacon had said, and never couldget beyond those words. The Prince was capital, though deucedlyfrightened. He seems unaffected and amiable, as well as very clever. " CHAPTER XXI. PHILADELPHIA, WASHINGTON, AND THE SOUTH. 1842. At Philadelphia--Rule in Printing Letters--Promise as to Railroads--Experience of them--Railway-cars--Charcoal Stoves--Ladies' Cars--Spittoons--Massachusetts and New York--Police-cells and Prisons--House of Detention and Inmates--Women and Boy Prisoners--Capital Punishment--A House of Correction--Four Hundred Single Cells--Comparison with English Prisons--Inns and Landlords--At Washington--Hotel Extortion--Philadelphia Penitentiary--The Solitary System--Solitary Prisoners--Talk with Inspectors--Bookseller Carey--Changes of Temperature--Henry Clay--Proposed Journeyings--Letters from England--Congress and Senate--Leading American Statesmen--The People of America--Englishmen "located" there--"Surgit amari aliquid"--The Copyright Petition--At Richmond--Irving appointed to Spain--Experience of a Slave City--Incidents of Slave Life--Discussion with a Slaveholder--Feeling of South to England--Levees at Richmond--One more Banquet accepted--My Gift of _Shakspeare_--Home Letters and Fancies--Self-reproach of a Noble Nature--Washington Irving's Leave-taking. DICKENS'S next letter was begun in the "United States Hotel, Philadelphia, " and bore date "Sunday, sixth March, 1842. " It treated ofmuch dealt with afterwards at greater length in the _Notes_, but thefreshness and vivacity of the first impressions in it have surprised me. I do not, however, print any passage here which has not its own interestindependently of anything contained in that book. The rule will becontinued, as in the portions of letters already given, of nottranscribing anything before printed, or anything having even but a nearresemblance to descriptions that appear in the _Notes_. ". . . . . . As this is likely to be the only quiet day I shall have for along time, I devote it to writing to you. We have heard nothing fromyou[49] yet, and only have for our consolation the reflection that theColumbia[50] is now on her way out. No news had been heard of theCaledonia yesterday afternoon, when we left New York. We _were_ to havequitted that place last Tuesday, but have been detained there all theweek by Kate having so bad a sore throat that she was obliged to keepher bed. We left yesterday afternoon at five o'clock, and arrived hereat eleven last night. Let me say, by the way, that this is a very tryingclimate. "I have often asked Americans in London which were the betterrailroads, --ours or theirs? They have taken time for reflection, andgenerally replied on mature consideration that they rather thought weexcelled; in respect of the punctuality with which we arrived at ourstations, and the smoothness of our traveling. I wish you could see whatan American railroad is, in some parts where I now have seen them. Iwon't say I wish you could feel what it is, because that would be anunchristian and savage aspiration. It is never inclosed, or warded off. You walk down the main street of a large town; and, slap-dash, headlong, pell-mell, down the middle of the street, with pigs burrowing, and boys flying kites and playing marbles, and men smoking, and womentalking, and children crawling, close to the very rails, there comestearing along a mad locomotive with its train of cars, scattering ared-hot shower of sparks (from its _wood_ fire) in all directions;screeching, hissing, yelling, and panting; and nobody one atom moreconcerned than if it were a hundred miles away. You cross aturnpike-road; and there is no gate, no policeman, no signal--nothing tokeep the wayfarer or quiet traveler out of the way, but a wooden arch onwhich is written, in great letters, 'Look out for the locomotive. ' Andif any man, woman, or child don't look out, why, it's his or her fault, and there's an end of it. "The cars are like very shabby omnibuses, --only larger; holding sixty orseventy people. The seats, instead of being placed long ways, are putcross-wise, back to front. Each holds two. There is a long row of theseon each side of the caravan, and a narrow passage up the centre. Thewindows are usually all closed, and there is very often, in addition, ahot, close, most intolerable charcoal stove in a red-hot glow. The heatand closeness are quite insupportable. But this is the characteristic ofall American houses, of all the public institutions, chapels, theatres, and prisons. From the constant use of the hard anthracite coal in thesebeastly furnaces, a perfectly new class of diseases is springing up inthe country. Their effect upon an Englishman is briefly told. He isalways very sick and very faint; and has an intolerable headache, morning, noon, and night. "In the ladies' car, there is no smoking of tobacco allowed. Allgentlemen who have ladies with them sit in this car; and it is usuallyvery full. Before it, is the gentlemen's car; which is somethingnarrower. As I had a window close to me yesterday which commanded thisgentlemen's car, I looked at it pretty often, perforce. The flashes ofsaliva flew so perpetually and incessantly out of the windows all theway, that it looked as though they were ripping open feather-bedsinside, and letting the wind dispose of the feathers. [51] But thisspitting is universal. In the courts of law, the judge has his spittoonon the bench, the counsel have theirs, the witness has his, the prisonerhis, and the crier his. The jury are accommodated at the rate of threemen to a spittoon (or spit-box as they call it here); and the spectatorsin the gallery are provided for, as so many men who in the course ofnature expectorate without cessation. There are spit-boxes in everysteamboat, bar-room, public dining-room, house of office, and place ofgeneral resort, no matter what it be. In the hospitals, the students arerequested, by placard, to use the boxes provided for them, and not tospit upon the stairs. I have twice seen gentlemen, at evening parties inNew York, turn aside when they were not engaged in conversation, andspit upon the drawing-room carpet. And in every bar-room and hotelpassage the stone floor looks as if it were paved with openoysters--from the quantity of this kind of deposit which tessellates itall over. . . . "The institutions at Boston, and at Hartford, are most admirable. Itwould be very difficult indeed to improve upon them. But this is not soat New York; where there is an ill-managed lunatic asylum, a bad jail, adismal workhouse, and a perfectly intolerable place of police-imprisonment. A man is found drunk in the streets, and is thrown into a cell below thesurface of the earth; profoundly dark; so full of noisome vapors thatwhen you enter it with a candle you see a ring about the light, likethat which surrounds the moon in wet and cloudy weather; and sooffensive and disgusting in its filthy odors that you _cannot bear_ itsstench. He is shut up within an iron door, in a series of vaultedpassages where no one stays; has no drop of water, or ray of light, orvisitor, or help of any kind; and there he remains until themagistrate's arrival. If he die (as one man did not long ago), he ishalf eaten by the rats in an hour's time (as this man was). I expressed, on seeing these places the other night, the disgust I felt, and which itwould be impossible to repress. 'Well, I don't know, ' said the nightconstable--that's a national answer, by-the-by, --'well, I don't know. I've had six-and-twenty young women locked up here together, andbeautiful ones too, and that's a fact. ' The cell was certainly no largerthan the wine-cellar in Devonshire Terrace; at least three feet lower;and stunk like a common sewer. There was one woman in it then. Themagistrate begins his examinations at five o'clock in the morning; thewatch is set at seven at night; if the prisoners have been given incharge by an officer, they are not taken out before nine or ten; and inthe interval they remain in these places, where they could no more beheard to cry for help, in case of a fit or swoon among them, than aman's voice could be heard after he was coffined up in his grave. "There is a prison in this same city, and indeed in the same building, where prisoners for grave offenses await their trial, and to which theyare sent back when under remand. It sometimes happens that a man orwoman will remain here for twelve months, waiting the result of motionsfor new trial, and in arrest of judgment, and what not. I went into itthe other day: without any notice or preparation, otherwise I find itdifficult to catch them in their work-a-day aspect. I stood in a long, high, narrow building, consisting of four galleries one above the other, with a bridge across each, on which sat a turnkey, sleeping or readingas the case might be. From the roof, a couple of wind-sails dangled anddrooped, limp and useless; the sky-light being fast closed, and theyonly designed for summer use. In the centre of the building was theeternal stove; and along both sides of every gallery was a long row ofiron doors--looking like furnace-doors, being very small, but black andcold as if the fires within had gone out. "A man with keys appears, to show us round. A good-looking fellow, and, in his way, civil and obliging. " (I omit a dialogue of which thesubstance has been printed, [52] and give only that which appears for thefirst time here. ) "'Suppose a man's here for twelve months. Do you mean to say he nevercomes out at that little iron door?' "'He _may_ walk some, perhaps--not much. ' "'Will you show me a few of them?' "'Ah! All, if you like. ' "He threw open a door, and I looked in. An old man was sitting on hisbed, reading. The light came in through a small chink, very high up inthe wall. Across the room ran a thick iron pipe to carry off filth; thiswas bored for the reception of something like a big funnel in shape; andover the funnel was a watercock. This was his washing apparatus andwater-closet. It was not savory, but not very offensive. He looked up atme; gave himself an odd, dogged kind of shake; and fixed his eyes on hisbook again. I came out, and the door was shut and locked. He had beenthere a month, and would have to wait another month for his trial. 'Hashe ever walked out now, for instance?' 'No. '. . . "'In England, if a man is under sentence of death even, he has a yard towalk in at certain times. ' "'Possible?' ". . . Making me this answer with a coolness which is perfectlyuntranslatable and inexpressible, and which is quite peculiar to thesoil, he took me to the women's side, telling me, upon the way, allabout this man, who, it seems, murdered his wife, and will certainly behanged. The women's doors have a small square aperture in them; I lookedthrough one, and saw a pretty boy about ten or twelve years old, whoseemed lonely and miserable enough--as well he might. 'What's _he_ beendoing?' says I. 'Nothing, ' says my friend. 'Nothing!' says I. 'No, ' sayshe. 'He's here for safe keeping. He saw his father kill his mother, andis detained to give evidence against him--that was his father you sawjust now. ' 'But that's rather hard treatment for a witness, isn't it?''Well, I don't know. It a'n't a very rowdy life, and _that's_ a fact. 'So my friend, who was an excellent fellow in his way, and very obliging, and a handsome young man to boot, took me off to show me some morecuriosities; and I was very much obliged to him, for the place was sohot, and I so giddy, that I could scarcely stand. . . . "When a man is hanged in New York, he is walked out of one of thesecells, without any condemned sermon or other religious formalities, straight into the narrow jail-yard, which may be about the width ofCranbourn Alley. There, a gibbet is erected, which is of curiousconstruction; for the culprit stands on the earth with the rope abouthis neck, which passes through a pulley in the top of the 'Tree' (see_Newgate Calendar_ passim), and is attached to a weight somethingheavier than the man. This weight, being suddenly let go, drags the ropedown with it, and sends the criminal flying up fourteen feet into theair; while the judge, and jury, and five-and-twenty citizens (whosepresence is required by the law), stand by, that they may afterwardscertify to the fact. This yard is a very dismal place; and when I lookedat it, I thought the practice infinitely superior to ours: much moresolemn, and far less degrading and indecent. [Illustration] "There is another prison near New York which is a house of correction. The convicts labor in stone-quarries near at hand, but the jail has nocovered yards or shops, so that when the weather is wet (as it was whenI was there) each man is shut up in his own little cell, all thelive-long day. These cells, in all the correction-houses I have seen, are on one uniform plan, --thus: A, B, C, and D, are the walls of thebuilding with windows in them, high up in the wall. The shaded place inthe centre represents four tiers of cells, one above the other, withdoors of grated iron, and a light grated gallery to each tier. Fourtiers front to B, and four to D, so that by this means you may be said, in walking round, to see eight tiers in all. The intermediate blankspace you walk in, looking up at these galleries; so that, coming in atthe door E, and going either to the right or left till you come back tothe door again, you see all the cells under one roof and in one highroom. Imagine them in number 400, and in every one a man locked up; thisone with his hands through the bars of his grate, this one in bed (inthe middle of the day, remember), and this one flung down in a heap uponthe ground with his head against the bars like a wild beast. Make therain pour down in torrents outside. Put the everlasting stove in themidst; hot, suffocating, and vaporous, as a witch's cauldron. Add asmell like that of a thousand old mildewed umbrellas wet through, and athousand dirty-clothes-bags musty, moist, and fusty, and you will havesome idea--a very feeble one, my dear friend, on my word--of this placeyesterday week. You know of course that we adopted our improvements inprison-discipline from the American pattern; but I am confident that thewriters who have the most lustily lauded the American prisons have neverseen Chesterton's domain or Tracey's. [53] There is no more comparisonbetween these two prisons of ours, and any I have seen here YET, thanthere is between the keepers here, and those two gentlemen. Putting outof sight the difficulty we have in England of finding _useful_ labor forthe prisoners (which of course arises from our being an older countryand having vast numbers of artisans unemployed), our system is morecomplete, more impressive, and more satisfactory in every respect. It isvery possible that I have not come to the best, not having yet seenMount Auburn. I will tell you when I have. And also when I have come tothose inns, mentioned--vaguely rather--by Miss Martineau, where theyundercharge literary people for the love the landlords bear them. Myexperience, so far, has been of establishments where (perhaps for thesame reason) they very monstrously and violently overcharge a man whoseposition forbids remonstrance. "WASHINGTON, Sunday, March the Thirteenth, 1842. "In allusion to the last sentence, my dear friend, I must tell you aslight experience I had in Philadelphia. My rooms had been ordered for aweek, but, in consequence of Kate's illness, only Mr. Q. And the luggagehad gone on. Mr. Q. Always lives at the table-d'hôte, so that while wewere in New York our rooms were empty. The landlord not only charged mehalf the full rent for the time during which the rooms were reserved forus (which was quite right), but charged me also _for board for myselfand Kate and Anne, at the rate of nine dollars per day_ for the sameperiod, when we were actually living, at the same expense, in NewYork!!! I _did_ remonstrate upon this head, but was coolly told it wasthe custom (which I have since been assured is a lie), and had nothingfor it but to pay the amount. What else could I do? I was going away bythe steamboat at five o'clock in the morning; and the landlord knewperfectly well that my disputing an item of his bill would draw downupon me the sacred wrath of the newspapers, which would one and alldemand in capitals if THIS was the gratitude of the man whom America hadreceived as she had never received any other man but La Fayette? "I went last Tuesday to the Eastern Penitentiary near Philadelphia, which is the only prison in the States, or I believe in the world, onthe principle of hopeless, strict, and unrelaxed solitary confinement, during the whole term of the sentence. It is wonderfully kept, but amost dreadful, fearful place. The inspectors, immediately on my arrivalin Philadelphia, invited me to pass the day in the jail, and to dinewith them when I had finished my inspection, that they might hear myopinion of the system. Accordingly I passed the whole day in going fromcell to cell, and conversing with the prisoners. Every facility wasgiven me, and no constraint whatever imposed upon any man's free speech. If I were to write you a letter of twenty sheets, I could not tell youthis one day's work; so I will reserve it until that happy time when weshall sit round the table a Jack Straw's--you, and I, and Mac--and goover my diary. I never shall be able to dismiss from my mind theimpressions of that day. Making notes of them, as I have done, is anabsurdity, for they are written, beyond all power of erasure, in mybrain. I saw men who had been there, five years, six years, elevenyears, two years, two months, two days; some whose term was nearly over, and some whose term had only just begun. Women too, under the samevariety of circumstances. Every prisoner who comes into the jail comesat night; is put into a bath, and dressed in the prison-garb; and then ablack hood is drawn over his face and head, and he is led to the cellfrom which he never stirs again until his whole period of confinementhas expired. I looked at some of them with the same awe as I should havelooked at men who had been buried alive and dug up again. "We dined in the jail: and I told them after dinner how much the sighthad affected me, and what an awful punishment it was. I dwelt upon this;for, although the inspectors are extremely kind and benevolent men, Iquestion whether they are sufficiently acquainted with the human mind toknow what it is they are doing. Indeed, I am sure they do not know. Ibore testimony, as every one who sees it must, to the admirablegovernment of the institution (Stanfield is the keeper: grown a littleyounger, that's all); but added that nothing could justify such apunishment but its working a reformation in the prisoners. That forshort terms--say two years for the maximum--I conceived, especiallyafter what they had told me of its good effects in certain cases, itmight perhaps be highly beneficial; but that, carried to so great anextent, I thought it cruel and unjustifiable; and, further, that theirsentences for small offenses were very rigorous, not to say savage. Allthis they took like men who were really anxious to have one's freeopinion and to do right. And we were very much pleased with each other, and parted in the friendliest way. "They sent me back to Philadelphia in a carriage they had sent for me inthe morning; and then I had to dress in a hurry, and follow Kate toCarey's the bookseller's, where there was a party. He married a sisterof Leslie's. There are three Miss Leslies here, very accomplished; andone of them has copied all her brother's principal pictures. Thesecopies hang about the room. We got away from this as soon as we could;and next morning had to turn out at five. In the morning I had receivedand shaken hands with five hundred people, so you may suppose that I waspretty well tired. Indeed, I am obliged to be very careful of myself; toavoid smoking and drinking; to get to bed soon; and to be particular inrespect of what I eat. . . . You cannot think how bilious and trying theclimate is. One day it is hot summer, without a breath of air; the next, twenty degrees below freezing, with a wind blowing that cuts your skinlike steel. These changes have occurred here several times since lastWednesday night. "I have altered my route, and don't mean to go to Charleston. Thecountry, all the way from here, is nothing but a dismal swamp; there isa bad night of sea-coasting in the journey; the equinoctial gales areblowing hard; and Clay (a most _charming_ fellow, by-the-by), whom Ihave consulted, strongly dissuades me. The weather is intensely hotthere; the spring fever is coming on; and there is very little to see, after all. We therefore go next Wednesday night to Richmond, which weshall reach on Thursday. There we shall stop three days; my object beingto see some tobacco-plantations. Then we shall go by James River back toBaltimore, which we have already passed through, and where we shall staytwo days. Then we shall go West at once, straight through the mostgigantic part of this continent: across the Alleghany Mountains, andover a prairie. "STILL AT WASHINGTON, Fifteenth March, 1842. . . . It is impossible, mydear friend, to tell you what we felt when Mr. Q. (who is a fearfullysentimental genius, but heartily interested in all that concerns us)came to where we were dining last Sunday, and sent in a note to theeffect that the Caledonia[54] had arrived! Being really assured of hersafety, we felt as if the distance between us and home were diminishedby at least one-half. There was great joy everywhere here, for she hadbeen quite despaired of, but our joy was beyond all telling. This newscame on by express. Last night your letters reached us. I was diningwith a club (for I can't avoid a dinner of that sort, now and then), andKate sent me a note about nine o'clock to say they were here. But shedidn't open them--which I consider heroic--until I came home. That wasabout half-past ten; and we read them until nearly two in the morning. "I won't say a word about your letters; except that Kate and I have cometo a conclusion which makes me tremble in my shoes, for we decide thathumorous narrative is your forte, and not statesmen of the commonwealth. I won't say a word about your news; for how could I in that case, whileyou want to hear what we are doing, resist the temptation of expendingpages on those darling children? . . . "I have the privilege of appearing on the floor of both Houses here, andgo to them every day. They are very handsome and commodious. There is agreat deal of bad speaking, but there are a great many very remarkablemen, in the legislature: such as John Quincy Adams, Clay, Preston, Calhoun, and others: with whom I need scarcely add I have been placed inthe friendliest relations. Adams is a fine old fellow--seventy-six yearsold, but with most surprising vigor, memory, readiness, and pluck. Clayis perfectly enchanting; an irresistible man. There are some verynotable specimens, too, out of the West. Splendid men to look at, hardto deceive, prompt to act, lions in energy, Crichtons in variedaccomplishments, Indians in quickness of eye and gesture, Americans inaffectionate and generous impulse. It would be difficult to exaggeratethe nobility of some of these glorious fellows. "When Clay retires, as he does this month, Preston will become theleader of the Whig party. He so solemnly assures me that theinternational copyright shall and will be passed, that I almost begin tohope; and I shall be entitled to say, if it be, that I have brought itabout. You have no idea how universal the discussion of its merits anddemerits has become, or how eager for the change I have made a portionof the people. "You remember what ---- was, in England. If you _could_ but see himhere! If you could only have seen him when he called on us the otherday, --feigning abstraction in the dreadful pressure of affairs of state;rubbing his forehead as one who was aweary of the world; and exhibitinga sublime caricature of Lord Burleigh. He is the only thoroughly unrealman I have seen on this side the ocean. Heaven help the President! Allparties are against him, and he appears truly wretched. We go to a leveeat his house to-night. He has invited me to dinner on Friday, but I amobliged to decline; for we leave, per steamboat, to-morrow night. "I said I wouldn't write anything more concerning the American people, for two months. Second thoughts are best. I shall not change, and may aswell speak out--to _you_. They are friendly, earnest, hospitable, kind, frank, very often accomplished, far less prejudiced than you wouldsuppose, warm-hearted, fervent, and enthusiastic. They are chivalrous intheir universal politeness to women, courteous, obliging, disinterested;and, when they conceive a perfect affection for a man (as I may ventureto say of myself), entirely devoted to him. I have received thousands ofpeople of all ranks and grades, and have never once been asked anoffensive or unpolite question, --except by Englishmen, who, when theyhave been 'located' here for some years, are worse than the devil inhis blackest painting. The State is a parent to its people; has aparental care and watch over all poor children, women laboring of child, sick persons, and captives. The common men render you assistance in thestreets, and would revolt from the offer of a piece of money. The desireto oblige is universal; and I have never once traveled in a publicconveyance without making some generous acquaintance whom I have beensorry to part from, and who has in many cases come on miles, to see usagain. But I don't like the country. I would not live here, on anyconsideration. It goes against the grain with me. It would with you. Ithink it impossible, utterly impossible, for any Englishman to live hereand be happy. I have a confidence that I must be right, because I haveeverything, God knows, to lead me to the opposite conclusion; and yet Icannot resist coming to this one. As to the causes, they are too many toenter upon here. . . . "One of two petitions for an international copyright which I broughthere from American authors, with Irving at their head, has beenpresented to the House of Representatives. Clay retains the other forpresentation to the Senate after I have left Washington. The presentedone has been referred to a committee; the Speaker has nominated as itschairman Mr. Kennedy, member for Baltimore, who is himself an author andnotoriously favorable to such a law; and I am going to assist him in hisreport. "RICHMOND, IN VIRGINIA. Thursday Night, March 17. "Irving was with me at Washington yesterday, and _wept heartily_ atparting. He is a fine fellow, when you know him well; and you wouldrelish him, my dear friend, of all things. We have laughed together atsome absurdities we have encountered in company, quite in my vociferousDevonshire-Terrace style. The 'Merrikin' government has treated him, hesays, most liberally and handsomely in every respect. He thinks ofsailing for Liverpool on the 7th of April, passing a short time inLondon, and then going to Paris. Perhaps you may meet him. If you do, hewill know that you are my dearest friend, and will open his whole heartto you at once. His secretary of legation, Mr. Coggleswell, is a man ofvery remarkable information, a great traveler, a good talker, and ascholar. "I am going to sketch you our trip here from Washington, as it involvesnine miles of a 'Virginny Road. ' That done, I must be brief, goodbrother. ". . . The reader of the _American Notes_ will remember the admirable and mosthumorous description of the night steamer on the Potomac, and of theblack driver over the Virginia road. Both were in this letter; which, after three days, he resumed "At Washington again, Monday, March thetwenty-first: "We had intended to go to Baltimore from Richmond, by a place calledNorfolk; but, one of the boats being under repair, I found we shouldprobably be detained at this Norfolk two days. Therefore we came backhere yesterday, by the road we had traveled before; lay here last night;and go on to Baltimore this afternoon, at four o'clock. It is a journeyof only two hours and a half. Richmond is a prettily situated town, but, like other towns in slave districts (as the planters themselves admit), has an aspect of decay and gloom which to an unaccustomed eye is _most_distressing. In the black car (for they don't let them sit with thewhites), on the railroad as we went there, were a mother and family, whom the steamer was conveying away, to sell; retaining the man (thehusband and father, I mean) on his plantation. The children cried thewhole way. Yesterday, on board the boat, a slave-owner and twoconstables were our fellow-passengers. They were coming here in searchof two negroes who had run away on the previous day. On the bridge atRichmond there is a notice against fast driving over it, as it is rottenand crazy: penalty--for whites, five dollars; for slaves, fifteenstripes. My heart is lightened as if a great load had been taken fromit, when I think that we are turning our backs on this accursed anddetested system. I really don't think I could have borne it any longer. It is all very well to say 'be silent on the subject. ' They won't letyou be silent. They _will_ ask you what you think of it; and _will_expatiate on slavery as if it were one of the greatest blessings ofmankind. 'It's not, ' said a hard, bad-looking fellow to me the otherday, 'it's not the interest of a man to use his slaves ill. It's damnednonsense that you hear in England. '--I told him quietly that it was nota man's interest to get drunk, or to steal, or to game, or to indulge inany other vice, but he _did_ indulge in it for all that; that cruelty, and the abuse of irresponsible power, were two of the bad passions ofhuman nature, with the gratification of which, considerations ofinterest or of ruin, had nothing whatever to do; and that, while everycandid man must admit that even a slave might be happy enough with agood master, all human beings knew that bad masters, cruel masters, andmasters who disgraced the form they bore, were matters of experience andhistory, whose existence was as undisputed as that of slaves themselves. He was a little taken aback by this, and asked me if I believed in theBible. Yes, I said, but if any man could prove to me that it sanctionedslavery, I would place no further credence in it. 'Well then, ' he said, 'by God, sir, the niggers must be kept down, and the whites have putdown the colored people wherever they have found them. ' 'That's thewhole question, ' said I. 'Yes, and by God, ' says he, 'the British hadbetter not stand out on that point when Lord Ashburton comes over, for Inever felt so warlike as I do now, --and that's a fact. ' I was obliged toaccept a public supper in this Richmond, and I saw plainly enough therethat the hatred which these Southern States bear to us as a nation hasbeen fanned up and revived again by this Creole business, and canscarcely be exaggerated. . . . . "We were desperately tired at Richmond, as we went to a great manyplaces and received a very great number of visitors. We appoint usuallytwo hours in every day for this latter purpose, and have our room sofull at that period that it is difficult to move or breathe. Before weleft Richmond, a gentleman told me, when I really was so exhausted thatI could hardly stand, that 'three people of great fashion' were muchoffended by having been told, when they called last evening, that I wastired and not visible, then, but would be 'at home' from twelve to twonext day! Another gentleman (no doubt of great fashion also) sent aletter to me two hours after I had gone to bed, preparatory to rising atfour next morning, with instructions to the slave who brought it toknock me up and wait for an answer! "I am going to break my resolution of accepting no more publicentertainments, in favor of the originators of the printed documentoverleaf. They live upon the confines of the Indian territory, some twothousand miles or more west of New York! Think of my dining there! Andyet, please God, the festival will come off--I should say about the 12thor 15th of next month. ". . . The printed document was a series of resolutions, moved at a publicmeeting attended by all the principal citizens, judges, professors, anddoctors of St. Louis, urgently inviting to that city of the Far West thedistinguished writer then the guest of America, eulogizing his genius, and tendering to him their warmest hospitalities. He was at Baltimorewhen he closed his letter. "BALTIMORE, _Tuesday, March 22d. _ "I have a great diffidence in running counter to any impression formedby a man of Maclise's genius, on a subject he has fully considered. "(Referring, apparently, to some remark by myself on the picture of thePlay-scene in _Hamlet_, exhibited this year. ) "But I quite agree withyou about the King in _Hamlet_. Talking of Hamlet, I constantly carry inmy great-coat pocket the _Shakspeare_ you bought for me in Liverpool. What an unspeakable source of delight that book is to me! "Your Ontario letter I found here to-night: sent on by the vigilant andfaithful Colden, who makes every thing having reference to us or ouraffairs a labor of the heartiest love. We devoured its contents, greedily. Good Heaven, my dear fellow, how I miss you! and how I countthe time 'twixt this and coming home again! Shall I ever forget the dayof our parting at Liverpool! when even ---- became jolly and radiant inhis sympathy with our separation! Never, never shall I forget that time. Ah! how seriously I thought then, and how seriously I have thought many, many times since, of the terrible folly of ever quarreling with a truefriend, on good-for-nothing trifles! Every little hasty word that hasever passed between us rose up before me like a reproachful ghost. Atthis great distance, I seem to look back upon any miserable smallinterruption of our affectionate intercourse, though only for theinstant it has never outlived, with a sort of pity for myself as if Iwere another creature. "I have bought another accordion. The steward lent me one, on thepassage out, and I regaled the ladies' cabin with my performances. Youcan't think with what feeling I play _Home Sweet Home_ every night, orhow pleasantly sad it makes us. . . . And so God bless you. . . . I leavespace for a short postscript before sealing this, but it will probablycontain nothing. The dear, dear children! what a happiness it is to knowthat they are in such hands! * * * * * "P. S. Twenty-third March, 1842. Nothing new. And all well. I have notheard that the Columbia is in, but she is hourly expected. WashingtonIrving has come on for another leave-taking, [55] and dines with meto-day. We start for the West, at half-after eight to-morrow morning. Isend you a newspaper, the most respectable in the States, with a veryjust copyright article. " FOOTNOTES: [49] At the top of the sheet, above the address and date, are the words"Read on. We _have_ your precious letters, but you'll think at first wehave not. C. D. " [50] The ship next in rotation to the Caledonia from Liverpool. [51] This comparison is employed in another descriptive passage to befound in the _Notes_ (p. 57). [52] _Notes_, p. 49. [53] See _ante_, p. 280. [54] This was the Acadia with the Caledonia mails. [55] At his second visit to America, when in Washington in February, 1868, Dickens, replying to a letter in which Irving was named, thusdescribes the last meeting and leave-taking to which he alludes above:"Your reference to my dear friend Washington Irving renews the vividimpressions reawakened in my mind at Baltimore but the other day. I sawhis fine face for the last time in that city. He came there from NewYork to pass a day or two with me before I went westward; and they weremade among the most memorable of my life by his delightful fancy andgenial humor. Some unknown admirer of his books and mine sent to thehotel a most enormous mint-julep, wreathed with flowers. We sat, one oneither side of it, with great solemnity (it filled a respectably-sizedround table), but the solemnity was of very short duration. It was quitean enchanted julep, and carried us among innumerable people and placesthat we both knew. The julep held out far into the night, and my memorynever saw him afterwards otherwise than as bending over it, with hisstraw, with an attempted air of gravity (after some anecdote involvingsome wonderfully droll and delicate observation of character), and then, as his eye caught mine, melting into that captivating laugh of his, which was the brightest and best I have ever heard. " CHAPTER XXII. CANAL-BOAT JOURNEYS: BOUND FAR WEST. 1842. Character in the Letters--The _Notes_ less satisfactory--Personal Narrative in Letters--The Copyright Differences--Social Dissatisfactions--A Fact to be remembered--Literary Merits of the Letters--Personal Character portrayed--On Board for Pittsburgh--Choicest Passages of _Notes_--Queer Stage-coach--Something revealed on the Top--At Harrisburg--Treaties with Indians--Local Legislatures--A Levee--Morning and Night in Canal-boat--At and after Breakfast--Making the best of it--Hardy Habits--By Rail across Mountain--Mountain Scenery--New Settlements--Original of Eden in _Chuzzlewit_--A Useful Word--Party in America--Home News--Meets an Early Acquaintance--"Smallness of the World"--Queer Customers at Levees--Our Anniversary--The Cincinnati Steamer--Frugality in Water and Linen--Magnetic Experiments--Life-preservers--Bores--Habits of Neatness--Wearying for Home--Another Solitary Prison--New Terror to Loneliness--Arrival at Cincinnati--Two Judges in Attendance--The City described--On the Pavement. It would not be possible that a more vivid or exact impression than thatwhich is derivable from these letters could be given of either thegenius or the character of the writer. The whole man is here in thesupreme hour of his life, and in all the enjoyment of its highestsensations. Inexpressibly sad to me has been the task of going overthem, but the surprise has equaled the sadness. I had forgotten what wasin them. That they contained, in their first vividness, all the mostprominent descriptions of his published book, I knew. But thereproduction of any part of these was not permissible here; and, believing that the substance of them had been thus almost whollyembodied in the _American Notes_, when they were lent to assist in itscomposition, I turned to them with very small expectation of findinganything available for present use. Yet the difficulty has been, not tofind, but to reject; and the rejection when most unavoidable has notbeen most easy. Even where the subjects recur that are in the printedvolume, there is a freshness of first impressions in the letters thatrenders it no small trial to act strictly on the rule adhered to inthese extracts from them. In the _Notes_ there is of course very much, masterly in observation and description, of which there is elsewhere notrace; but the passages amplified from the letters have not beenimproved, and the manly force and directness of some of their views andreflections, conveyed by touches of a picturesque completeness that noelaboration could give, have here and there not been strengthened byrhetorical additions in the printed work. There is also a charm in theletters which the plan adopted in the book necessarily excluded from it. It will always, of course, have value as a deliberate expression of theresults gathered from the American experiences, but the _personalnarrative_ of this famous visit to America is in the letters alone. Inwhat way his experiences arose, the desire at the outset to see nothingthat was not favorable, the slowness with which adverse impressions wereformed, and the eager recognition of every truthful and noble qualitythat arose and remained above the fault-finding, are discoverable onlyin the letters. Already it is manifest from them that the before-mentioneddisappointments, as well of the guest in his entertainers as of theentertainers in their guest, had their beginning in the copyrightdifferences; but it is not less plain that the social dissatisfactionson his side were of even earlier date, and with the country itself hadcertainly nothing to do. It was objected to him, I well remember, thatin making such unfavorable remarks as his published book did on manypoints, he was assailing the democratic institutions that had formed thecharacter of the nation; but the answer is obvious, that, democraticinstitutions being universal in America, they were as fairly entitled toshare in the good as in the bad; and in what he praised, of which thereis here abundant testimony, he must be held to have exalted thoseinstitutions as much, as in what he blamed he could be held todepreciate them. He never sets himself up in judgment on the entirepeople. As we see, from the way the letters show us that the opinions heafterwards published were formed, he does not draw conclusions while hisobservation is only half concluded; and he refrains throughout from theexample too strongly set him, even in the very terms of his welcome bythe writers of America, [56] of flinging one nation in the other's face. He leaves each upon its own ground. His great business in hispublication, as in the first impressions recorded here, is to exhibitsocial influences at work as he saw them himself; and it would surelyhave been of all bad compliments the worst, when resolving, in the toneand with the purpose of a friend, to make public what he had observed inAmerica, if he had supposed that such a country would take truth amiss. There is, however, one thing to be especially remembered, as well inreading the letters as in judging of the book which was founded on them. It is a point to which I believe Mr. Emerson directed the attention ofhis countrymen. Everything of an objectionable kind, whether the authorwould have it so or not, stands out more prominently and distinctly thanmatter of the opposite description. The social sin is a more tangiblething than the social virtue. Pertinaciously to insist upon thecharities and graces of life, is to outrage their quiet and unobtrusivecharacter; but we incur the danger of extending the vulgarities andindecencies if we seem to countenance by omitting to expose them. And ifthis is only kept in view in reading what is here given, the proportionof censure will be found not to overbalance the just admiration andunexaggerated praise. Apart from such considerations, it is to be also said, the letters, fromwhich I am now printing exactly as they were written, have claims, asmere literature, of an unusual kind. Unrivaled quickness of observation, the rare faculty of seizing out of a multitude of things the thing onlythat is essential, the irresistible play of humor, such pathos as onlyhumorists of this high order possess, and the unwearied unforcedvivacity of ever fresh, buoyant, bounding animal spirits, never foundmore natural, variously easy, or picturesque expression. Written amidsuch distraction, fatigue, and weariness as they describe, amid thejarring noises of hotels and streets, aboard steamers, on canal-boats, and in log huts, there is not an erasure in them. Not external objectsonly, but feelings, reflections, and thoughts, are photographed intovisible forms with the same unexampled ease. They borrow no help fromthe matters of which they treat. They would have given, to the subjectsdescribed, old acquaintance and engrossing interest if they had beenabout a people in the moon. Of the personal character at the same timeself-portrayed, others, whose emotions it less vividly awakens, willjudge more calmly and clearly than myself. Yet to myself only can it beknown how small were the services of friendship that sufficed to rouseall the sensibilities of this beautiful and noble nature. Throughout ourlife-long intercourse it was the same. His keenness of discriminationfailed him never excepting here, when it was lost in the limitlessextent of his appreciation of all kindly things; and never did hereceive what was meant for a benefit that he was not eager to return ita hundredfold. No man more truly generous ever lived. His next letter was begun from "on board the canal-boat. Going toPittsburgh. Monday, March twenty-eighth, 1842;" and the difficulties ofrejection, to which reference has just been made, have been nowhere feltby me so much. Several of the descriptive masterpieces of the book arein it, with such touches of original freshness as might fairly havejustified a reproduction of them in their first form. Among these arethe Harrisburg coach on its way through the Susquehanna valley; therailroad across the mountain; the brown-forester of the Mississippi, theinterrogative man in pepper-and-salt, and the affecting scene of theemigrants put ashore as the steamer passes up the Ohio. But all that Imay here give, bearing any resemblance to what is given in the _Notes_, are the opening sketch of the small creature on the top of the queerstage-coach, to which the printed version fails to do adequate justice, and an experience to which the interest belongs of having suggested thesettlement of Eden in _Martin Chuzzlewit_. . . . "We left Baltimore lastThursday, the twenty-fourth, at half-past eight in the morning, byrailroad; and got to a place called York, about twelve. There we dined, and took a stage-coach for Harrisburg; twenty-five miles further. Thisstage-coach was like nothing so much as the body of one of the swingsyou see at a fair set upon four wheels and roofed and covered at thesides with painted canvas. There were twelve _inside_! I, thank mystars, was on the box. The luggage was on the roof; among it, agood-sized dining-table, and a big rocking-chair. We also took up anintoxicated gentleman, who sat for ten miles between me and thecoachman; and another intoxicated gentleman who got up behind, but inthe course of a mile or two fell off without hurting himself, and wasseen in the distant perspective reeling back to the grog-shop where wehad found him. There were four horses to this land-ark, of course; butwe did not perform the journey until after half-past six o'clock thatnight. . . . The first half of the journey was tame enough, but the secondlay through the valley of the Susquehanah (I think I spell it right, butI haven't that American Geography at hand), which is very beautiful. . . . "I think I formerly made a casual remark to you touching the precocityof the youth of this country. When we changed horses on this journey Igot down to stretch my legs, refresh myself with a glass ofwhiskey-and-water, and shake the wet off my great-coat, --for it wasraining very heavily, and continued to do so, all night. Mounting to myseat again, I observed something lying on the roof of the coach, which Itook to be a rather large fiddle in a brown bag. In the course of tenmiles or so, however, I discovered that it had a pair of dirty shoes atone end, and a glazed cap at the other; and further observationdemonstrated it to be a small boy, in a snuff-colored coat, with hisarms quite pinioned to his sides by deep forcing into his pockets. Hewas, I presume, a relative or friend of the coachman's, as he lay atopof the luggage, with his face towards the rain; and, except when achange of position brought his shoes in contact with my hat, he appearedto be asleep. Sir, when we stopped to water the horses, about two milesfrom Harrisburg, this thing slowly upreared itself to the height ofthree foot eight, and, fixing its eyes on me with a mingled expressionof complacency, patronage, national independence, and sympathy for allouter barbarians and foreigners, said, in shrill piping accents, 'Wellnow, stranger, I guess you find this a'most like an Englisha'ternoon, --hey?' It is unnecessary to add that I thirsted for hisblood. . . . "We had all next morning in Harrisburg, as the canal-boat was not tostart until three o'clock in the afternoon. The officials called uponme before I had finished breakfast; and, as the town is the seat of thePennsylvanian legislature, I went up to the Capitol. I was very muchinterested in looking over a number of treaties made with the poorIndians, their signatures being rough drawings of the creatures orweapons they are called after; and the extraordinary drawing of theseemblems, showing the queer, unused, shaky manner in which each man hasheld the pen, struck me very much. "You know my small respect for our House of Commons. These locallegislatures are too insufferably apish of mighty legislation, to beseen without bile; for which reason, and because a great crowd ofsenators and ladies had assembled in both houses to behold theinimitable, and had already begun to pour in upon him even in thesecretary's private room, I went back to the hotel, with all speed. Themembers of both branches of the legislature followed me there, however, so we had to hold the usual levee before our half-past one o'clockdinner. We received a great number of them. Pretty nearly every man spatupon the carpet, as usual; and one blew his nose with his fingers, --alsoon the carpet, which was a very neat one, the room given up to us beingthe private parlor of the landlord's wife. This has become so commonsince, however, that it scarcely seems worth mentioning. Please toobserve that the gentleman in question was a member of the senate, whichanswers (as they very often tell me) to our House of Lords. "The innkeeper was the most attentive, civil, and obliging person I eversaw in my life. On being asked for his bill, he said there was no bill:the honor and pleasure, etc. Being more than sufficient. [57] I did notpermit this, of course, and begged Mr. Q. To explain to him that, traveling four strong, I could not hear of it on any account. "And now I come to the Canal-Boat. Bless your heart and soul, my dearfellow, --if you could only see us on board the canal-boat! Let me think, for a moment, at what time of the day or night I should best like you tosee us. In the morning? Between five and six in the morning, shall Isay? Well! you _would_ like to see me, standing on the deck, fishing thedirty water out of the canal with a tin ladle chained to the boat by along chain; pouring the same into a tin basin (also chained up in likemanner); and scrubbing my face with the jack towel. At night, shall Isay? I don't know that you _would_ like to look into the cabin at night, only to see me lying on a temporary shelf exactly the width of thissheet of paper when it's open (_I measured it this morning_), [58] withone man above me, and another below; and, in all, eight-and-twenty in alow cabin, which you can't stand upright in with your hat on. I don'tthink you would like to look in at breakfast-time either, for then theseshelves have only just been taken down and put away, and the atmosphereof the place is, as you may suppose, by no means fresh; though there_are_ upon the table tea and coffee, and bread and butter, and salmon, and shad, and liver, and steak, and potatoes, and pickles, and ham, andpudding, and sausages; and three-and-thirty people sitting round it, eating and drinking; and savory bottles of gin, and whiskey, and brandy, and rum, in the bar hard by; and seven-and-twenty out of theeight-and-twenty men, in foul linen, with yellow streams fromhalf-chewed tobacco trickling down their chins. Perhaps the best timefor you to take a peep would be the present: eleven o'clock in theforenoon: when the barber is at his shaving, and the gentlemen arelounging about the stove waiting for their turns, and not more thanseventeen are spitting in concert, and two or three are walking overhead(lying down on the luggage every time the man at the helm calls'Bridge!'), and I am writing this in the ladies' cabin, which is a partof the gentlemen's, and only screened off by a red curtain. Indeed, itexactly resembles the dwarf's private apartment in a caravan at a fair;and the gentlemen, generally, represent the spectators at a penny ahead. The place is just as clean and just as large as that caravan youand I were in at Greenwich Fair last past. Outside, it is exactly likeany canal-boat you have seen near the Regent's Park, or elsewhere. "You never can conceive what the hawking and spitting is, the wholenight through. Last night was the worst. _Upon my honor and word_ I wasobliged, this morning, to lay my fur coat on the deck, and wipe thehalf-dried flakes of spittle from it with my handkerchief; and the onlysurprise seemed to be that I should consider it necessary to do so. WhenI turned in last night, I put it on a stool beside me, and there it lay, under a cross-fire from five men, --three opposite, one above, and onebelow. I make no complaints, and show no disgust. I am looked upon ashighly facetious at night, for I crack jokes with everybody near meuntil we fall asleep. I am considered very hardy in the morning, for Irun up, bare-necked, and plunge my head into the half-frozen water, byhalf-past five o'clock. I am respected for my activity, inasmuch as Ijump from the boat to the towing-path, and walk five or six miles beforebreakfast; keeping up with the horses all the time. In a word, they arequite astonished to find a sedentary Englishman roughing it so well, andtaking so much exercise; and question me very much on that head. Thegreater part of the men will sit and shiver round the stove all day, rather than put one foot before the other. As to having a window open, that's not to be thought of. "We expect to reach Pittsburgh to-night, between eight and nine o'clock;and there we ardently hope to find your March letters awaiting us. Wehave had, with the exception of Friday afternoon, exquisite weather, butcold. Clear starlight and moonlight nights. The canal has run, for themost part, by the side of the Susquehanah and Iwanata rivers; and hasbeen carried through tremendous obstacles. Yesterday we crossed themountain. This is done _by railroad_. . . . You dine at an inn upon themountain; and, including the half-hour allowed for the meal, are rathermore than five hours performing this strange part of the journey. Thepeople north and 'down east' have terrible legends of its danger; butthey appear to be exceedingly careful, and don't go to work at allwildly. There are some queer precipices close to the rails, certainly;but every precaution is taken, I am inclined to think, that suchdifficulties, and such a vast work, will admit of. "The scenery, before you reach the mountains, and when you are on them, and after you have left them, is very grand and fine; and the canalwinds its way through some deep, sullen gorges, which, seen bymoonlight, are very impressive: though immeasurably inferior to Glencoe, to whose terrors I have not seen the smallest _approach_. We havepassed, both in the mountains and elsewhere, a great number of newsettlements and detached log houses. Their utterly forlorn and miserableappearance baffles all description. I have not seen six cabins out ofsix hundred, where the windows have been whole. Old hats, old clothes, old boards, old fragments of blanket and paper, are stuffed into thebroken glass; and their air is misery and desolation. It pains the eyeto see the stumps of great trees thickly strewn in every field of wheat;and never to lose the eternal swamp and dull morass, with hundreds ofrotten trunks, of elm and pine and sycamore and logwood, steeped in itsunwholesome water; where the frogs so croak at night that after darkthere is an incessant sound as if millions of phantom teams, with bells, were traveling through the upper air, at an enormous distance off. It isquite an oppressive circumstance, too, to _come_ upon great tracks, where settlers have been burning down the trees; and where their woundedbodies lie about, like those of murdered creatures; while here and theresome charred and blackened giant rears two bare arms aloft, and seems tocurse his enemies. The prettiest sight I have seen was yesterday, whenwe--on the heights of the mountain, and in a keen wind--looked down intoa valley full of light and softness; catching glimpses of scatteredcabins; children running to the doors; dogs bursting out to bark; pigsscampering home, like so many prodigal sons; families sitting out intheir gardens; cows gazing upward, with a stupid indifference; men intheir shirt-sleeves, looking on at their unfinished houses, and planningwork for to-morrow;--and the train riding on, high above them, like astorm. But I know this is beautiful--very--very beautiful! "I wonder whether you and Mac mean to go to Greenwich Fair! Perhaps youdine at the Crown and Sceptre to-day, for it's Easter-Monday--who knows!I wish you drank punch, dear Forster. It's a shabby thing, not to beable to picture you with that cool green glass. . . . "I told you of the many uses of the word 'fix. ' I ask Mr. Q. On board asteamboat if breakfast be nearly ready, and he tells me yes he shouldthink so, for when he was last below the steward was 'fixing thetables'--in other words, laying the cloth. When we have been writing, and I beg him (do you remember anything of my love of order, at thisdistance of time?) to collect our papers, he answers that he'll 'fix 'empresently. ' So when a man's dressing he's 'fixing' himself, and when youput yourself under a doctor he 'fixes' you in no time. T'other night, before we came on board here, when I had ordered a bottle of mulledclaret and waited some time for it, it was put on table with an apologyfrom the landlord (a lieutenant-colonel) that 'he feared it wasn't fixedproperly. ' And here, on Saturday morning, a Western man, handing thepotatoes to Mr. Q. At breakfast, inquired if he wouldn't take some of'these fixings' with his meat. I remained as grave as a judge. I catchthem looking at me sometimes, and feel that they think I don't take anynotice. Politics are very high here; dreadfully strong; handbills, denunciations, invectives, threats, and quarrels. The question is, whoshall be the next President. The election comes off in _three years anda half_ from this time. " He resumed his letter, "on board the steamboat from Pittsburgh toCincinnati, April the 1st, 1842. A very tremulous steamboat, which makesmy hand shake. This morning, my dear friend, this very morning, which, passing by without bringing news from England, would have seen us on ourway to St. Louis (viâ Cincinnati and Louisville) with sad hearts anddejected countenances, and the prospect of remaining for at least threeweeks longer without any intelligence of those so inexpressibly dear tous--this very morning, bright and lucky morning that it was, a greatpacket was brought to our bedroom door, from HOME. How I have read andre-read your affectionate, hearty, interesting, funny, serious, delightful, and thoroughly Forsterian Columbia letter, I will notattempt to tell you; or how glad I am that you liked my first; or howafraid I am that my second was not written in such good spirits as itshould have been; or how glad I am again to think that my third _was_;or how I hope you will find some amusement from my fourth: this presentmissive. All this, and more affectionate and earnest words than thepost-office would convey at any price, though they have no sharp edgesto hurt the stamping-clerk--you will understand, I know, withoutexpression, or attempt at expression. So, having got over the firstagitation of so much pleasure; and having walked the deck; and being nowin the cabin, where one party are playing at chess, and another partyare asleep, and another are talking round the stove, and all arespitting; and a persevering bore of a horrible New Englander with adroning voice like a gigantic bee _will_ sit down beside me, though I amwriting, and talk incessantly, in my very ear, to Kate; here goes again. "Let me see. I should tell you, first, that we got to Pittsburgh betweeneight and nine o'clock of the evening of the day on which I left off atthe top of this sheet; and were there received by a little man (a verylittle man) whom I knew years ago in London. He rejoiceth in the name ofD. G. ; and, when I knew him, was in partnership with his father on theStock-Exchange, and lived handsomely at Dalston. They failed in businesssoon afterwards, and then this little man began to turn to account whathad previously been his amusement and accomplishment, by painting littlesubjects for the fancy shops. So I lost sight of him, nearly ten yearsago; and here he turned up t'other day, as a portrait-painter inPittsburgh! He had previously written me a letter which moved me a gooddeal, by a kind of quiet independence and contentment it breathed, andstill a painful sense of being alone, so very far from home. I receivedit in Philadelphia, and answered it. He dined with us every day of ourstay in Pittsburgh (they were only three), and was truly gratified anddelighted to find me unchanged, --more so than I can tell you. I am veryglad to-night to think how much happiness we have fortunately been ableto give him. "Pittsburgh is like Birmingham--at least its townsfolks say so; and Ididn't contradict them. It is, in one respect. There is a great deal ofsmoke in it. I quite offended a man at our yesterday's levee, whosupposed I was 'now quite at home, ' by telling him that the notion ofLondon being so dark a place was a popular mistake. We had very queercustomers at our receptions, I do assure you. Not least among them, agentleman with his inexpressibles imperfectly buttoned and his waistbandresting on his thighs, who stood behind the half-opened door, and couldby no temptation or inducement be prevailed upon to come out. There wasalso another gentleman, with one eye and one fixed gooseberry, who stoodin a corner, motionless like an eight-day clock, and glared upon me, asI courteously received the Pittsburgians. There were also two red-headedbrothers--boys--young dragons rather--who hovered about Kate, andwouldn't go. A great crowd they were, for three days; and a very queerone. " "STILL IN THE SAME BOAT. _April the Second, 1842. _ "Many, many happy returns of the day. It's only eight o'clock in themorning now, but we mean to drink your health after dinner, in a bumper;and scores of Richmond dinners to us! We have some wine (a present senton board by our Pittsburgh landlord) in our own cabin; and we shall tapit to good purpose, I assure you; wishing you all manner and kinds ofhappiness, and a long life to ourselves that we may be partakers of it. We have wondered a hundred times already, whether you and Mac will dineanywhere together, in honor of the day. I say yes, but Kate says no. Shepredicts that you'll ask Mac, and he won't go. I have not yet heard fromhim. "We have a better cabin here than we had on board the Britannia; theberths being much wider, and the den having two doors: one opening onthe ladies' cabin, and one upon a little gallery in the stern of theboat. We expect to be at Cincinnati some time on Monday morning, and wecarry about fifty passengers. The cabin for meals goes right through theboat, from the prow to the stern, and is very long; only a small portionof it being divided off, by a partition of wood and ground glass, forthe ladies. We breakfast at half-after seven, dine at one, and sup atsix. Nobody will sit down to any one of these meals, though the dishesare smoking on the board, until the ladies have appeared and taken theirchairs. It was the same in the canal-boat. "The washing department is a little more civilized than it was on thecanal, but bad is the best. Indeed, the Americans when they aretraveling, as Miss Martineau seems disposed to admit, are exceedinglynegligent; not to say dirty. To the best of my making out, the ladies, under most circumstances, are content with smearing their hands andfaces in a very small quantity of water. So are the men; who superadd tothat mode of ablution a hasty use of the common brush and comb. It isquite a practice, too, to wear but one cotton shirt a week, and three orfour fine linen _fronts_. Anne reports that this is Mr. Q. 's course ofproceeding; and my portrait-painting friend told me that it was thecase with pretty nearly all his sitters; so that when he bought a pieceof cloth not long ago, and instructed the sempstress to make it _all_into shirts, not fronts, she thought him deranged. "My friend the New Englander, of whom I wrote last night, is perhaps themost intolerable bore on this vast continent. He drones, and snuffles, and writes poems, and talks small philosophy and metaphysics, and never_will_ be quiet, under any circumstances. He is going to a greattemperance convention at Cincinnati; along with a doctor of whom I sawsomething at Pittsburgh. The doctor, in addition to being everythingthat the New Englander is, is a phrenologist besides. I dodge them aboutthe boat. Whenever I appear on deck, I see them bearing down uponme--and fly. The New Englander was very anxious last night that he and Ishould 'form a magnetic chain, ' and magnetize the doctor, for thebenefit of all incredulous passengers; but I declined on the plea oftremendous occupation in the way of letter-writing. "And, speaking of magnetism, let me tell you that the other night atPittsburgh, there being present only Mr. Q. And the portrait-painter, Kate sat down, laughing, for me to try my hand upon her. I had beenholding forth upon the subject rather luminously, and asserting that Ithought I could exercise the influence, but had never tried. In sixminutes, I magnetized her into hysterics, and then into the magneticsleep. I tried again next night, and she fell into the slumber in littlemore than two minutes. . . . I can wake her with perfect ease; but Iconfess (not being prepared for anything so sudden and complete) I wason the first occasion rather alarmed. . . . The Western parts beingsometimes hazardous, I have fitted out the whole of my little companywith LIFE-PRESERVERS, which I inflate with great solemnity when we getaboard any boat, and keep, as Mrs. Cluppins did her umbrella in thecourt of common pleas, ready for use upon a moment's notice. ". . . He resumed his letter, on "Sunday, April the third, " with allusion to ageneral who had called upon him in Washington with two literary ladies, and had written to him next day for an immediate interview, as "the twoLL's" were ambitious of the honor of a personal introduction. "Besidesthe doctor and the dread New Englander, we have on board that valiantgeneral who wrote to me about the 'two LL's. ' He is an old, old man witha weazen face, and the remains of a pigeon-breast in his militarysurtout. He is acutely gentlemanly and officer-like. The breast has sosubsided, and the face has become so strongly marked, that he seems, like a pigeon-pie, to show only the feet of the bird outside, and tokeep the rest to himself. He is perhaps _the_ most horrible bore in thiscountry. And I am quite serious when I say that I do not believe thereare, on the whole earth besides, so many intensified bores as in theseUnited States. No man can form an adequate idea of the real meaning ofthe word, without coming here. There are no particular characters onboard, with these three exceptions. Indeed, I seldom see the passengersbut at meal-times, as I read and write in our own little state-room. . . . I have smuggled two chairs into our crib, and write this on a book uponmy knee. Everything is in the neatest order, of course; and myshaving-tackle, dressing-case, brushes, books, and papers, are arrangedwith as much precision as if we were going to remain here a month. ThankGod we are not. "The average width of the river rather exceeds that of the Thames atGreenwich. In parts it is much broader; and then there is usually agreen island, covered with trees, dividing it into two streams. Occasionally we stop for a few minutes at a small town, or village (Iought to say city, everything is a city here); but the banks are for themost part deep solitudes, overgrown with trees, which, in these westernlatitudes, are already in leaf, and very green. . . . "All this I see, as I write, from the little door into the stern-gallerywhich I mentioned just now. It don't happen six times in a day that anyother passenger comes near it; and, as the weather is amply warm enoughto admit of our sitting with it open, here we remain from morning untilnight: reading, writing, talking. What our theme of conversation is, Ineed not tell you. No beauty or variety makes us weary less for home. Wecount the days, and say, 'When May comes, and we can say--_nextmonth_--the time will seem almost gone. ' We are never tired of imaginingwhat you are all about. I allow of no calculation for the difference ofclocks, but insist on a corresponding minute in London. It is much theshortest way, and best. . . . Yesterday, we drank your health and manyhappy returns--in wine, after dinner; in a small milk-pot jug ofgin-punch, at night. And when I made a temporary table, to hold thelittle candlestick, of one of my dressing-case trays; cunningly insertedunder the mattress of my berth with a weight atop of it to keep it inits place, so that it made a perfectly exquisite bracket; we agreed, that, please God, this should be a joke at the Star and Garter on thesecond of April eighteen hundred and forty-three. If your blank _can_ besurpassed, . . . Believe me ours transcends it. My heart gets, sometimes, SORE for home. "At Pittsburgh I saw another solitary confinement prison: Pittsburghbeing also in Pennsylvania. A horrible thought occurred to me when I wasrecalling all I had seen, that night. _What if ghosts be one of theterrors of these jails?_ I have pondered on it often, since then. Theutter solitude by day and night; the many hours of darkness; the silenceof death; the mind forever brooding on melancholy themes, and having norelief; sometimes an evil conscience very busy; imagine a prisonercovering up his head in the bedclothes and looking out from time totime, with a ghastly dread of some inexplicable silent figure thatalways sits upon his bed, or stands (if a thing can be said to stand, that never walks as men do) in the same corner of his cell. The more Ithink of it, the more certain I feel that not a few of these men (duringa portion of their imprisonment at least) are nightly visited byspectres. I did ask one man in this last jail, if he dreamed much. Hegave me a most extraordinary look, and said--under his breath--in awhisper, 'No. '" "CINCINNATI. _Fourth April, 1842. _ "We arrived here this morning: about three o'clock, I believe, but I wasfast asleep in my berth. I turned out soon after six, dressed, andbreakfasted on board. About half-after eight, we came ashore and droveto the hotel, to which we had written on from Pittsburgh orderingrooms; and which is within a stone's throw of the boat-wharf. Before Ihad issued an official notification that we were 'not at home, ' twoJudges called, on the part of the inhabitants, to know when we wouldreceive the townspeople. We appointed to-morrow morning, from half-pasteleven to one; arranged to go out, with these two gentlemen, to see thetown, _at_ one; and were fixed for an evening party to-morrow night atthe house of one of them. On Wednesday morning we go on by the mail-boatto Louisville, a trip of fourteen hours; and from that place proceed inthe next good boat to St. Louis, which is a voyage of four days. Findingfrom my judicial friends (well-informed and most agreeable gentlemen)this morning that the prairie travel to Chicago is a very fatiguing one, and that the lakes are stormy, sea-sicky, and not over safe at thisseason, I wrote by our captain to St. Louis (for the boat that broughtus here goes on there) to the effect, that I should not take the lakeroute, but should come back here; and should visit the prairies, whichare within thirty miles of St. Louis, immediately on my arrivalthere. . . . "I have walked to the window, since I turned this page, to see whataspect the town wears. We are in a wide street: paved in thecarriage-way with small white stones, and in the footway with small redtiles. The houses are for the most part one story high; some are ofwood; others of a clean white brick. Nearly all have green blindsoutside every window. The principal shops over the way are, according tothe inscriptions over them, a Large Bread Bakery; a Book Bindery; a DryGoods Store; and a Carriage Repository; the last-named establishmentlooking very like an exceedingly small retail coal-shed. On the pavementunder our window, a black man is chopping wood; and another black man istalking (confidentially) to a pig. The public table, at this hotel andat the hotel opposite, has just now finished dinner. The diners arecollected on the pavement, on both sides of the way, picking theirteeth, and talking. The day being warm, some of them have brought chairsinto the street. Some are on three chairs; some on two; and some, indefiance of all known laws of gravity, are sitting quite comfortably onone: with three of the chair's legs, and their own two, high up in theair. The loungers, underneath our window, are talking of a greatTemperance convention which comes off here to-morrow. Others, about me. Others, about England. Sir Robert Peel is popular here, witheverybody. . . . " FOOTNOTES: [56] See _ante_, pp. 307, 308. [57] Miss Martineau was perhaps partly right, then? _Ante_, p. 344. [58] Sixteen inches exactly. CHAPTER XXIII. THE FAR WEST: TO NIAGARA FALLS. 1842. Descriptions in Letters and in _Notes_--Outline of Westward Travel--An Arabian Night City--A Temperance Festival--A Party at Judge Walker's--The Party from another View--Mournful Results of Boredom--Young Lady's Description of C. D. --Down the Mississippi--Listening and Watching--A Levee at St. Louis--Compliments--Lord Ashburton's Arrival--Talk with a Judge on Slavery--A Negro burnt alive--Feeling of Slaves themselves--American Testimony--Pretty Little Scene--A Mother and her Husband--The Baby--St. Louis in Sight--Meeting of Wife and Husband--Trip to a Prairie--On the Prairie at Sunset--General Character of Scenery--The Prairie described--Disappointment and Enjoyment--Soirée at Planter's House Inn--Good Fare--No Gray Heads in St. Louis--Dueling--Mrs. Dickens as a Traveler--From Cincinnati to Columbus--What a Levee is like--From Columbus to Sandusky--The Travelers alone--A Log House Inn--Making tidy--A Momentary Crisis--Americans not a Humorous People--The Only Recreations--From Sandusky to Buffalo--On Lake Erie--Reception and Consolation of a Mayor--From Buffalo to Niagara--Nearing the Falls--The Horse-shoe--Effect upon him of Niagara--The Old Recollection--Looking forward. THE next letter described his experiences in the Far West, his stay inSt. Louis, his visit to a prairie, the return to Cincinnati, and, aftera stage-coach ride from that city to Columbus, the travel thence toSandusky, and so, by Lake Erie, to the Falls of Niagara. All thesesubjects appear in the _Notes_, but nothing printed there is repeatedin the extracts now to be given. Of the closing passages of his journey, when he turned from Columbus in the direction of home, the story, herefor the first time told, is in his most characteristic vein; the accountthat will be found of the prairie will probably be preferred to what isgiven in the _Notes_; the Cincinnati sketches are very pleasant; andeven such a description as that of the Niagara Falls, of which so muchis made in the book, has here an independent novelty and freshness. Thefirst vividness is in his letter. The naturalness of associating noimage or sense but of repose, with a grandeur so mighty and resistless, is best presented suddenly; and, in a few words, we have the material aswell as moral beauty of a scene unrivaled in its kind upon the earth. The instant impression we find to be worth more than the eloquentrecollection. The captain of the boat that had dropped them at Cincinnati and gone toSt. Louis had stayed in the latter place until they were able to joinand return with him; this letter bears date accordingly, "On board theMessenger again. Going from St. Louis back to Cincinnati. Friday, fifteenth April, 1842;" and its first paragraph is an outline of themovements which it afterwards describes in detail. "We remained inCincinnati one whole day after the date of my last, and left onWednesday morning, the 6th. We reached Louisville soon after midnight onthe same night; and slept there. Next day at one o'clock we putourselves on board another steamer, and traveled on until Sundayevening, the tenth; when we reached St. Louis at about nine o'clock. Thenext day we devoted to seeing the city. Next day, Tuesday, the twelfth, I started off with a party of men (we were fourteen in all) to see aprairie; returned to St. Louis about noon on the thirteenth; attended asoirée and ball--not a dinner--given in my honor that night; andyesterday afternoon at four o'clock we turned our faces homewards. ThankHeaven! "Cincinnati is only fifty years old, but is a very beautiful city; Ithink the prettiest place I have seen here, except Boston. It has risenout of the forest like an Arabian-Night city; is well laid out;ornamented in the suburbs with pretty villas; and above all, for this isa very rare feature in America, has smooth turf-plots and well-keptgardens. There happened to be a great temperance festival; and theprocession mustered under, and passed, our windows early in the morning. I suppose they were twenty thousand strong, at least. Some of thebanners were quaint and odd enough. The ship-carpenters, for instance, displayed on one side of their flag the good Ship Temperance in fullsail; on the other, the Steamer Alcohol blowing up sky-high. TheIrishmen had a portrait of Father Mathew, you may be sure. AndWashington's broad lower jaw (by-the-by, Washington had not a pleasantface) figured in all parts of the ranks. In a kind of square at oneoutskirt of the city they divided into bodies, and were addressed bydifferent speakers. Drier speaking I never heard. I own that I feltquite uncomfortable to think they could take the taste of it out oftheir mouths with nothing better than water. "In the evening we went to a party at Judge Walker's, and wereintroduced to at least one hundred and fifty first-rate bores, separately and singly. I was required to sit down by the greater part ofthem, and talk![59] In the night we were serenaded (as we usually arein every place we come to), and very well serenaded, I assure you. Butwe were very much knocked up. I really think my face has acquired afixed expression of sadness from the constant and unmitigated boring Iendure. The LL's have carried away all my cheerfulness. There is a linein my chin (on the right side of the under lip), indelibly fixed thereby the New Englander I told you of in my last. I have the print of acrow's foot on the outside of my left eye, which I attribute to theliterary characters of small towns. A dimple has vanished from my cheek, which I felt myself robbed of at the time by a wise legislator. But onthe other hand I am really indebted for a good broad grin to P. . E. . , literary critic of Philadelphia, and sole proprietor of the Englishlanguage in its grammatical and idiomatical purity; to P. . E. . , with theshiny straight hair and turned-down shirt-collar, who taketh all of usEnglish men of letters to task in print, roundly and uncompromisingly, but told me, at the same time, that I had 'awakened a new era' in hismind. . . . "The last 200 miles of the voyage from Cincinnati to St. Louis are uponthe Mississippi, for you come down the Ohio to its mouth. It is well forsociety that this Mississippi, the renowned father of waters, had nochildren who take after him. It is the beastliest river in theworld. ". . . (His description is in the _Notes_. ) "Conceive the pleasure of rushing down this stream by night (as we didlast night) at the rate of fifteen miles an hour; striking againstfloating blocks of timber every instant; and dreading some infernal blowat every bump. The helmsman in these boats is in a little glass houseupon the roof. In the Mississippi, another man stands in the very headof the vessel, listening and watching intently; listening, because theycan tell in dark nights by the noise when any great obstruction is athand. This man holds the rope of a large bell which hangs close to thewheel-house, and whenever he pulls it the engine is to stop directly, and not to stir until he rings again. Last night, this bell rang atleast once in every five minutes; and at each alarm there was aconcussion which nearly flung one out of bed. . . . While I have beenwriting this account, we have shot out of that hideous river, thanks beto God; never to see it again, I hope, but in a nightmare. We are now onthe smooth Ohio, and the change is like the transition from pain toperfect ease. "We had a very crowded levee in St. Louis. Of course the paper had anaccount of it. If I were to drop a letter in the street, it would be inthe newspaper next day, and nobody would think its publication anoutrage. The editor objected to my hair, as not curling sufficiently. Headmitted an eye; but objected again to dress, as being somewhat foppish, 'and indeed perhaps rather flash. ' 'But such, ' he benevolently adds, 'are the differences between American and English taste--rendered moreapparent, perhaps, by all the other gentlemen present being dressed inblack. ' Oh that you could have seen the other gentlemen! . . . "A St. Louis lady complimented Kate upon her voice and manner ofspeaking, assuring her that she should never have suspected her of beingScotch, or even English. She was so obliging as to add that she wouldhave taken her for an American, anywhere: which she (Kate) was no doubtaware was a very great compliment, as the Americans were admitted on allhands to have greatly refined upon the English language! I need not tellyou that out of Boston and New York a nasal drawl is universal, but Imay as well hint that the prevailing grammar is also more than doubtful;that the oddest vulgarisms are received idioms; that all the women whohave been bred in slave-States speak more or less like negroes, fromhaving been constantly in their childhood with black nurses; and thatthe most fashionable and aristocratic (these are two words in greatuse), instead of asking you in what place you were born, inquire whereyou 'hail from. ' ! ! "Lord Ashburton arrived at Annapolis t'other day, after a voyage offorty odd days in heavy weather. Straightway the newspapers state, onthe authority of a correspondent who 'rowed round the ship' (I leave youto fancy her condition), that America need fear no superiority fromEngland, in respect of her wooden walls. The same correspondent is'quite pleased' with the frank manner of the English officers; andpatronizes them as being, for John Bulls, quite refined. My face, likeHaji Baba's, turns upside down, and my liver is changed to water, when Icome upon such things, and think who writes and who read them. . . . "They won't let me alone about slavery. A certain judge in St. Louiswent so far yesterday that I fell upon him (to the indescribable horrorof the man who brought him) and told him a piece of my mind. I said thatI was very averse to speaking on the subject here, and always forbore, if possible; but when he pitied our national ignorance of the truths ofslavery, I must remind him that we went upon indisputable records, obtained after many years of careful investigation, and at all sorts ofself-sacrifice, and that I believed we were much more competent to judgeof its atrocity and horror than he who had been brought up in the midstof it. I told him that I could sympathize with men who admitted it to bea dreadful evil, but frankly confessed their inability to devise a meansof getting rid of it; but that men who spoke of it as a blessing, as amatter of course, as a state of things to be desired, were out of thepale of reason; and that for them to speak of ignorance or prejudice wasan absurdity too ridiculous to be combated. . . . "It is not six years ago, since a slave in this very same St. Louis, being arrested (I forget for what), and knowing he had no chance of afair trial, be his offense what it might, drew his bowie-knife andripped the constable across the body. A scuffle ensuing, the desperatenegro stabbed two others with the same weapon. The mob who gatheredround (among whom were men of mark, wealth, and influence in the place)overpowered him by numbers; carried him away to a piece of open groundbeyond the city; _and burned him alive_. This, I say, was done withinsix years, in broad day; in a city with its courts, lawyers, tipstaffs, judges, jails, and hangman; and not a hair on the head of one of thosemen has been hurt to this day. And it is, believe me, it is themiserable, wretched independence in small things, the paltryrepublicanism which recoils from honest service to an honest man, butdoes not shrink from every trick, artifice, and knavery in business, that makes these slaves necessary, and will render them so, until theindignation of other countries sets them free. "They say the slaves are fond of their masters. Look at this prettyvignette[60] (part of the stock in trade of a newspaper), and judge howyou would feel, when men, looking in your face, told you such tales withthe newspaper lying on the table. In all the slave-districts, advertisements for runaways are as much matters of course as theannouncement of the play for the evening with us. The poor creaturesthemselves fairly worship English people: they would do anything forthem. They are perfectly acquainted with all that takes place inreference to emancipation; and _of course_ their attachment to us growsout of their deep devotion to their owners. I cut this illustration outof a newspaper which had a leader in reference to _the abominable andhellish doctrine of Abolition--repugnant alike to every law of God andNature_. 'I know something, ' said a Dr. Bartlett (a very accomplishedman), late a fellow-passenger of ours, --'I know something of theirfondness for their masters. I live in Kentucky; and I can assert uponmy honor that, in my neighborhood, it is as common for a runaway slave, retaken, to draw his bowie-knife and rip his owner's bowels open, as itis for you to see a drunken fight in London. ' "SAME BOAT, _Saturday, Sixteenth April, 1842. _ "Let me tell you, my dear Forster, before I forget it, a pretty littlescene we had on board the boat between Louisville and St. Louis, as wewere going to the latter place. It is not much to tell, but it was verypleasant and interesting to witness. " What follows has been printed in the _Notes_, and ought not, by the ruleI have laid down, to be given here. But, beautiful as the printeddescription is, it has not profited by the alteration of some touchesand the omission of others in the first fresh version of it, which, forthat reason, I here preserve, --one of the most charming soul-feltpictures of character and emotion that ever warmed the heart in fact orfiction. It was, I think, Jeffrey's favorite passage in all the writingsof Dickens; and certainly, if any one would learn the secret of theirpopularity, it is to be read in the observation and description of thislittle incident. "There was a little woman on board, with a little baby; and both littlewoman and little child were cheerful, good-looking, bright-eyed, andfair to see. The little woman had been passing a long time with a sickmother in New York, and had left her home in St. Louis in that conditionin which ladies who truly love their lords desire to be. The baby hadbeen born in her mother's house, and she had not seen her husband (towhom she was now returning) for twelve months: having left him a monthor two after their marriage. Well, to be sure, there never was a littlewoman so full of hope, and tenderness, and love, and anxiety, as thislittle woman was: and there she was, all the livelong day, wonderingwhether 'he' would be at the wharf; and whether 'he' had got her letter;and whether, if she sent the baby on shore by somebody else, _'he' wouldknow it, meeting it in the street_: which, seeing that he had never seteyes upon it in his life, was not very likely in the abstract, but wasprobable enough to the young mother. She was such an artless littlecreature; and was in such a sunny, beaming, hopeful state; and let outall this matter, clinging close about her heart, so freely; that all theother lady passengers entered into the spirit of it as much as she: andthe captain (who heard all about it from his wife) was wondrous sly, Ipromise you: inquiring, every time we met at table, whether she expectedanybody to meet her at St. Louis, and supposing she wouldn't want to goashore the night we reached it, and cutting many other dry jokes whichconvulsed all his hearers, but especially the ladies. There was onelittle, weazen, dried-apple old woman among them, who took occasion todoubt the constancy of husbands under such circumstances of bereavement;and there was another lady (with a lap-dog), old enough to moralize onthe lightness of human affections, and yet not so old that she couldhelp nursing the baby now and then, or laughing with the rest when thelittle woman called it by its father's name, and asked it all manner offantastic questions concerning him, in the joy of her heart. It wassomething of a blow to the little woman that when we were within twentymiles of our destination it became clearly necessary to put the baby tobed; but she got over that with the same good humor, tied a littlehandkerchief over her little head, and came out into the gallery withthe rest. Then, such an oracle as she became in reference to thelocalities! and such facetiousness as was displayed by the marriedladies! and such sympathy as was shown by the single ones! and suchpeals of laughter as the little woman herself (who would just as soonhave cried) greeted every jest with! At last, there were the lights ofSt. Louis--and here was the wharf--and those were the steps--and thelittle woman, covering her face with her hands, and laughing, or seemingto laugh, more than ever, ran into her own cabin, and shut herself uptight. I have no doubt that, in the charming inconsistency of suchexcitement, she stopped her ears lest she should hear 'him' asking forher; but I didn't see her do it. Then a great crowd of people rushed onboard, though the boat was not yet made fast, and was staggering aboutamong the other boats to find a landing-place; and everybody looked forthe husband, and nobody saw him; when all of a sudden, right in themidst of them, --God knows how she ever got there, --there was the littlewoman hugging with both arms round the neck of a fine, good-looking, sturdy fellow! And in a moment afterwards, there she was again, dragginghim through the small door of her small cabin, to look at the baby as helay asleep!--What a good thing it is to know that so many of us wouldhave been quite down-hearted and sorry if that husband had failed tocome!" He then resumes; but in what follows nothing is repeated that will befound in his printed description of the jaunt to the looking-glassprairie: "But about the prairie--it is not, I must confess, so good in its way asthis; but I'll tell you all about that too, and leave you to judge foryourself. Tuesday the 12th was the day fixed; and we were to start atfive in the morning--sharp. I turned out at four; shaved and dressed;got some bread and milk; and, throwing up the window, looked down intothe street. Deuce a coach was there, nor did anybody seem to be stirringin the house. I waited until half-past five; but no preparations beingvisible even then, I left Mr. Q. To look out, and lay down upon the bedagain. There I slept until nearly seven, when I was called. . . . Exclusiveof Mr. Q. And myself, there were twelve of my committee in the party:all lawyers except one. He was an intelligent, mild, well-informedgentleman of my own age, --the Unitarian minister of the place. With him, and two other companions, I got into the first coach. . . . "We halted at so good an inn at Lebanon that we resolved to return thereat night, if possible. One would scarcely find a better village alehouseof a homely kind in England. During our halt I walked into the village, and met a _dwelling-house_ coming down-hill at a good round trot, drawnby some twenty oxen! We resumed our journey as soon as possible, and gotupon the looking-glass prairie at sunset. We halted near a solitary loghouse for the sake of its water; unpacked the baskets; formed anencampment with the carriages; and dined. "Now, a prairie is undoubtedly worth seeing--but more, that one may sayone has seen it, than for any sublimity it possesses in itself. Likemost things, great or small, in this country, you hear of it withconsiderable exaggerations. Basil Hall was really quite right indepreciating the general character of the scenery. The widely-famed FarWest is not to be compared with even the tamest portions of Scotland orWales. You stand upon the prairie, and see the unbroken horizon allround you. You are on a great plain, which is like a sea without water. I am exceedingly fond of wild and lonely scenery, and believe that Ihave the faculty of being as much impressed by it as any man living. Butthe prairie fell, by far, short of my preconceived idea. I felt no suchemotions as I do in crossing Salisbury Plain. The excessive flatness ofthe scene makes it dreary, but tame. Grandeur is certainly not itscharacteristic. I retired from the rest of the party, to understand myown feelings the better; and looked all round, again and again. It wasfine. It was worth the ride. The sun was going down, very red andbright; and the prospect looked like that ruddy sketch of Catlin's, which attracted our attention (you remember?); except that there was notso much ground as he represents, between the spectator and the horizon. But to say (as the fashion is here) that the sight is a landmark inone's existence, and awakens a new set of sensations, is sheer gammon. Iwould say to every man who can't see a prairie--go to Salisbury Plain, Marlborough Downs, or any of the broad, high, open lands near the sea. Many of them are fully as impressive, and Salisbury Plain is _decidedly_more so. "We had brought roast fowls, buffalo's tongue, ham, bread, cheese, butter, biscuits, sherry, champagne, lemons and sugar for punch, andabundance of ice. It was a delicious meal; and, as they were mostanxious that I should be pleased, I warmed myself into a state ofsurpassing jollity; proposed toasts from the coach-box (which was thechair); ate and drank with the best; and made, I believe, an excellentcompanion to a very friendly companionable party. In an hour or so wepacked up, and drove back to the inn at Lebanon. While supper waspreparing, I took a pleasant walk with my Unitarian friend; and when itwas over (we drank nothing with it but tea and coffee) we went to bed. The clergyman and I had an exquisitely clean little chamber of our own;and the rest of the party were quartered overhead. . . . "We got back to St. Louis soon after twelve at noon; and I rested duringthe remainder of the day. The soirée came off at night, in a very goodball-room at our inn, --the Planter's House. The whole of the guests wereintroduced to us, singly. We were glad enough, you may believe, to comeaway at midnight; and were very tired. Yesterday, I wore a blouse. To-day, a fur coat. Trying changes! "IN THE SAME BOAT, "_Sunday, Sixteenth April, 1842. _ "The inns in these outlandish corners of the world would astonish you bytheir goodness. The Planter's House is as large as the MiddlesexHospital, and built very much on our hospital plan, with long wardsabundantly ventilated, and plain whitewashed walls. They had a famousnotion of sending up at breakfast-time large glasses of new milk withblocks of ice in them as clear as crystal. Our table was abundantlysupplied indeed at every meal. One day when Kate and I were dining alonetogether, in our own room, we counted sixteen dishes on the table at thesame time. "The society is pretty rough, and intolerably conceited. All theinhabitants are young. _I didn't see one gray head in St. Louis. _ Thereis an island close by, called Bloody Island. It is the dueling-ground ofSt. Louis; and is so called from the last fatal duel which was foughtthere. It was a pistol duel, breast to breast, and both parties felldead at the same time. One of our prairie party (a young man) had actedas second there, in several encounters. The last occasion was a duelwith rifles, at forty paces; and coming home he told us how he hadbought his man a coat of green linen to fight in, woolen being usuallyfatal to rifle-wounds. Prairie is variously called (on the refinementprinciple, I suppose) Para_a_rer; par_e_arer; and paro_a_rer. I amafraid, my dear fellow, you will have had great difficulty in readingall the foregoing text. I have written it, very laboriously, on my knee;and the engine throbs and starts as if the boat were possessed with adevil. "SANDUSKY, "_Sunday, Twenty-fourth April, 1842. _ "We went ashore at Louisville this night week, where I left off, twolines above; and slept at the hotel, in which we had put up before. TheMessenger being abominably slow, we got our luggage out next morning, and started on again at eleven o'clock in the Benjamin Franklinmail-boat: a splendid vessel, with a cabin more than two hundred feetlong, and little state-rooms affording proportionate conveniences. Shegot in at Cincinnati by one o'clock next morning, when we landed in thedark and went back to our old hotel. As we made our way on foot over thebroken pavement, Anne measured her length upon the ground, but didn'thurt herself. I say nothing of Kate's troubles--but you recollect herpropensity? She falls into, or out of, every coach or boat we enter;scrapes the skin off her legs; brings great sores and swellings on herfeet; chips large fragments out of her ankle-bones; and makes herselfblue with bruises. She really has, however, since we got over the firsttrial of being among circumstances so new and so fatiguing, made a _mostadmirable_ traveler in every respect. She has never screamed orexpressed alarm under circumstances that would have fully justified herin doing so, even in my eyes; has never given way to despondency orfatigue, though we have now been traveling incessantly, through a veryrough country, for more than a month, and have been at times, as you mayreadily suppose, most thoroughly tired; has always accommodated herself, well and cheerfully, to everything; and has pleased me very much, andproved herself perfectly game. "We remained at Cincinnati all Tuesday the nineteenth, and all thatnight. At eight o'clock on Wednesday morning the twentieth, we left inthe mail-stage for Columbus: Anne, Kate, and Mr. Q. Inside; I on thebox. The distance is a hundred and twenty miles; the road macadamized;and, for an American road, very good. We were three-and-twenty hoursperforming the journey. We traveled all night; reached Columbus at sevenin the morning; breakfasted; and went to bed until dinner-time. Atnight we held a levee for half an hour, and the people poured in as theyalways do: each gentleman with a lady on each arm, exactly like theChorus to God Save the Queen. I wish you could see them, that you mightknow what a splendid comparison this is. They wear their clothesprecisely as the chorus people do; and stand--supposing Kate and me tobe in the centre of the stage, with our backs to the footlights--just asthe company would, on the first night of the season. They shake handsexactly after the manner of the guests at a ball at the Adelphi or theHaymarket; receive any facetiousness on my part as if there were a stagedirection 'all laugh;' and have rather more difficulty in 'getting off'than the last gentlemen, in white pantaloons, polished boots, andberlins, usually display, under the most trying circumstances. "Next morning, that is to say, on Friday, the 22d, at seven o'clockexactly, we resumed our journey. The stage from Columbus to this placeonly running thrice a week, and not on that day, I bargained for an'exclusive extra' with four horses; for which I paid forty dollars, oreight pounds English: the horses changing, as they would if it were theregular stage. To insure our getting on properly, the proprietors sentan agent on the box; and, with no other company but him and a hamperfull of eatables and drinkables, we went upon our way. It is impossibleto convey an adequate idea to you of the kind of road over which wetraveled. I can only say that it was, at the best, but a track throughthe wild forest, and among the swamps, bogs, and morasses of thewithered bush. A great portion of it was what is called a 'corduroyroad:' which is made by throwing round logs or whole trees into a swamp, and leaving them to settle there. Good Heaven! if you only felt one ofthe least of the jolts with which the coach falls from log to log! It islike nothing but going up a steep flight of stairs in an omnibus. Nowthe coach flung us in a heap on its floor, and now crushed our headsagainst its roof. Now one side of it was deep in the mire, and we wereholding on to the other. Now it was lying on the horses' tails, and nowagain upon its back. But it never, never was in any position, attitude, or kind of motion, to which we are accustomed in coaches; or made thesmallest approach to our experience of the proceedings of any sort ofvehicle that goes on wheels. Still, the day was beautiful, the airdelicious, and we were _alone_; with no tobacco-spittle, or eternalprosy conversation about dollars and politics (the only two subjectsthey ever converse about, or can converse upon), to bore us. We reallyenjoyed it; made a joke of the being knocked about; and were quitemerry. At two o'clock we stopped in the wood to open our hamper anddine; and we drank to our darlings and all friends at home. Then westarted again and went on until ten o'clock at night: when we reached aplace called Lower Sandusky, sixty-two miles from our starting-point. The last three hours of the journey were not very pleasant; for itlightened--awfully: every flash very vivid, very blue, and very long;and, the wood being so dense that the branches on _either_ side of thetrack rattled and broke _against_ the coach, it was rather a dangerousneighborhood for a thunder-storm. "The inn at which we halted was a rough log house. The people were allabed, and we had to knock them up. We had the queerest sleeping-room, with two doors, one opposite the other; both opening directly on thewild black country, and neither having any lock or bolt. The effect ofthese opposite doors was, that one was always blowing the other open: aningenuity in the art of building, which I don't remember to have metwith before. You should have seen me, in my shirt, blockading them withportmanteaus, and desperately endeavoring to make the room tidy! But theblockading was really needful, for in my dressing-case I have about250_l. _ in gold; and for the amount of the middle figure in that scarcemetal there are not a few men in the West who would murder theirfathers. Apropos of this golden store, consider at your leisure thestrange state of things in this country. It has _no money_; really nomoney. The bank-paper won't pass; the newspapers are full ofadvertisements from tradesmen who sell by barter; and American gold isnot to be had, or purchased. I bought sovereigns, English sovereigns, atfirst; but as I could get none of them at Cincinnati, to this day, Ihave had to purchase French gold; 20-franc pieces; with which I amtraveling as if I were in Paris! "But let's go back to Lower Sandusky. Mr. Q. Went to bed up in the roofof the log house somewhere, but was so beset by bugs that he got upafter an hour and _lay in the coach_, . . . Where he was obliged to waittill breakfast-time. We breakfasted, driver and all, in the one commonroom. It was papered with newspapers, and was as rough a place as needbe. At half-past seven we started again, and we reached Sandusky at sixo'clock yesterday afternoon. It is on Lake Erie, twenty-four hours'journey by steamboat from Buffalo. We found no boat here, nor has therebeen one, since. We are waiting, with every thing packed up, ready tostart on the shortest notice; and are anxiously looking out for smoke inthe distance. "There was an old gentleman in the log inn at Lower Sandusky who treatswith the Indians on the part of the American government, and has justconcluded a treaty with the Wyandot Indians at that place to remove nextyear to some land provided for them west of the Mississippi, a littleway beyond St. Louis. He described his negotiation to me, and theirreluctance to go, exceedingly well. They are a fine people, but degradedand broken down. If you could see any of their men and women on arace-course in England, you would not know them from gipsies. "We are in a small house here, but a very comfortable one, and thepeople are exceedingly obliging. Their demeanor in these country partsis invariably morose, sullen, clownish, and repulsive. I should thinkthere is not, on the face of the earth, a people so entirely destituteof humor, vivacity, or the capacity of enjoyment. It is most remarkable. I am quite serious when I say that I have not heard a hearty laugh thesesix weeks, except my own; nor have I seen a merry face on any shouldersbut a black man's. Lounging listlessly about; idling in bar-rooms;smoking; spitting; and lolling on the pavement in rocking-chairs, outside the shop-doors; are the only recreations. I don't think thenational shrewdness extends beyond the Yankees; that is, the Easternmen. The rest are heavy, dull, and ignorant. Our landlord here is fromthe East. He is a handsome, obliging, civil fellow. He comes into theroom with his hat on; spits in the fireplace as he talks; sits down onthe sofa with his hat on; pulls out his newspaper, and reads; but to allthis I am accustomed. He is anxious to please--and that is enough. "We are wishing very much for a boat; for we hope to find our letters atBuffalo. It is half-past one; and, as there is no boat in sight, we arefain (sorely against our wills) to order an early dinner. "_Tuesday, April Twenty-sixth, 1842. _ "NIAGARA FALLS!!! (UPON THE ENGLISH[61] SIDE. ) "I don't know at what length I might have written you from Sandusky, mybeloved friend, if a steamer had not come in sight just as I finishedthe last unintelligible sheet! (oh! the ink in these parts!): whereuponI was obliged to pack up bag and baggage, to swallow a hasty apology fora dinner, and to hurry my train on board with all the speed I might. Shewas a fine steamship, four hundred tons burden, name the Constitution, had very few passengers on board, and had bountiful and handsomeaccommodation. It's all very fine talking about Lake Erie, but it won'tdo for persons who are liable to sea-sickness. We were all sick. It'salmost as bad in that respect as the Atlantic. The waves are very short, and horribly constant. We reached Buffalo at six this morning; wentashore to breakfast; sent to the post-office forthwith; andreceived--oh! who or what can say with how much pleasure and whatunspeakable delight!--our English letters! "We lay all Sunday night at a town (and a beautiful town too) calledCleveland; on Lake Erie. The people poured on board, in crowds, by sixon Monday morning, to see me; and a party of 'gentlemen' actuallyplanted themselves before our little cabin, and stared in at the doorand windows _while I was washing, and Kate lay in bed_. I was soincensed at this, and at a certain newspaper published in that townwhich I had accidentally seen in Sandusky (advocating war with Englandto the death, saying that Britain must be 'whipped again, ' and promisingall true Americans that within two years they should sing Yankee Doodlein Hyde Park and Hail Columbia in the courts of Westminster), that whenthe mayor came on board to present himself to me, according to custom, Irefused to see him, and bade Mr. Q. Tell him why and wherefore. Hishonor took it very coolly, and retired to the top of the wharf, with abig stick and a whittling knife, with which he worked so lustily(staring at the closed door of our cabin all the time) that long beforethe boat left, the big stick was no bigger than a cribbage-peg! "I never in my life was in such a state of excitement as coming fromBuffalo here, this morning. You come by railroad, and are nigh two hoursupon the way. I looked out for the spray, and listened for the roar, asfar beyond the bounds of possibility as though, landing in Liverpool, Iwere to listen for the music of your pleasant voice in Lincoln's InnFields. At last, when the train stopped, I saw two great white cloudsrising up from the depths of the earth, --nothing more. They rose upslowly, gently, majestically, into the air. I dragged Kate down a deepand slippery path leading to the ferry-boat; bullied Anne for not comingfast enough; perspired at every pore; and felt, it is impossible to sayhow, as the sound grew louder and louder in my ears, and yet nothingcould be seen for the mist. "There were two English officers with us (ah! what _gentlemen_, whatnoblemen of nature they seemed), and they hurried off with me; leavingKate and Anne on a crag of ice; and clambered after me over the rocks atthe foot of the small Fall, while the ferryman was getting the boatready. I was not disappointed--but I could make out nothing. In aninstant I was blinded by the spray, and wet to the skin. I saw the watertearing madly down from some immense height, but could get no idea ofshape, or situation, or anything but vague immensity. But when we wereseated in the boat, and crossing at the very foot of the cataract--thenI began to feel what it was. Directly I had changed my clothes at theinn I went out again, taking Kate with me, and hurried to the Horse-shoeFall. I went down alone, into the very basin. It would be hard for a manto stand nearer God than he does there. There was a bright rainbow at myfeet; and from that I looked up to--great Heaven! to _what_ a fall ofbright green water! The broad, deep, mighty stream seems to die in theact of falling; and from its unfathomable grave arises that tremendousghost of spray and mist which is never laid, and has been haunting thisplace with the same dread solemnity--perhaps from the creation of theworld. "We purpose remaining here a week. In my next I will try to give yousome idea of my impressions, and to tell you how they change with everyday. At present it is impossible. I can only say that the first effectof this tremendous spectacle on me was peace of mind--tranquillity--greatthoughts of eternal rest and happiness--nothing of terror. I can shudderat the recollection of Glencoe (dear friend, with Heaven's leave we mustsee Glencoe together), but whenever I think of Niagara I shall think ofits beauty. "If you could hear the roar that is in my ears as I write this. BothFalls are under our windows. From our sitting-room and bedroom we lookdown straight upon them. There is not a soul in the house but ourselves. What would I give if you and Mac were here to share the sensations ofthis time! I was going to add, what would I give if the dear girl whoseashes lie in Kensal Green had lived to come so far along with us--butshe has been here many times, I doubt not, since her sweet face fadedfrom my earthly sight. * * * * * "One word on the precious letters before I close. You are right, my dearfellow, about the papers; and you are right (I grieve to say) about thepeople. _Am I right?_ quoth the conjurer. _Yes!_ from gallery, pit, andboxes. I _did_ let out those things, at first, against my will, but whenI come to tell you all--well; only wait--only wait--till the end ofJuly. I say no more. "I do perceive a perplexingly divided and subdivided duty, in the matterof the book of travels. Oh! the sublimated essence of comicality that I_could_ distil, from the materials I have! . . . You are a part, and anessential part, of our home, dear friend, and I exhaust my imaginationin picturing the circumstances under which I shall surprise you bywalking into 58, Lincoln's Inn Fields. We are truly grateful to God forthe health and happiness of our inexpressibly dear children and all ourfriends. But one letter more--only one. . . . I don't seem to have beenhalf affectionate enough, but there _are_ thoughts, you know, that lietoo deep for words. " FOOTNOTES: [59] A young lady's account of this party, written next morning, andquoted in one of the American memoirs of Dickens, enables us tocontemplate his suffering from the point of view of those who inflictedit: "I went last evening to a party at Judge Walker's, given to the heroof the day. . . . When we reached the house, Mr. Dickens had left thecrowded rooms, and was in the hall with his wife, about taking hisdeparture when we entered the door. We were introduced to him in ourwrapping; and in the flurry and embarrassment of the meeting, one of theparty dropped a parcel, containing shoes, gloves, etc. Mr. Dickens, stooping, gathered them up and restored them with a laughing remark, andwe bounded up-stairs to get our things off. Hastening down again, wefound him with Mrs. Dickens seated upon a sofa, surrounded by a group ofladies; Judge Walker having requested him to delay his departure for afew moments, for the gratification of some tardy friends who had justarrived, ourselves among the number. Declining to re-enter the roomswhere he had already taken leave of the guests, he had seated himself inthe hall. He is young and handsome, has a mellow, beautiful eye, finebrow, and abundant hair. His mouth is large, and his smile so bright itseemed to shed light and happiness all about him. His manner is easy, negligent, but not elegant. His dress was foppish; in fact, he wasoverdressed, yet his garments were worn so easily they appeared to be anecessary part of him. (!) He had a dark coat, with lighter pantaloons;a black waistcoat, embroidered with colored flowers; and about his neck, covering his white shirt-front, was a black neckcloth, also embroideredin colors, in which were placed two large diamond pins connected by achain. A gold watch-chain, and a large red rose in his button-hole, completed his toilet. He appeared a little weary, but answered theremarks made to him--for he originated none--in an agreeable manner. Mr. Beard's portrait of Fagin was so placed in the room that we could see itfrom where we stood surrounding him. One of the ladies asked him if itwas his idea of the Jew. He replied, 'Very nearly. ' Another, laughingly, requested that he would give her the rose he wore, as a memento. Heshook his head and said, 'That will not do; he could not give it to one;the others would be jealous. ' A half-dozen then insisted on having it, whereupon he proposed to divide the leaves among them. In taking therose from his coat, either by design or accident, the leaves loosenedand fell upon the floor, and amid considerable laughter the ladiesstooped and gathered them. He remained some twenty minutes, perhaps, inthe hall, and then took his leave. I must confess to considerabledisappointment in the personal of my idol. I felt that his throne wasshaken, although it never could be destroyed. " This appalling picturesupplements and very sufficiently explains the mournful passage in thetext. [60] "RUNAWAY NEGRO IN JAIL" was the heading of the advertisementinclosed, which had a woodcut of master and slave in its corner, andannounced that Wilford Garner, sheriff and jailer of Chicot County, Arkansas, requested owner to come and prove property--or---- [61] Ten dashes underneath the word. CHAPTER XXIV. NIAGARA AND MONTREAL. 1842. Last Two Letters--Dickens vanquished--Obstacles to Copyright--Two described--Value of Literary Popularity--Substitute for Literature--The Secretary described--His Paintings--The Lion and ---- --Toryism of Toronto--Canadian Attentions--Proposed Theatricals--Last Letter--The Private Play--Stage Manager's Report--The Lady Performers--Bill of the Performance--A Touch of Crummles--HOME. MY friend was better than his word, and two more letters reached mebefore his return. The opening of the first was written from Niagara onthe 3d, and its close from Montreal on the 12th, of May; from whichlatter city also, on the 26th of that month, the last of all waswritten. Much of the first of these letters had reference to the internationalcopyright agitation, and gave strong expression to the indignationawakened in him (nor less in some of the best men of America) by theadoption, at a public meeting in Boston itself, of a memorial againstany change of the law, in the course of which it was stated that, ifEnglish authors were invested with any control over the republication oftheir own books, it would be no longer possible for American editors toalter and adapt them to the American taste. This deliberate declaration, however, unsparing as Dickens's anger at it was, in effect vanquishedhim. He saw the hopelessness of pursuing further any present effort tobring about the change desired; and he took the determination not onlyto drop any allusion to it in his proposed book, but to try what effectmight be produced, when he should again be in England, by a league ofEnglish authors to suspend further intercourse with American publisherswhile the law should remain as it is. On his return he made accordinglya public appeal to this effect, stating his own intention for the futureto forego all profit derivable from the authorized transmission of earlyproofs across the Atlantic; but his hopes in this particular also weredoomed to disappointment. I now leave the subject, quoting only from hispresent letter the general remarks with which it is dismissed byhimself. "NIAGARA FALLS, "_Tuesday, Third May, 1842. _ "I'll tell you what the two obstacles to the passing of an internationalcopyright law with England are: firstly, the national love of 'doing' aman in any bargain or matter of business; secondly, the national vanity. Both these characteristics prevail to an extent which no stranger canpossibly estimate. "With regard to the first, I seriously believe that it is an essentialpart of the pleasure derived from the perusal of a popular English book, that the author gets nothing for it. It is so dar-nation 'cute--soknowing in Jonathan to get his reading on those terms. He has theEnglishman so regularly on the hip that his eye twinkles with slyness, cunning, and delight; and he chuckles over the humor of the page with anappreciation of it quite inconsistent with, and apart from, its honestpurchase. The raven hasn't more joy in eating a stolen piece of meat, than the American has in reading the English book which he gets fornothing. "With regard to the second, it reconciles that better and more elevatedclass who are above this sort of satisfaction, with surprising ease. Theman's read in America! The Americans like him! They are glad to see himwhen he comes here! They flock about him, and tell him that they aregrateful to him for spirits in sickness; for many hours of delight inhealth; for a hundred fanciful associations which are constantlyinterchanged between themselves and their wives and children at home! Itis nothing that all this takes place in countries where he is _paid_; itis nothing that he has won fame for himself elsewhere, and profit too. The Americans read him; the free, enlightened, independent Americans;and what more _would_ he have? Here's reward enough for any man. Thenational vanity swallows up all other countries on the face of theearth, and leaves but this above the ocean. Now, mark what the realvalue of this American reading is. Find me in the whole range ofliterature one single solitary English book which becomes popular withthem before, by going through the ordeal at home and becoming popularthere, it has forced itself on their attention--and I am content thatthe law should remain as it is, forever and a day. I must make oneexception. There _are_ some mawkish tales of fashionable life beforewhich crowds fall down as they were gilded calves, which have beensnugly enshrined in circulating libraries at home, from the date oftheir publication. "As to telling them they will have no literature of their own, theuniversal answer (out of Boston) is, 'We don't want one. Why should wepay for one when we can get it for nothing? Our people don't think ofpoetry, sir. Dollars, banks, and cotton are _our_ books, sir. ' And theycertainly are in one sense; for a lower average of general informationthan exists in this country on all other topics, it would be very hardto find. So much, at present, for international copyright. " The same letter kept the promise made in its predecessor that one or twomore sketches of character should be sent: "One of the most amusingphrases in use all through the country, for its constant repetition, andadaptation to every emergency, is 'Yes, Sir. ' Let me give you aspecimen. " (The specimen was the dialogue, in the _Notes_, of straw-hatand brown-hat, during the stage-coach ride to Sandusky. ) "I am notjoking, upon my word. This is exactly the dialogue. Nothing elseoccurring to me at this moment, let me give you the secretary'sportrait. Shall I? "He is of a sentimental turn--strongly sentimental; and tells Anne asJune approaches that he hopes 'we shall sometimes think of him' in ourown country. He wears a cloak, like Hamlet; and a very tall, big, limp, dusty black hat, which he exchanges on long journeys for a cap likeHarlequin's. . . . He sings; and in some of our quarters, when his bedroomhas been near ours, we have heard him grunting bass notes through thekeyhole of his door, to attract our attention. His desire that I shouldformally ask him to sing, and his devices to make me do so, areirresistibly absurd. There was a piano in our room at Hartford (yourecollect our being there, early in February?)--and he asked me onenight, when we were alone, if 'Mrs. D. ' played. 'Yes, Mr. Q. ' 'Oh, indeed, Sir! _I_ sing: so whenever you want _a little soothing_--' Youmay imagine how hastily I left the room, on some false pretense, withouthearing more. "He paints. . . . An enormous box of oil-colors is the main part of hisluggage: and with these he blazes away, in his own room, for hourstogether. Anne got hold of some big-headed, pot-bellied sketches he madeof the passengers on board the canal-boat (including me in my fur coat), the recollection of which brings the tears into my eyes at this minute. He painted the Falls, at Niagara, superbly; and is supposed now to beengaged on a full-length representation of me: waiters having reportedthat chamber-maids have said that there is a picture in his room whichhas a great deal of hair. One girl opined that it was 'the beginning ofthe King's Arms;' but I am pretty sure that the Lion is myself. . . . "Sometimes, but not often, he commences a conversation. That usuallyoccurs when we are walking the deck after dark; or when we are alonetogether in a coach. It is his practice at such times to relate the mostnotorious and patriarchal Joe Miller, as something that occurred in hisown family. When traveling by coach, he is particularly fond ofimitating cows and pigs; and nearly challenged a fellow-passenger theother day, who had been moved by the display of this accomplishmentinto telling him that he was 'a Perfect Calf. ' He thinks it anindispensable act of politeness and attention to inquire constantlywhether we're not sleepy, or, to use his own words, whether we don't'suffer for sleep. ' If we have taken a long nap of fourteen hours or so, after a long journey, he is sure to meet me at the bedroom door when Iturn out in the morning, with this inquiry. But, apart from theamusement he gives us, I could not by possibility have lighted on anyone who would have suited my purpose so well. I have raised his tendollars per month to twenty; and mean to make it up for six months. " The conclusion of this letter was dated from "Montreal, Thursday, twelfth May, " and was little more than an eager yearning for home: "Thiswill be a very short and stupid letter, my dear friend; for the postleaves here much earlier than I expected, and all my grand designs forbeing unusually brilliant fall to the ground. I will write you _oneline_ by the next Cunard boat, --reserving all else until our happy andlong long looked-for meeting. "We have been to Toronto and Kingston; experiencing attentions at eachwhich I should have difficulty in describing. The wild and rabid toryismof Toronto is, I speak seriously, _appalling_. English kindness is verydifferent from American. People send their horses and carriages for youruse, but they don't exact as payment the right of being always underyour nose. We had no less than _five_ carriages at Kingston waiting ourpleasure at one time; not to mention the commodore's barge and crew, anda beautiful government steamer. We dined with Sir Charles Bagot lastSunday. Lord Mulgrave was to have met us yesterday at Lachine; but, ashe was wind-bound in his yacht and couldn't get in, Sir Richard Jacksonsent his drag four-in-hand, with two other young fellows who are alsohis aides, and in we came in grand style. "The Theatricals (I think I told you[62] I had been invited to play withthe officers of the Coldstream Guards here) are _A Roland for anOliver_; _Two o'Clock in the Morning_; and either the _Young Widow_, or_Deaf as a Post_. Ladies (unprofessional) are going to play, for thefirst time. I wrote to Mitchell at New York for a wig for Mr. Snobbington, which has arrived, and is brilliant. If they had done_Love, Law, and Physick_, as at first proposed, I was already 'up' inFlexible, having played it of old, before my authorship days; but if itshould be Splash in the _Young Widow_, you will have to do me the favorto imagine me in a smart livery-coat, shiny black hat and cockade, whiteknee-cords, white top-boots, blue stock, small whip, red cheeks, anddark eyebrows. Conceive Topping's state of mind if I bring this dresshome and put it on unexpectedly! . . . God bless you, dear friend. I cansay nothing about the seventh, the day on which we sail. It isimpossible. Words cannot express what we feel, now that the time is sonear. . . . " His last letter, dated from "Peasco's Hotel, Montreal, Canada, twenty-sixth of May, " described the private theatricals, and inclosed mea bill of the play. "This, like my last, will be a stupid letter, because both Kate and Iare thrown into such a state of excitement by the near approach of theseventh of June that we can do nothing, and think of nothing. "The play came off last night. The audience, between five and sixhundred strong, were invited as to a party; a regular table withrefreshments being spread in the lobby and saloon. We had the band ofthe twenty-third (one of the finest in the service) in the orchestra, the theatre was lighted with gas, the scenery was excellent, and theproperties were all brought from private houses. Sir Charles Bagot, SirRichard Jackson, and their staffs were present; and as the militaryportion of the audience were all in full uniform, it was really asplendid scene. "We 'went' also splendidly; though with nothing very remarkable in theacting way. We had for Sir Mark Chase a genuine odd fish, with plenty ofhumor; but our Tristram Sappy was not up to the marvelous reputation hehas somehow or other acquired here. I am not however, let me tell you, placarded as stage-manager for nothing. Everybody was told they wouldhave to submit to the most iron despotism; and didn't I come Macreadyover them? Oh, no. By no means. Certainly not. The pains I have takenwith them, and the perspiration I have expended, during the last tendays, exceed in amount anything you can imagine. I had regular plots ofthe scenery made out, and lists of the properties wanted; and had themnailed up by the prompter's chair. Every letter that was to bedelivered, was written; every piece of money that had to be given, provided; and not a single thing lost sight of. I prompted, myself, whenI was not on; when I was, I made the regular prompter of the theatre mydeputy; and I never saw anything so perfectly touch and go, as thefirst two pieces. The bedroom scene in the interlude was as wellfurnished as Vestris had it; with a 'practicable' fireplace blazing awaylike mad, and everything in a concatenation accordingly. I really dobelieve that I was very funny: at least I know that I laughed heartilyat myself, and made the part a character, such as you and I know verywell: a mixture of T----, Harley, Yates, Keeley, and Jerry Sneak. Itwent with a roar, all through; and, as I am closing this, they have toldme I was so well made up that Sir Charles Bagot, who sat in thestage-box, had no idea who played Mr. Snobbington, until the piece wasover. [Illustration: Private Theatricals. ] * * * * * =COMMITTEE. = * * * * * Mrs. TORRENS. W. C. ERMATINGER, Esq. Mrs. PERRY. Captain TORRENS. THE EARL OF MULGRAVE. * * * * * STAGE MANAGER--MR. CHARLES DICKENS. * * * * * QUEEN'S THEATRE, MONTREAL * * * * * ON WEDNESDAY EVENING, MAY 25TH, 1842, WILL BE PERFORMED, =ROLAND FOR AN OLIVER. = * * * * * MRS. SELBORNE. [Handwritten: Mrs. Torrens] MARIA DARLINGTON. [Handwritten: Miss Griffin] MRS. FIXTURE. [Handwritten: Miss Ermatinger. ] MR. SELBORNE. [Handwritten: Lord Mulgrave. ] ALFRED HIGHFLYER. [Handwritten: Mr. Charles Dickens] SIR MARK CHASE. [Handwritten: Honourable Mr. Methuen] FIXTURE. [Handwritten: Captain Willoughby. ] GAMEKEEPER. [Handwritten: Captain Granville] * * * * * AFTER WHICH, AN INTERLUDE IN ONE SCENE, (FROM THE FRENCH, ) CALLED =Past Two o'Clock in the Morning. = * * * * * THE STRANGER. [Handwritten: Captain Granville] MR. SNOBBINGTON. [Handwritten: Mr. Charles Dickens] * * * * * TO CONCLUDE WITH THE FARCE, IN ONE ACT, ENTITLED =DEAF AS A POST. = * * * * * MRS. PLUMPLEY. [Handwritten: Mrs. Torrens] AMY TEMPLETON. [Handwritten: Mrs. Charles Dickens!!!!!!!!] SOPHY WALTON. [Handwritten: Mrs. Perry. ] SALLY MAGGS. [Handwritten: Miss Griffin] CAPTAIN TEMPLETON. [Handwritten: Captain Torrens] MR. WALTON. [Handwritten: Captain Willoughby. ] TRISTRAM SAPPY. [Handwritten: Doctor Griffin] CRUPPER. [Handwritten: Lord Mulgrave] GALLOP. [Handwritten: Mr. Charles Dickens. ] MONTREAL, May 24, 1842. GAZETTE OFFICE. "But only think of Kate playing! and playing devilish well, I assureyou! All the ladies were capital, and we had no wait or hitch for aninstant. You may suppose this, when I tell you that we began at eight, and had the curtain down at eleven. It is their custom here, to preventheart-burnings in a very heart-burning town, whenever they have playedin private, to repeat the performances in public. So, on Saturday(substituting, of course, real actresses for the ladies), we repeat thetwo first pieces to a paying audience, for the manager's benefit. . . . "I send you a bill, to which I have appended a key. "I have not told you half enough. But I promise you I shall make youshake your sides about this play. Wasn't it worthy of Crummles that whenLord Mulgrave and I went out to the door to receive theGovernor-general, the regular prompter followed us in agony with fourtall candlesticks with wax candles in them, and besought us with ableeding heart to carry two apiece, in accordance with all theprecedents? . . . * * * * * "I have hardly spoken of our letters, which reached us yesterday, shortly before the play began. A hundred thousand thanks for yourdelightful mainsail of that gallant little packet. I read it again andagain; and had it all over again at breakfast-time this morning. I heardalso, by the same ship, from Talfourd, Miss Coutts, Brougham, Rogers, and others. A delicious letter from Mac too, as good as his painting, Iswear. Give my hearty love to him. . . . God bless you, my dear friend. As the time draws nearer, we get FEVERED with anxiety for home. . . . Kiss our darlings for us. We shall soon meet, please God, and be happierand merrier than ever we were, in all our lives. . . . Oh, home--home--home--home--home--home--HOME!!!!!!!!!!!" =END OF VOL. I. = FOOTNOTES: [62] See _ante_, p. 303. * * * * * Transcriber's Notes: Obvious punctuation errors repaired. Page viii, "recoltions" changed to "recollections" (Anotherschoolfellow's recollections) Page ix, extraneous page number removed Original text read: Writing _Pickwick_, Nos. 14 127 and 15 127 Page 59, "t" changed to "it" (it as early as) Page 117, "reisssue" changed to "reissue" (Scheme to reissue) Page 224, "s" changed to "is" (there is little further) Page 224, "hab" changed to "habit" (his invariable habit) Page 242, "axing" changed to "taxing" (taxing ingenuity to) Page 242, "f" chagned to "of" (of sheer insanity) Page 286, word "I" inserted into text. (I have heard of) To retain the integrity of the original text, varied hyphenations, capitalizations, and, at times, spellings were retained. For example: Varied hyphenation and capitalization of Devonshire Terrace wasretained. Also fac-simile and facsimile. Varied spelling ofA'Beckett/A'Becket was retained. ***** Transcriber's Note: For the reader: Italic text is surrounded by _underscores_, bold text issurrounded by =equal signs= and underlined text is surrounded by~tildes~. Two breves above the letter e are indicated by [)e] in thetext. THE LIFE OF [Illustration: Signature: Charles Dickens] [Illustration] THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS BY JOHN FORSTER. VOL. II. 1842-1852. CORRECTIONS MADE IN THE LATER EDITIONS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. * * * * * A NOTICE written under date of the 23rd December, 1871, appeared withthe Tenth Edition. "Such has been the rapidity of the demand forsuccessive impressions of this book, that I have found it impossible, until now, to correct at pages 31, 87, and 97 three errors of statementmade in the former editions; and some few other mistakes, not inthemselves important, at pages 96, 101, and 102. I take the opportunityof adding, that the mention at p. 83 is not an allusion to thewell-known 'Penny' and 'Saturday' magazines, but to weekly periodicalsof some years' earlier date resembling them in form. One of them, I havesince found from a later mention by Dickens himself, was presumably of aless wholesome and instructive character. 'I used, ' he says, 'when I wasat school, to take in the _Terrific Register_, making myself unspeakablymiserable, and frightening my very wits out of my head, for the smallcharge of a penny weekly; which, considering that there was anillustration to every number in which there was always a pool of blood, and at least one body, was cheap. ' An obliging correspondent writes tome upon my reference to the Fox-under-the-hill, at p. 62: 'Will youpermit me to say, that the house, shut up and almost ruinous, is stillto be found at the bottom of a curious and most precipitous court, theentrance of which is just past Salisbury-street. . . . It was once, Ithink, the approach to the halfpenny boats. The house is now shut outfrom the water-side by the Embankment. '" I proceed to state in detailwhat the changes thus referred to were. The passage about James Lamert, beginning at the thirteenth line of p. 31, now stands: "His chief ally and encourager in these displays was ayouth of some ability, much older than himself, named James Lamert, stepson to his mother's sister and therefore a sort of cousin, who washis great patron and friend in his childish days. Mary, the eldestdaughter of Charles Barrow, himself a lieutenant in the navy, had forher first husband a commander in the navy called Allen; on whose deathby drowning at Rio Janeiro she had joined her sister, the navy-payclerk's wife, at Chatham; in which place she subsequently took for hersecond husband Doctor Lamert, an army surgeon, whose son James, evenafter he had been sent to Sandhurst for his education, continued stillto visit Chatham from time to time. He had a turn for privatetheatricals; and as his father's quarters were in the ordnance-hospitalthere, a great rambling place otherwise at that time almost uninhabited, he had plenty of room in which to get up his entertainments. " Two othercorrections were consequent on this change. At the 21st line of page 38, for "the elder cousin" read "the cousin by marriage;" and at the 31stline of p. 49, "cousin by his mother's side" should be "cousin by hisaunt's marriage. " At the 15th line of the 41st page, "his bachelor-uncle, fellow-clerk, "&c. Should be "the uncle who was at this time fellow-clerk, " &c. At the11th line of page 54, "Charles-court" should be "Clare-court. " Theallusion to one of his favourite localities at the 23d line of page 62should stand thus: "a little public-house by the water-side called theFox-under-the-hill, approached by an underground passage which we oncemissed in looking for it together. " The passage at p. 87, having reference to an early friend who had beenwith him, as I supposed, at his first school, should run thus: "In thishowever I have since discovered my own mistake: the truth being that itwas this gentleman's connection, not with the Wellington-academy, butwith a school kept by Mr. Dawson in Hunter-street, Brunswick-square, where the brothers of Dickens were subsequently placed, which led totheir early knowledge of each other. I fancy that they were togetheralso, for a short time, at Mr. Molloy's in New-square, Lincoln's-inn;but, whether or not this was so, Dickens certainly had not quittedschool many months before his father had made sufficient interest withan attorney of Gray's-inn, Mr. Edward Blackmore, to obtain him regularemployment in his office. " There is subsequent allusion to the samegentleman (at p. 182) as his "school-companion at Mr. Dawson's inHenrietta-street, " which ought to stand as "having known him whenhimself a law-clerk in Lincoln's-inn. " At p. 96 I had stated that Mr. John Dickens reported for the _MorningChronicle_; and at p. 101 that Mr. Thomas Beard reported for the_Morning Herald_; whereas Mr. Dickens, though in the gallery for otherpapers, did not report for the _Chronicle_, and Mr. Beard did report forthat journal; and where (at p. 102) Dickens was spoken of as associatedwith Mr. Beard in a reporting party which represented respectively the_Chronicle_ and _Herald_, the passage ought simply to have described himas "connected with a reporting party, being Lord John Russell'sDevonshire contest above-named, and his associate chief being Mr. Beard, entrusted with command for the _Chronicle_ in this particular express. " At p. 97 I had made a mistake about his "first published piece ofwriting, " in too hastily assuming that he had himself forgotten what theparticular piece was. It struck an intelligent and kind correspondent asvery unlikely that Dickens should have fallen into error on such apoint; and, making personal search for himself (as I ought to havedone), discovered that what I supposed to be another piece was merelythe same under another title. The description of his first printedsketch should therefore be "(Mr. Minns and his Cousin, as he afterwardsentitled it, but which appeared in the magazine as A Dinner at PoplarWalk). " There is another mistake at p. 159, of "bandy-legged" instead of"bulky-legged" and, at p. 177, of "fresh fields" for "fresh woods. " Those several corrections were made in the Tenth Edition. To theEleventh these words were prefixed (under date of the 23rd of January, 1872): "Since the above mentioned edition went to press, a publishedletter has rendered necessary a brief additional note to the remarksmade at pp. 155-6. " The remark occurs in my notice of the silly storyof Mr. Cruikshank having originated _Oliver Twist_, and, with the notereferred to, now stands in the form subjoined. "Whether all SirBenjamin's laurels however should fall to the person by whom the tale istold, * or whether any part belongs to the authority alleged for it, isunfortunately not quite clear. There would hardly have been a doubt, ifthe fable had been confined to the other side of the Atlantic; but ithas been reproduced and widely circulated on this side also; and thedistinguished artist whom it calumniates by attributing the invention tohim has been left undefended from its slander. Dickens's letter sparesme the necessity of characterizing, by the only word which would havebeen applicable to it, a tale of such incredible and monstrous absurdityas that one of the masterpieces of its author's genius had been merelyan illustration of etchings by Mr. Cruikshank!" Note to the words"person by whom the tale is told:" "*This question has been partlysolved, since my last edition, by Mr. Cruikshank's announcement in the_Times_, that, though Dr. Mackenzie had 'confused some circumstanceswith respect to Mr. Dickens looking over some drawings and sketches, 'the substance of his information as to who it was that originated_Oliver Twist_, and all its characters, had been derived from Mr. Cruikshank himself. The worst part of the foregoing fable, therefore, has not Dr. Mackenzie for its author; and Mr. Cruikshank is to becongratulated on the prudence of his rigid silence respecting it as longas Mr. Dickens lived. " In the Twelfth Edition I mentioned, in the note at p. 149, a little workof which all notice had been previously omitted; and the close of thatnote now runs: "He had before written for them, without his name, _Sunday under Three Heads_; and he added subsequently a volume of _YoungCouples_. " At p. 157, "parish abuses" is corrected in the same editionto "parish practices;" and at p. 173, "in his later works" to "in hislatest works. " I have received letters from several obliging correspondents, among themthree or four who were scholars at the Wellington-house Academy beforeor after Dickens's time, and one who attended the school with him; butsuch remark as they suggest will more properly accompany my third andclosing volume. PALACE GATE HOUSE, KENSINGTON, _29th of October, 1872. _ ILLUSTRATIONS. * * * * * PAGE Autograph of Charles Dickens _Fly leaf_ Charles Dickens, æt. 47. From the portrait painted for the author in 1859 by W. P. Frith, R. A. Engraved by Robert Graves, A. R. A. _Frontispiece_ Charles Dickens, his Wife, and her Sister. Drawn by Daniel Maclise R. A. In 1842. Engraved by C. H. Jeens 48 Sketch of the Villa Bagnerello (Albaro), by Angus Fletcher 121 Drawing of the Palazzo Peschiere (Genoa), by Mr. Batson 141 At 58, Lincoln's-inn-fields, Monday the 2nd of December, 1844. From a drawing by Daniel Maclise, R. A. Engraved by C. H. Jeens 174 Rosemont, Lausanne. From a drawing by the Hon. Mrs. Watson 229 M. Barthelémy's card 325 Seventeen "fancies" for Mr. Dombey. Designed by H. K. Browne 345 Twelve more similar fancies. From the design of the same artist 346 Charles Dickens to George Cruikshank. Facsimile of a letter written in 1838, concerning the later illustrations to _Oliver Twist_ 349-50 TABLE OF CONTENTS. * * * * * CHAPTER I. 1842. Pages 21-39. AMERICAN NOTES. ÆT. 30. PAGE Return from America 21 Longfellow in England 22 At Broadstairs 23 Preparing _Notes_ 23 Fancy for opening of _Chuzzlewit_ 24 Attractions at Margate 25 Being, not always Believing 26 Burlesque of classic tragedy 26 A smart man and forged letter 26 A proposed dedication 27 Authorship and sea bathing 28 Easy-living rich and patient poor 28 Coming to the end 29 Rejected motto for _Notes_ 30 Home of the _Every Day Book_ 31 Scene at a funeral 32 An introductory chapter suppressed 33 Chapter first printed 33-37 Jeffrey's opinion of the _Notes_ 38 Later page anticipated 38 Experience of America in 1868 38 CHAPTER II. 1843. Pages 40-62. FIRST YEAR OF MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. ÆT. 31. A sunset at Land's-end 40 A holiday described by C. D. 41 The same described by Maclise 42 A landscape and a portrait 43 Names first given to _Chuzzlewit_ 44 Origin of the novel 45 Prologue to a play 45 On a tragedy by Browning 46 George Eliot's first book 47 Accompaniments of work 47 Miss Georgina Hogarth 48 Three portraits 49 A public benefactor 50 Controversy on _Notes_ 50 Original of Mrs. Gamp 51 What he will do with her 51 John Black 53 Macready and America 53 Apprehended disservice 54 Exertions for Elton family 55 Seaside life in ordinary 55 Public speeches 56 Ragged schools and results 57 Unitarianism 59 Return to Church of England 59 Language of his Will 59 _Christmas Carol_ 60 Birth of third son 61 Amusing letter 61 CHAPTER III. 1843-1844. Pages 63-92. CHUZZLEWIT DISAPPOINTMENTS AND CHRISTMAS CAROL. ÆT. 31-32. Falling-off in _Chuzzlewit_ sale 63 Publishers and authors 64 Premature fears 65 Resolve to change his publishers 66 Proposal to his printers 66 Desire to travel again 67 Ways and means 68 Objections to the scheme 69 Confidence in himself 70 Want of confidence in others 70 Bent on his plan 71 Turning point of his career 72 Grounds for course taken 73 On _Martin Chuzzlewit_ 74 American portions 75 The book's special superiority 76 News from America 76 American consolations 77 Why no Pecksniffs in France 78 Why Tartuffes in England 78 A favourite scene of Thackeray's 79 Process of creation in a novel 80 Intended motto for story 81 Leading characters 82 A superb masterpiece 83 Triumph of humorous art 84 Publication of _Christmas Carol_ 84 Unrealized hopes 85 Results of _Carol_ sale 86 Renewed negotiations with printers 87 Agreement with Bradbury and Evans 88 Letters about the _Carol_ 89 Spirit of the book 90 Something better than literature 91 CHAPTER IV. 1844. Pages 93-110. YEAR OF DEPARTURE FOR ITALY. ÆT. 32. Gore-house friends 93 Sensitive for his calling 94 A troublesome cheque 95 Education speeches 95 Sufferings from stage-adaptations 96 Wrongs from piracy 96 Proceedings in Chancery 97 A pirate's plea 97 Result of Chancery experience 99 Piracy preferred 99 Reliefs to work 100 The tempted and tempter 101 Favourite bit of humour 102 Criticized without humour 102 Taine on Dickens 102 Macready in New Orleans 103 Society in England 104 Writing in the _Chronicle_ 104 Conference with its new editor 104 Preparations for departure 105 In temporary quarters 106 Begging-letter case 106 The farewell dinner-party 107 "Evenings of a Working-man" 108 Greenwich dinner 109 J. M. W. Turner and Carlyle 110 CHAPTER V. 1844. Pages 111-138. IDLENESS AT ALBARO: VILLA BAGNERELLO. ÆT. 32. The travel to Italy 111 A bit of character 112 French thrown away 112 The Albaro villa 113 First experiences 114 Cloudy weather 115 Sunsets and scenery 116 Address to Maclise 116 The Mediterranean 117 Colours of sky and sea 117 Warning to Maclise 118 Perishing frescoes 118 French Consul at Genoa 119 Rooms in villa described 120 Surrounding scenery 121 Church-ruin on the rocks 121 Angus Fletcher's sketch 121 Work in abeyance 122 Learning Italian 122 Domestic news 123 His English servants 123 English residents 124 Genoa the superb 125 Church splendours and tinsel 126 Theatres 126 Italian plays 127 Dumas' _Kean_ 127 Religious houses 128 Sunday promenade 128 Winter residence chosen 129 A lucky arrival 129 Dinner at French Consul's 130 Verses in C. D. 's honour 130 Others in Prince Joinville's 131 Rumours of war with England 131 A Marquis's reception 132 Flight and tumble 133 Quiet enjoyments 134 English visitors and news 135 Talk with Lord Robertson 135 A suggestion for Jerrold 136 Visit of Frederick Dickens 136 An inn on the Alps 136 Dangers of sea-bathing 137 A change beginning 138 CHAPTER VI. 1844. Pages 139-162. WORK IN GENOA: PALAZZO PESCHIERE. ÆT. 32. Palace of the Fish-ponds 139 Rooms and frescoes 140 View over the city 141 Dancing and praying 142 Peschiere garden 142 Trying to write 143 A difficulty settled 143 Craving for streets 144 Design for his book 144 Governor's levee 144 Absence of the poet 145 Subject he is working at 145 C. D. 's politics 146 Choice of a hero 147 Master-passion 147 Religious sentiment 147 A dream 148 Dialogue in a vision 149 "What is the True religion?" 149 Fragments of reality in a vision 149 Trying regions of thought 150 Reverence for Doctor Arnold 150 First part of book finished 151 Anticipation of its close 151 Differences from published tale 152 First outline of the _Chimes_ 152-156 Liking for the subject 156 What the writing cost him 156 Realities of fictitious sorrow 157 Wild mountain weather 157 Banquet at the Whistle 158 Startling news 158 Coming to London 159 Secret of the visit 160 Eager to try effect of story 160 Plans a reading at my rooms 160 The tale finished 161 Proposed travel 161 Party for the Reading 162 CHAPTER VII. 1844. Pages 163-178. ITALIAN TRAVEL. ÆT. 32. Cities and people 163 Venice 164 Rapture of enjoyment 165 Aboard the city 165 What he saw and felt 165 Solitary thoughts 166 At Lodi 166 About paintings and engravings 167 Titian and Tintoretto 168 Conventionalities 169 Monks and painters 169 The inns 170 Compensation for discomfort 170 Brave C of his _Pictures_ 171 Louis Roche of Avignon 171 Dinner at the Peschiere 172 Custom-house officers 173 At Milan and Strasburg 173 Passing the Simplon 174 In London 174 A Reading in Lincoln's-inn-fields 174 Persons present 175 Success of the visit 175 In Paris with Macready 176 Origin of our private play 176 A recognition at Marseilles 177 Friendly Americans 177 On board for Genoa 177 Information for travellers 178 CHAPTER VIII. 1845. Pages 179-200. LAST MONTHS IN ITALY. ÆT. 33. Birthday gift for eldest son 179 Suspicious "Characters" 180 Jesuit interferences 180 Birth of 1845 180 Travel southward 181 Carrara and Pisa 181 A wild journey 182 Birds of prey 183 A beggar and his staff 183 "My lord" loses temper 184 And has the worst of it 184 At Rome 184 The Campagna 185 Bay of Naples 185 Filth of Naples and Fondi 186 The Lazzaroni 186 False picturesque 187 Sad English news 187 True friends in calamity 188 At Florence 188 Wayside memorials and Landor's villa 189 Death of Bobus Smith 190 At Lord Holland's 190 Lord Palmerston's brother 190 Again at the Peschiere 190 To publish or not? 191 Thoughts of home 192 American friends 192 Deaths among English residents 193 Scarlet breeches out of place 193 Angus Fletcher 193 Complaint of a meek footman 194 Recalling Lady Holland 194 A touch of Portsmouth 195 Plans for meeting 196 Last letter from Genoa 196 Closing excitements and troubles 196 Italians hard at work 197 Returning by Switzerland 197 Passage of the St. Gothard 198 Splendours of Swiss scenery 198 Dangers of it 199 What is left behind the Alps 199 A week in Flanders 200 CHAPTER IX. 1845-1846. Pages 201-221. AGAIN IN ENGLAND. ÆT. 33-34. Old hopes revived 201 Notions for a periodical 201 Proposed prospectus 202 Chances for and against it 203 Swept away by larger venture 203 Christmas book of 1845 204 D'Orsay and the courier 204 Another passage of Autobiography 204 More of the story of early years 205 Wish to try the stage 205 Applies to manager of Covent Garden 205 Sister Fanny in the secret 206 Stage studies and rehearsings 206 Strange news for Macready 207 Requisites of author and actor 208 Play chosen for private performance 209 Fanny Kelly and her theatre 209 Every Man in his Humour 209 The company of actors 210 Enjoying a character 210 Troubles of management 210 First and second performances 211 Of the acting 211 C. D. As performer 212 C. D. As manager 212 Two human mysteries 213 The mysteries explained 213 Training for the stage 213 At Broadstairs 214 Ramsgate entertainments 214 Birth of fourth son 215 Second raven's death 215 Intended daily paper 215 Disturbing engagements 216 Old ways interrupted 216 My appeal against the enterprise 217 Reply and issue 217 Interruption and renewal 218 The beginning and the end 218 Forming new resolve 219 Back to old scenes 219 Editorship ceased 219 Going to Switzerland 220 A happy saying 221 Leaves England 221 CHAPTER X. 1846. Pages 222-243. A HOME IN SWITZERLAND. ÆT. 34. On the Rhine 222 German readers of Dickens 223 Travelling Englishmen 223 A hoaxing-match 224 House-hunting 224 Tempted by a mansion 225 Chooses a cottage 225 Earliest impressions 226 Lausanne described 227 Views from his farm 228 Under his windows 228 A sketch of Rosemont 229 Design as to work 230 The English colony 231 Unaccommodating carriage 232 A death in the lake 232 Boatman's narrative 233 The Theatre 233 The Prison 234 The Blind Institution 235 Interesting cases 235-240 Beginning work 240 First slip of New Novel 241 Sortes Shandyanæ 242 The Christmas tale 242 CHAPTER XI. 1846. Pages 244-260. SWISS PEOPLE AND SCENERY. ÆT. 34. The mountains and lake 244 The people and their manners 245 A country fête 246 Family sketch 246 Rifle-shooting 247 A marriage on the farm 248 Gunpowder festivities 248 Bride and mother 248 First number of _Dombey_ 249 Christmas book 249 General idea for new story 250 Hints for illustration of it 250 Haldimands and Cerjats 251 Visit of Henry Hallam 251 Local news 252 Sight-seers from England 252 Trip to Chamounix 253 Mule-travelling 253 Mont Blanc range 254 Mer de Glace 255 Tête Noire pass 255 Help in an accident 256 English, French, and Prussian 256 Second number of _Dombey_ 257 Castle of Chillon described 257 Honour to New Constitution 258 Political celebration 258 Malcontents 259 Good conduct of the people 259 Protestant and Catholic cantons 260 A timely word on Ireland 260 CHAPTER XII. 1846. Pages 261-276. SKETCHES CHIEFLY PERSONAL. ÆT. 34. Home politics 261 The Whigs and Peel 261 Belief in emigration schemes 262 Mark Lemon 263 An incident of character 263 Hood's _Tylney Hall_ 264 Trait of the Duke of Wellington 264 Mr. Watson of Rockingham 264 A recollection of reporting days 265 Returns to _Dombey_ 265 Two English travellers 266 Party among the hills 267 A Smollett and Fielding hero 268 Milksop youths 268 Ogre and Lambs 268 Sir Joseph and his family 269 Lord Vernon 270 Passion for rifle-shooting 270 A wonderful carriage 270 The Ladies Taylor 271 Proposed Reading of first _Dombey_ 272 A sketch from life 272 Two sisters and their books 272 Trip to Great St. Bernard 273 Ascent of the mountain 274 The Convent 274 Scene at the mountain top 274 Bodies found in the snow 275 The holy fathers 275 A tavern all but sign 276 The monk and _Pickwick_ 276 CHAPTER XIII. 1846. Pages 277-294. LITERARY LABOUR AT LAUSANNE. ÆT. 34. A picture completed 277 Great present want 277 Daily life 278 Imaginative needs 278 Self-judgments 279 The Now and the Hereafter 279 Fancies for Christmas books 280 Second number of _Dombey_ 280 A personal revelation 281 Craving for streets 281 Food for fancy 282 Second _Dombey_ done 282 Curious wants of the mind 283 Success of the Reading 283 First thought of Public Readings 284 Two stories in hand 285 Unexpected difficulties 286 Work under sensitive conditions 286 Alarm for _Dombey_ 287 Doubts and misgivings 287 Change of scene to be tried 287 At Genoa 288 Disquietudes of authorship 288 Wanting counsel 289 At the worst 289 Report of Genoa 290 A new social experience 290 Feminine eccentricities 291 A ladies' dinner 291 Elephant-quellers 292 "Like a Manchester cotton mill" 292 Again at Rosemont 293 Visit of the Talfourds 293 Lodging his friends 294 Intentions and hope 294 CHAPTER XIV. 1846. Pages 295-315. REVOLUTION AT GENEVA. CHRISTMAS BOOK AND LAST DAYS IN SWITZERLAND. ÆT. 34. An arrival of manuscript 295 A title 295 Large sale of _Dombey_ 296 Again at Geneva 296 Rising against the Jesuits 297 Back to Lausanne 297 The fight in Geneva 298 Rifle against cannon 299 True objection to Roman-Catholicism 299 Genevese "aristocracy" 299 A lesson 300 Traces left by revolution 300 Abettors of revolution 301 Where the shoe pinches 301 _Daily News'_ changes 302 My surrender of editorship 302 Thoughts for the future 303 Letters about _Battle of Life_ 303 Jeffrey's opinion 303 Sketch of story 304 A difficulty in plot 305 Old characteristics 305 His own comments 306 Reply to criticism 307 Stanfield illustrations 307 Doubts of third part 308 Strengthening the close 308 Objections invited 309 Tendency to blank verse 309 Grave mistake by Leech 310 How dealt with by C. D. 310 First impulse 311 Kindly afterthought 311 Lord Gobden and free trade 312 Needs while at work 312 Pleasures of autumn 313 Striking tents 314 Sadness of leave-taking 314 Travelling to Paris 314 At Paris 315 CHAPTER XV. 1846-1847. Pages 316-333. THREE MONTHS IN PARIS. ÆT. 34-35. A greeting from Lord Brougham 316 French Sunday 317 A house taken 317 Absurdity of the abode 318 Its former tenant 319 Sister Fanny's illness 319 Opinion of Elliotson 320 The king of the barricades 320 Unhealthy symptoms 321 Incident in the streets 321 The Parisian population 322 Americans and French 322 Unsettlement of plans 323 Eldest son's education 323 A true friend 323 Christmas tale on the stage 323 An alarming neighbour 325 Startling blue-devils 326 Approach to cannibalism 326 In London 326 Cheap edition of works 326 Suppressed dedication 326 Return to Paris 326 Begging-letter writers 327 Friendly services 327 Imaginary dialogue 328 A Boulogne reception 328 Cautions to a traveller 329 Citizen Dickens 330 Sight-seeing 330 At theatres 330 Visits to famous Frenchmen 331 Evening with Victor Hugo 331 Adventure with a coachman 332 Bibliothèque Royale 333 Premonitory symptoms 333 In London 334 A party at Gore-house 334 Illness of eldest son 335 Snuff-shop readings 336 Old charwoman's compliment 336 CHAPTER XVI. 1846-1848. Pages 337-367. DOMBEY AND SON. ÆT. 34-36. Drift of the tale 337 Why undervalued 338 Mistakes of critics 338 Adherence to first design 338 Plan for Paul and his sister 339 For Dombey and his daughter 339 Proposed course of the story 340 "The stock of the soup" 340 Walter Gay and his fate 341 Decided favourably 341 Six pages too much 342 Omissions objected to 342 New chapter written 343 Portions sacrificed 343 Anxiety for the face of his hero 344 A suggested type of city-gentleman 344 Artist-fancies for Mr. Dombey 345-6 Dickens and his illustrators 347 A silly story repeated 347 Why noticed again 348 Facsimile of letter to Cruikshank 349-50 Dickens's words at the time 349 Cruikshank's thirty-four years after 350 A masterpiece of Dickens's writing 351 Picture of him at work 352 An experience of Ben Jonson's 352 How objections are taken 352 Shall Paul's life be prolonged? 353 A Reading of the second number 353 A number to be added to Paul's life 354 Failure of an illustration 354 What it should have been 355 The Mrs. Pipchin of his childhood 355 First thought of his Autobiography 356 Opening his fourth number 356 At Doctor Blimber's 357 Paul's school life 357 Paul and Florence 357 Jeffrey's forecast of the tale 358 Beginning his fifth number 359 What he will do with it 359 A damper to the spirits 359 Close of Paul's life 360 Jeffrey on Paul's death 361 Thoughts for Edith 362 Florence and Little Nell 362 Judgments and comparisons 363 Edith's first destiny 363 Doubts suggested 364 An important change 364 Diogenes remembered 365 Other characters 365 Blimber establishment 366 Supposed originals 366 Surmises entirely wrong 367 CHAPTER XVII. 1847-1852. Pages 368-402. SPLENDID STROLLING. ÆT. 35-40. Birth of fifth son 368 Death of Lieut. Sydney Dickens 368 Proposed benefit for Leigh Hunt 369 The plays and actors 370 The manager 370 Troubles at rehearsals 371 Pains rewarded 371 Leigh Hunt's account 372 Receipts and expenses 373 Lord Lytton's prologue 373 Appearance of Mrs. Gamp 374 Fancy for a jeu d'esprit 374 Mrs. Gamp at the play 375 Failure of artists 375 An unfinished fancy 375 Mrs. Gamp with the strollers 376 Alarm of Mrs. Harris 376 Leigh Hunt and Poole 377 Ticklish society 378 Mrs. Gamp's cabman 378 George Cruikshank 379 Mr. Wilson the barber 379 Wig experiences 380 Fatigues of a powder ball 380 Manager's moustache and whiskers 381 Leech, Lemon, and Jerrold 381-2 Mrs. Gamp's dislike of "Dougladge" 382 Costello, Stone, and Egg 383 "Only the engine" 384 Cruikshank's _Bottle_ 384 Profits of _Dombey_ 385 Time come for savings 385 Proposed edition of old novels 385 Another dropped design 386 The Praslin tragedy 386 Penalty for seeing before others 387 Street-music 387 Margate theatre and manager 387 As to Christmas book 388 Delay found necessary 389 A literary Kitely 389 Meetings at Leeds and Glasgow 390 Book-friends 391 Sheriff Alison 391 Hospitable welcome 391 Scott-monument 392 Purchase of Shakespeare's house 392 Scheme to benefit Knowles 393 Plays rehearsed 394 _Merry Wives_ chosen 394 Performances and result 394 At Knebworth-park 395 Guild of Literature and Art 396 Unfortunate omission 396 The farce that was to be written 396 The farce that was substituted 397 _Not so Bad as we Seem_ 397 Travelling theatre and scenes 398 Success of the comedy 398 An incident at Sunderland 399 Troubles of a manager 399 Acting under difficulties 400 Scenery overturned 401 Effects of fright 401 Mr. Wilkie Collins 402 CHAPTER XVIII. 1848-1851. Pages 403-441. SEASIDE HOLIDAYS. ÆT. 36-39. Louis Philippe dethroned 403 French missive from C. D. 404 Aspirations of Citizen Dickens 404 At Broadstairs 405 By rail to China 405 The Junk 406 Mariners on deck and in cabin 406 Perplexing questions 406 A toy-shop on the seas 407 Type of finality 407 A contrast 408 Home questions 408 Temperance agitations 409 The temptations to gin-shop 409 Necessity of dealing with _them_ 409 Stages anterior to drunkenness 410 Cruikshank's satire 410 Realities of his pencil 411 Its one-sidedness 411 Dickens on Hogarth 412 Cause as well as effect 412 Exit of Gin-lane 412 Wisdom of the great painter 413 Late, but never too late 413 Dickens on designs by Leech 414 Originality of Leech 414 Superiority of his method 415 The requisites for it 415 Excuses for the rising generation 416 Intellectual juvenility 416 A dangerous youth 417 What Leech will be remembered for 417 Odd adventures 418 Pony-chaise accident 418 Parallel to Squeers 419 Strenuous idleness 419 French philosophy 420 Hint for Mr. Taine 420 The better for idleness 421 A favourite spot 421 At Brighton 421 With mad folks and doctors 422 A name for his new book 422 At Broadstairs 422 Troubles in his writing 423 A letter in character 423 At Bonchurch 425 The Rev. James White 425 Mirth and melancholy 425 Mrs. James White 426 First impressions of Undercliff 426 Talfourd made a judge 427 Dickens's affection for him 427 Church-school examination 428 Dinners and pic-nics 428 The comedian Regnier 429 When acting is genuine 429 Doubts as to health 429 Arrivals and departures 430 A startling revelation 431 Effects of Bonchurch climate 431 Utter prostration 431 Difficulties of existing there 432 Distrust of doctors 433 Other side of picture 433 What I observed at the time 434 From the _Copperfield_ MS. 434 Mr. Browne's sketch of Micawber 435 Accident to John Leech 435 Its consequences 435 Depressing influences 436 At Broadstairs 436 Railway travellers 437 The exhibition year 438 A _Copperfield_ banquet 438 C. D. On money values 439 His leisure reading 439 A correction for Carlyle 440 Good criticism 441 Thoughts of a new book 441 The old restlessness 441 Beginning on a Friday 441 CHAPTER XIX. 1848-1850. Pages 442-456. HAUNTED MAN AND HOUSEHOLD WORDS. ÆT. 36-40. Maturing book for Christmas 442 Friendly plea for Mr. Macrone 442 Completion of Christmas story 443 Dropped motto 443 The "ghost" and the "bargain" 444 The Tetterby family 445 Teachings of the little tale 445 His own statement of its intention 446 Forgive that you may forget 446 _Copperfield_ sales 447 A letter from Russia 448 Translation into Russian 448 Sympathy of Siberia 448 The Periodical taking form 449 A design for it described 449 Original and selected matter 449 A Shadow for everywhere 450 Hopes of success 450 Doubts respecting it 451 Incompatibility of design 451 New design chosen 452 Assistant editor appointed 453 Titles proposed 453 Appearance of first number 454 Earliest contributors 454 Opinion of Mr. Sala 454 Child's dream of a star 455 A fancy derived from childhood 456 CHAPTER XX. 1848-1851. Pages 457-494. LAST YEARS IN DEVONSHIRE TERRACE. ÆT. 36-39. Sentiment about places 457 Confidences 458 Personal revelations 458 Early memories 459 At his sister's sick-bed 459 Last thoughts 460 Sister's death 460 Book to be written in first person 461 Riding over Salisbury Plain 461 Visiting scene of a tragedy 462 First sees Yarmouth 462 Birth of sixth son 462 Notion for a character 463 Choosing a title 463 "Mag's Diversions" 464 "Copperfield" chosen 464 Varieties of it proposed 465 Title finally determined 466 Difficulties of opening 466 Rogers and Benedict 466 Wit of Fonblanque 467 Procter and Macready 467 The Sheridans 468 Lord Byron's Ada 469 Dinner to Halévy and Scribe 469 Brougham and "the _Punch_ people" 469 The Duke at Vauxhall 470 Carlyle and Thackeray 470 Judicious change of a "tag" 471 A fact for a biographer 471 Marryat's delight with children 472 Bulwer Lytton and Monckton Milnes 472 Lords Nugent and Dudley Stuart 472-3 Kemble, Harness, and Dyce 473 Mrs. Siddons and John Kemble 473 Comparison and good distinction 474 Mazzini and Edinburgh friends 474 Artist-acquaintance 475 Visitors at his house 475 Friends from America 476 M. Van de Weyer 476 Ambition to see into heaven 477 Literature and art in the city 477 Doubtful compliment 478 A hint for London citizens 478 Letter against public executions 479 American observer in England 479 Marvels of English manners 480 A letter from Rockingham 481 Private theatricals 481 Major Bentley and General Boxall 481-2 A family scene 482 Doing too much 483 Death of Francis Jeffrey 483 Progress of work 484 The child-wife 484 A run to Paris 484 Banker or proctor 485 Doubts as to Dora settled 486 Of Rogers and Landor 486 A third daughter born 487 At Great Malvern 487 Macready's farewell 488 Experience of a brother author 488 The Home at Shepherd's-bush 488 Father's illness 489 Death of John Dickens 489 Tribute by his son 490 Theatrical-fund dinner 490 Plea for small actors 491 Remembering the forgotten 491 Death of his little daughter 492 Difficult tasks in life 492 Dora's grave 493 Advocating sanitary reform 493 Lord Shaftesbury 494 Realities of his books to Dickens 494 THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS. CHAPTER I. AMERICAN NOTES. 1842. Return from America--Longfellow in England--Thirty Years Ago--At Broadstairs--Preparing _Notes_--Fancy for the Opening of _Chuzzlewit_--Reading Tennyson--Theatricals at Margate--A New Protégé--Proposed Dedication--Sea-bathing and Authorship--Emigrants in Canada--Coming to the End--Rejected Motto for _Notes_--Return to London--Cheerless Visit--The Mingled Yarn--Scene at a Funeral--The Suppressed Introductory Chapter to the _Notes_, now first printed--Jeffrey's Opinion of the _Notes_--Dickens's Experience of America in 1868. THE reality did not fall short of the anticipation of home. His returnwas the occasion of unbounded enjoyment; and what he had planned beforesailing as the way we should meet, received literal fulfilment. By thesound of his cheery voice I first knew that he was come; and from myhouse we went together to Maclise, also "without a moment's warning. " AGreenwich dinner in which several friends (Talfourd, Milnes, Procter, Maclise, Stanfield, Marryat, Barham, Hood, and Cruikshank among them)took part, and other immediate greetings, followed; but the most specialcelebration was reserved for autumn, when, by way of challenge to whathe had seen while abroad, a home-journey was arranged with Stanfield, Maclise, and myself for his companions, into such of the most strikingscenes of a picturesque English county as the majority of us might notbefore have visited: Cornwall being ultimately chosen. Before our departure he was occupied by his preparation of the _AmericanNotes_; and to the same interval belongs the arrival in London of Mr. Longfellow, who became his guest, and (for both of us I am privileged toadd) our attached friend. Longfellow's name was not then the pleasantand familiar word it has since been in England; but he had alreadywritten several of his most felicitous pieces, and he possessed all thequalities of delightful companionship, the culture and the charm, whichhave no higher type or example than the accomplished and genialAmerican. He reminded me, when lately again in England, of twoexperiences out of many we had enjoyed together this quarter of acentury before. One of them was a day at Rochester, when, met by one ofthose prohibitions which are the wonder of visitors and the shame ofEnglishmen, we overleapt gates and barriers, and, setting at defiancerepeated threats of all the terrors of law coarsely expressed to us bythe custodian of the place, explored minutely the castle ruins. Theother was a night among those portions of the population which outragelaw and defy its terrors all the days of their lives, the tramps andthieves of London; when, under guidance and protection of the mosttrusted officers of the two great metropolitan prisons afforded to us byMr. Chesterton and Lieut. Tracey, we went over the worst haunts of themost dangerous classes. Nor will it be unworthy of remark, in proof thatattention is not drawn vainly to such scenes, that, upon Dickens goingover them a dozen years later when he wrote a paper about them for his_Household Words_, he found important changes effected whereby thesehuman dens, if not less dangerous, were become certainly more decent. Onthe night of our earlier visit, Maclise, who accompanied us, was struckwith such sickness on entering the first of the Mint lodging-houses inthe borough, that he had to remain, for the time we were in them, underguardianship of the police outside. Longfellow returned home by theGreat Western from Bristol on the 21st of October, enjoying as he passedthrough Bath the hospitality of Landor; and at the end of the followingweek we started on our Cornish travel. But what before this had occupied Dickens in the writing way must now betold. Not long after his reappearance amongst us, his house being stillin the occupation of Sir John Wilson, he went to Broadstairs, takingwith him the letters from which I have quoted so largely to help him inpreparing his _American Notes_; and one of his first announcements to me(18th of July) shows not only this labour in progress, but the story hewas under engagement to begin in November working in his mind. "Thesubjects at the beginning of the book are of that kind that I can't_dash_ at them, and now and then they fret me in consequence. When Icome to Washington, I am all right. The solitary prison at Philadelphiais a good subject, though; I forgot that for the moment. Have you seenthe Boston chapter yet? . . . I have never been in Cornwall either. A minecertainly; and a letter for that purpose shall be got from SouthwoodSmith. I have some notion of opening the new book in the lantern of alighthouse!" A letter a couple of months later (16th of Sept. ) recurs tothat proposed opening of his story which after all he laid aside; andshows how rapidly he was getting his _American Notes_ into shape. "Atthe Isle of Thanet races yesterday I saw--oh! who shall say what animmense amount of character in the way of inconceivable villainy andblackguardism! I even got some new wrinkles in the way of showmen, conjurors, pea-and-thimblers, and trampers generally. I think of openingmy new book on the coast of Cornwall, in some terribly dreary iron-boundspot. I hope to have finished the American book before the end of nextmonth; and we will then together fly down into that desolate region. "Our friends having Academy engagements to detain them, we had to delay alittle; and I meanwhile turn back to his letters to observe his progresswith his _Notes_, and other employments or enjoyments of the interval. They require no illustration that they will not themselves supply: but Imay remark that the then collected _Poems_ of Tennyson had become veryfavourite reading with him; and that while in America Mr. Mitchell thecomedian had given him a small white shaggy terrier, who bore at firstthe imposing name of Timber Doodle, and became a great domestic pet andcompanion. "I have been reading" (7th of August) "Tennyson all this morning on theseashore. Among other trifling effects, the waters have dried up as theydid of old, and shown me all the mermen and mermaids, at the bottom ofthe ocean; together with millions of queer creatures, half-fish andhalf-fungus, looking down into all manner of coral caves and seaweedconservatories; and staring in with their great dull eyes at every opennook and loop-hole. Who else, too, could conjure up such a close to theextraordinary and as Landor would say 'most wonderful' series ofpictures in the 'dream of fair women, ' as-- "'Squadrons and squares of men in brazen plates, Scaffolds, still sheets of water, divers woes, Ranges of glimmering vaults with iron grates, And hushed seraglios!' "I am getting on pretty well, but it was so glittering and sunshinyyesterday that I was forced to make holiday. " Four days later: "I havenot written a word this blessed day. I got to New York yesterday, andthink it goes as it should . . . Little doggy improves rapidly, and nowjumps over my stick at the word of command. I have changed his name toSnittle Timbery, as more sonorous and expressive. He unites with therest of the family in cordial regards and loves. _Nota Bene_. TheMargate theatre is open every evening, and the Four Patagonians (seeGoldsmith's _Essays_) are performing thrice a week at Ranelagh . . . " A visit from me was at this time due, to which these were held out asinducements; and there followed what it was supposed I could not resist, a transformation into the broadest farce of a deep tragedy by a dearfriend of ours. "Now you really must come. Seeing only is believing, very often isn't that, and even Being the thing falls a long way shortof believing it. Mrs. Nickleby herself once asked me, as you know, if Ireally believed there ever was such a woman; but there'll be no morebelief, either in me or my descriptions, after what I have to tell ofour excellent friend's tragedy, if you don't come and have it playedagain for yourself 'by particular desire. ' We saw it last night, and oh!if you had but been with us! Young Betty, doing what the mind of manwithout my help never _can_ conceive, with his legs like paddedboot-trees wrapped up in faded yellow drawers, was the hero. The comicman of the company enveloped in a white sheet, with his head tied withred tape like a brief and greeted with yells of laughter whenever heappeared, was the venerable priest. A poor toothless old idiot at whomthe very gallery roared with contempt when he was called a tyrant, wasthe remorseless and aged Creon. And Ismene being arrayed in spangledmuslin trowsers very loose in the legs and very tight in the ankles, such as Fatima would wear in _Blue Beard_, was at her appearanceimmediately called upon for a song. After this, can you longer. . . ?" With the opening of September I had renewed report of his book, and ofother matters. "The Philadelphia chapter I think very good, but I amsorry to say it has not made as much in print as I hoped . . . In Americathey have forged a letter with my signature, which they coolly declareappeared in the _Chronicle_ with the copyright circular; and in which Iexpress myself in such terms as you may imagine, in reference to thedinners and so forth. It has been widely distributed all over theStates; and the felon who invented it is a 'smart man' of course. Youare to understand that it is not done as a joke, and is scurrilouslyreviewed. Mr. Park Benjamin begins a lucubration upon it with thesecapitals, DICKENS IS A FOOL, AND A LIAR. . . . I have a new protégé, in theperson of a wretched deaf and dumb boy whom I found upon the sands theother day, half dead, and have got (for the present) into the unioninfirmary at Minster. A most deplorable case. " On the 14th he told me: "I have pleased myself very much to-day in thematter of Niagara. I have made the description very brief (as it shouldbe), but I fancy it is good. I am beginning to think over theintroductory chapter, and it has meanwhile occurred to me that I shouldlike, at the beginning of the volumes, to put what follows on a blankpage. _I dedicate this Book to those friends of mine in America, who, loving their country, can bear the truth, when it is written goodhumouredly and in a kind spirit. _ What do you think? Do you see anyobjection?" My reply is to be inferred from what he sent back on the 20th. "I don'tquite see my way towards an expression in the dedication of any feelingin reference to the American reception. Of course I have always intendedto glance at it, gratefully, in the end of the book; and it will haveits place in the introductory chapter, if we decide for that. Would itdo to put in, after 'friends in America, ' _who giving me a welcome Imust ever gratefully and proudly remember, left my judgment free, and_who, loving, &c. If so, so be it. " Before the end of the month he wrote: "For the last two or three days Ihave been rather slack in point of work; not being in the vein. To-day Ihad not written twenty lines before I rushed out (the weather beinggorgeous) to bathe. And when I have done that, it is all up with me inthe way of authorship until to-morrow. The little dog is in the highestspirits; and jumps, as Mr. Kenwigs would say, perpetivally. I have hadletters by the Britannia from Felton, Prescott, Mr. Q, and others, allvery earnest and kind. I think you will like what I have written on thepoor emigrants and their ways as I literally and truly saw them on theboat from Quebec to Montreal. " This was a passage, which, besides being in itself as attractive as anyin his writings, gives such perfect expression to a feeling thatunderlies them all, that I subjoin it in a note. [63] On board thisCanadian steamboat he encountered crowds of poor emigrants and theirchildren; and such was their patient kindness and cheerful endurance, incircumstances where the easy-living rich could hardly fail to bemonsters of impatience and selfishness, that it suggested to him areflection than which it was not possible to have written anything moreworthy of observation, or more absolutely true. Jeremy Taylor has thesame philosophy in his lesson on opportunities, but here it wasbeautified by the example with all its fine touches. It made us readRich and Poor by new translation. The printers were now hard at work, and in the last week of September hewrote: "I send you proofs as far as Niagara . . . I am ratherholiday-making this week . . . Taking principal part in a regatta hereyesterday, very pretty and gay indeed. We think of coming up in time forMacready's opening, when perhaps you will give us a chop; and of courseyou and Mac will dine with _us_ the next day? I shall leave nothing ofthe book to do after coming home, please God, but the two chapters onslavery and the people which I could manage easily in a week, if needwere . . . The policeman who supposed the Duke of Brunswick to be one ofthe swell mob, ought instantly to be made an inspector. The suspicionreflects the highest credit (I seriously think) on his penetration andjudgment. " Three days later: "For the last two days we have had galesblowing from the north-east, and seas rolling on us that drown the pier. To-day it is tremendous. Such a sea was never known here at this season, and it is running in at this moment in waves of twelve feet high. Youwould hardly know the place. But we shall be punctual to your dinnerhour on Saturday. If the wind should hold in the same quarter, we may beobliged to come up by land; and in that case I should start the caravanat six in the morning. . . . What do you think of this for mytitle--_American Notes for General Circulation_; and of this motto? "In reply to a question from the Bench, the Solicitor for the Bank observed, that this kind of notes circulated the most extensively, in those parts of the world where they were stolen and forged. _Old Bailey Report. _" The motto was omitted, objection being made to it; and on the last dayof the month I had the last of his letters during this Broadstairsvisit. "Strange as it may appear to you" (25th of September), "the seais running so high that we have no choice but to return by land. Nosteamer can come out of Ramsgate, and the Margate boat lay out all nighton Wednesday with all her passengers on board. You may be sure of ustherefore on Saturday at 5, for I have determined to leave hereto-morrow, as we could not otherwise manage it in time; and have engagedan omnibus to bring the whole caravan by the overland route. . . . Wecannot open a window, or a door; legs are of no use on the terrace; andthe Margate boats can only take people aboard at Herne Bay!" He broughtwith him all that remained to be done of his second volume except thelast two chapters, including that to which he has referred as"introductory;" and on the following Wednesday (5th of October) he toldme that the first of these was done. "I want you very much to come anddine to-day that we may repair to Drury-lane together; and let us sayhalf-past four, or there is no time to be comfortable. I am going out toTottenham this morning, on a cheerless mission I would willingly haveavoided. Hone, of the _Every Day Book_, is dying; and sent Cruikshankyesterday to beg me to go and see him, as, having read no books but mineof late, he wanted to see and shake hands with me before (as Georgesaid) 'he went. ' There is no help for it, of course; so to Tottenham Irepair, this morning. I worked all day, and till midnight; and finishedthe slavery chapter yesterday. " The cheerless visit had its mournful sequel before the next monthclosed, when he went with the same companion to poor Hone's funeral; andone of his letters written at the time to Mr. Felton has so vividlyrecalled to me the tragi-comedy of an incident of that day, as for longafter he used to describe it, and as I have heard the other principalactor in it good-naturedly admit to be perfectly true, that two or threesentences may be given here. The wonderful neighbourhood in this life ofours, of serious and humorous things, constitutes in itself very much ofthe genius of Dickens's writing; the laughter close to the pathos, butnever touching it with ridicule; and this small occurrence may be takenin farther evidence of its reality. "We went into a little parlour where the funeral party was, and Godknows it was miserable enough, for the widow and children were cryingbitterly in one corner, and the other mourners (mere people of ceremony, who cared no more for the dead man than the hearse did) were talkingquite coolly and carelessly together in another; and the contrast was aspainful and distressing as anything I ever saw. There was an independentclergyman present, with his bands on and a bible under his arm, who, assoon as we were seated, addressed C thus, in a loud emphatic voice. 'Mr. C, have you seen a paragraph respecting our departed friend, which hasgone the round of the morning papers?' 'Yes, sir, ' says C, 'I have:'looking very hard at me the while, for he had told me with some pridecoming down that it was his composition. 'Oh!' said the clergyman. 'Thenyou will agree with me, Mr. C, that it is not only an insult to me, whoam the servant of the Almighty, but an insult to the Almighty, whoseservant I am. ' 'How is that, sir?' says C. 'It is stated, Mr. C, in thatparagraph, ' says the minister, 'that when Mr. Hone failed in businessas a bookseller, he was persuaded by _me_ to try the pulpit; which isfalse, incorrect, unchristian, in a manner blasphemous, and in allrespects contemptible. Let us pray. ' With which, and in the same breath, I give you my word, he knelt down, as we all did, and began a verymiserable jumble of an extemporary prayer. I was really penetrated withsorrow for the family" (he exerted himself zealously for themafterwards, as the kind-hearted C also did), "but when C, upon his kneesand sobbing for the loss of an old friend, whispered me 'that if thatwasn't a clergyman, and it wasn't a funeral, he'd have punched hishead, ' I felt as if nothing but convulsions could possibly relieve me. " On the 10th of October I heard from him that the chapter intended to beintroductory to the _Notes_ was written, and waiting our conferencewhether or not it should be printed. We decided against it; on his partso reluctantly, that I had to undertake for its publication when a morefitting time should come. This in my judgment has arrived, and thechapter first sees the light on this page. There is no danger atpresent, as there would have been when it was written, that its properself-assertion should be mistaken for an apprehension of hostilejudgments which he was anxious to deprecate or avoid. He is out of reachof all that now; and reveals to us here, as one whom fear or censure cantouch no more, his honest purpose in the use of satire even where hishumorous temptations were strongest. What he says will on other groundsalso be read with unusual interest, for it will be found to connectitself impressively not with his first experiences only, but with hissecond visit to America at the close of his life. He held always thesame high opinion of what was best in that country, and always the samecontempt for what was worst in it. "INTRODUCTORY. AND NECESSARY TO BE READ. "I have placed the foregoing title at the head of this page, because I challenge and deny the right of any person to pass judgment on this book, or to arrive at any reasonable conclusion in reference to it, without first being at the trouble of becoming acquainted with its design and purpose. "It is not statistical. Figures of arithmetic have already been heaped upon America's devoted head, almost as lavishly as figures of speech have been piled above Shakespeare's grave. "It comprehends no small talk concerning individuals, and no violation of the social confidences of private life. The very prevalent practice of kidnapping live ladies and gentlemen, forcing them into cabinets, and labelling and ticketing them whether they will or no, for the gratification of the idle and the curious, is not to my taste. Therefore I have avoided it. "It has not a grain of any political ingredient in its whole composition. "Neither does it contain, nor have I intended that it should contain, any lengthened and minute account of my personal reception in the United States: not because I am, or ever was, insensible to that spontaneous effusion of affection and generosity of heart, in a most affectionate and generous-hearted people; but because I conceive that it would ill become me to flourish matter necessarily involving so much of my own praises, in the eyes of my unhappy readers. "This book is simply what it claims to be--a record of the impressions I received from day to day, during my hasty travels in America, and sometimes (but not always) of the conclusions to which they, and after-reflection on them, have led me; a description of the country I passed through; of the institutions I visited; of the kind of people among whom I journeyed; and of the manners and customs that came within my observation. Very many works having just the same scope and range, have been already published, but I think that these two volumes stand in need of no apology on that account. The interest of such productions, if they have any, lies in the varying impressions made by the same novel things on different minds; and not in new discoveries or extraordinary adventures. "I can scarcely be supposed to be ignorant of the hazard I run in writing of America at all. I know perfectly well that there is, in that country, a numerous class of well-intentioned persons prone to be dissatisfied with all accounts of the Republic whose citizens they are, which are not couched in terms of exalted and extravagant praise. I know perfectly well that there is in America, as in most other places laid down in maps of the great world, a numerous class of persons so tenderly and delicately constituted, that they cannot bear the truth in any form. And I do not need the gift of prophecy to discern afar off, that they who will be aptest to detect malice, ill will, and all uncharitableness in these pages, and to show, beyond any doubt, that they are perfectly inconsistent with that grateful and enduring recollection which I profess to entertain of the welcome I found awaiting me beyond the Atlantic--will be certain native journalists, veracious and gentlemanly, who were at great pains to prove to me, on all occasions during my stay there, that the aforesaid welcome was utterly worthless. "But, venturing to dissent even from these high authorities, I formed my own opinion of its value in the outset, and retain it to this hour; and in asserting (as I invariably did on all public occasions) my liberty and freedom of speech while I was among the Americans, and in maintaining it at home, I believe that I best show my sense of the high worth of that welcome, and of the honourable singleness of purpose with which it was extended to me. From first to last I saw, in the friends who crowded round me in America, old readers, over-grateful and over-partial perhaps, to whom I had happily been the means of furnishing pleasure and entertainment; not a vulgar herd who would flatter and cajole a stranger into turning with closed eyes from all the blemishes of the nation, and into chaunting its praises with the discrimination of a street ballad-singer. From first to last I saw, in those hospitable hands, a home-made wreath of laurel; and not an iron muzzle disguised beneath a flower or two. "Therefore I take--and hold myself not only justified in taking, but bound to take--the plain course of saying what I think, and noting what I saw; and as it is not my custom to exalt what in my judgment are foibles and abuses at home, so I have no intention of softening down, or glozing over, those that I have observed abroad. "If this book should fall into the hands of any sensitive American who cannot bear to be told that the working of the institutions of his country is far from perfect; that in spite of the advantage she has over all other nations in the elastic freshness and vigour of her youth, she is far from being a model for the earth to copy; and that even in those pictures of the national manners with which he quarrels most, there is still (after the lapse of several years, each of which may be fairly supposed to have had its stride in improvement) much that is just and true at this hour; let him lay it down, now, for I shall not please him. Of the intelligent, reflecting, and educated among his countrymen, I have no fear; for I have ample reason to believe, after many delightful conversations not easily to be forgotten, that there are very few topics (if any) on which their sentiments differ materially from mine. "I may be asked--'If you have been in any respect disappointed in America, and are assured beforehand that the expression of your disappointment will give offence to any class, why do you write at all?' My answer is, that I went there expecting greater things than I found, and resolved as far as in me lay to do justice to the country, at the expense of any (in my view) mistaken or prejudiced statements that might have been made to its disparagement. Coming home with a corrected and sobered judgment, I consider myself no less bound to do justice to what, according to my best means of judgment, I found to be the truth. " Of the book for whose opening page this matter introductory was written, it will be enough merely to add that it appeared on the 18th of October;that before the close of the year four large editions had been sold;and that in my opinion it thoroughly deserved the estimate formed of itby one connected with America by the strongest social affections, andotherwise in all respects an honourable, high-minded, upright judge. "You have been very tender, " wrote Lord Jeffrey, "to our sensitivefriends beyond sea, and my whole heart goes along with every word youhave written. I think that you have perfectly accomplished all that youprofess or undertake to do, and that the world has never yet seen a morefaithful, graphic, amusing, kind-hearted narrative. " * * * * * I permit myself so far to anticipate a later page as to print here abrief extract from one of the letters of the last American visit. Without impairing the interest with which the narrative of that timewill be read in its proper place, I shall thus indicate the extent towhich present impressions were modified by the experience of twenty-sixyears later. He is writing from Philadelphia on the fourteenth ofJanuary, 1868. "I see _great changes_ for the better, socially. Politically, no. England governed by the Marylebone vestry and the penny papers, andEngland as she would be after years of such governing; is what I make of_that_. Socially, the change in manners is remarkable. There is muchgreater politeness and forbearance in all ways. . . . On the other handthere are still provincial oddities wonderfully quizzical; and thenewspapers are constantly expressing the popular amazement at 'Mr. Dickens's extraordinary composure. ' They seem to take it ill that Idon't stagger on to the platform overpowered by the spectacle before me, and the national greatness. They are all so accustomed to do publicthings with a flourish of trumpets, that the notion of my coming in toread without somebody first flying up and delivering an 'Oration' aboutme, and flying down again and leading me in, is so very unaccountable tothem, that sometimes they have no idea until I open my lips that it canpossibly be Charles Dickens. " FOOTNOTES: [63] "Cant as we may, and as we shall to the end of all things, it isvery much harder for the poor to be virtuous than it is for the rich;and the good that is in them, shines the brighter for it. In many anoble mansion lives a man, the best of husbands and of fathers, whoseprivate worth in both capacities is justly lauded to the skies. Butbring him here, upon this crowded deck. Strip from his fair young wifeher silken dress and jewels, unbind her braided hair, stamp earlywrinkles on her brow, pinch her pale cheek with care and much privation, array her faded form in coarsely patched attire, let there be nothingbut his love to set her forth or deck her out, and you shall put it tothe proof indeed. So change his station in the world that he shall see, in those young things who climb about his knee, not records of hiswealth and name, but little wrestlers with him for his daily bread; somany poachers on his scanty meal; so many units to divide his every sumof comfort, and farther to reduce its small amount. In lieu of theendearments of childhood in its sweetest aspect, heap upon him all itspains and wants, its sicknesses and ills, its fretfulness, caprice, andquerulous endurance: let its prattle be, not of engaging infant fancies, but of cold, and thirst, and hunger: and if his fatherly affectionoutlive all this, and he be patient, watchful, tender; careful of hischildren's lives, and mindful always of their joys and sorrows; thensend him back to parliament, and pulpit, and to quarter sessions, andwhen he hears fine talk of the depravity of those who live from hand tomouth, and labour hard to do it, let him speak up, as one who knows, andtell those holders-forth that they, by parallel with such a class, should be high angels in their daily lives, and lay but humble siege toheaven at last. . . . Which of us shall say what he would be, if suchrealities, with small relief or change all through his days, were his!Looking round upon these people: far from home, houseless, indigent, wandering, weary with travel and hard living: and seeing how patientlythey nursed and tended their young children: how they consulted evertheir wants first, then half supplied their own; what gentle ministersof hope and faith the women were; how the men profited by their example;and how very, very seldom even a moment's petulance or harsh complaintbroke out among them: I felt a stronger love and honour of my kind comeglowing on my heart, and wished to God there had been many atheists inthe better part of human nature there, to read this simple lesson in thebook of life. " CHAPTER II. FIRST YEAR OF MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 1843. A Sunset at Land's-end--Description of the Cornish Tour--Letter from Maclise--Maclise to J. F. --Names first given to _Chuzzlewit_--First Number of _Chuzzlewit_--Prologue to a Play--A Tragedy by Browning--Accompaniments of Work--Miss Georgina Hogarth--American Controversy--Cottage at Finchley--Origin of Mrs. Gamp--Change of Editorship at _Chronicle_--Macready bound for America--Works of Charity and Mercy--Visit to Broadstairs--Sea-side Life in Ordinary--Speech at Opening of the Manchester Athenæum--Dickens's Interest in Ragged Schools--His Sympathy with the Church of England--Origin of his _Christmas Carol_--Third Son born. THE Cornish trip had come off, meanwhile, with such unexpected andcontinued attraction for us that we were well into the third week ofabsence before we turned our faces homeward. Railways helped us then notmuch; but where the roads were inaccessible to post-horses, we walked. Tintagel was visited, and no part of mountain or sea consecrated by thelegends of Arthur was left unexplored. We ascended to the cradle of thehighest tower of Mount St. Michael, and descended into several mines. Land and sea yielded each its marvels to us; but of all the impressionsbrought away, of which some afterwards took forms as lasting as theycould receive from the most delightful art, I doubt if any were thesource of such deep emotion to us all as a sunset we saw at Land's-end. Stanfield knew the wonders of the Continent, the glories of Irelandwere native to Maclise, I was familiar from boyhood with border andScottish scenery, and Dickens was fresh from Niagara; but there wassomething in the sinking of the sun behind the Atlantic that autumnafternoon, as we viewed it together from the top of the rock projectingfarthest into the sea, which each in his turn declared to have noparallel in memory. But with the varied and overflowing gladness of those three memorableweeks it would be unworthy now to associate only the saddenedrecollection of the sole survivor. "Blessed star of morning!" wroteDickens to Felton while yet the glow of its enjoyment was upon him. "Such a trip as we had into Cornwall just after Longfellow went away! . . . Sometimes we travelled all night, sometimes all day, sometimes both. . . . Heavens! If you could have seen the necks of bottles, distracting intheir immense varieties of shape, peering out of the carriage pockets!If you could have witnessed the deep devotion of the post-boys, the wildattachment of the hostlers, the maniac glee of the waiters! If you couldhave followed us into the earthy old churches we visited, and into thestrange caverns on the gloomy sea-shore, and down into the depths ofmines, and up to the tops of giddy heights where the unspeakable greenwater was roaring, I don't know how many hundred feet below! If youcould have seen but one gleam of the bright fires by which we sat in thebig rooms of ancient inns at night, until long after the small hours hadcome and gone. . . . I never laughed in my life as I did on this journey. It would have done you good to hear me. I was choking and gasping andbursting the buckle off the back of my stock, all the way. And Stanfieldgot into such apoplectic entanglements that we were often obliged tobeat him on the back with portmanteaus before we could recover him. Seriously, I do believe there never was such a trip. And they made suchsketches, those two men, in the most romantic of our halting-places, that you would have sworn we had the Spirit of Beauty with us, as wellas the Spirit of Fun. "[64] The Logan Stone, by Stanfield, was one of them; and it laughinglysketched both the charm of what was seen and the mirth of what was done, for it perched me on the top of the stone. It is historical, however, the ascent having been made; and of this and other examples ofsteadiness at heights which deterred the rest, as well as of a subjectsuggested for a painting of which Dickens became the unknown purchaser, Maclise reminded me in some pleasant allusions many years later, which, notwithstanding their tribute to my athletic achievements, thegood-natured reader must forgive my printing. They complete the littlepicture of our trip. Something I had written to him of recent travelamong the mountain scenery of the wilder coasts of Donegal had touchedthe chord of these old remembrances. "As to your clambering, " hereplied, "don't I know what happened of old? Don't I still see the LoganStone, and you perched on the giddy top, while we, rocking it on itspivot, shrank from all that lay concealed below! Should I ever haveblundered on the waterfall of St. Wighton, if you had not piloted theway? And when we got to Land's-end, with the green sea far under uslapping into solitary rocky nooks where the mermaids live, who but youonly had the courage to stretch over, to see those diamond jets ofbrightness that I swore then, and believe still, were the flappings oftheir tails! And don't I recall you again, sitting on the tip-top stoneof the cradle-turret over the highest battlement of the castle of St. Michael's Mount, with not a ledge or coigne of vantage 'twixt you andthe fathomless ocean under you, distant three thousand feet? Last, do Iforget you clambering up the goat-path to King Arthur's castle ofTintagel, when, in my vain wish to follow, I grovelled and clung to thesoil like a Caliban, and you, in the manner of a tricksy spirit andstout Ariel, actually danced up and down before me!" The waterfall I led him to was among the records of the famous holiday, celebrated also by Thackeray in one of his pen-and-ink pleasantries, which were sent by both painters to the next year's Academy; and soeager was Dickens to possess this landscape by Maclise which includedthe likeness of a member of his family, yet so anxious that our friendshould be spared the sacrifice which he knew would follow an avowal ofhis wish, that he bought it under a feigned name before the Academyopened, and steadily refused to take back the money which on discoveryof the artifice Maclise pressed upon him. [65] Our friend, who alreadyhad munificently given him a charming drawing of his four eldestchildren to accompany him and his wife to America, had his generous waynevertheless; and as a voluntary offering four years later, painted Mrs. Dickens on a canvas of the same size as the picture of her husband in1839. "Behold finally the title of the new book, " was the first note I hadfrom Dickens (12th of November) after our return; "don't lose it, for Ihave no copy. " Title and even story had been undetermined while wetravelled, from the lingering wish he still had to begin it among thoseCornish scenes; but this intention had now been finally abandoned, andthe reader lost nothing by his substitution for the lighthouse or minein Cornwall, of the Wiltshire-village forge on the windy autumn eveningwhich opens the tale of _Martin Chuzzlewit_. Into that name he finallysettled, but only after much deliberation, as a mention of his changeswill show. Martin was the prefix to all, but the surname varied from itsfirst form of Sweezleden, Sweezleback, and Sweezlewag, to those ofChuzzletoe, Chuzzleboy, Chubblewig, and Chuzzlewig; nor was Chuzzlewitchosen at last until after more hesitation and discussion. What he hadsent me in his letter as finally adopted, ran thus: "The Life andAdventures of Martin Chuzzlewig, his family, friends, and enemies. Comprising all his wills and his ways. With an historical record of whathe did and what he didn't. The whole forming a complete key to the houseof Chuzzlewig. " All which latter portion of the title was of coursedropped as the work became modified, in its progress, by changes atfirst not contemplated; but as early as the third number he sent me theplan of "old Martin's plot to degrade and punish Pecksniff, " and thedifficulties he encountered in departing from other portions of hisscheme were such as to render him, in his subsequent stories, more bentupon constructive care at the outset, and adherence as far as might beto any design he had formed. The first number, which appeared in January 1843, had not been quitefinished when he wrote to me on the 8th of December: "The Chuzzlewitcopy makes so much more than I supposed, that the number is nearly done. Thank God!" Beginning so hurriedly as at last he did, altering hiscourse at the opening and seeing little as yet of the main track of hisdesign, perhaps no story was ever begun by him with stronger heart orconfidence. Illness kept me to my rooms for some days, and he was soeager to try the effect of Pecksniff and Pinch that he came down withthe ink hardly dry on the last slip to read the manuscript to me. Welldid Sydney Smith, in writing to say how very much the number had pleasedhim, foresee the promise there was in those characters. "Pecksniff andhis daughters, and Pinch, are admirable--quite first-rate painting, suchas no one but yourself can execute!" And let me here at once remark thatthe notion of taking Pecksniff for a type of character was really theorigin of the book; the design being to show, more or less by everyperson introduced, the number and variety of humours and vices that havetheir root in selfishness. Another piece of his writing that claims mention at the close of 1842was a prologue contributed to the _Patrician's Daughter_, Mr. WestlandMarston's first dramatic effort, which had attracted him by the beautyof its composition less than by the courage with which its subject hadbeen chosen from the actual life of the time. "Not light its import, and not poor its mien; Yourselves the actors, and your homes the scene. " This was the date, too, of Mr. Browning's tragedy of the _Blot on the'Scutcheon_, which I took upon myself, after reading it in themanuscript, privately to impart to Dickens; and I was not mistaken inthe belief that it would profoundly touch him. "Browning's play, " hewrote (25th of November), "has thrown me into a perfect passion ofsorrow. To say that there is anything in its subject save what islovely, true, deeply affecting, full of the best emotion, the mostearnest feeling, and the most true and tender source of interest, is tosay that there is no light in the sun, and no heat in blood. It is fullof genius, natural and great thoughts, profound and yet simple andbeautiful in its vigour. I know nothing that is so affecting, nothing inany book I have ever read, as Mildred's recurrence to that 'I was soyoung--I had no mother. ' I know no love like it, no passion like it, nomoulding of a splendid thing after its conception, like it. And I swearit is a tragedy that MUST be played; and must be played, moreover, byMacready. There are some things I would have changed if I could (theyare very slight, mostly broken lines); and I assuredly would have theold servant _begin his tale upon the scene_; and be taken by the throat, or drawn upon, by his master, in its commencement. But the tragedy Inever shall forget, or less vividly remember than I do now. And if youtell Browning that I have seen it, tell him that I believe from my soulthere is no man living (and not many dead) who could produce such awork. --Macready likes the altered prologue very much. ". . . There willcome a more convenient time to speak of his general literary likings, orspecial regard for contemporary books; but I will say now that nothinginterested him more than successes won honestly in his own field, andthat in his large and open nature there was no hiding-place for littlejealousies. An instance occurs to me which may be named at once, when, many years after the present date, he called my attention very earnestlyto two tales then in course of publication in _Blackwood's Magazine_, and afterwards collected under the title of _Scenes of Clerical Life_. "Do read them, " he wrote. "They are the best things I have seen since Ibegan my course. " Eighteen hundred and forty-three[66] opened with the most vigorousprosecution of his _Chuzzlewit_ labour. "I hope the number will be verygood, " he wrote to me of number two (8th of January). "I have beenhammering away, and at home all day. Ditto yesterday; except for twohours in the afternoon, when I ploughed through snow half a foot deep, round about the wilds of Willesden. " For the present, however, I shallglance only briefly from time to time at his progress with the earlierportions of the story on which he was thus engaged until the midsummerof 1844. Disappointments arose in connection with it, unexpected andstrange, which had important influence upon him: but, I reserve themention of these for awhile, that I may speak of the leading incidentsof 1843. "I am in a difficulty, " he wrote (12th of February), "and am coming downto you some time to-day or to-night. I couldn't write a line yesterday;not a word, though I really tried hard. In a kind of despair I startedoff at half-past two with my pair of petticoats to Richmond; and dinedthere!! Oh what a lovely day it was in those parts. " His pair ofpetticoats were Mrs. Dickens and her sister Georgina: the latter, sincehis return from America, having become part of his household, of whichshe remained a member until his death; and he had just reason to beproud of the steadiness, depth, and devotion of her friendship. In anote-book begun by him in January 1855, where, for the first time in hislife, he jotted down hints and fancies proposed to be made available infuture writings, I find a character sketched of which, if the whole wasnot suggested by his sister-in-law, the most part was applicable to her. "She--sacrificed to children, and sufficiently rewarded. From a childherself, always 'the children' (of somebody else) to engross her. And soit comes to pass that she is never married; never herself has a child;is always devoted 'to the children' (of somebody else); and they loveher; and she has always youth dependent on her till her death--and diesquite happily. " Not many days after that holiday at Richmond, a slightunstudied outline in pencil was made by Maclise of the three who formedthe party there, as we all sat together; and never did a touch so lightcarry with it more truth of observation. The likenesses of all areexcellent; and I here preserve the drawing because nothing ever done ofDickens himself has conveyed more vividly his look and bearing at thisyet youthful time. He is in his most pleasing aspect; flattered, if youwill; but nothing that is known to me gives a general impression solife-like and true of the then frank, eager, handsome face. It was a year of much illness with me, which had ever-helpful and activesympathy from him. "Send me word how you are, " he wrote, two days later. "But not so much for that I now write, as to tell you, peremptorily, that I insist on your wrapping yourself up and coming here in ahackney-coach, with a big portmanteau, to-morrow. It surely is better tobe unwell with a Quick and Cheerful (and Co) in the neighbourhood, thanin the dreary vastness of Lincoln's-inn-fields. Here is the snuggesttent-bedstead in the world, and there you are with the drawing-room foryour workshop, the Q and C for your pal, and 'every-think in aconcatenation accordingly. ' I begin to have hopes of the regeneration ofmankind after the reception of Gregory last night, though I have none ofthe _Chronicle_ for not denouncing the villain. Have you seen the notetouching my _Notes_ in the blue and yellow?" The first of these closing allusions was to the editor of the infamous_Satirist_ having been hissed from the Drury-lane stage, on which he hadpresented himself in the character of Hamlet; and I remember with whatinfinite pleasure I afterwards heard Chief Justice Tindal in court, charging the jury in an action brought by this malefactor against apublican of St. Giles's for having paid men to take part in the hissingof him, avow the pride he felt in "living in the same parish with a manof that humble station of life of the defendant's, " who was capable ofpaying money out of his own pocket to punish what he believed to be anoutrage to decency. The second allusion was to a statement of thereviewer of the _American Notes_ in the _Edinburgh_ to the effect, that, if he had been rightly informed, Dickens had gone to America as a kindof missionary in the cause of international copyright; to which a promptcontradiction had been given in the _Times_. "I deny it, " wrote Dickens, "wholly. He is wrongly informed; and reports, without enquiry, a pieceof information which I could only characterize by using one of theshortest and strongest words in the language. " The disputes that had arisen out of the American book, I may add, stretched over great part of the year. It will quite suffice, however, to say here that the ground taken by him in his letters written on thespot, and printed in my former volume, which in all the more materialstatements his book invited public judgment upon and which he was movedto reopen in _Chuzzlewit_, was so kept by him against all comers, thatnone of the counter-statements or arguments dislodged him from a squareinch of it. But the controversy is dead now; and he took occasion, onhis later visit to America, to write its epitaph. Though I did not, to revert to his February letter, obey its cordialbidding by immediately taking up quarters with him, I soon after joinedhim at a cottage he rented in Finchley; and here, walking and talking inthe green lanes as the midsummer months were coming on, his introductionof Mrs. Gamp, and the uses to which he should apply that remarkablepersonage, first occurred to him. In his preface to the book he speaksof her as a fair representation, at the time it was published, of thehired attendant on the poor in sickness: but he might have added thatthe rich were no better off, for Mrs. Gamp's original was in reality aperson hired by a most distinguished friend of his own, a lady, to takecharge of an invalid very dear to her; and the common habit of thisnurse in the sick room, among other Gampish peculiarities, was to rubher nose along the top of the tall fender. Whether or not, on that firstmention of her, I had any doubts whether such a character could be madea central figure in his story, I do not now remember; but if there wereany at the time, they did not outlive the contents of the packet whichintroduced her to me in the flesh a few weeks after our return. "Tellme, " he wrote from Yorkshire, where he had been meanwhile passingpleasant holiday with a friend, "what you think of Mrs. Gamp? You'll notfind it easy to get through the hundreds of misprints in herconversation, but I want your opinion at once. I think you know alreadysomething of mine. I mean to make a mark with her. " The same letterenclosed me a clever and pointed little parable in verse which he hadwritten for an annual edited by Lady Blessington. [67] Another allusion in the February letter reminds me of the interest whichhis old work for the _Chronicle_ gave him in everything affecting itscredit, and that this was the year when Mr. John Black ceased to be itseditor, in circumstances reviving strongly all Dickens's sympathies. "Iam deeply grieved" (3rd of May, 1843) "about Black. Sorry from myheart's core. If I could find him out, I would go and comfort him thismoment. " He did find him out; and he and a certain number of us did alsocomfort this excellent man after a fashion extremely English, by givinghim a Greenwich dinner on the 20th of May; when Dickens had arranged andordered all to perfection, and the dinner succeeded in its purpose, asin other ways, quite wonderfully. Among the entertainers were Sheil andThackeray, Fonblanque and Charles Buller, Southwood Smith and WilliamJohnson Fox, Macready and Maclise, as well as myself and Dickens. There followed another similar celebration, in which one of theseentertainers was the guest and which owed hardly less to Dickens'sexertions, when, at the Star-and-garter at Richmond in the autumn, wewished Macready good-speed on his way to America. Dickens took the chairat that dinner; and with Stanfield, Maclise, and myself, was in thefollowing week to have accompanied the great actor to Liverpool to saygood-bye to him on board the Cunard ship, and bring his wife back toLondon after their leave-taking; when a word from our excellent friendCaptain Marryat, startling to all of us except Dickens himself, struckhim out of our party. Marryat thought that Macready might suffer in theStates by any public mention of his having been attended on his way bythe author of the _American Notes_ and _Martin Chuzzlewit_, and ourfriend at once agreed with him. "Your main and foremost reason, " hewrote to me, "for doubting Marryat's judgment, I can at once destroy. Ithas occurred to me many times; I have mentioned the thing to Kate morethan once; and I had intended _not_ to go on board, charging Radley tolet nothing be said of my being in his house. I have been prevented fromgiving any expression to my fears by a misgiving that I should seem toattach, if I did so, too much importance to my own doings. But now thatI have Marryat at my back, I have not the least hesitation in sayingthat I am certain he is right. I have very great apprehensions that the_Nickleby_ dedication will damage Macready. Marryat is wrong insupposing it is not printed in the American editions, for I have myselfseen it in the shop windows of several cities. If I were to go on boardwith him, I have not the least doubt that the fact would be placardedall over New York, before he had shaved himself in Boston. And thatthere are thousands of men in America who would pick a quarrel with himon the mere statement of his being my friend, I have no more doubt thanI have of my existence. You have only doubted Marryat because it isimpossible for _any man_ to know what they are in their own country, whohas not seen them there. " This letter was written from Broadstairs, whither he had gone in August, after such help as he only could give, and never took such delight as ingiving, to a work of practical humanity. Earlier in the year he hadpresided at a dinner for the Printers' Pension-fund, which Thomas Hood, Douglas Jerrold, and myself attended with him; and upon the terriblesummer-evening accident at sea by which Mr. Elton the actor lost hislife, it was mainly by Dickens's unremitting exertions, secondedadmirably by Mr. Serle and warmly taken up by Mr. Elton's own profession(the most generous in the world), that ample provision was made for themany children. At the close of August I had news of him from hisfavourite watering-place, too characteristic to be omitted. The daybefore had been a day of "terrific heat, " yet this had not deterred himfrom doing what he was too often suddenly prone to do in the midst ofhis hardest work. "I performed an insane match against time of eighteenmiles by the milestones in four hours and a half, under a burning sunthe whole way. I could get" (he is writing next morning) "no sleep atnight, and really began to be afraid I was going to have a fever. Youmay judge in what kind of authorship-training I am to-day. I could assoon eat the cliff as write about anything. " A few days later, however, all was well again; and another sketch from himself, to his Americanfriend, will show his sea-side life in ordinary. "In a bay-window in aone-pair sits, from nine o'clock to one, a gentleman with rather longhair and no neckcloth, who writes and grins as if he thought he werevery funny indeed. At one he disappears, presently emerges from abathing-machine, and may be seen, a kind of salmon-coloured porpoise, splashing about in the ocean. After that he may be viewed in anotherbay-window on the ground floor, eating a strong lunch; and after that, walking a dozen miles or so, or lying on his back in the sand reading abook. Nobody bothers him unless they know he is disposed to be talkedto; and I am told he is very comfortable indeed. He's as brown as aberry, and they _do_ say is a small fortune to the innkeeper who sellsbeer and cold punch. But this is mere rumour. Sometimes he goes up toLondon (eighty miles or so away), and then I'm told there is a sound inLincoln's-inn-fields at night, as of men laughing, together with aclinking of knives and forks and wine-glasses. "[68] He returned to town "for good" on Monday the 2nd of October, and fromthe Wednesday to the Friday of that week was at Manchester, presiding atthe opening of its great Athenæum, when Mr. Cobden and Mr. Disraeli also"assisted. " Here he spoke mainly on a matter always nearest his heart, the education of the very poor. He protested against the danger ofcalling a little learning dangerous; declared his preference for thevery least of the little over none at all; proposed to substitute forthe old a new doggerel, Though house and lands be never got, Learning can give what they can _not_; told his listeners of the real and paramount danger we had lately takenLongfellow to see in the nightly refuges of London, "thousands ofimmortal creatures condemned without alternative or choice to tread, notwhat our great poet calls the primrose path to the everlasting bonfire, but one of jagged flints and stones laid down by brutal ignorance;" andcontrasted this with the unspeakable consolation and blessings that alittle knowledge had shed on men of the lowest estate and most hopelessmeans, "watching the stars with Ferguson the shepherd's boy, walking thestreets with Crabbe, a poor barber here in Lancashire with Arkwright, atallow-chandler's son with Franklin, shoemaking with Bloomfield in hisgarret, following the plough with Burns, and, high above the noise ofloom and hammer, whispering courage in the ears of workers I could thisday name in Sheffield and in Manchester. " The same spirit impelled him to give eager welcome to the remarkableinstitution of Ragged schools, which, begun by a shoemaker ofSouthampton and a chimney-sweep of Windsor and carried on by a peer ofthe realm, has had results of incalculable importance to society. Theyear of which I am writing was its first, as this in which I write isits last; and in the interval, out of three hundred thousand children towhom it has given some sort of education, it is computed also to havegiven to a third of that number the means of honest employment. [69] "Isent Miss Coutts, " he had written (24th of September), "a sledge hammeraccount of the Ragged schools; and as I saw her name for two hundredpounds in the clergy education subscription-list, took pains to show herthat religious mysteries and difficult creeds wouldn't do for suchpupils. I told her, too, that it was of immense importance they shouldbe _washed_. She writes back to know what the rent of some large airypremises would be, and what the expense of erecting a regular bathing orpurifying place; touching which points I am in correspondence with theauthorities. I have no doubt she will do whatever I ask her in thematter. She is a most excellent creature, I protest to God, and I have amost perfect affection and respect for her. " One of the last things he did at the close of the year, in the likespirit, was to offer to describe the Ragged schools for the _EdinburghReview_. "I have told Napier, " he wrote to me, "I will give adescription of them in a paper on education, if the _Review_ is notafraid to take ground against the church catechism and other mereformularies and subtleties, in reference to the education of the youngand ignorant. I fear it is extremely improbable it will consent tocommit itself so far. " His fears were well-founded; but the statementsthen made by him give me opportunity to add that it was his impatienceof differences on this point with clergymen of the Established Churchthat had led him, for the past year or two, to take sittings in theLittle Portland-street Unitarian chapel; for whose officiating minister, Mr. Edward Tagart, he had a friendly regard which continued long afterhe had ceased to be a member of his congregation. That he did so quitit, after two or three years, I can distinctly state; and of thefrequent agitation of his mind and thoughts in connection with thisall-important theme, there will be other occasions to speak. But uponessential points he had never any sympathy so strong as with the leadingdoctrine and discipline of the Church of England; to these, as time wenton, he found himself able to accommodate all minor differences; and theunswerving faith in Christianity itself, apart from sects and schisms, which had never failed him at any period of his life, found expressionat its close in the language of his will. Twelve months before hisdeath, these words were written. "I direct that my name be inscribed inplain English letters on my tomb . . . I conjure my friends on no accountto make me the subject of any monument, memorial, or testimonialwhatever. I rest my claim to the remembrance of my country on mypublished works, and to the remembrance of my friends upon theirexperience of me in addition thereto. I commit my soul to the mercy ofGod, through our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ; and I exhort my dearchildren humbly to try to guide themselves by the teaching of the NewTestament in its broad spirit, and to put no faith in any man's narrowconstruction of its letter here or there. " Active as he had been in the now ending year, and great as were itsvarieties of employment; his genius in its highest mood, his energyunwearied in good work, and his capacity for enjoyment without limit; hewas able to signalize its closing months by an achievement supremelyfortunate, which but for disappointments the year had also brought mightnever have been thought of. He had not begun until a week after hisreturn from Manchester, where the fancy first occurred to him, andbefore the end of November he had finished, his memorable _ChristmasCarol_. It was the work of such odd moments of leisure as were left himout of the time taken up by two numbers of his _Chuzzlewit_; and thoughbegun with but the special design of adding something to the_Chuzzlewit_ balance, I can testify to the accuracy of his own accountof what befell him in its composition, with what a strange mastery itseized him for itself, how he wept over it, and laughed, and wept again, and excited himself to an extraordinary degree, and how he walkedthinking of it fifteen and twenty miles about the black streets ofLondon, many and many a night after all sober folks had gone to bed. Andwhen it was done, as he told our friend Mr. Felton in America, he lethimself loose like a madman. "Forster is out again, " he added, by way ofillustrating our practical comments on his celebration of the jovialold season, "and if he don't go in again after the manner in which wehave been keeping Christmas, he must be very strong indeed. Suchdinings, such dancings, such conjurings, such blind-man's-buffings, suchtheatre-goings, such kissings-out of old years and kissings-in of newones, never took place in these parts before. " Yet had it been to him, this closing year, a time also of much anxietyand strange disappointments of which I am now to speak; and before, withthat view, we go back for a while to its earlier months, one step intothe new year may be taken for what marked it with interest andimportance to him. Eighteen hundred and forty-four was but fifteen daysold when a third son (his fifth child, which received the name of itsgodfather Francis Jeffrey) was born; and here is an answer sent by him, two days later, to an invitation from Maclise, Stanfield, and myself todine with us at Richmond. "DEVONSHIRE LODGE, _Seventeenth of January_, 1844. FELLOW COUNTRYMEN! The appeal with which you have honoured me, awakens within my breast emotions that are more easily to be imaginedthan described. Heaven bless you. I shall indeed be proud, my friends, to respond to such a requisition. I had withdrawn from Public Life--Ifondly thought forever--to pass the evening of my days in hydropathicalpursuits, and the contemplation of virtue. For which latter purpose, Ihad bought a looking-glass. --But, my friends, private feeling must everyield to a stern sense of public duty. The Man is lost in the InvitedGuest, and I comply. Nurses, wet and dry; apothecaries; mothers-in-law;babbies; with all the sweet (and chaste) delights of private life;these, my countrymen, are hard to leave. But you have called me forth, and I will come. Fellow countrymen, your friend and faithful servant, CHARLES DICKENS. " FOOTNOTES: [64] Printed in the _Atlantic Monthly_ shortly after his death, andsince collected, by Mr. James T. Fields of Boston, with several of laterdate addressed to himself, and much correspondence having reference toother writers, into a pleasing volume entitled _Yesterdays withAuthors_. [65] This is mentioned in Mr. O. Driscoll's agreeable little Memoir, butsupposed to refer to Maclise's portrait of Dickens. [66] In one of the letters to his American friend Mr. Felton there is aglimpse of Christmas sports which had escaped my memory, and for which acorner may be found here, inasmuch as these gambols were characteristicof him at the pleasant old season, and were frequently renewed in futureyears. "The best of it is" (31 Dec. 1842) "that Forster and I havepurchased between us the entire stock-in-trade of a conjuror, thepractice and display whereof is entrusted to me. . . . In those trickswhich require a confederate I am assisted (by reason of hisimperturbable good humour) by Stanfield, who always does his partexactly the wrong way, to the unspeakable delight of all beholders. Wecome out on a small scale to-night, at Forster's, where we see the oldyear out and the new one in. " _Atlantic Monthly_, July 1871. [67] "I have heard, as you have, from Lady Blessington, for whose behoofI have this morning penned the lines I send you herewith. But I haveonly done so to excuse myself, for I have not the least idea of theirsuiting her; and I hope she will send them back to you for the _Ex. _" C. D. To J. F. July 1843. The lines are quite worth preserving. A WORD IN SEASON. They have a superstition in the East, That Allah, written on a piece of paper, Is better unction than can come of priest, Of rolling incense, and of lighted taper: Holding, that any scrap which bears that name In any characters its front impress'd on, Shall help the finder thro' the purging flame, And give his toasted feet a place to rest on. Accordingly, they make a mighty fuss With every wretched tract and fierce oration, And hoard the leaves--for they are not, like us A highly civilized and thinking nation: And, always stooping in the miry ways To look for matter of this earthly leaven, They seldom, in their dust-exploring days, Have any leisure to look up to Heaven. So have I known a country on the earth Where darkness sat upon the living waters, And brutal ignorance, and toil, and dearth Were the hard portion of its sons and daughters: And yet, where they who should have oped the door Of charity and light, for all men's finding Squabbled for words upon the altar-floor, And rent The Book, in struggles for the binding. The gentlest man among those pious Turks God's living image ruthlessly defaces; Their best High-Churchman, with no faith in works, Bowstrings the Virtues in the market-places. The Christian Pariah, whom both sects curse (They curse all other men, and curse each other), Walks thro' the world, not very much the worse, Does all the good he can, and loves his brother. [68] C. D. To Professor Felton (1st Sept. 1843), in _Atlantic Monthly_for July 1871. [69] "After a period of 27 years, from a single school of five smallinfants, the work has grown into a cluster of some 300 schools, anaggregate of nearly 30, 000 children, and a body of 3000 voluntaryteachers, most of them the sons and daughters of toil. . . . Of more than300, 000 children which, on the most moderate calculation, we have aright to conclude have passed through these schools since theircommencement, I venture to affirm that more than 100, 000 of both sexeshave been placed out in various ways, in emigration, in the marine, intrades, and in domestic service. For many consecutive years I havecontributed prizes to thousands of the scholars; and let no one omit tocall to mind what these children were, whence they came, and whitherthey were going without this merciful intervention. They would have beenadded to the perilous swarm of the wild, the lawless, the wretched, andthe ignorant, instead of being, as by God's blessing they are, decentand comfortable, earning an honest livelihood, and adorning thecommunity to which they belong. " _Letter of Lord Shaftesbury in theTimes of the 13th of November, 1871. _ CHAPTER III. CHUZZLEWIT DISAPPOINTMENTS AND CHRISTMAS CAROL. 1843-1844. Sale of _Chuzzlewit_--Publishers and Authors--Unlucky Clause in _Chuzzlewit_ Agreement--Resolve to have other Publishers--A Plan for seeing Foreign Cities--Confidence in Himself--Preparation of _Carol_--Turning-point of his Career--Work and its Interruptions--Superiority of _Martin Chuzzlewit_ to former Books--News from America--A Favourite Scene of Thackeray's--Grand Purpose of the Satire of _Chuzzlewit_--Publication of _Christmas Carol_--Unrealized Hopes--Agreement with Bradbury and Evans. CHUZZLEWIT had fallen short of all the expectations formed of it inregard to sale. By much the most masterly of his writings hitherto, thepublic had rallied to it in far less numbers than to any of itspredecessors. The primary cause of this, there is little doubt, had beenthe change to weekly issues in the form of publication of his last twostories; for into everything in this world mere habit enters morelargely than we are apt to suppose. Nor had the temporary withdrawal toAmerica been favourable to an immediate resumption by his readers oftheir old and intimate relations. This also is to be added, that theexcitement by which a popular reputation is kept up to the highestselling mark, will always be subject to lulls too capricious forexplanation. But whatever the causes, here was the undeniable fact of agrave depreciation of sale in his writings, unaccompanied by any fallingoff either in themselves or in the writer's reputation. It was verytemporary; but it was present, and to be dealt with accordingly. Theforty and fifty thousand purchasers of _Pickwick_ and _Nickleby_, thesixty and seventy thousand of the early numbers of the enterprize inwhich the _Old Curiosity Shop_ and _Barnaby Rudge_ appeared, had fallento little over twenty thousand. They rose somewhat on Martin's ominousannouncement, at the end of the fourth number, that he'd _go toAmerica_; but though it was believed that this resolve, which Dickensadopted as suddenly as his hero, might increase the number of hisreaders, that reason influenced him less than the challenge to make goodhis _Notes_ which every mail had been bringing him from unsparingassailants beyond the Atlantic. The substantial effect of the Americanepisode upon the sale was yet by no means great. A couple of thousandadditional purchasers were added, but the highest number at any timereached before the story closed was twenty-three thousand. Its sale, since, has ranked next after _Pickwick_ and _Copperfield_. We were now, however, to have a truth brought home to us which few thathave had real or varied experience in such matters can have failed to beimpressed by--that publishers are bitter bad judges of an author, andare seldom safe persons to consult in regard to the fate or fortunesthat may probably await him. Describing the agreement for this book inSeptember 1841, I spoke of a provision against the improbable event ofits profits proving inadequate to certain necessary repayments. In thisunlikely case, which was to be ascertained by the proceeds of the firstfive numbers, the publishers were to have power to appropriate fiftypounds a month out of the two hundred pounds payable for authorship inthe expenses of each number; but though this had been introduced with myknowledge, I knew also too much of the antecedent relations of theparties to regard it as other than a mere form to satisfy the attorneysin the case. The fifth number, which landed Martin and Mark in America, and the sixth, which described their first experiences, were published;and on the eve of the seventh, in which Mrs. Gamp was to make her firstappearance, I heard with infinite pain that from Mr. Hall, the youngerpartner of the firm which had enriched itself by _Pickwick_ and_Nickleby_, and a very kind well-disposed man, there had dropped aninconsiderate hint to the writer of those books that it might bedesirable to put the clause in force. It had escaped him without histhinking of all that it involved; certainly the senior partner, whateveramount of as thoughtless sanction he had at the moment given to it, always much regretted it, and made endeavours to exhibit his regret; butthe mischief was done, and for the time was irreparable. "I am so irritated, " Dickens wrote to me on the 28th of June, "so rubbedin the tenderest part of my eyelids with bay-salt, by what I told youyesterday, that a wrong kind of fire is burning in my head, and I don'tthink I _can_ write. Nevertheless, I am trying. In case I shouldsucceed, and should not come down to you this morning, shall you be atthe club or elsewhere after dinner? I am bent on paying the money. Andbefore going into the matter with anybody I should like you to propoundfrom me the one preliminary question to Bradbury and Evans. It is morethan a year and a half since Clowes wrote to urge me to give him ahearing, in case I should ever think of altering my plans. A printer isbetter than a bookseller, and it is quite as much the interest of one(if not more) to join me. But whoever it is, or whatever, I am bent uponpaying Chapman and Hall _down_. And when I have done that, Mr. Hallshall have a piece of my mind. " What he meant by the proposed repayment will be understood by whatformerly was said of his arrangements with these gentlemen on therepurchase of his early copyrights. Feeling no surprise at thisannouncement, I yet prevailed with him to suspend proceedings until hisreturn from Broadstairs in October; and what then I had to say led tomemorable resolves. The communication he had desired me to make to hisprinters had taken them too much by surprise to enable them to form aclear judgment respecting it; and they replied by suggestions which werein effect a confession of that want of confidence in themselves. Theyenlarged upon the great results that would follow a reissue of hiswritings in a cheap form; they strongly urged such an undertaking; andthey offered to invest to any desired amount in the establishment of amagazine or other periodical to be edited by him. The possible dangers, in short, incident to their assuming the position of publishers as wellas printers of new works from his pen, seemed at first to be so muchgreater than on closer examination they were found to be, that at theoutset they shrank from encountering them. And hence the remarkableletter I shall now quote (1st of November, 1843). "Don't be startled by the novelty and extent of my project. Bothstartled _me_ at first; but I am well assured of its wisdom andnecessity. I am afraid of a magazine--just now. I don't think the time agood one, or the chances favourable. I am afraid of putting myselfbefore the town as writing tooth and nail for bread, headlong, after theclose of a book taking so much out of one as _Chuzzlewit_. I am afraid Icould not do it, with justice to myself. I know that whatever we may sayat first, a new magazine, or a new anything, would require so muchpropping, that I should be _forced_ (as in the _Clock_) to put myselfinto it, in my old shape. I am afraid of Bradbury and Evans's desire toforce on the cheap issue of my books, or any of them, prematurely. I amsure if it took place yet awhile, it would damage me and damage theproperty, _enormously_. It is very natural in them to want it; but, since they do want it, I have no faith in their regarding me in anyother respect than they would regard any other man in a speculation. Isee that this is really your opinion as well; and I don't see what Igain, in such a case, by leaving Chapman and Hall. If I had made money, I should unquestionably fade away from the public eye for a year, andenlarge my stock of description and observation by seeing countries newto me; which it is most necessary to me that I should see, and whichwith an increasing family I can scarcely hope to see at all, unless Isee them now. Already for some time I have had this hope and intentionbefore me; and though not having made money yet, I find or fancy that Ican put myself in the position to accomplish it. And this is the courseI have before me. At the close of _Chuzzlewit_ (by which time the debtwill have been materially reduced) I purpose drawing from Chapman andHall my share of the subscription--bills, or money, will do equallywell. I design to tell them that it is not likely I shall do anythingfor a year; that, in the meantime, I make no arrangement whatever withany one; and our business matters rest _in statu quo_. The same toBradbury and Evans. I shall let the house if I can; if not, leave it tobe let. I shall take all the family, and two servants--three at most--tosome place which I know beforehand to be CHEAP and in a delightfulclimate, in Normandy or Brittany, to which I shall go over, first, andwhere I shall rent some house for six or eight months. During that time, I shall walk through Switzerland, cross the Alps, travel through Franceand Italy; take Kate perhaps to Rome and Venice, but not elsewhere; andin short see everything that is to be seen. I shall write mydescriptions to you from time to time, exactly as I did in America; andyou will be able to judge whether or not a new and attractive book maynot be made on such ground. At the same time I shall be able to turnover the story I have in my mind, and which I have a strong notion mightbe published with great advantage, _first in Paris_--but that's anothermatter to be talked over. And of course I have not yet settled, either, whether any book about the travel, or this, should be the first. 'Allvery well, ' you say, 'if you had money enough. ' Well, but if I can seemy way to what would be necessary without binding myself in any form toanything; without paying interest, or giving any security but one of myEagle five thousand pounds; you would give up that objection. And Istand committed to no bookseller, printer, money-lender, banker, orpatron whatever; and decidedly strengthen my position with my readers, instead of weakening it, drop by drop, as I otherwise must. Is it notso? and is not the way before me, plainly this? I infer that in realityyou do yourself think, that what I first thought of is _not_ the way? Ihave told you my scheme very badly, as I said I would. I see its greatpoints, against many prepossessions the other way--as, leaving England, home, friends, everything I am fond of--but it seems to me, at acritical time, _the_ step to set me right. A blessing on Mr. Mariotti myItalian master, and his pupil!--If you have any breath left, tellTopping how you are. " I had certainly not much after reading this letter, written amid all thedistractions of his work, with both the _Carol_ and _Chuzzlewit_ inhand; but such insufficient breath as was left to me I spent against theproject, and in favour of far more consideration than he had given toit, before anything should be settled. "I expected you, " he wrote nextday (the 2nd of November), "to be startled. If I was startled myself, when I first got this project of foreign travel into my head, MONTHSAGO, how much more must you be, on whom it comes fresh: numbering onlyhours! Still, I am very resolute upon it--very. I am convinced that myexpenses abroad would not be more than half of my expenses here; theinfluence of change and nature upon me, enormous. You know, as well asI, that I think _Chuzzlewit_ in a hundred points immeasurably the bestof my stories. That I feel my power now, more than I ever did. That Ihave a greater confidence in myself than I ever had. That I _know_, if Ihave health, I could sustain my place in the minds of thinking men, though fifty writers started up to-morrow. But how many readers do _not_think! How many take it upon trust from knaves and idiots, that onewrites too fast, or runs a thing to death! How coldly did this very bookgo on for months, until it forced itself up in people's opinion, withoutforcing itself up in sale! If I wrote for forty thousand Forsters, orfor forty thousand people who know I write because I can't help it, Ishould have no need to leave the scene. But this very book warns me thatif I _can_ leave it for a time, I had better do so, and must do so. Apart from that again, I feel that longer rest after this story would dome good. You say two or three months, because you have been used to seeme for eight years never leaving off. But it is not rest enough. It isimpossible to go on working the brain to that extent for ever. The veryspirit of the thing, in doing it, leaves a horrible despondency behind, when it is done; which must be prejudicial to the mind, so soon renewed, and so seldom let alone. What would poor Scott have given to have goneabroad, of his own free will, a young man, instead of creeping there, adriveller, in his miserable decay! I said myself in my note toyou--anticipating what you put to me--that it was a question _what_ Ishould come out with, first. The travel-book, if to be done at all, would cost me very little trouble; and surely would go very far to paycharges, whenever published. We have spoken of the baby, and of leavingit here with Catherine's mother. Moving the children into France couldnot, in any ordinary course of things, do them anything but good. Andthe question is, what it would do to that by which they live: not whatit would do to them. --I had forgotten that point in the B. And E. Negociation; but they certainly suggested instant publication of thereprints, or at all events of some of them; by which of course I know, and as you point out, I could provide of myself what is wanted. I takethat as putting the thing distinctly as a matter of trade, and feelingit so. And, as a matter of trade with them or anybody else, as a matterof trade between me and the public, should I not be better off a yearhence, with the reputation of having seen so much in the meantime? Thereason which induces you to look upon this scheme with dislike--separationfor so long a time--surely has equal weight with me. I see very littlepleasure in it, beyond the natural desire to have been in those greatscenes; I anticipate no enjoyment at the time. I have come to look uponit as a matter of policy and duty. I have a thousand other reasons, butshall very soon myself be with you. " There were difficulties, still to be strongly urged, against taking anypresent step to a final resolve; and he gave way a little. But thepressure was soon renewed. "I have been, " he wrote (10th of November), "all day in _Chuzzlewit_ agonies--conceiving only. I hope to bring forthto-morrow. Will you come here at six? I want to say a word or two aboutthe cover of the _Carol_ and the advertising, and to consult you on anice point in the tale. It will come wonderfully I think. Mac will callhere soon after, and we can then all three go to Bulwer's together. Anddo, my dear fellow, do for God's sake turn over about Chapman and Hall, and look upon my project as a _settled thing_. If you object to seethem, I must write to them. " My reluctance as to the question affectinghis old publishers was connected with the little story, which, amid allhis perturbations and troubles and "_Chuzzlewit_ agonies, " he wassteadily carrying to its close; and which remains a splendid proof ofhow thoroughly he was borne out in the assertion just before made, ofthe sense of his power felt by him, and his confidence that it had neverbeen greater than when his readers were thus falling off from him. Hehad entrusted the _Carol_ for publication on his own account, under theusual terms of commission, to the firm he had been so long associatedwith; and at such a moment to tell them, short of absolute necessity, his intention to quit them altogether, I thought a needless putting inperil of the little book's chances. He yielded to this argument; but theissue, as will be found, was less fortunate than I hoped. Let disappointments or annoyances, however, beset him as they might, once heartily in his work and all was forgotten. His temperament ofcourse coloured everything, cheerful or sad, and his present outlook wasdisturbed by imaginary fears; but it was very certain that his laboursand successes thus far had enriched others more than himself, and whilehe knew that his mode of living had been scrupulously governed by whathe believed to be his means, the first suspicion that these might beinadequate made a change necessary to so upright a nature. It was theturning-point of his career; and the issue, though not immediately, ultimately justified him. Much of his present restlessness I was tooready myself to ascribe to that love of change in him which was alwaysarising from his passionate desire to vary and extend his observation;but even as to this the result showed him right in believing that heshould obtain decided intellectual advantage from the mere effects ofsuch farther travel. Here indeed he spoke from experience, for alreadyhe had returned from America with wider views than when he started, andwith a larger maturity of mind. The money difficulties on which he dweltwere also, it is now to be admitted, unquestionable. Beyond his owndomestic expenses necessarily increasing, there were many, never-satisfied, constantly-recurring claims from family quarters, notthe more easily avoidable because unreasonable and unjust; and it wasafter describing to me one such with great bitterness, a few daysfollowing the letter last quoted, that he thus replied on the followingday (19th of November) to the comment I had made upon it. "I was mosthorribly put out for a little while; for I had got up early to go at it, and was full of interest in what I had to do. But having eased my mindby that note to you, and taken a turn or two up and down the room, Iwent at it again, and soon got so interested that I blazed away till 9last night; only stopping ten minutes for dinner! I suppose I wroteeight printed pages of _Chuzzlewit_ yesterday. The consequence is that I_could_ finish to-day, but am taking it easy, and making myself laughvery much. " The very next day, unhappily, there came to himself arepetition of precisely similar trouble in exaggerated form, and to me afresh reminder of what was gradually settling into a fixed resolve. "Iam quite serious and sober when I say, that I have very grave thoughtsof keeping my whole menagerie in Italy, three years. " * * * * * Of the book which awoke such varied feelings and was the occasion ofsuch vicissitudes of fortune, some notice is now due; and this, following still as yet my former rule, will be not so much critical asbiographical. He had left for Italy before the completed tale waspublished, and its reception for a time was exactly what his just-quotedletter prefigures. It had forced itself up in public opinion withoutforcing itself up in sale. It was felt generally to be an advance uponhis previous stories, and his own opinion is not to be questioned thatit was in a hundred points immeasurably the best of them thus far; lessupon the surface, and going deeper into springs of character. Nor wouldit be difficult to say, in a single word, where the excellence lay thatgave it this superiority. It had brought his highest faculty into play:over and above other qualities it had given scope to his imagination;and it first expressed the distinction in this respect between hisearlier and his later books. Apart wholly from this, too, his letterswill have confirmed a remark already made upon the degree to which hismental power had been altogether deepened and enlarged by the effect ofhis visit to America. In construction and conduct of story _Martin Chuzzlewit_ is defective, character and description constituting the chief part of its strength. But what it lost as a story by the American episode it gained in theother direction; young Martin, by happy use of a bitter experience, casting off his slough of selfishness in the poisonous swamp of Eden. Dickens often confessed, however, the difficulty it had been to him tohave to deal with this gap in the main course of his narrative; and Iwill give an instance from a letter he wrote to me when engaged upon thenumber in which Jonas brings his wife to her miserable home. "I write inhaste" (28th of July 1843), "for I have been at work all day; and, itbeing against the grain with me to go back to America when my interestis strong in the other parts of the tale, have got on but slowly. I havea great notion to work out with Sydney's favourite, [70] and long to beat him again. " But obstructions of this kind with Dickens measured onlyand always the degree of readiness and resource with which he rose tomeet them, and never had his handling of character been so masterly asin _Chuzzlewit_. The persons delineated in former books had been moreagreeable, but never so interpenetrated with meanings brought out with agrasp so large, easy, and firm. As well in this as in the passionatevividness of its descriptions, the imaginative power makes itself felt. The windy autumn night, with the mad desperation of the hunted leavesand the roaring mirth of the blazing village forge; the market-day atSalisbury; the winter walk, and the coach journey to London by night;the ship voyage over the Atlantic; the stormy midnight travel before themurder, the stealthy enterprise and cowardly return of the murderer;these are all instances of first-rate description, original in thedesign, imaginative in all the detail, and very complete in theexecution. But the higher power to which I direct attention is evenbetter discerned in the persons and dialogue. With nothing absent orabated in its sharp impressions of reality, there are more of the subtlerequisites which satisfy reflection and thought. We have in this bookfor the most part, not only observation but the outcome of it, theknowledge as well as the fact. While we witness as vividly the lifeimmediately passing, we are more conscious of the permanent life aboveand beyond it. Nothing nearly so effective therefore had yet beenachieved by him. He had scrutinised as truly and satirised as keenly;but had never shown the imaginative insight with which he now sent hishumour and his art into the core of the vices of the time. Sending me the second chapter of his eighth number on the 15th ofAugust, he gave me the latest tidings from America. "I gather from aletter I have had this morning that Martin has made them all starkstaring raving mad across the water. I wish you would consider this. Don't you think the time has come when I ought to state that such publicentertainments as I received in the States were either accepted before Iwent out, or in the first week after my arrival there; and that as soonas I began to have any acquaintance with the country, I set my faceagainst any public recognition whatever but that which was forced uponme to the destruction of my peace and comfort--and made no secret of myreal sentiments. " We did not agree as to this, and the notion wasabandoned; though his correspondent had not overstated the violence ofthe outbreak in the States when those chapters exploded upon them. Butthough an angry they are a good humoured and a very placable people;and, as time moved on a little, the laughter on that side of theAtlantic became quite as great as our amusement on this side, at theastonishing fun and comicality of these scenes. With a little reflectionthe Americans had doubtless begun to find out that the advantage was notall with us, nor the laughter wholly against them. They had no Pecksniff at any rate. Bred in a more poisonous swamp thantheir Eden, of greatly older standing and much harder to be drained, Pecksniff was all our own. The confession is not encouraging to nationalpride, but this character is so far English, that though our countrymenas a rule are by no means Pecksniffs, the ruling weakness is tocountenance and encourage the race. When people call the characterexaggerated, and protest that the lines are too broad to deceive anyone, they only refuse, naturally enough, to sanction in a book what halftheir lives is passed in tolerating if not in worshipping. Dickens, illustrating his never-failing experience of being obliged to subdue inhis books what he knew to be real for fear it should be deemedimpossible, had already made the remark in his preface to _Nickleby_, that the world, which is so very credulous in what professes to be true, is most incredulous in what professes to be imaginary. They agree to bedeceived in a reality, and reward themselves by refusing to be deceivedin a fiction. That a great many people who might have sat for Pecksniff, should condemn him for a grotesque impossibility, as Dickens averred tobe the case, was no more than might be expected. A greater danger he hasexposed more usefully in showing the greater numbers, who, desiringsecretly to be thought better than they are, support eagerly pretensionsthat keep their own in countenance, and, without being Pecksniffs, render Pecksniffs possible. All impostures would have something toosuspicious or forbidding in their look if we were not prepared to meetthem half way. There is one thing favourable to us however, even in this view, which aFrench critic has lately suggested. Informing us that there are noPecksniffs to be found in France, Mr. Taine explains this by the factthat his countrymen have ceased to affect virtue, and pretend only tovice; that a charlatan setting up morality would have no sort offollowing; that religion and the domestic virtues have gone so utterlyto rags as not to be worth putting on for a deceitful garment; and that, no principles being left to parade, the only chance for the Frenchmodern Tartuffe is to confess and exaggerate weaknesses. We seem to havesomething of an advantage here. We require at least that the respectablehomage of vice to virtue should not be omitted. "Charity, my dear, " saysour English Tartuffe, upon being bluntly called what he really is, "whenI take my chamber-candlestick to-night, remind me to be more thanusually particular in praying for Mr. Anthony Chuzzlewit, who has doneme an injustice. " No amount of self-indulgence weakens or lowers hispious and reflective tone. "Those are her daughters, " he remarks, makingmaudlin overtures to Mrs. Todgers in memory of his deceased wife. "Mercyand Charity, Charity and Mercy, not unholy names I hope. She wasbeautiful. She had a small property. " When his condition has fallen intosomething so much worse than maudlin that his friends have to put him tobed, they have not had time to descend the staircase when he is seen tobe "fluttering" on the top landing, desiring to collect their sentimentson the nature of human life. "Let us be moral. Let us contemplateexistence. " He turns his old pupil out of doors in the attitude ofblessing him, and when he has discharged that social duty retires toshed his personal tribute of a few tears in the back garden. Noconceivable position, action, or utterance finds him without the vice inwhich his being is entirely steeped and saturated. Of such consummateconsistency is its practice with him, that in his own house with hisdaughters he continues it to keep his hand in; and from the mere habitof keeping up appearances, even to himself, falls into the trap ofJonas. Thackeray used to say that there was nothing finer in rascaldomthan this ruin of Pecksniff by his son-in-law at the very moment whenthe oily hypocrite believes himself to be achieving his masterpiece ofdissembling over the more vulgar avowed ruffian. "'Jonas!' cried Mr. Pecksniff much affected, 'I am not a diplomatical character; my heart isin my hand. By far the greater part of the inconsiderable savings I haveaccumulated in the course of--I hope--a not dishonourable or uselesscareer, is already given, devised, or bequeathed (correct me, my dearJonas, if I am technically wrong), with expressions of confidence whichI will not repeat; and in securities which it is unnecessary to mention;to a person whom I cannot, whom I will not, whom I need not, name. ' Herehe gave the hand of his son-in-law a fervent squeeze, as if he wouldhave added, 'God bless you: be very careful of it when you get it!'" Certainly Dickens thus far had done nothing of which, as in this novel, the details were filled in with such minute and incomparable skill;where the wealth of comic circumstance was lavished in such overflowingabundance on single types of character; or where generally, asthroughout the story, the intensity of his observation of individualhumours and vices had taken so many varieties of imaginative form. Everything in _Chuzzlewit_ indeed had grown under treatment, as will becommonly the case in the handling of a man of genius, who never knowswhere any given conception may lead him, out of the wealth of resourcein development and incident which it has itself created. "As to theway, " he wrote to me of its two most prominent figures, as soon as alltheir capabilities were revealed to him, "As to the way in which thesecharacters have opened out, that is, to me, one of the most surprisingprocesses of the mind in this sort of invention. Given what one knows, what one does not know springs up; and I am as absolutely certain of itsbeing true, as I am of the law of gravitation--if such a thing bepossible, more so. " The remark displays exactly what in all hisimportant characters was the very process of creation with him. Nor was it in the treatment only of his present fiction, but also inits subject or design, that he had gone higher than in precedingefforts. Broadly what he aimed at, he would have expressed on thetitle-page if I had not dissuaded him, by printing there as its motto averse altered from that prologue of his own composition to which I haveformerly referred: "Your homes the scene. Yourselves, the actors, here!"Debtors' prisons, parish Bumbledoms, Yorkshire schools, were vileenough, but something much more pestiferous was now the aim of hissatire; and he had not before so decisively shown vigour, daring, ordiscernment of what lay within reach of his art, as in taking such aperson as Pecksniff for the central figure in a tale of existing life. Setting him up as the glass through which to view the groups around him, we are not the less moved to a hearty detestation of the social vicesthey exhibit, and pre-eminently of selfishness in all its forms, becausewe see more plainly than ever that there is but one vice which is quiteirremediable. The elder Chuzzlewits are bad enough, but they bring theirself-inflicted punishments; the Jonases and Tigg Montagues areexecrable, but the law has its halter and its penal servitude; theMoulds and Gamps have plague-bearing breaths, from which sanitary wisdommay clear us; but from the sleek, smiling, crawling abomination of aPecksniff, there is no help but self-help. Every man's hand should beagainst him, for his is against every man; and, as Mr. Taine very wiselywarns us, the virtues have most need to be careful that they do not makethemselves panders to his vice. It is an amiable weakness to put thebest face on the worst things, but there is none more dangerous. Thereis nothing so common as the mistake of Tom Pinch, and nothing so rareas his excuses. The art with which that delightful character is placed at Mr. Pecksniff's elbow at the beginning of the story, and the help he givesto set fairly afloat the falsehood he innocently believes, contribute toan excellent management of this part of the design; and the sameprodigal wealth of invention and circumstance which gives its higherimaginative stamp to the book, appears as vividly in its lesser as inits leading figures. There are wonderful touches of this suggestive kindin the household of Mould the undertaker; and in the vivid picturepresented to us by one of Mrs. Gamp's recollections, we are transportedto the youthful games of his children. "The sweet creeturs! playing atberryins down in the shop, and follerin' the order-book to its long homein the iron safe!" The American scenes themselves are not more full oflife and fun and freshness, and do not contribute more to the generalhilarity, than the cockney group at Todgers's; which is itself a littleworld of the qualities and humours that make up the interest of humanlife, whether it be high or low, vulgar or fine, filled in with amaster's hand. Here, in a mere byestroke as it were, are the very finestthings of the earlier books superadded to the new and higher achievementthat distinguished the later productions. No part indeed of theexecution of this remarkable novel is inferior. Young Bailey andSweedlepipes are in the front rank of his humorous creations; and poorMrs. Todgers, worn but not depraved by the cares of gravy andsolicitudes of her establishment, with calculation shining out of oneeye but affection and goodheartedness still beaming in the other, is inher way quite as perfect a picture as even the portentous Mrs. Gamp withher grim grotesqueness, her filthy habits and foul enjoyments, her thickand damp but most amazing utterances, her moist clammy functions, herpattens, her bonnet, her bundle, and her umbrella. But such prodigiousclaims must have a special mention. This world-famous personage has passed into and become one with thelanguage, which her own parts of speech have certainly not exalted orrefined. To none even of Dickens's characters has there been such a runof popularity; and she will remain among the everlasting triumphs offiction, a superb masterpiece of English humour. What Mr. Mould says ofher in his enthusiasm, that she's the sort of woman one would bury fornothing, and do it neatly too, every one feels to be an appropriatetribute; and this, by a most happy inspiration, is exactly what thegenius to whom she owes her existence did, when he called her into life, to the foul original she was taken from. That which enduringly stampedupon his page its most mirth-moving figure, had stamped out of Englishlife for ever one of its disgraces. The mortal Mrs. Gamp was handsomelyput into her grave, and only the immortal Mrs. Gamp survived. Age willnot wither this one, nor custom stale her variety. In the latter pointshe has an advantage over even Mr. Pecksniff. She has a friend, an alterego, whose kind of service to her is expressed by her first utterance inthe story; and with this, which introduces her, we may leave her mostfitly. "'Mrs. Harris, ' I says, at the very last case as ever I acted in, which it was but a young person, 'Mrs. Harris, ' I says, 'leave thebottle on the chimley-piece, and don't ask me to take none, but let meput my lips to it when I am so dispoged. ' 'Mrs. Gamp, ' she says inanswer, 'if ever there was a sober creetur to be got at eighteen pence aday for working people, and three and six for gentlefolks--nightwatching, ' said Mrs. Gamp with emphasis, 'being a extra charge--you arethat inwallable person. ' 'Mrs. Harris, ' I says to her, 'don't name thecharge, for if I could afford to lay all my fellow-creeturs out fornothink, I would gladly do it, sich is the love I bears 'em. '" To thisthere is nothing to be added, except that in the person of thatastonishing friend every phase of fun and comedy in the character isrepeated, under fresh conditions of increased appreciation andenjoyment. By the exuberance of comic invention which gives hisdistinction to Mr. Pecksniff, Mrs. Gamp profits quite as much; the samewealth of laughable incident which surrounds that worthy man is upon herheaped to overflowing; but over and above this, by the additionalinvention of Mrs. Harris, it is all reproduced, acted over with renewedspirit, and doubled and quadrupled in her favour. This on the whole isthe happiest stroke of humorous art in all the writings of Dickens. * * * * * But this is a chapter of disappointments, and I have now to state, thatas _Martin Chuzzlewit's_ success was to seem to him at first onlydistant and problematical, so even the prodigious immediate success ofthe _Christmas Carol_ itself was not to be an unmitigated pleasure. Never had a little book an outset so full of brilliancy of promise. Published but a few days before Christmas, it was hailed on every sidewith enthusiastic greeting. The first edition of six thousand copies wassold the first day, and on the third of January 1844 he wrote to me that"two thousand of the three printed for second and third editions arealready taken by the trade. " But a very few weeks were to pass beforethe darker side of the picture came. "Such a night as I have passed!" hewrote to me on Saturday morning the 10th of February. "I really believedI should never get up again, until I had passed through all the horrorsof a fever. I found the _Carol_ accounts awaiting me, and they were thecause of it. The first six thousand copies show a profit of £230! Andthe last four will yield as much more. I had set my heart and soul upona Thousand, clear. What a wonderful thing it is, that such a greatsuccess should occasion me such intolerable anxiety and disappointment!My year's bills, unpaid, are so terrific, that all the energy anddetermination I can possibly exert will be required to clear me before Igo abroad; which, if next June come and find me alive, I shall do. GoodHeaven, if I had only taken heart a year ago! Do come soon, as I am veryanxious to talk with you. We can send round to Mac after you arrive, andtell him to join us at Hampstead or elsewhere. I was so utterly knockeddown last night, that I came up to the contemplation of all these thingsquite bold this morning. If I can let the house for this season, I willbe off to some seaside place as soon as a tenant offers. I am notafraid, if I reduce my expenses; but if I do not, I shall be ruined pastall mortal hope of redemption. " The ultimate result was that his publishers were changed, and theimmediate result that his departure for Italy became a settled thing;but a word may be said on these Carol accounts before mention is made ofhis new publishing arrangements. [71] Want of judgment had been shown innot adjusting the expenses of production with a more equable regard tothe selling price, but even as it was, before the close of the year, hehad received £726 from a sale of fifteen thousand copies; and thedifference between this and the amount realised by the same proportionof the sale of the successor to the _Carol_, undoubtedly justified himin the discontent now expressed. Of that second tale, as well as of thethird and fourth, more than double the numbers of the _Carol_ were atonce sold, and of course there was no complaint of any want of success:but the truth really was, as to all the Christmas stories issued in thisform, that the price charged, while too large for the public addressedby them, was too little to remunerate their outlay; and when in lateryears he put forth similar fancies for Christmas, charging for themfewer pence than the shillings required for these, he counted hispurchasers, with fairly corresponding gains to himself, not by tens butby hundreds of thousands. [72] It was necessary now that negotiations should be resumed with hisprinters, but before any step was taken Messrs. Chapman and Hall wereinformed of his intention not to open fresh publishing relations withthem after _Chuzzlewit_ should have closed. Then followed deliberationsand discussions, many and grave, which settled themselves at last intothe form of an agreement with Messrs. Bradbury and Evans executed on thefirst of June 1844; by which, upon advance made to him of £2800, heassigned to them a fourth share in whatever he might write during thenext ensuing eight years, to which the agreement was to be strictlylimited. There were the usual protecting clauses, but no interest was tobe paid, and no obligations were imposed as to what works should bewritten, if any, or the form of them; the only farther stipulationhaving reference to the event of a periodical being undertaken whereofDickens might be only partially editor or author, in which case hisproprietorship of copyright and profits was to be two thirds instead ofthree fourths. There was an understanding, at the time this agreementwas signed, that a successor to the _Carol_ would be ready for theChristmas of 1844; but no other promise was asked or made in regard toany other book, nor had he himself decided what form to give to hisexperiences of Italy, if he should even finally determine to publishthem at all. Between this agreement and his journey six weeks elapsed, and there wereone or two characteristic incidents before his departure: but mentionmust first be interposed of the success quite without alloy that alsoattended the little book, and carried off in excitement and delightevery trace of doubt or misgiving. "Blessings on your kind heart!" wrote Jeffrey to the author of the_Carol_. "You should be happy yourself, for you may be sure you havedone more good by this little publication, fostered more kindlyfeelings, and prompted more positive acts of beneficence, than can betraced to all the pulpits and confessionals in Christendom sinceChristmas 1842. " "Who can listen, " exclaimed Thackeray, "to objectionsregarding such a book as this? It seems to me a national benefit, and toevery man or woman who reads it a personal kindness. " Such praiseexpressed what men of genius felt and said; but the small volume hadother tributes, less usual and not less genuine. There poured upon itsauthor daily, all through that Christmas time, letters from completestrangers to him which I remember reading with a wonder of pleasure; notliterary at all, but of the simplest domestic kind; of which the generalburden was to tell him, amid many confidences about their homes, how the_Carol_ had come to be read aloud there, and was to be kept upon alittle shelf by itself, and was to do them all no end of good. Anythingmore to be said of it will not add much to this. There was indeed nobody that had not some interest in the message of the_Christmas Carol_. It told the selfish man to rid himself ofselfishness; the just man to make himself generous; and the good-naturedman to enlarge the sphere of his good nature. Its cheery voice of faithand hope, ringing from one end of the island to the other, carriedpleasant warning alike to all, that if the duties of Christmas werewanting no good could come of its outward observances; that it mustshine upon the cold hearth and warm it, and into the sorrowful heart andcomfort it; that it must be kindness, benevolence, charity, mercy, andforbearance, or its plum pudding would turn to bile, and its roast beefbe indigestible. [73] Nor could any man have said it with the sameappropriateness as Dickens. What was marked in him to the last wasmanifest now. He had identified himself with Christmas fancies. Its lifeand spirits, its humour in riotous abundance, of right belonged to him. Its imaginations as well as kindly thoughts were his; and its privilegeto light up with some sort of comfort the squalidest places, he had madehis own. Christmas Day was not more social or welcome: New Year's Daynot more new: Twelfth Night not more full of characters. The duty ofdiffusing enjoyment had never been taught by a more abundant, mirthful, thoughtful, ever-seasonable writer. Something also is to be said of the spirit of the book, and of theothers that followed it, which will not anticipate special allusions tobe made hereafter. No one was more intensely fond than Dickens of oldnursery tales, and he had a secret delight in feeling that he was hereonly giving them a higher form. The social and manly virtues he desiredto teach, were to him not less the charm of the ghost, the goblin, andthe fairy fancies of his childhood; however rudely set forth in thoseearlier days. What now were to be conquered were the more formidabledragons and giants which had their places at our own hearths, and theweapons to be used were of a finer than the "ice-brook's temper. " Withbrave and strong restraints, what is evil in ourselves was to besubdued; with warm and gentle sympathies, what is bad or unreclaimed inothers was to be redeemed; the Beauty was to embrace the Beast, as inthe divinest of all those fables; the star was to rise out of the ashes, as in our much-loved Cinderella; and we were to play the Valentine withour wilder brothers, and bring them back with brotherly care tocivilization and happiness. Nor is it to be doubted, I think, that, inthat largest sense of benefit, great public and private service wasdone; positive, earnest, practical good; by the extraordinarypopularity, and nearly universal acceptance, which attended these littleholiday volumes. They carried to countless firesides, with new enjoymentof the season, better apprehension of its claims and obligations; theymingled grave with glad thoughts, much to the advantage of both; whatseemed almost too remote to meddle with they brought within reach of thecharities, and what was near they touched with a dearer tenderness; theycomforted the generous, rebuked the sordid, cured folly by kindlyridicule and comic humour, and, saying to their readers _Thus you havedone, but it were better Thus_, may for some have realised thephilosopher's famous experience, and by a single fortunate thoughtrevised the whole manner of a life. Criticism here is a second-ratething, and the reader may be spared such discoveries as it might havemade in regard to the _Christmas Carol_. FOOTNOTES: [70] Chuffey. Sydney Smith had written to Dickens on the appearance ofhis fourth number (early in April): "Chuffey is admirable. . . . I neverread a finer piece of writing: it is deeply pathetic and affecting. " [71] It may interest the reader, and be something of a curiosity ofliterature, if I give the expenses of the first edition of 6000, and ofthe 7000 more which constituted the five following editions, with theprofit of the remaining 2000 which completed the sale of fifteenthousand: CHRISTMAS CAROL. 1st Edition, 6000 No. 1843. £ _s. _ _d. _ Dec. Printing 74 2 9 Paper 89 2 0 Drawings and Engravings 49 18 0 Two Steel Plates 1 4 0 Printing Plates 15 17 6 Paper for do 7 12 0 Colouring Plates 120 0 0 Binding 180 0 0 Incidents and Advertising 168 7 8 Commission 99 4 6 -------------- £805 8 5 ============== * * * * * 2nd to the 7th Edition, making 7000 Copies. 1844. £ _s. _ _d. _ Jan. Printing 58 18 0 Paper 103 19 0 Printing Plates 17 10 0 Paper 8 17 4 Colouring Plates 140 0 0 Binding 199 18 2 Incidents and Advertising 83 5 8 Commission 107 18 10 ------------- £720 7 0 ============= * * * * * Two thousand more, represented by the last item in the subjoinedbalance, were sold before the close of the year, leaving a remainder of70 copies. 1843. £ _s. _ _d. _ Dec. Balance of a/c to Mr. Dickens's credit 186 16 7 1844. Jan. To April. Do. Do. 349 12 0 May to Dec. Do. Do. 189 11 5 ------------- Amount of Profit on the Work £726 0 0 ============= [72] In November 1865 he wrote to me that the sale of his Christmasfancy for that year (_Dr. Marigold's Prescriptions_) had gone up, in thefirst week, to 250, 000. [73] A characteristic letter of this date, which will explain itself, has been kindly sent to me by the gentleman it was written to, Mr. JamesVerry Staples, of Bristol:--"Third of April, 1844. I have been very muchgratified by the receipt of your interesting letter, and I assure youthat it would have given me heartfelt satisfaction to have been in yourplace when you read my little _Carol_ to the Poor in your neighbourhood. I have great faith in the poor; to the best of my ability I alwaysendeavour to present them in a favourable light to the rich; and I shallnever cease, I hope, until I die, to advocate their being made as happyand as wise as the circumstances of their condition, in its utmostimprovement, will admit of their becoming. I mention this to assure youof two things. Firstly, that I try to deserve their attention; andsecondly, that any such marks of their approval and confidence as yourelate to me are most acceptable to my feelings, and go at once to myheart. " CHAPTER IV. YEAR OF DEPARTURE FOR ITALY. 1844. Gore-house--Liverpool and Birmingham Institutes--A Troublesome Cheque--Wrongs from Piracy--Proceedings in Chancery--Result of Chancery Experience--Reliefs to Work--M. Henri Taine on Dickens--Writing in the _Chronicle_--Preparations for Departure--In Temporary Quarters--The Farewell Dinner-party--"The Evenings of a Working-man"--Greenwich Dinner. AND now, before accompanying Dickens on his Italian travel, one or twoparting incidents will receive illustration from his letters. Athoughtful little poem written during the past summer for LadyBlessington has been quoted on a previous page: and it may remind me tosay here what warmth of regard he had for her, and for all the inmatesof Gore-house; how uninterruptedly joyous and pleasurable were hisassociations with them; and what valued help they now gave in hispreparations for Italy. The poem, as we have seen, was written during avisit made in Yorkshire to the house of Mr. Smithson, already named asthe partner of his early companion, Mr. Mitton; and this visit herepeated in sadder circumstances during the present year, when (April1844) he attended Mr. Smithson's funeral. With members or connections ofthe family of this friend, his intercourse long continued. In the previous February, on the 26th and 28th respectively, he hadtaken the chair at two great meetings, in Liverpool of the Mechanics'Institution, and in Birmingham of the Polytechnic Institution, to whichreference is made by him in a letter of the 21st. I quote the allusionbecause it shows thus early the sensitive regard to his position as aman of letters, and his scrupulous consideration for the feelings aswell as interest of the class, which he manifested in many various andoften greatly self-sacrificing ways all through his life. "Advise me onthe following point. And as I must write to-night, having already lost apost, advise me by bearer. This Liverpool Institution, which is wealthyand has a high grammar-school the masters of which receive in salariesupwards of £2000 a year (indeed its extent horrifies me; I am strugglingthrough its papers this morning), writes me yesterday by its secretary abusiness letter about the order of the proceedings on Monday; and itbegins thus. 'I beg to send you prefixed, with the best respects of ourcommittee, a bank order for twenty pounds in payment of the expensescontingent on your visit to Liverpool. '--And there, sure enough, it is. Now my impulse was, _and is_, decidedly to return it. Twenty pounds isnot of moment to me; and any sacrifice of independence is worth ittwenty times' twenty times told. But haggling in my mind is a doubtwhether that would be proper, and not boastful (in an inexplicable way);and whether as an author, I have a right to put myself on a basis whichthe professors of literature in other forms _connected with theInstitution_ cannot afford to occupy. Don't you see? But of course youdo. The case stands thus. The Manchester Institution, being in debt, appeals to me as it were _in formâ pauperis_, and makes no suchprovision as I have named. The Birmingham Institution, just strugglinginto life with great difficulty, applies to me on the same grounds. Butthe Leeds people (thriving) write to me, making the expenses a distinctmatter of business; and the Liverpool, as a point of delicacy, saynothing about it to the last minute, and then send the money. Now, whatin the name of goodness ought I to do?--I am as much puzzled with thecheque as Colonel Jack was with his gold. If it would have settled thematter to put it in the fire yesterday, I should certainly have done it. Your opinion is requested. I think I shall have grounds for a very goodspeech at Brummagem; but I am not sure about Liverpool: havingmisgivings of over-gentility. " My opinion was clearly for sending themoney back, which accordingly was done. Both speeches, duly delivered to enthusiastic listeners at the placesnamed, were good, and both, with suitable variations, had the sametheme: telling his popular audience in Birmingham that the principle oftheir institute, education comprehensive and unsectarian, was the onlysafe one, for that without danger no society could go on punishing menfor preferring vice to virtue without giving them the means of knowingwhat virtue was; and reminding his genteeler audience in Liverpool, thatif happily they had been themselves well taught, so much the more shouldthey seek to extend the benefit to all, since, whatever the precedencedue to rank, wealth, or intellect, there was yet a nobility beyond them, expressed unaffectedly by the poet's verse and in the power of educationto confer. Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'Tis only noble to be good: True hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood. He underwent some suffering, which he might have spared himself, at hisreturn. "I saw the _Carol_ last night, " he wrote to me of a dramaticperformance of the little story at the Adelphi. "Better than usual, andWright seems to enjoy Bob Cratchit, but _heart-breaking_ to me. OhHeaven! if any forecast of _this_ was ever in my mind! Yet O. Smith wasdrearily better than I expected. It is a great comfort to have that kindof meat under done; and his face is quite perfect. " Of what he sufferedfrom these adaptations of his books, multiplied remorselessly at everytheatre, I have forborne to speak, but it was the subject of complaintwith him incessantly; and more or less satisfied as he was withindividual performances, such as Mr. Yates's Quilp or Mantalini and Mrs. Keeley's Smike or Dot, there was only one, that of Barnaby Rudge by theMiss Fortescue who became afterwards Lady Gardner, on which I ever heardhim dwell with a thorough liking. It is true that to the dramatizationsof his next and other following Christmas stories he gave help himself;but, even then, all such efforts to assist special representations weremere attempts to render more tolerable what he had no power to prevent, and, with a few rare exceptions, they were never very successful. Another and graver wrong was the piracy of his writings, every one ofwhich had been reproduced with merely such colourable changes of title, incidents, and names of characters, as were believed to be sufficient toevade the law and adapt them to "penny" purchasers. So shamelessly hadthis been going on ever since the days of _Pickwick_, in so manyoutrageous ways[74] and with all but impunity, that a course repeatedlyurged by Talfourd and myself was at last taken in the present year withthe _Christmas Carol_ and the _Chuzzlewit_ pirates. Upon a case of suchpeculiar flagrancy, however, that the vice-chancellor would not evenhear Dickens's counsel; and what it cost our dear friend Talfourd tosuppress his speech exceeded by very much the labour and pains withwhich he had prepared it. "The pirates, " wrote Dickens to me, afterleaving the court on the 18th of January, "are beaten flat. They arebruised, bloody, battered, smashed, squelched, and utterly undone. Knight Bruce would not hear Talfourd, but instantly gave judgment. Hehad interrupted Anderdon constantly by asking him to produce a passagewhich was not an expanded or contracted idea from my book. And at everysuccessive passage he cried out, 'That is Mr. Dickens's case. Findanother!' He said that there was not a shadow of doubt upon the matter. That there was no authority which would bear a construction in theirfavour; the piracy going beyond all previous instances. They mightmention it again in a week, he said, if they liked, and might have anissue if they pleased; but they would probably consider it unnecessaryafter that strong expression of his opinion. Of course I will stand bywhat we have agreed as to the only terms of compromise with theprinters. I am determined that I will have an apology for theiraffidavits. The other men may pay their costs and get out of it, but Iwill stick to my friend the author. " Two days later he wrote: "Thefarther affidavits put in by way of extenuation by the printing rascals_are_ rather strong, and give one a pretty correct idea of what the menmust be who hold on by the heels of literature. Oh! the agony ofTalfourd at Knight Bruce's not hearing him! He had sat up till three inthe morning, he says, preparing his speech; and would have done allkinds of things with the affidavits. It certainly was a splendidsubject. We have heard nothing from the vagabonds yet. I once thought ofprinting the affidavits without a word of comment, and sewing them upwith _Chuzzlewit_. Talfourd is strongly disinclined to compromise withthe printers on any terms. In which case it would be referred to themaster to ascertain what profits had been made by the piracy, and toorder the same to be paid to me. But wear and tear of law is myconsideration. " The undertaking to which he had at last to submit was, that upon ample public apology, and payment of all costs, the offendersshould be let go; but the real result was that, after infinite vexationand trouble, he had himself to pay all the costs incurred on his ownbehalf; and, a couple of years later, upon repetition of the wrong hehad suffered in so gross a form that proceedings were again advised byTalfourd and others, he wrote to me from Switzerland the condition ofmind to which his experience had brought him. "My feeling about the ----is the feeling common, I suppose, to three fourths of the reflectingpart of the community in our happiest of all possible countries; andthat is, that it is better to suffer a great wrong than to have recourseto the much greater wrong of the law. I shall not easily forget theexpense, and anxiety, and horrible injustice of the _Carol_ case, wherein, in asserting the plainest right on earth, I was really treatedas if I were the robber instead of the robbed. Upon the whole, Icertainly would much rather NOT proceed. What do you think of sending ina grave protest against what has been done in this case, on account ofthe immense amount of piracy to which I am daily exposed, and because Ihave been already met in the court of chancery with the legal doctrinethat silence under such wrongs barred my remedy: to which Talfourd'swritten opinion might be appended as proof that we stopped under nodiscouragement. It is useless to affect that I don't know I have amorbid susceptibility of exasperation, to which the meanness and badnessof the law in such a matter would be stinging in the last degree. And Iknow of nothing that _could_ come, even of a successful action, whichwould be worth the mental trouble and disturbance it would cost. "[75] A few notes of besetting temptations during his busiest days at_Chuzzlewit_, one taken from each of the first four months of the yearwhen he was working at its masterly closing scenes, will amusinglyexhibit, side by side, his powers of resistance and capacities ofenjoyment. "I had written you a line" (16th of January), "pleading Jonasand Mrs. Gamp, but this frosty day tempts me sorely. I am distractinglylate; but I look at the sky, think of Hampstead, and feel hideouslytempted. Don't come with Mae, and fetch me. I couldn't resist if youdid. " In the next (18th of February), he is not the tempted, but thetempter. "Stanfield and Mac have come in, and we are going to Hampsteadto dinner. I leave Betsey Prig as you know, so don't you make a scrupleabout leaving Mrs. Harris. We shall stroll leisurely up, to give youtime to join us, and dinner will be on the table at Jack Straw's atfour. . . . In the very improbable (surely impossible?) case of your notcoming, we will call on you at a quarter before eight, to go to theragged school. " The next (5th of March) shows him in yielding mood, andpitying himself for his infirmity of compliance. "Sir, Iwill--he--he--he--he--he--he--I will NOT eat with you, either at yourown house or the club. But the morning looks bright, and a walk toHampstead would suit me marvellously. If you should present yourself atmy gate (bringing the R. A. 's along with you) I shall not be sapparized. So no more at this writing from Poor MR. DICKENS. " But again the tablesare turned, and he is tempter in the last; written on that Shakespeareday (23rd of April) which we kept always as a festival, and signed incharacter expressive of his then present unfitness for any of thepractical affairs of life, including the very pressing business which atthe moment ought to have occupied him, namely, attention to the longdeferred nuptials of Miss Charity Pecksniff. "November blasts! Why it'sthe warmest, most genial, most intensely bland, delicious, growing, springy, songster-of-the-grovy, bursting-forth-of-the-buddy, day asever was. At half-past four I shall expect you. Ever, MODDLE. " Moddle, the sentimental noodle hooked by Miss Pecksniff who flies on hisproposed wedding-day from the frightful prospect before him, the readerof course knows; and has perhaps admired for his last supreme outbreakof common sense. It was a rather favourite bit of humour with Dickens;and I find it pleasant to think that he never saw the description givenof it by a trained and skilful French critic, who has been able to passunder his review the whole of English literature without any apparentsense or understanding of one of its most important as well as richestelements. A man without the perception of humour taking English proseliterature in hand, can of course set about it only in one way. Accordingly, in Mr. Taine's decisive judgments of our last greathumourist, which proceed upon a principle of psychological analysiswhich it is only fair to say he applies impartially to everybody, _Pickwick_, _Oliver Twist_, and _The Old Curiosity Shop_ are not in anymanner even named or alluded to; Mrs. Gamp is only once mentioned asalways talking of Mrs. Harris; and Mr. Micawber also only once as usingalways the same emphatic phrases; the largest extracts are taken fromthe two books in all the Dickens series that are weakest on the humorousside, _Hard Times_ and the _Chimes_; _Nickleby_, with its manylaughter-moving figures, is dismissed in a line and a half; Mr. Toots, Captain Cuttle, Susan Nipper, Toodles, and the rest have no place inwhat is said of _Dombey_; and, to close with what has caused and mustexcuse my digression, Mr. Augustus Moddle is introduced as a gloomymaniac who makes us laugh and makes us shudder, and as drawn so trulyfor a madman that though at first sight agreeable, he is in realityhorrible![76] A month before the letter subscribed by Dickens in the character, sohappily unknown to himself, of this gloomy maniac, he had written to mefrom amidst his famous chapter in which the tables are turned onPecksniff; but here I quote the letter chiefly for noticeable words atits close. "I heard from Macready by the Hibernia. I have been slavingaway regularly, but the weather is against rapid progress. I altered theverbal error, and substituted for the action you didn't like some wordsexpressive of the hurry of the scene. Macready sums up slavery in NewOrleans in the way of a gentle doubting on the subject, by a 'but' and adash. I believe it is in New Orleans that the man is lying undersentence of death, who, not having the fear of God before his eyes, didnot deliver up a captive slave to the torture? The largest gun in thatcountry has not burst yet--_but it will_. Heaven help us, too, fromexplosions nearer home! I declare I never go into what is called'society' that I am not aweary of it, despise it, hate it, and rejectit. The more I see of its extraordinary conceit, and its stupendousignorance of what is passing out of doors, the more certain I am that itis approaching the period when, being incapable of reforming itself, itwill have to submit to be reformed by others off the face of the earth. "Thus we see that the old radical leanings were again rather strong inhim at present, and I may add that he had found occasional recent ventfor them by writing in the _Morning Chronicle_. Some articles thus contributed by him having set people talking, theproprietors of the paper rather eagerly mooted the question what paymenthe would ask for contributing regularly; and ten guineas an article wasnamed. Very sensibly, however, the editor who had succeeded his oldfriend Black pointed out to him, that though even that sum would not berefused in the heat of the successful articles just contributed, yet (Iquote his own account in a letter of the 7th of March 1844) so muchwould hardly be paid continuously; and thereupon an understanding, wascome to, that he would write as a volunteer and leave his payment to beadjusted to the results. "Then said the editor--and this I particularlywant you to turn over in your mind, at leisure--supposing me to goabroad, could I contemplate such a thing as the writing of a letter aweek under any signature I chose, with such scraps of descriptions andimpressions as suggested themselves to my mind? If so, would I do itfor the _Chronicle_? And if so again, what would I do it for? He thoughtfor such contributions Easthope would pay anything. I told him that theidea had never occurred to me; but that I was afraid he did not knowwhat the value of such contributions would be. He repeated what he hadsaid before; and I promised to consider whether I could reconcile it tomyself to write such letters at all. The pros and cons need to be verycarefully weighed. I will not tell you to which side I incline, but ifwe should disagree, or waver on the same points, we will call Bradburyand Evans to the council. I think it more than probable that we shall beof exactly the same mind, but I want you to be in possession of thefacts and therefore send you this rigmarole. " The rigmarole is notunimportant; because, though we did not differ on the wisdom of sayingNo to the _Chronicle_, the "council" spoken of was nevertheless held, and in it lay the germ of another newspaper enterprise he permittedhimself to engage in twelve months later, to which he would have donemore wisely to have also answered No. The preparation for departure was now actively going forward, andespecially his enquiries for two important adjuncts thereto, a courierand a carriage. As to the latter it occurred to him that he mightperhaps get for little money "some good old shabby devil of a coach--oneof those vast phantoms that hide themselves in a corner of thePantechnicon;" and exactly such a one he found there; sitting himselfinside it, a perfect Sentimental Traveller, while the managing man toldhim its history. "As for comfort--let me see--it is about the size ofyour library; with night-lamps and day-lamps and pockets and imperialsand leathern cellars, and the most extraordinary contrivances. Jokingapart, it is a wonderful machine. And when you see it (if you _do_ seeit) you will roar at it first, and will then proclaim it to be'perfectly brilliant, my dear fellow. '" It was marked sixty pounds; hegot it for five-and-forty; and my own emotions respecting it he haddescribed by anticipation quite correctly. In finding a courier he waseven more fortunate; and these successes were followed by a thirdapparently very promising, but in the result less satisfactory. Hishouse was let to not very careful people. The tenant having offered herself for Devonshire-terrace unexpectedly, during the last week or two of his stay in England he went intotemporary quarters in Osnaburgh-terrace; and here a domestic difficultybefell of which the mention may be amusing, when I have disposed of anincident that preceded it too characteristic for omission. The MendicitySociety's officers had caught a notorious begging-letter writer, hadidentified him as an old offender against Dickens of which proofs werefound on his person, and had put matters in train for his properpunishment; when the wretched creature's wife made such appeal beforethe case was heard at the police-court, that Dickens broke down in hischaracter of prosecutor, and at the last moment, finding what was saidof the man's distress at the time to be true, relented. "When theMendicity officers themselves told me the man was in distress, I desiredthem to suppress what they knew about him, and slipped out of the bundle(in the police office) his first letter, which was the greatest lie ofall. For he looked wretched, and his wife had been waiting about thestreet to see me, all the morning. It was an exceedingly bad casehowever, and the imposition, all through, very great indeed. Insomuchthat I could not _say_ anything in his favour, even when I saw him. YetI was not sorry that the creature found the loophole for escape. Theofficers had taken him illegally without any warrant; and really theymessed it all through, quite facetiously. " He will himself also best relate the small domestic difficulty intowhich he fell in his temporary dwelling, upon his unexpectedlydiscovering it to be unequal to the strain of a dinner party for whichinvitations had gone out just before the sudden "let" ofDevonshire-terrace. The letter is characteristic in other ways, or Ishould hardly have gone so far into domesticities here; and it enablesme to add that with the last on its list of guests, Mr. Chapman thechairman of Lloyd's, he held much friendly intercourse, and that fewthings more absurd or unfounded have been invented, even of Dickens, than that he found any part of the original of Mr. Dombey in the nature, the appearance, or the manners of this estimable gentleman. "Advise, advise, " he wrote (9 Osnaburgh-terrace, 28th of May 1844), "advise witha distracted man. Investigation below stairs renders it, as my fatherwould say, 'manifest to any person of ordinary intelligence, if the termmay be considered allowable, ' that the Saturday's dinner cannot come offhere with safety. It would be a toss-up, and might come down heads, butit would put us into an agony with that kind of people. . . . Now, I feel adifficulty in dropping it altogether, and really fear that this mighthave an indefinably suspicious and odd appearance. Then said I atbreakfast this morning, I'll send down to the Clarendon. Then says Kate, have it at Richmond. Then I say, that might be inconvenient to thepeople. Then she says, how could it be if we dine late enough? Then I amvery much offended without exactly knowing why; and come up here, in astate of hopeless mystification. . . . What do you think? Ellis would bequite as dear as anybody else; and unless the weather changes, the placeis objectionable. I must make up my mind to do one thing or other, forwe shall meet Lord Denman at dinner to-day. Could it be droppeddecently? That, I think very doubtful. Could it be done for a couple ofguineas apiece at the Clarendon? . . . In a matter of more importance Icould make up my mind. But in a matter of this kind I bother andbewilder myself, and come to no conclusion whatever. Advise! Advise! . . . List of the Invited. There's Lord Normanby. And there's Lord Denman. There's Easthope, wife, and sister. There's Sydney Smith. There's youand Mac. There's Babbage. There's a Lady Osborne and her daughter. There's Southwood Smith. And there's Quin. And there are Thomas Chapmanand his wife. So many of these people have never dined with us, that thefix is particularly tight. Advise! Advise!" My advice was for throwingover the party altogether, but additional help was obtained and thedinner went off very pleasantly. It was the last time we saw SydneySmith. Of one other characteristic occurrence he wrote before he left; and thevery legible epigraph round the seal of his letter, "It is particularlyrequested that if Sir James Graham should open this, he will nottrouble himself to seal it again, " expresses both its date and itswriter's opinion of a notorious transaction of the time. "I wish" (28thof June) "you would read this, and give it me again when we meet atStanfield's to-day. Newby has written to me to say that he hopes to beable to give Overs more money than was agreed on. " The enclosure was theproof-sheet of a preface written by him to a small collection of storiesby a poor carpenter dying of consumption, who hoped by theirpublication, under protection of such a name, to leave behind him somesmall provision for his ailing wife and little children. [77] The bookwas dedicated to the kind physician, Doctor Elliotson, whose name wasfor nearly thirty years a synonym with us all for unwearied, self-sacrificing, beneficent service to every one in need. The last incident before Dickens's departure was a farewell dinner tohim at Greenwich, which took also the form of a celebration for thecompletion of _Chuzzlewit_, or, as the Ballantynes used to call it inScott's case, a christening dinner; when Lord Normanby took the chair, and I remember sitting next the great painter Turner, who had come withStanfield, and had enveloped his throat, that sultry summer day, in ahuge red belcher-handkerchief which nothing would induce him to remove. He was not otherwise demonstrative, but enjoyed himself in a quietsilent way, less perhaps at the speeches than at the changing lights onthe river. Carlyle did not come; telling me in his reply to theinvitation that he truly loved Dickens, having discerned in the innerman of him a real music of the genuine kind, but that he'd rathertestify to this in some other form than that of dining out in thedogdays. FOOTNOTES: [74] In a letter on the subject of copyright published by Thomas Hoodafter Dickens's return from America, he described what had passedbetween himself and one of these pirates who had issued a MasterHumphrey's Clock edited by Bos. "Sir, " said the man to Hood, "if you hadobserved the name, it was _Bos_, not _Boz_; s, sir, not z; and, besides, it would have been no piracy, sir, even with the z, because _MasterHumphrey's Clock_, you see, sir, was not published as by Boz, but byCharles Dickens!" [75] The reader may be amused if I add in a note what he said of thepirates in those earlier days when grave matters touched him lessgravely. On the eve of the first number of _Nickleby_ he had issued aproclamation. "Whereas we are the only true and lawful Boz. And whereasit hath been reported to us, who are commencing a new work, that somedishonest dullards resident in the by-streets and cellars of this townimpose upon the unwary and credulous, by producing cheap and wretchedimitations of our delectable works. And whereas we derive but smallcomfort under this injury from the knowledge that the dishonest dullardsaforesaid cannot, by reason of their mental smallness, follow near ourheels, but are constrained to creep along by dirty and little-frequentedways, at a most respectful and humble distance behind. And whereas, inlike manner, as some other vermin are not worth the killing for the sakeof their carcases, so these kennel pirates are not worth the powder andshot of the law, inasmuch as whatever damages they may commit they arein no condition to pay any. This is to give notice, that we have atlength devised a mode of execution for them, so summary and terrible, that if any gang or gangs thereof presume to hoist but one shred of thecolours of the good ship _Nickleby_, we will hang them on gibbets solofty and enduring that their remains shall be a monument of our justvengeance to all succeeding ages; and it shall not lie in the power ofany lord high admiral, on earth, to cause them to be taken down again. "The last paragraph of the proclamation informed the potentates ofPaternoster-row, that from the then ensuing day of the thirtieth ofMarch, until farther notice, "we shall hold our Levees, as heretofore, on the last evening but one of every month, between the hours of sevenand nine, at our Board of Trade, number one hundred and eighty-six inthe Strand, London; where we again request the attendance (in vastcrowds) of their accredited agents and ambassadors. Gentlemen to wearknots upon their shoulders; and patent cabs to draw up with their doorstowards the grand entrance, for the convenience of loading. " [76] This might seem not very credible if I did not give the passageliterally, and I therefore quote it from the careful translation of_Taine's History of English Literature_ by Mr. Van Laun, one of themasters of the Edinburgh Academy, where I will venture to hope thatother authorities on English Literature are at the same time admitted. "Jonas" (also in _Chuzzlewit_) "is on the verge of madness. There areother characters quite mad. Dickens has drawn three or four portraits ofmadmen, very agreeable at first sight, but so true that they are inreality horrible. It needed an imagination like his, irregular, excessive, capable of fixed ideas, to exhibit the derangements ofreason. Two especially there are, which make us laugh, and which make usshudder. Augustus, the gloomy maniac, who is on the point of marryingMiss Pecksniff; and poor Mr. Dick, half an idiot, half a monomaniac, wholives with Miss Trotwood. . . . The play of these shattered reasons is likethe creaking of a dislocated door; it makes one sick to hear it. " (Vol. Ii. P. 346. ) The original was published before Dickens's death, but hecertainly never saw it. [77] He wrote from Marseilles (17th Dec. 1844). "When poor Overs wasdying he suddenly asked for a pen and ink and some paper, and made up alittle parcel for me which it was his last conscious act to direct. She(his wife) told me this and gave it me. I opened it last night. It was acopy of his little book in which he had written my name, 'With hisdevotion. ' I thought it simple and affecting of the poor fellow. " From alater letter a few lines may be added. "Mrs. Overs tells me" (MonteVacchi, 30th March, 1845) "that Miss Coutts has sent her, at differenttimes, sixteen pounds, has sent a doctor to her children, and has gotone of the girls into the Orphan School. When I wrote her a word in thepoor woman's behalf, she wrote me back to the effect that it was akindness to herself to have done so, 'for what is the use of my meansbut to try and do some good with them?'" CHAPTER V. IDLENESS AT ALBARO: VILLA BAGNERELLO. 1844. Arrival at Marseilles--A Character--Villa at Genoa--Sirocco--Sunsets and Scenery--Address to Maclise--French and Italian Skies--The Mediterranean--The Cicala--French Consul of Genoa--Learning Italian--Trades-people--Genoa the Superb--Theatres--Italian Plays--Religious Houses--Sunday Promenade--Winter Residence chosen--Dinner at French Consul's--Reception at M. Di Negri's--A Tumble--English Visitors and News--Visit of his Brother--Sea-bathing. THE travelling party arrived at Marseilles on the evening of Sunday the14th of July. Not being able to get vetturino horses in Paris, they hadcome on, post; paying for nine horses but bringing only four, andthereby saving a shilling a mile out of what the four would have cost inEngland. So great thus far, however, had been the cost of travel, that"what with distance, caravan, sight-seeing, and everything, " two hundredpounds would be nearly swallowed up before they were at theirdestination. The success otherwise had been complete. The children hadnot cried in their worst troubles, the carriage had gone lightly overabominable roads, and the courier had proved himself a perfect gem. "Surrounded by strange and perfectly novel circumstances, " Dickens wroteto me from Marseilles, "I feel as if I had a new head on side by sidewith my old one. " To what shrewd and kindly observation the old one had helped him atevery stage of his journey, his published book of travel tells, and ofall that there will be nothing here; but a couple of experiences at hisoutset, of which he told me afterwards, have enough character in them tobe worth mention. Shortly before there had been some public interest about the captain ofa Boulogne steamer apprehended on a suspicion of having stolen specie, but reinstated by his owners after a public apology to him on theirbehalf; and Dickens had hardly set foot on the boat that was to carrythem across, when he was attracted by the look of its captain, anddiscovered him after a few minutes' talk to be that very man. "Such anhonest, simple, good fellow, I never saw, " said Dickens, as he imitatedfor me the homely speech in which his confidences were related. TheBoulogne people, he said, had given him a piece of plate, "but Lordbless us! it took a deal more than that to get him round again in hisown mind; and for weeks and weeks he was uncommon low to be sure. Newgate, you see! What a place for a sea-faring man as had held up hishead afore the best on 'em, and had more friends, I mean to say, and Ido tell you the daylight truth, than any man on this station--ah! or anyother, I don't care where!" His first experience in a foreign tongue he made immediately on landing, when he had gone to the bank for money, and after delivering with mostlaborious distinctness a rather long address in French to the clerkbehind the counter, was disconcerted by that functionary's cool enquiryin the native-born Lombard-street manner, "How would you like to takeit, sir?" He took it, as everybody must, in five-franc pieces, and amost inconvenient coinage he found it; for he required so much that hehad to carry it in a couple of small sacks, and was always "turning hotabout suddenly" taking it into his head that he had lost them. The evening of Tuesday the 16th of July saw him in a villa at Albaro, the suburb of Genoa in which, upon the advice of our Gore-house friends, he had resolved to pass the summer months before taking up his quartersin the city. His wish was to have had Lord Byron's house there, but ithad fallen into neglect and become the refuge of a third-rate wine-shop. The matter had then been left to Angus Fletcher who just now lived nearGenoa, and he had taken at a rent absurdly above its value[78] anunpicturesque and uninteresting dwelling, which at once impressed itsnew tenant with its likeness to a pink jail. "It is, " he said to me, "the most perfectly lonely, rusty, stagnant old staggerer of a domainthat you can possibly imagine. What would I give if you could only lookround the courtyard! _I_ look down into it, whenever I am near that sideof the house, for the stable is so full of 'vermin and swarmers' (pardonthe quotation from my inimitable friend) that I always expect to see thecarriage going out bodily, with legions of industrious fleas harnessedto and drawing it off, on their own account. We have a couple of Italianwork-people in our establishment; and to hear one or other of themtalking away to our servants with the utmost violence and volubility inGenoese, and our servants answering with great fluency in English (veryloud: as if the others were only deaf, not Italian), is one of the mostridiculous things possible. The effect is greatly enhanced by theGenoese manner, which is exceedingly animated and pantomimic; so thattwo friends of the lower class conversing pleasantly in the street, always seem on the eve of stabbing each other forthwith. And a strangeris immensely astonished at their not doing it. " The heat tried him less than he expected, excepting always the sirocco, which, near the sea as they were, and right in the course of the wind asit blew against the house, made everything hotter than if there had beenno wind. "One feels it most, on first getting up. Then, it is really sooppressive that a strong determination is necessary to enable one to goon dressing; one's tendency being to tumble down anywhere and liethere. " It seemed to hit him, he said, behind the knee, and made hislegs so shake that he could not walk or stand. He had unfortunately awhole week of this without intermission, soon after his arrival; butthen came a storm, with wind from the mountains; and he could bear theordinary heat very well. What at first had been a home-discomfort, thebare walls, lofty ceilings, icy floors, and lattice blinds, soon becameagreeable; there were regular afternoon breezes from the sea; in hiscourtyard was a well of very pure and very cold water; there were newmilk and eggs by the bucketful, and, to protect from the summer insectsthese and other dainties, there were fresh vine-leaves by the thousand;and he satisfied himself, by the experience of a day or two in the city, that he had done well to come first to its suburb by the sea. Whatstartled and disappointed him most were the frequent cloudy days. [79] Heopened his third letter (3rd of August) by telling me there was a thickNovember fog, that rain was pouring incessantly, and that he did notremember to have seen in his life, at that time of year, such cloudyweather as he had seen beneath Italian skies. "The story goes that it is in autumn and winter, when other countriesare dark and foggy, that the beauty and clearness of this are mostobservable. I hope it may prove so; for I have postponed going roundthe hills which encircle the city, or seeing any of the sights, untilthe weather is more favourable. [80] I have never yet seen it so clear, for any longer time of the day together, as on a bright, lark-singing, coast-of-France-discerning day at Broadstairs; nor have I ever seen sofine a sunset, _throughout_, as is very common there. But the scenery isexquisite, and at certain periods of the evening and the morning theblue of the Mediterranean surpasses all conception or description. It isthe most intense and wonderful colour, I do believe, in all nature. " In his second letter from Albaro there was more of this subject; and anoutbreak of whimsical enthusiasm in it, meant especially for Maclise, isfollowed by some capital description. "I address you, my friend, " hewrote, "with something of the lofty spirit of an exile, a banishedcommoner, a sort of Anglo-Pole. I don't exactly know what I have donefor my country in coming away from it, but I feel it is something;something great; something virtuous and heroic. Lofty emotions risewithin me, when I see the sun set on the blue Mediterranean. I am thelimpet on the rock. My father's name is Turner, and my boots aregreen. . . . Apropos of blue. In a certain picture called the Serenade forwhich Browning wrote that verse[81] in Lincoln's-inn-fields, you, O Mac, painted a sky. If you ever have occasion to paint the Mediterranean, letit be exactly of that colour. It lies before me now, as deeply andintensely blue. But no such colour is above me. Nothing like it. In thesouth of France, at Avignon, at Aix, at Marseilles, I saw deep blueskies; and also in America. But the sky above me is familiar to mysight. Is it heresy to say that I have seen its twin brother shiningthrough the window of Jack Straw's--that down in Devonshire-terrace Ihave seen a better sky? I dare say it is; but like a great many otherheresies, it is true. . . . But such green, green, green, as flutters inthe vineyard down below the windows, _that_ I never saw; nor yet suchlilac and such purple as float between me and the distant hills; nor yetin anything, picture, book, or vestal boredom, such awful, solemn, impenetrable blue, as in that same sea. It has such an absorbing, silent, deep, profound effect, that I can't help thinking it suggestedthe idea of Styx. It looks as if a draught of it, only so much as youcould scoop up on the beach in the hollow of your hand, would wash outeverything else, and make a great blue blank of your intellect. . . . Whenthe sun sets clearly, then, by Heaven, it is majestic. From any one ofeleven windows here, or from a terrace overgrown with grapes, you maybehold the broad sea, villas, houses, mountains, forts, strewn with roseleaves. Strewn with them? Steeped in them! Dyed, through and through andthrough. For a moment. No more. The sun is impatient and fierce (likeeverything else in these parts), and goes down headlong. Run to fetchyour hat--and it's night. Wink at the right time of black night--andit's morning. Everything is in extremes. There is an insect here thatchirps all day. There is one outside the window now. The chirp is veryloud: something like a Brobdingnagian grasshopper. The creature is bornto chirp; to progress in chirping; to chirp louder, louder, louder; tillit gives one tremendous chirp and bursts itself. That is its life anddeath. Everything is 'in a concatenation accordingly. ' The day getsbrighter, brighter, brighter, till it's night. The summer gets hotter, hotter, hotter, till it explodes. The fruit gets riper, riper, riper, till it tumbles down and rots. . . . Ask me a question or two about fresco:will you be so good? All the houses are painted in fresco, hereabout(the outside walls I mean, the fronts, backs, and sides), and all thecolour has run into damp and green seediness; and the very design hasstraggled away into the component atoms of the plaster. Beware offresco! Sometimes (but not often) I can make out a Virgin with amildewed glory round her head, holding nothing in an undiscernible lapwith invisible arms; and occasionally the leg or arm of a cherub. Butit is very melancholy and dim. There are two old fresco-painted vasesoutside my own gate, one on either hand, which are so faint that I neversaw them till last night; and only then, because I was looking over thewall after a lizard who had come upon me while I was smoking a cigarabove, and crawled over one of these embellishments in his retreat. . . . " That letter sketched for me the story of his travel through France, andI may at once say that I thus received, from week to week, the "firstsprightly runnings" of every description in his _Pictures from Italy_. But my rule as to the American letters must be here observed yet morestrictly; and nothing resembling his printed book, however distantly, can be admitted into these pages. Even so my difficulty of rejectionwill not be less; for as he had not actually decided, until the verylast, to publish his present experiences at all, a larger number of theletters were left unrifled by him. He had no settled plan from thefirst, as in the other case. [Illustration] His most valued acquaintance at Albaro was the French consul-general, astudent of our literature who had written on his books in one of theFrench reviews, and who with his English wife lived in the very nextvilla, though so oddly shut away by its vineyard that to get from theone adjoining house to the other was a mile's journey. [82] Describing, in that August letter, his first call from this new friend thuspleasantly self-recommended, he makes the visit his excuse for breakingoff from a facetious description of French inns to introduce to me asketch, from a pencil outline by Fletcher, of what bore the imposingname of the Villa di Bella vista, but which he called by the homelierone of its proprietor, Bagnerello. "This, my friend, is quite accurate. Allow me to explain it. You are standing, sir, in our vineyard, amongthe grapes and figs. The Mediterranean is at your back as you look atthe house: of which two sides, out of four, are here depicted. The lowerstory (nearly concealed by the vines) consists of the hall, awine-cellar, and some store-rooms. The three windows on the left of thefirst floor belong to the sala, lofty and whitewashed, which has twomore windows round the corner. The fourth window _did_ belong to thedining-room, but I have changed one of the nurseries for better air; andit now appertains to that branch of the establishment. The fifth andsixth, or two right-hand windows, sir, admit the light to theinimitable's (and uxor's) chamber; to which the first window round theright-hand corner, which you perceive in shadow, also belongs. The nextwindow in shadow, young sir, is the bower of Miss H. The next, a nurserywindow; the same having two more round the corner again. Thebowery-looking place stretching out upon the left of the house is theterrace, which opens out from a French window in the drawing-room on thesame floor, of which you see nothing: and forms one side of thecourt-yard. The upper windows belong to some of those uncounted chambersupstairs; the fourth one, longer than the rest, being in F. 's bedroom. There is a kitchen or two up there besides, and my dressing-room; whichyou can't see from this point of view. The kitchens and other officesin use are down below, under that part of the house where the roof islongest. On your left, beyond the bay of Genoa, about two miles off, theAlps stretch off into the far horizon; on your right, at three or fourmiles distance, are mountains crowned with forts. The intervening spaceon both sides is dotted with villas, some green, some red, some yellow, some blue, some (and ours among the number) pink. At your back, as Ihave said, sir, is the ocean; with the slim Italian tower of the ruinedchurch of St. John the Baptist rising up before it, on the top of a pileof savage rocks. You go through the court-yard, and out at the gate, anddown a narrow lane to the sea. Note. The sala goes sheer up to the topof the house; the ceiling being conical, and the little bedrooms builtround the spring of its arch. You will observe that we make nopretension to architectural magnificence, but that we have abundance ofroom. And here I am, beholding only vines and the sea for daystogether. . . . Good Heavens! How I wish you'd come for a week or two, andtaste the white wine at a penny farthing the pint. It is excellent. ". . . Then, after seven days: "I have got my paper and inkstand and figuresnow (the box from Osnaburgh-terrace only came last Thursday), and canthink--I have begun to do so every morning--with a business-like air, ofthe Christmas book. My paper is arranged, and my pens are spread out inthe usual form. I think you know the form--Don't you? My books have notpassed the custom-house yet, and I tremble for some volumes ofVoltaire. . . . I write in the best bedroom. The sun is off the cornerwindow at the side of the house by a very little after twelve; and I canthen throw the blinds open, and look up from my paper, at the sea, themountains, the washed-out villas, the vineyards, at the blistering whitehot fort with a sentry on the drawbridge standing in a bit of shadow nobroader than his own musket, and at the sky, as often as I like. It is avery peaceful view, and yet a very cheerful one. Quiet as quiet can be. " Not yet however had the time for writing come. A sharp attack of illnessbefell his youngest little daughter, Kate, and troubled him much. Then, after beginning the Italian grammar himself, he had to call in the helpof a master; and this learning of the language took up time. But he hadan aptitude for it, and after a month's application told me (24th ofAugust) that he could ask in Italian for whatever he wanted in any shopor coffee-house, and could read it pretty well. "I wish you could seeme" (16th of September), "without my knowing it, walking about alonehere. I am now as bold as a lion in the streets. The audacity with whichone begins to speak when there is no help for it, is quite astonishing. "The blank impossibility at the outset, however, of getting nativemeanings conveyed to his English servants, he very humorously describedto me; and said the spell was first broken by the cook, "being really aclever woman, and not entrenching herself in that astonishing pride ofignorance which induces the rest to oppose themselves to the receipt ofany information through any channel, and which made A. Careless oflooking out of window, in America, even to see the Falls of Niagara. " Sothat he soon had to report the gain, to all of them, from the fact ofthis enterprising woman having so primed herself with "the names of allsorts of vegetables, meats, soups, fruits, and kitchen necessaries, "that she was able to order whatever was needful of the peasantry thatwere trotting in and out all day, basketed and barefooted. Her examplebecame at once contagious;[83] and before the end of the second week ofSeptember news reached me that "the servants are beginning to pick upscraps of Italian; some of them go to a weekly conversazione of servantsat the Governor's every Sunday night, having got over theirconsternation at the frequent introduction of quadrilles on theseoccasions; and I think they begin to like their foreigneering life. " In the tradespeople they dealt with at Albaro he found amusing points ofcharacter. Sharp as they were after money, their idleness quenched eventhat propensity. Order for immediate delivery two or three pounds oftea, and the tea-dealer would be wretched. "Won't it do to-morrow?" "Iwant it now, " you would reply; and he would say, "No, no, there can beno hurry!" He remonstrated against the cruelty. But everywhere there wasdeference, courtesy, more than civility. "In a café a little tumbler ofice costs something less than threepence, and if you give the waiter inaddition what you would not offer to an English beggar, say, the thirdof a halfpenny, he is profoundly grateful. " The attentions received fromEnglish residents were unremitting. [84] In moments of need at theoutset, they bestirred themselves ("large merchants and grave men") asif they were the family's salaried purveyors; and there was in especialone gentleman named Curry whose untiring kindness was long remembered. The light, eager, active figure soon made itself familiar in the streetsof Genoa, and he never went into them without bringing some oddity away. I soon heard of the strada Nuova and strada Balbi; of the broadest ofthe two as narrower than Albany-street, and of the other as less widethan Drury-lane or Wych-street; but both filled with palaces of noblearchitecture and of such vast dimensions that as many windows as thereare days in the year might be counted in one of them, and this notcovering by any means the largest plot of ground. I heard too of theother streets, none with footways, and all varying in degrees ofnarrowness, but for the most part like Field-lane in Holborn, withlittle breathing-places like St. Martin's-court; and the widest only inparts wide enough to enable a carriage and pair to turn. "Imagineyourself looking down a street of Reform Clubs cramped after this oddfashion, the lofty roofs almost seeming to meet in the perspective. " Inthe churches nothing struck him so much as the profusion of trash andtinsel in them that contrasted with their real splendours ofembellishment. One only, that of the Cappucini friars, blazed every inchof it with gold, precious stones, and paintings of priceless art; theprincipal contrast to its radiance being the dirt of its masters, whosebare legs, corded waists, and coarse brown serge never changed by nightor day, proclaimed amid their corporate wealth their personal vows ofpoverty. He found them less pleasant to meet and look at than thecountry people of their suburb on festa-days, with the Indulgences thatgave them the right to make merry stuck in their hats liketurnpike-tickets. He did not think the peasant girls in generalgood-looking, though they carried themselves daintily and walkedremarkably well: but the ugliness of the old women, begotten of hardwork and a burning sun, with porters' knots of coarse grey hair grubbedup over wrinkled and cadaverous faces, he thought quite stupendous. Hewas never in a street a hundred yards long without getting up perfectlythe witch part of _Macbeth_. With the theatres of course he soon became acquainted, and of that ofthe puppets he wrote to me again and again with humorous rapture. "Thereare other things, " he added, after giving me the account which ispublished in his book, "too solemnly surprising to dwell upon. They mustbe seen. They must be seen. The enchanter carrying off the bride is notgreater than his men brandishing fiery torches and dropping theirlighted spirits of wine at every shake. Also the enchanter himself, when, hunted down and overcome, he leaps into the rolling sea, and findsa watery grave. Also the second comic man, aged about 55 and likeGeorge the Third in the face, when he gives out the play for the nextnight. They must all be seen. They can't be told about. Quiteimpossible. " The living performers he did not think so good, a disbeliefin Italian actors having been always a heresy with him, and thedeplorable length of dialogue to the small amount of action in theirplays making them sadly tiresome. The first that he saw at the principaltheatre was a version of Balzac's _Père Goriot_. "The domestic Lear Ithought at first was going to be very clever. But he was toopitiful--perhaps the Italian reality would be. He was immenselyapplauded, though. " He afterwards saw a version of Dumas' preposterousplay of _Kean_, in which most of the representatives of English actorswore red hats with steeple crowns, and very loose blouses with broadbelts and buckles round their waists. "There was a mysterious personcalled the Prince of Var-lees" (Wales), "the youngest and slimmest manin the company, whose badinage in Kean's dressing-room was irresistible;and the dresser wore top-boots, a Greek skull-cap, a black velvetjacket, and leather breeches. One or two of the actors looked very hardat me to see how I was touched by these English peculiarities--especiallywhen Kean kissed his male friends on both cheeks. " The arrangements ofthe house, which he described as larger than Drury-lane, he thoughtexcellent. Instead of a ticket for the private box he had taken on thefirst tier, he received the usual key for admission which let him in asif he lived there; and for the whole set-out, "quite as comfortable andprivate as a box at our opera, " paid only eight and fourpence English. The opera itself had not its regular performers until after Christmas, but in the summer there was a good comic company, and he saw the_Scaramuccia_ and the _Barber of Seville_ brightly and pleasantly done. There was also a day theatre, beginning at half past four in theafternoon; but beyond the novelty of looking on at the covered stage ashe sat in the fresh pleasant air, he did not find much amusement in theGoldoni comedy put before him. There came later a Russian circus, whichthe unusual rains of that summer prematurely extinguished. The Religious Houses he made early and many enquiries about, and therewas one that had stirred and baffled his curiosity much before hediscovered what it really was. All that was visible from the street wasa great high wall, apparently quite alone, no thicker than a party wall, with grated windows, to which iron screens gave farther protection. Atfirst he supposed there had been a fire; but by degrees came to knowthat on the other side were galleries, one above another, one aboveanother, and nuns always pacing them to and fro. Like the wall of aracket-ground outside, it was inside a very large nunnery; and let thepoor sisters walk never so much, neither they nor the passers-by couldsee anything of each other. It was close upon the Acqua Sola, too; alittle park with still young but very pretty trees, and fresh andcheerful fountains, which the Genoese made their Sunday promenade; andunderneath which was an archway with great public tanks, where, at allordinary times, washerwomen were washing away, thirty or forty together. At Albaro they were worse off in this matter: the clothes there beingwashed in a pond, beaten with gourds, and whitened with a preparation oflime: "so that, " he wrote to me (24th of August), "what between thebeating and the burning they fall into holes unexpectedly, and my whitetrowsers, after six weeks' washing, would make very good fishing-nets. It is such a serious damage that when we get into the Peschiere we meanto wash at home. " Exactly a fortnight before this date, he had hired rooms in thePeschiere from the first of the following October; and so ended thehouse-hunting for his winter residence, that had taken him so often tothe city. The Peschiere was the largest palace in Genoa let on hire, andhad the advantage of standing on a height aloof from the town, surrounded by its own gardens. The rooms taken had been occupied by anEnglish colonel, the remainder of whose term was let to Dickens for 500francs a month (£20); and a few days after (20th of August) he describedto me a fellow tenant: "A Spanish duke has taken the room under me inthe Peschiere. The duchess was his mistress many years, and bore him (Ithink) six daughters. He always promised her that if she gave birth to ason, he would marry her; and when at last the boy arrived, he went intoher bedroom, saying--'Duchess, I am charmed to "salute you!"' And hemarried her in good earnest, and legitimatized (as by the Spanish law hecould) all the other children. " The beauty of the new abode will justifya little description when he takes up his quarters there. One or twoincidents may be related, meanwhile, of the closing weeks of hisresidence at Albaro. In the middle of August he dined with the French consul-general, andthere will now be no impropriety in printing his agreeable sketch of thedinner. "There was present, among other Genoese, the Marquis di Negri: avery fat and much older Jerdan, with the same thickness of speech andsize of tongue. He was Byron's friend, keeps open house here, writespoetry, improvises, and is a very good old Blunderbore; just the sort ofinstrument to make an artesian well with, anywhere. Well, sir, afterdinner, the consul proposed my health, with a little French conceit tothe effect that I had come to Italy to have personal experience of itslovely climate, and that there was this similarity between the Italiansun and its visitor, that the sun shone into the darkest places and madethem bright and happy with its benignant influence, and that my bookshad done the like with the breasts of men, and so forth. Upon whichBlunderbore gives his bright-buttoned blue coat a great rap on thebreast, turns up his fishy eye, stretches out his arm like the livingstatue defying the lightning at Astley's, and delivers four impromptuverses in my honour, at which everybody is enchanted, and I more thananybody--perhaps with the best reason, for I didn't understand a word ofthem. The consul then takes from his breast a roll of paper, and says, 'I shall read them!' Blunderbore then says, 'Don't!' But the consuldoes, and Blunderbore beats time to the music of the verse with hisknuckles on the table; and perpetually ducks forward to look round thecap of a lady sitting between himself and me, to see what I think ofthem. I exhibit lively emotion. The verses are in French--short line--onthe taking of Tangiers by the Prince de Joinville; and are receivedwith great applause; especially by a nobleman present who is reported tobe unable to read and write. They end in my mind (rapidly translatingthem into prose) thus, -- 'The cannon of France Rendering thanks Shake the foundation To Heaven. Of the wondering sea, The King The artillery on the shore And all the Royal Family Is put to silence. Are bathed Honour to Joinville In tears. And the Brave! They call upon the name The Great Intelligence Of Joinville! Is borne France also Upon the wings of Fame Weeps, and echoes it. To Paris. Joinville is crowned Her national citizens With Immortality; Exchange caresses And Peace and Joinville, In the streets! And the Glory of France, The temples are crowded Diffuse themselves With religious patriots Conjointly. ' If you can figure to yourself the choice absurdity of receiving anythinginto one's mind in this way, you can imagine the labour I underwent inmy attempts to keep the lower part of my face square, and to lift up oneeye gently, as with admiring attention. But I am bound to add that thisis really pretty literal; for I read them afterwards. " This, too, was the year of other uncomfortable glories of France in thelast three years of her Orleans dynasty; among them the Tahiti business, as politicians may remember; and so hot became rumours of war withEngland at the opening of September that Dickens had serious thoughts ofat once striking his tent. One of his letters was filled with theconflicting doubts in which they lived for nigh a fortnight, every day'sarrival contradicting the arrival of the day before: so that, as he toldme, you met a man in the street to-day, who told you there wouldcertainly be war in a week; and you met the same man in the streetto-morrow, and he swore he always knew there would be nothing but peace;and you met him again the day after, and he said it all depended _now_on something perfectly new and unheard of before, which somebody elsesaid had just come to the knowledge of some consul in some dispatchwhich said something about some telegraph which had been at worksomewhere, signalizing some prodigious intelligence. However, it allpassed harmlessly away, leaving him undisturbed opportunity to availhimself of a pleasure that arose out of the consul-general's dinnerparty, and to be present at a great reception given shortly after by thegood "old Blunderbore" just mentioned, on the occasion of his daughter'sbirthday. The Marquis had a splendid house, but Dickens found the grounds socarved into grottoes and fanciful walks as to remind him of nothing somuch as our old White-conduit-house, except that he would have been wellpleased, on the present occasion, to have discovered a waiter crying, "Give your orders, gents!" it being not easy to him at any time to keepup, the whole night through, on ices and variegated lamps merely. Butthe scene for awhile was amusing enough, and not rendered less so by thedelight of the Marquis himself, "who was constantly diving out into darkcorners and then among the lattice-work and flower pots, rubbing hishands and going round and round with explosive chuckles in his hugesatisfaction with the entertainment. " With horror it occurred toDickens, however, that four more hours of this kind of entertainmentwould be too much; that the Genoa gates closed at twelve; and that asthe carriage had not been ordered till the dancing was expected to beover and the gates to reopen, he must make a sudden bolt if he wouldhimself get back to Albaro. "I had barely time, " he told me, "to reachthe gate before midnight; and was running as hard as I could go, down-hill, over uneven ground, along a new street called the stradaSevra, when I came to a pole fastened straight across the street, nearlybreast high, without any light or watchman--quite in the Italian style. I went over it, headlong, with such force that I rolled myselfcompletely white in the dust; but although I tore my clothes to shreds, I hardly scratched myself except in one place on the knee. I had no timeto think of it then, for I was up directly and off again to save thegate: but when I got outside the wall, and saw the state I was in, Iwondered I had not broken my neck. I 'took it easy' after this, andwalked home, by lonely ways enough, without meeting a single soul. Butthere is nothing to be feared, I believe, from midnight walks in thispart of Italy. In other places you incur the danger of being stabbed bymistake; whereas the people here are quiet and good tempered, and veryrarely commit any outrage. " Such adventures, nevertheless, are seldom without consequences, andthere followed in this case a short but sharp attack of illness. It cameon with the old "unspeakable and agonizing pain in the side, " for whichBob Fagin had prepared and applied the hot bottles in the old warehousetime; and it yielded quickly to powerful remedies. But for a few days hehad to content himself with the minor sights of Albaro. He sat daily inthe shade of the ruined chapel on the seashore. He looked in at thefesta in the small country church, consisting mainly of a tenor singer, a seraphine, and four priests sitting gaping in a row on one side of thealtar "in flowered satin dresses and little cloth caps, looking exactlylike the band at a wild-beast-caravan. " He was interested in thewine-making, and in seeing the country tenants preparing their annualpresents for their landlords, of baskets of grapes and other fruitprettily dressed with flowers. The season of the grapes, too, broughtout after dusk strong parties of rats to eat them as they ripened, andso many shooting parties of peasants to get rid of these despoilers, that as he first listened to the uproar of the firing and the echoes hehalf fancied it a siege of Albaro. The flies mustered strong, too, andthe mosquitos;[85] so that at night he had to lie covered up with gauze, like cold meat in a safe. Of course all news from England, and especially visits paid him byEnglish friends who might be travelling in Italy, were a great delight. This was the year when O'Connell was released from prison by thejudgment of the Lords on appeal. "I have no faith in O'Connell takingthe great position he might upon this: being beleaguered by vanityalways. Denman delights me. I am glad to think I have always liked himso well. I am sure that whenever he makes a mistake, it _is_ a mistake;and that no man lives who has a grander and nobler scorn of every meanand dastard action. I would to Heaven it were decorous to pay him somepublic tribute of respect . . . O'Connell's speeches are the old thing:fretty, boastful, frothy, waspish at the voices in the crowd, and allthat: but with no true greatness. . . . What a relief to turn to that nobleletter of Carlyle's" (in which a timely testimony had been borne to thetruthfulness and honour of Mazzini), "which I think above all praise. Mylove to him. " Among his English visitors were Mr. Tagart's family, ontheir way from a scientific congress at Milan; and Peter (now becomeLord) Robertson from Rome, of whose talk he wrote very pleasantly. Thesons of Burns had been entertained during the summer in Edinburgh atwhat was called a Burns Festival, of which, through Jerrold who waspresent, I had sent him no very favourable account; and this was nowconfirmed by Robertson, whose letters had given him an "awful" narrativeof Wilson's speech, and of the whole business. "There was one man whospoke a quarter of an hour or so, to the toast of the navy; and couldsay nothing more than 'the--British--navy--always appreciates--' whichremarkable sentiment he repeated over and over again for that space oftime; and then sat down. Robertson told me also that Wilson's allusionto, or I should rather say expatiation upon, the 'vices' of Burns, excited but one sentiment of indignation and disgust: and added, verysensibly, 'By God!--I want to know _what Burns did_! I never heard ofhis doing anything that need be strange or unaccountable to theProfessor's mind. I think he must have mistaken the name, and fancied ita dinner to the sons of _Burke_'--meaning of course the murderer. Inshort he fully confirmed Jerrold in all respects. " The same letter toldme, too, something of his reading. Jerrold's _Story of a Feather_ he hadderived much enjoyment from. "Gauntwolf's sickness and the career ofthat snuffbox, masterly. [86] I have been deep in Voyages and Travels, and in De Foe. Tennyson I have also been reading, again and again. Whata great creature he is! . . . What about the _Goldsmith_? Apropos, I am alleagerness to write a story about the length of that most delightful ofall stories, the _Vicar of Wakefield_. " In the second week of September he went to meet his brother Frederick atMarseilles, and bring him back over the Cornice road to pass afortnight's holiday at Genoa; and his description of the first inn uponthe Alps they slept in is too good to be lost. "We lay last night, " hewrote (9th of September) "at the first halting-place on this journey, in an inn which is not entitled, as it ought to be, The house of callfor fleas and vermin in general, but is entitled the grand hotel of thePost! I hardly know what to compare it to. It seemed something like ahouse in Somers-town originally built for a wine-vaults and neverfinished, but grown very old. There was nothing to eat in it and nothingto drink. They had lost the teapot; and when they found it, theycouldn't make out what had become of the lid, which, turning up at lastand being fixed on to the teapot, couldn't be got off again for thepouring in of more water. Fleas of elephantine dimensions weregambolling boldly in the dirty beds; and the mosquitoes!--But let mehere draw a curtain (as I would have done if there had been any). We hadscarcely any sleep, and rose up with hands and arms hardly human. " In four days they were at Albaro, and the morning after their arrivalDickens underwent the terrible shock of seeing his brother very nearlydrowned in the bay. He swam out into too strong a current, [87] and wasonly narrowly saved by the accident of a fishing-boat preparing to leavethe harbour at the time. "It was a world of horror and anguish, " Dickenswrote to me, "crowded into four or five minutes of dreadful agitation;and, to complete the terror of it, Georgy, Charlotte" (the nurse), "andthe children were on a rock in full view of it all, crying, as you maysuppose, like mad creatures. " His own bathing was from the rock, and, ashe had already told me, of the most primitive kind. He went in wheneverhe pleased, broke his head against sharp stones if he went in with thatend foremost, floundered about till he was all over bruises, and thenclimbed and staggered out again. "Everybody wears a dress. Mineextremely theatrical: Masaniello to the life: shall be preserved foryour inspection in Devonshire-terrace. " I will add another personaltouch, also Masaniello-like, which marks the beginning of a changewhich, though confined for the present to his foreign residence andremoved when he came to England, was resumed somewhat later, and in afew more years wholly altered the aspect of his face. "The moustachesare glorious, glorious. I have cut them shorter, and trimmed them alittle at the ends to improve the shape. They are charming, charming. Without them, life would be a blank. " FOOTNOTES: [78] He regretted one chance missed by his eccentric friend, which hedescribed to me just before he left Italy. "I saw last night an oldpalazzo of the Doria, six miles from here, upon the sea, which De la Rueurged Fletcher to take for us, when he was bent on that detestable villaBagnerello; which villa the Genoese have hired, time out of mind, forone-fourth of what I paid, as they told him again and again before hemade the agreement. This is one of the strangest old palaces in Italy, surrounded by beautiful _woods_ of great trees (an immense rarity here)some miles in extent: and has upon the terrace a high tower, formerly aprison for offenders against the family, and a defence against thepirates. The present Doria lets it as it stands for £40 English--for theyear. . . . And the grounds are no expense; being proudly maintained by theDoria, who spends this rent, when he gets it, in repairing the roof andwindows. It is a wonderful house; full of the most unaccountablepictures and most incredible furniture: every room in it like the mostquaint and fanciful of Cattermole's pictures; and how many rooms I amafraid to say. " 2nd of June, 1845. [79] "We have had a London sky until to-day, " he wrote on the 20th ofJuly, "gray and cloudy as you please: but I am most disappointed, Ithink, in the evenings, which are as commonplace as need be; for thereis no twilight, and as to the stars giving more light here thanelsewhere, that is humbug. " The summer of 1844 seems to have been, however, an unusually stormy and wet season. He wrote to me on the 21stof October that they had had, so far, only four really clear days sincethey came to Italy. [80] "My faith on that-point is decidedly shaken, which reminds me toask you whether you ever read Simond's Tour in Italy. It is a mostcharming book, and eminently remarkable for its excellent sense, anddetermination not to give in to conventional lies. " In a later letter hesays: "None of the books are unaffected and true but Simond's, whichcharms me more and more by its boldness, and its frank exhibition ofthat rare and admirable quality which enables a man to form opinions forhimself without a miserable and slavish reference to the pretendedopinions of other people. His notices of the leading pictures enchantme. They are so perfectly just and faithful, and so whimsically shrewd. "Rome, 9th of March, 1845. [81] I send my heart up to thee, all my heart In this my singing! For the stars help me, and the sea bears part; The very night is clinging Closer to Venice' streets to leave one space Above me, whence thy face May light my joyous heart to thee its dwelling-place. Written to express Maclise's subject in the Academy catalogue. [82] "Their house is next to ours on the right, with vineyard between;but the place is so oddly contrived that one has to go a full mile roundto get to their door. " [83] Not however, happily for them, in another important particular, foron the eve of their return to England she declared her intention ofstaying behind and marrying an Italian. "She will have to go toFlorence, I find" (12th of May 1845), "to be married in Lord Holland'shouse: and even then is only married according to the English law:having no legal rights from such a marriage, either in France or Italy. The man hasn't a penny. If there were an opening for a nice cleanrestaurant in Genoa--which I don't believe there is, for the Genoesehave a natural enjoyment of dirt, garlic, and oil--it would still be avery hazardous venture; as the priests will certainly damage the man, ifthey can, for marrying a Protestant woman. However, the utmost I can dois to take care, if such a crisis should arrive, that she shall not wantthe means of getting home to England. As my father would observe, shehas sown and must reap. " [84] He had carried with him, I may here mention, letters ofintroduction to residents in all parts of Italy, of which I believe hedelivered hardly one. Writing to me a couple of months before he leftthe country he congratulated himself on this fact. "We are living veryquietly; and I am now more than ever glad that I have kept myself alooffrom the 'receiving' natives always, and delivered scarcely any of myletters of introduction. If I had, I should have seen nothing and knownless. I have observed that the English women who have married foreignersare invariably the most audacious in the license they assume. Think ofone lady married to a royal chamberlain (not here) who said at dinner tothe master of the house at a place where I was dining--that she hadbrought back his _Satirist_, but didn't think there was quite so much'fun' in it as there used to be. I looked at the paper afterwards, andfound it crammed with such vile obscenity as positively made one's hairstand on end. " [85] What his poor little dog suffered should not be omitted from thetroubles of the master who was so fond of him. "Timber has had everyhair upon his body cut off because of the fleas, and he looks like theghost of a drowned dog come out of a pond after a week or so. It is veryawful to see him slide into a room. He knows the change upon him, and isalways turning round and round to look for himself. I think he'll die ofgrief. " Three weeks later: "Timber's hair is growing again, so that youcan dimly perceive him to be a dog. The fleas only keep three of hislegs off the ground now, and he sometimes moves of his own accordtowards some place where they don't want to go. " His improvement wasslow, but after this continuous. [86] A characteristic message for Jerrold came in a later letter (12thof May, 1845): "I wish you would suggest to Jerrold for me as a Caudlesubject (if he pursue that idea). 'Mr. Caudle has incidentally remarkedthat the house-maid is good-looking. '" [87] Of the dangers of the bay he had before written to me (10th ofAugust). "A monk was drowned here on Saturday evening. He was bathingwith two other monks, who bolted when he cried out that he wassinking--in consequence, I suppose, of his certainty of going toHeaven. " CHAPTER VI. WORK IN GENOA: PALAZZO PESCHIERE. 1844. Palace of the Fish-ponds--Mural Paintings--Peschiere Garden--A Peal of Chimes--Governor's Levee--_Chimes_ a Plea for the Poor--Dickens's Choice of a Hero--Religious Sentiment--Dialogue in a Vision--Hard at Work--First Outline of the _Chimes_--What the Writing of it cost Him--Wild Weather--Coming to London--Secret of the Visit--The Tale finished--Proposed Travel. IN the last week of September they moved from Albaro into Genoa, amid aviolent storm of wind and wet, "great guns blowing, " the lightningincessant, and the rain driving down in a dense thick cloud. But theworst of the storm was over when they reached the Peschiere. As theypassed into it along the stately old terraces, flanked on either sidewith antique sculptured figures, all the seven fountains were playing inits gardens, and the sun was shining brightly on its groves of camelliasand orange-trees. It was a wonderful place, and I soon became familiar with the severalrooms that were to form their home for the rest of their stay in Italy. In the centre was the grand sala, fifty feet high, of an area largerthan "the dining-room of the Academy, " and painted, walls and ceiling, with frescoes three hundred years old, "as fresh as if the colours hadbeen laid on yesterday. " On the same floor as this great hall were adrawing-room, and a dining-room, [88] both covered also with frescoesstill bright enough to make them thoroughly cheerful, and both so nicelyproportioned as to give to their bigness all the effect of snugness. [89]Out of these opened three other chambers that were turned intosleeping-rooms and nurseries. Adjoining the sala, right and left, werethe two best bedrooms; "in size and shape like those at Windsor-castlebut greatly higher;" both having altars, a range of three windows withstone balconies, floors tesselated in patterns of black and white stone, and walls painted every inch: on the left, nymphs pursued by satyrs "aslarge as life and as wicked;" on the right, "Phaeton larger than life, with horses bigger than Meux and Co. 's, tumbling headlong down into thebest bed. " The right-hand one he occupied with his wife, and of the lefttook possession as a study; writing behind a big screen he had luggedinto it, and placed by one of the windows, from which he could see overthe city, as he wrote, as far as the lighthouse in its harbour. Distantlittle over a mile as the crow flew, flashing five times in fourminutes, and on dark nights, as if by magic, illuminating brightly thewhole palace-front every time it shone, this lighthouse was one of thewonders of Genoa. [Illustration] When it had all become more familiar to him, he was fond of dilating onits beauties; and even the dreary sound of the chaunting fromneighbouring mass-performances, as it floated in at all the openwindows, which at first was a sad trouble, came to have its charm forhim. I remember a vivid account he gave me of a great festa on the hillbehind the house, when the people alternately danced under tents in theopen air and rushed to say a prayer or two in an adjoining church brightwith red and gold and blue and silver; so many minutes of dancing, andof praying, in regular turns of each. But the view over into Genoa, onclear bright days, was a never failing enjoyment. The whole city then, without an atom of smoke, and with every possible variety of tower andsteeple pointing up into the sky, lay stretched out below his windows. To the right and left were lofty hills, with every indentation in theirrugged sides sharply discernible; and on one side of the harbourstretched away into the dim bright distance the whole of the Cornice, its first highest range of mountains hoary with snow. Sitting down oneSpring day to write to me, he thus spoke of the sea and of the garden. "Beyond the town is the wide expanse of the Mediterranean, as blue, atthis moment, as the most pure and vivid prussian blue on Mac's palettewhen it is newly set; and on the horizon there is a red flush, seennowhere as it is here. Immediately below the windows are the gardens ofthe house, with gold fish swimming and diving in the fountains; andbelow them, at the foot of a steep slope, the public garden and drive, where the walks are marked out by hedges of pink roses, which blush andshine through the green trees and vines, close up to the balconies ofthese windows. No custom can impair, and no description enhance, thebeauty of the scene. " All these and other glories and beauties, however, did not come to himat once. They counted for little indeed when he first set himselfseriously to write. "Never did I stagger so upon a threshold before. Iseem as if I had plucked myself out of my proper soil when I leftDevonshire-terrace; and could take root no more until I return to it. . . . Did I tell you how many fountains we have here? No matter. If theyplayed nectar, they wouldn't please me half so well as the WestMiddlesex water-works at Devonshire-terrace. " The subject for his newChristmas story he had chosen, but he had not found a title for it, orthe machinery to work it with; when, at the moment of what seemed to behis greatest trouble, both reliefs came. Sitting down one morningresolute for work, though against the grain, his hand being out andeverything inviting to idleness, such a peal of chimes arose from thecity as he found to be "maddening. " All Genoa lay beneath him, and upfrom it, with some sudden set of the wind, came in one fell sound theclang and clash of all its steeples, pouring into his ears, again andagain, in a tuneless, grating, discordant, jerking, hideous vibrationthat made his ideas "spin round and round till they lost themselves in awhirl of vexation and giddiness, and dropped down dead. " He had neverbefore so suffered, nor did he again; but this was his description to menext day, and his excuse for having failed in a promise to send me histitle. Only two days later, however, came a letter in which not asyllable was written but "We have heard THE CHIMES at midnight, MasterShallow!" and I knew he had discovered what he wanted. Other difficulties were still to be got over. He craved for the Londonstreets. He so missed his long night-walks before beginning anythingthat he seemed, as he said, dumbfounded without them. "I can't helpthinking of the boy in the school-class whose button was cut off byWalter Scott and his friends. Put me down on Waterloo-bridge at eighto'clock in the evening, with leave to roam about as long as I like, andI would come home, as you know, panting to go on. I am sadly strange asit is, and can't settle. You will have lots of hasty notes from me whileI am at work; but you know your man; and whatever strikes me, I shalllet off upon you as if I were in Devonshire-terrace. It's a great thingto have my title, and see my way how to work the bells. Let them clashupon me now from all the churches and convents in Genoa, I see nothingbut the old London belfry I have set them in. In my mind's eye, Horatio. I like more and more my notion of making, in this little book, a greatblow for the poor. Something powerful, I think I can do, but I want tobe tender too, and cheerful; as like the _Carol_ in that respect as maybe, and as unlike it as such a thing can be. The duration of the actionwill resemble it a little, but I trust to the novelty of the machineryto carry that off; and if my design be anything at all, it has a gripupon the very throat of the time. " (8th of October. ) Thus bent upon his work, for which he never had been in more earnestmood, he was disturbed by hearing that he must attend the levee of theGovernor who had unexpectedly arrived in the city, and who would take itas an affront, his eccentric friend Fletcher told him, if that courtesywere not immediately paid. "It was the morning on which I was going tobegin, so I wrote round to our consul, "--praying, of course, that excuseshould be made for him. Don't bother yourself, replied that sensiblefunctionary, for all the consuls and governors alive; but shut yourselfup by all means. "So, " continues Dickens, telling me the tale, "he wentnext morning in great state and full costume, to present two Englishgentlemen. 'Where's the great poet?' said the Governor. 'I want to seethe great poet. ' 'The great poet, your excellency, ' said the consul, 'isat work, writing a book, and begged me to make his excuses. ' 'Excuses!'said the Governor, 'I wouldn't interfere with such an occupation for allthe world. Pray tell him that my house is open to the honour of hispresence when it is perfectly convenient for him; but not otherwise. And let no gentleman, ' said the Governor, a surweyin' of his suitewith a majestic eye, 'call upon Signor Dickens till he is understoodto be disengaged. ' And he sent somebody with his own cards next day. Now I _do_ seriously call this, real politeness and pleasantconsideration--not positively American, but still gentlemanly andpolished. The same spirit pervades the inferior departments; and I havenot been required to observe the usual police regulations, or to putmyself to the slightest trouble about anything. " (18th of October. ) The picture I am now to give of him at work should be prefaced by a wordor two that may throw light on the design he was working at. It was alarge theme for so small an instrument; and the disproportion was notmore characteristic of the man, than the throes of suffering and passionto be presently undergone by him for results that many men would smileat. He was bent, as he says, on striking a blow for the poor. They hadalways been his clients, they had never been forgotten in any of hisbooks, but here nothing else was to be remembered. He had become, inshort, terribly earnest in the matter. Several months before he leftEngland, I had noticed in him the habit of more gravely regarding manythings before passed lightly enough; the hopelessness of any truesolution of either political or social problems by the ordinaryDowning-street methods had been startlingly impressed on him inCarlyle's writings; and in the parliamentary talk of that day he hadcome to have as little faith for the putting down of any serious evil, as in a then notorious city Alderman's gabble for the putting down ofsuicide. The latter had stirred his indignation to its depths justbefore he came to Italy, and his increased opportunities of solitaryreflection since had strengthened and extended it. When he cametherefore to think of his new story for Christmas time, he resolved tomake it a plea for the poor. He did not want it to resemble his _Carol_, but the same kind of moral was in his mind. He was to try and convertSociety, as he had converted Scrooge, by showing that its happinessrested on the same foundations as those of the individual, which aremercy and charity not less than justice. Whether right or wrong in theseassumptions, need not be questioned here, where facts are merely statedto render intelligible what will follow; he had not made politics at anytime a study, and they were always an instinct with him rather than ascience; but the instinct was wholesome and sound, and to set classagainst class never ceased to be as odious to him as he thought itrighteous at all times to help each to a kindlier knowledge of theother. And so, here in Italy, amid the grand surroundings of thisPalazzo Peschiere, the hero of his imagination was to be a sorry olddrudge of a London ticket-porter, who in his anxiety not to distrust orthink hardly of the rich, has fallen into the opposite extreme ofdistrusting the poor. From such distrust it is the object of the storyto reclaim him; and, to the writer of it, the tale became itself of lessmoment than what he thus intended it to enforce. Far beyond mere vanityin authorship went the passionate zeal with which he began, and theexultation with which he finished, this task. When we met at its close, he was fresh from Venice, which had impressed him as "the wonder" and"the new sensation" of the world: but well do I remember how high aboveit all arose the hope that filled his mind. "Ah!" he said to me, "when Isaw those places, how I thought that to leave one's hand upon the time, lastingly upon the time, with one tender touch for the mass of toilingpeople that nothing could obliterate, would be to lift oneself above thedust of all the Doges in their graves, and stand upon a giant'sstaircase that Sampson couldn't overthrow!" In varying forms thisambition was in all his life. Another incident of these days will exhibit aspirations of a more solemnimport that were not less part of his nature. It was depth of sentimentrather than clearness of faith which kept safe the belief on which theyrested against all doubt or question of its sacredness, but every yearseemed to strengthen it in him. This was told me in his second letterafter reaching the Peschiere; the first having sent me some suchcommissions in regard to his wife's family as his kindly care for allconnected with him frequently led to. "Let me tell you, " he wrote (30thof September), "of a curious dream I had, last Monday night; and of thefragments of reality I can collect; which helped to make it up. I havehad a return of rheumatism in my back, and knotted round my waist like agirdle of pain; and had laid awake nearly all that night under theinfliction, when I fell asleep and dreamed this dream. Observe thatthroughout I was as real, animated, and full of passion as Macready (Godbless him!) in the last scene of _Macbeth_. In an indistinct place, which was quite sublime in its indistinctness, I was visited by aSpirit. I could not make out the face, nor do I recollect that I desiredto do so. It wore a blue drapery, as the Madonna might in a picture byRaphael; and bore no resemblance to any one I have known except instature. I think (but I am not sure) that I recognized the voice. Anyway, I knew it was poor Mary's spirit. I was not at all afraid, butin a great delight, so that I wept very much, and stretching out my armsto it called it 'Dear. ' At this, I thought it recoiled; and I feltimmediately, that not being of my gross nature, I ought not to haveaddressed it so familiarly. 'Forgive me!' I said. 'We poor livingcreatures are only able to express ourselves by looks and words. I haveused the word most natural to _our_ affections; and you know my heart. 'It was so full of compassion and sorrow for me--which I knewspiritually, for, as I have said, I didn't perceive its emotions by itsface--that it cut me to the heart; and I said, sobbing, 'Oh! give mesome token that you have really visited me!' 'Form a wish, ' it said. Ithought, reasoning with myself: 'If I form a selfish wish, it willvanish. ' So I hastily discarded such hopes and anxieties of my own ascame into my mind, and said, 'Mrs. Hogarth is surrounded with greatdistresses'--observe, I never thought of saying 'your mother' as to amortal creature--'will you extricate her?' 'Yes. ' 'And her extricationis to be a certainty to me, that this has really happened?' 'Yes. ' 'Butanswer me one other question!' I said, in an agony of entreaty lest itshould leave me. 'What is the True religion?' As it paused a momentwithout replying, I said--Good God in such an agony of haste, lest itshould go away!--'You think, as I do, that the Form of religion does notso greatly matter, if we try to do good? or, ' I said, observing that itstill hesitated, and was moved with the greatest compassion for me, 'perhaps the Roman Catholic is the best? perhaps it makes one think ofGod oftener, and believe in him more steadily?' 'For _you_, ' said theSpirit, full of such heavenly tenderness for me, that I felt as if myheart would break; 'for _you_, it is the best!' Then I awoke, with thetears running down my face, and myself in exactly the condition of thedream. It was just dawn. I called up Kate, and repeated it three or fourtimes over, that I might not unconsciously make it plainer or strongerafterwards. It was exactly this. Free from all hurry, nonsense, orconfusion, whatever. Now, the strings I can gather up, leading to this, were three. The first you know, from the main subject of my last letter. The second was, that there is a great altar in our bed-room, at whichsome family who once inhabited this palace had mass performed in oldtime: and I had observed within myself, before going to bed, that therewas a mark in the wall, above the sanctuary, where a religious pictureused to be; and I had wondered within myself what the subject might havebeen, _and what the face was like_. Thirdly, I had been listening to theconvent bells (which ring at intervals in the night), and so hadthought, no doubt, of Roman Catholic services. And yet, for all this, put the case of that wish being fulfilled by any agency in which I hadno hand; and I wonder whether I should regard it as a dream, or anactual Vision!" It was perhaps natural that he should omit, from his ownconsiderations awakened by the dream, the very first that would haverisen in any mind to which his was intimately known--that it strengthensother evidences, of which there are many in his life, of his not havingescaped those trying regions of reflection which most men of thought andall men of genius have at some time to pass through. In such disturbingfancies during the next year or two, I may add that the book whichhelped him most was the _Life of Arnold_. "I respect and reverence hismemory, " he wrote to me in the middle of October, in reply to my mentionof what had most attracted myself in it, "beyond all expression. I musthave that book. Every sentence that you quote from it is the text-bookof my faith. " He kept his promise that I should hear from him while writing, and I hadfrequent letters when he was fairly in his work. "With my steam verymuch up, I find it a great trial to be so far off from you, andconsequently to have no one (always excepting Kate and Georgy) to whomto expatiate on my day's work. And I want a crowded street to plungeinto at night. And I want to be 'on the spot' as it were. But apart fromsuch things, the life I lead is favourable to work. " In his next letter:"I am in regular, ferocious excitement with the _Chimes_; get up atseven; have a cold bath before breakfast; and blaze away, wrathful andred-hot, until three o'clock or so; when I usually knock off (unless itrains) for the day . . . I am fierce to finish in a spirit bearing someaffinity to those of truth and mercy, and to shame the cruel and thecanting. I have not forgotten my catechism. 'Yes verily, and with God'shelp, so I will!'" Within a week he had completed his first part, or quarter. "I send youto-day" (18th of October), "by mail, the first and longest of the fourdivisions. This is great for the first week, which is usually up-hill. Ihave kept a copy in shorthand in case of accidents. I hope to send you aparcel every Monday until the whole is done. I do not wish to influenceyou, but it has a great hold upon me, and has affected me, in the doing, in divers strong ways, deeply, forcibly. To give you better means ofjudgment I will sketch for you the general idea, but pray don't read ituntil you have read this first part of the MS. " I print it here. It is agood illustration of his method in all his writing. His idea is in it sothoroughly, that, by comparison with the tale as printed, we see thestrength of its mastery over his first design. Thus always, whether histale was to be written in one or in twenty numbers, his fanciescontrolled him. He never, in any of his books, accomplished what he hadwholly preconceived, often as he attempted it. Few men of genius everdid. Once at the sacred heat that opens regions beyond ordinary vision, imagination has its own laws; and where characters are so real as to betreated as existences, their creator himself cannot help them havingtheir own wills and ways. Fern the farm-labourer is not here, nor yethis niece the little Lilian (at first called Jessie) who is to give tothe tale its most tragical scene; and there are intimations of poeticfancy at the close of my sketch which the published story fell short of. Altogether the comparison is worth observing. "The general notion is this. That what happens to poor Trotty in thefirst part, and what will happen to him in the second (when he takes theletter to a punctual and a great man of business, who is balancing hisbooks and making up his accounts, and complacently expatiating on thenecessity of clearing off every liability and obligation, and turningover a new leaf and starting fresh with the new year), so dispirits him, who can't do this, that he comes to the conclusion that his class andorder have no business with a new year, and really are 'intruding. ' Andthough he will pluck up for an hour or so, at the christening (I think)of a neighbour's child, that evening: still, when he goes home, Mr. Filer's precepts will come into his mind, and he will say to himself, 'we are a long way past the proper average of children, and it has nobusiness to be born:' and will be wretched again. And going home, andsitting there alone, he will take that newspaper out of his pocket, andreading of the crimes and offences of the poor, especially of those whomAlderman Cute is going to put down, will be quite confirmed in hismisgiving that they are bad; irredeemably bad. In this state of mind, hewill fancy that the Chimes are calling, to him; and saying to himself'God help me. Let me go up to 'em. I feel as if I were going to die indespair--of a broken heart; let me die among the bells that have been acomfort to me!'--will grope his way up into the tower; and fall down ina kind of swoon among them. Then the third quarter, or in other wordsthe beginning of the second half of the book, will open with the Goblinpart of the thing: the bells ringing, and innumerable spirits (the soundor vibration of them) flitting and tearing in and out of thechurch-steeple, and bearing all sorts of missions and commissions andreminders and reproaches, and comfortable recollections and what not, toall sorts of people and places. Some bearing scourges; and othersflowers, and birds, and music; and others pleasant faces in mirrors, andothers ugly ones: the bells haunting people in the night (especially thelast of the old year) according to their deeds. And the bellsthemselves, who have a goblin likeness to humanity in the midst of theirproper shapes, and who shine in a light of their own, will say (theGreat Bell being the chief spokesman) Who is he that being of the poordoubts the right of poor men to the inheritance which Time reserves forthem, and echoes an unmeaning cry against his fellows? Toby, all aghast, will tell him it is he, and why it is. Then the spirits of the bellswill bear him through the air to various scenes, charged with thistrust: That they show him how the poor and wretched, at the worst--yes, even in the crimes that aldermen put down, and he has thought sohorrible--have some deformed and hunchbacked goodness clinging to them;and how they have their right and share in Time. Following out thehistory of Meg the Bells will show her, that marriage broken off and allfriends dead, with an infant child; reduced so low, and made somiserable, as to be brought at last to wander out at night. And inToby's sight, her father's, she will resolve to drown herself and thechild together. But before she goes down to the water, Toby will see howshe covers it with a part of her own wretched dress, and adjusts itsrags so as to make it pretty in its sleep, and hangs over it, andsmooths its little limbs, and loves it with the dearest love that Godever gave to mortal creatures; and when she runs down to the water, Tobywill cry 'Oh spare her! Chimes, have mercy on her! Stop her!'--and thebells will say, 'Why stop her? She is bad at heart--let the bad die. 'And Toby on his knees will beg and pray for mercy: and in the end thebells will stop her, by their voices, just in time. Toby will see, too, what great things the punctual man has left undone on the close of theold year, and what accounts he has left unsettled: punctual as he is. And he will see a great many things about Richard, once so near beinghis son-in-law, and about a great many people. And the moral of it allwill be, that he has his portion in the new year no less than any otherman, and that the poor require a deal of beating out of shape beforetheir human shape is gone; that even in their frantic wickedness theremay be good in their hearts triumphantly asserting itself, though allthe aldermen alive say 'No, ' as he has learnt from the agony of his ownchild; and that the truth is Trustfulness in them, not doubt, norputting down, nor filing them away. And when at last a great sea rises, and this sea of Time comes sweeping down, bearing the alderman and suchmudworms of the earth away to nothing, dashing them to fragments in itsfury--Toby will climb a rock and hear the bells (now faded from hissight) pealing out upon the waters. And as he hears them, and looksround for help, he will wake up and find himself with the newspaperlying at his foot; and Meg sitting opposite to him at the table, makingup the ribbons for her wedding to-morrow; and the window open, that thesound of the bells ringing the old year out and the new year in mayenter. They will just have broken out, joyfully; and Richard will dashin to kiss Meg before Toby, and have the first kiss of the new year(he'll get it too); and the neighbours will crowd round with goodwishes; and a band will strike up gaily (Toby knows a Drum in private);and the altered circumstances, and the ringing of the bells, and thejolly musick, will so transport the old fellow that he will lead off acountry dance forthwith in an entirely new step, consisting of his oldfamiliar trot. Then quoth the inimitable--Was it a dream of Toby's afterall? Or is Toby but a dream? and Meg a dream? and all a dream! Inreference to which, and the realities of which dreams are born, theinimitable will be wiser than he can be now, writing for dear life, withthe post just going, and the brave C booted. . . . Ah how I hate myself, mydear fellow, for this lame and halting outline of the Vision I have inmy mind. But it must go to you. . . . You will say what is best for thefrontispiece". . . . With the second part or quarter, after a week's interval, cameannouncement of the enlargement of his plan, by which he hoped better tocarry out the scheme of the story, and to get, for its following part, an effect for his heroine that would increase the tragic interest. "I amstill in stout heart with the tale. I think it well-timed and a goodthought; and as you know I wouldn't say so to anybody else, I don't mindsaying freely thus much. It has great possession of me every moment inthe day; and drags me where it will. . . . If you only could have read itall at once!--But you never would have done that, anyway, for I nevershould have been able to keep it to myself; so that's nonsense. I hopeyou'll like it. I would give a hundred pounds (and think it cheap) tosee you read it. . . . Never mind. " That was the first hint of an intention of which I was soon to hearmore; but meanwhile, after eight more days, the third part came, withthe scene from which he expected so much, and with a mention of what thewriting of it had cost him. "This book (whether in the Hajji Baba senseor not I can't say, but certainly in the literal one) has made my facewhite in a foreign land. My cheeks, which were beginning to fill out, have sunk again; my eyes have grown immensely large; my hair is verylank; and the head inside the hair is hot and giddy. Read the scene atthe end of the third part, twice. I wouldn't write it twice, forsomething. . . . You will see that I have substituted the name of Lilianfor Jessie. It is prettier in sound, and suits my music better. Imention this, lest you should wonder who and what I mean by that name. To-morrow I shall begin afresh (starting the next part with a broadgrin, and ending it with the very soul of jollity and happiness); and Ihope to finish by next Monday at latest. Perhaps on Saturday. I hope youwill like the little book. Since I conceived, at the beginning of thesecond part, what must happen in the third, I have undergone as muchsorrow and agitation as if the thing were real; and have wakened up withit at night. I was obliged to lock myself in when I finished ityesterday, for my face was swollen for the time to twice its propersize, and was hugely ridiculous. ". . . His letter ended abruptly. "I amgoing for a long walk, to clear my head. I feel that I am very shakeyfrom work, and throw down my pen for the day. There! (That's where itfell. )" A huge blot represented it, and, as Hamlet says, the rest wassilence. Two days later, answering a letter from me that had reached in theinterval, he gave sprightlier account of himself, and described a happychange in the weather. Up to this time, he protested, they had not hadmore than four or five clear days. All the time he had been writing theyhad been wild and stormy. "Wind, hail, rain, thunder and lightning. To-day, " just before he sent me his last manuscript, "has been Novemberslack-baked, the sirocco having come back; and to-night it blows greatguns with a raging storm. " "Weather worse, " he wrote after threeMondays, "than any November English weather I have ever beheld, or anyweather I have had experience of anywhere. So horrible to-day that allpower has been rained and gloomed out of me. Yesterday, in puredetermination to get the better of it, I walked twelve miles inmountain rain. You never saw it rain. Scotland and America are nothingto it. " But now all this was over. "The weather changed on Saturdaynight, and has been glorious ever since. I am afraid to say more in itsfavour, lest it should change again. " It did not. I think there were nomore complainings. I heard now of autumn days with the mountain windlovely, enjoyable, exquisite past expression. I heard of mountain walksbehind the Peschiere, most beautiful and fresh, among which, and alongthe beds of dry rivers and torrents, he could "pelt away, " in any dress, without encountering a soul but the contadini. I heard of his startingoff one day after finishing work, "fifteen miles to dinner--oh my stars!at such an inn!!!" On another day, of a party to dinner at theirpleasant little banker's at Quinto six miles off, to which, while theladies drove, he was able "to walk in the sun of the middle of the dayand to walk home again at night. " On another, of an expedition up themountain on mules. And on another of a memorable tavern-dinner withtheir merchant friend Mr. Curry, in which there were such successions ofsurprising dishes of genuine native cookery that they took two hours inthe serving, but of the component parts of not one of which was he ableto form the remotest conception: the site of the tavern being on thecity wall, its name in Italian sounding very romantic and meaning "theWhistle, " and its bill of fare kept for an experiment to which, beforeanother month should be over, he dared and challenged my cookery inLincoln's-inn. A visit from him to London was to be expected almost immediately! Thatall remonstrance would be idle, under the restless excitement his workhad awakened, I well knew. It was not merely the wish he had, naturalenough, to see the last proofs and the woodcuts before the day ofpublication, which he could not otherwise do; but it was the strongerand more eager wish, before that final launch, to have a vivider sensethan letters could give him of the effect of what he had been doing. "IfI come, I shall put up at Cuttris's" (then the Piazza-hotel inCovent-garden) "that I may be close to you. Don't say to anybody, exceptour immediate friends, that I am coming. Then I shall not be bothered. If I should preserve my present fierce writing humour, in any pass I mayrun to Venice, Bologna, and Florence, before I turn my face towardsLincoln's-inn-fields; and come to England by Milan and Turin. But thisof course depends in a great measure on your reply. " My reply, dwellingon the fatigue and cost, had the reception I foresaw. "Notwithstandingwhat you say, I am still in the same mind about coming to London. Notbecause the proofs concern me at all (I should be an ass as well as athankless vagabond if they did), but because of that unspeakablerestless something which would render it almost as impossible for me toremain here and not see the thing complete, as it would be for a fullballoon, left to itself, not to go up. I do not intend coming from_here_, but by way of Milan and Turin (previously going to Venice), andso, across the wildest pass of the Alps that may be open, toStrasburg. . . . As you dislike the Young England gentleman I shall knockhim out, and replace him by a man (I can dash him in at your rooms in anhour) who recognizes no virtue in anything but the good old times, andtalks of them, parrot-like, whatever the matter is. A real good old citytory, in a blue coat and bright buttons and a white cravat, and with atendency of blood to the head. File away at Filer, as you please; butbear in mind that the _Westminster Review_ considered Scrooge'spresentation of the turkey to Bob Cratchit as grossly incompatible withpolitical economy. I don't care at all for the skittle-playing. " Thesewere among things I had objected to. But the close of his letter revealed more than its opening of thereason, not at once so frankly confessed, for the long winter-journey hewas about to make; and if it be thought that, in printing the passage, Itake a liberty with my friend, it will be found that equal liberty istaken with myself, whom it goodnaturedly caricatures; so that the readercan enjoy his laugh at either or both. "Shall I confess to you, Iparticularly want Carlyle above all to see it before the rest of theworld, when it is done; and I should like to inflict the little story onhim and on dear old gallant Macready with my own lips, and to haveStanny and the other Mac sitting by. Now, if you was a real gent, you'dget up a little circle for me, one wet evening, when I come to town: andwould say, 'My boy (SIR, will you have the goodness to leave those booksalone and to go downstairs--WHAT the Devil are you doing! And mind, sir, I can see nobody--do you hear? Nobody. I am particularly engaged with agentleman from Asia)--My boy, would you give us that little Christmasbook (a little Christmas book of Dickens's, Macready, which I'm anxiousyou should hear); and don't slur it, now, or be too fast, Dickens, please!'--I say, if you was a real gent, something to this effect mighthappen. I shall be under sailing orders the moment I have finished. AndI shall produce myself (please God) in London on the very day you name. For one week: to the hour. " The wish was complied with, of course; and that night inLincoln's-inn-fields led to rather memorable issues. His next lettertold me the little tale was done. "Third of November, 1844. Half-pasttwo, afternoon. Thank God! I have finished the _Chimes_. This moment. Itake up my pen again to-day; to say only that much; and to add that Ihave had what women call 'a real good cry!'" Very genuine all this, itis hardly necessary to say. The little book thus completed was not oneof his greater successes, and it raised him up some objectors; but therewas that in it which more than repaid the suffering its writing costhim, and the enmity its opinions provoked; and in his own heart it had acherished corner to the last. The intensity of it seemed always best torepresent to himself what he hoped to be longest remembered for; andexactly what he felt as to this, his friend Jeffrey warmly expressed. "All the tribe of selfishness, and cowardice and cant, will hate you intheir hearts, and cavil when they can; will accuse you of wickedexaggeration, and excitement to discontent, and what they pleasantlycall disaffection! But never mind. The good and the brave are with you, and the truth also. " He resumed his letter on the fourth of November. "Here is the bravecourier measuring bits of maps with a carving-fork, and going upmountains on a teaspoon. He and I start on Wednesday for Parma, Modena, Bologna, Venice, Verona, Brescia, and Milan. Milan being within areasonable journey from here, Kate and Georgy will come to meet me whenI arrive there on my way towards England; and will bring me all lettersfrom you. I shall be there on the 18th. . . . Now, you know mypunctiwality. Frost, ice, flooded rivers, steamers, horses, passports, and custom-houses may damage it. But my design is, to walk intoCuttris's coffee-room on Sunday the 1st of December, in good time fordinner. I shall look for you at the farther table by the fire--where wegenerally go. . . . But the party for the night following? I know you haveconsented to the party. Let me see. Don't have any one, this particularnight, to dinner, but let it be a summons for the special purpose athalf-past 6. Carlyle, indispensable, and I should like his wife of allthings: _her_ judgment would be invaluable. You will ask Mac, and whynot his sister? Stanny and Jerrold I should particularly wish; EdwinLandseer; Blanchard; perhaps Harness; and what say you to Fonblanque andFox? I leave it to you. You know the effect I want to try . . . Think the_Chimes_ a letter, my dear fellow, and forgive this. I will not fail towrite to you on my travels. Most probably from Venice. And when I meetyou (in sound health I hope) oh Heaven! what a week we will have. " FOOTNOTES: [88] "Into which we might put your large room--I wish we could!--away inone corner, and dine without knowing it. " [89] "Very vast you will say, and very dreary; but it is not so really. The paintings are so fresh, and the proportions so agreeable to the eye, that the effect is not only cheerful but snug. . . . We are a littleincommoded by applications from strangers to go over the interior. Thepaintings were designed by Michael Angelo, and have a greatreputation. . . . Certain of these frescoes were reported officially to theFine Art Commissioners by Wilson as the best in Italy . . . I allowed aparty of priests to be shown the great hall yesterday . . . It is inperfect repair, and the doors almost shut--which is quite a miraculouscircumstance. I wish you could see it, my dear F. Gracious Heavens! ifyou could only _come back_ with me, wouldn't I soon flash on yourastonished sight. " (6th of October. ) CHAPTER VII. ITALIAN TRAVEL. 1844. Cities and People--Venice--Proposed Travel--At Lodi--Paintings--The Inns--Dinner at the Peschiere--Custom-house Officers--At Milan--At Strasburg--Return to London--A Macready Rehearsal--Friendly Americans. SO it all fell out accordingly. He parted from his disconsolate wife, ashe told me in his first letter from Ferrara, on Wednesday the 6th ofNovember: left her shut up in her palace like a baron's lady in the timeof the crusades; and had his first real experience of the wonders ofItaly. He saw Parma, Modena, Bologna, Ferrara, Venice, Verona, andMantua. As to all which the impressions conveyed to me in his lettershave been more or less given in his published _Pictures_. They arecharmingly expressed. There is a sketch of a cicerone at Bologna whichwill remain in his books among their many delightful examples of hisunerring and loving perception for every gentle, heavenly, and tendersoul, under whatever conventional disguise it wanders here on earth, whether as poorhouse orphan or lawyer's clerk, architect's pupil atSalisbury or cheerful little guide to graves at Bologna; and there isanother memorable description in his Rembrandt sketch, in form of adream, of the silent, unearthly, watery wonders of Venice. This last, though not written until after his London visit, had been prefigured sovividly in what he wrote at once from the spot, that those passages fromhis letter[90] may be read still with a quite undiminished interest. "Imust not, " he said, "anticipate myself. But, my dear fellow, nothing inthe world that ever you have heard of Venice, is equal to themagnificent and stupendous reality. The wildest visions of the ArabianNights are nothing to the piazza of Saint Mark, and the first impressionof the inside of the church. The gorgeous and wonderful reality ofVenice is beyond the fancy of the wildest dreamer. Opium couldn't buildsuch a place, and enchantment couldn't shadow it forth in a vision. Allthat I have heard of it, read of it in truth or fiction, fancied of it, is left thousands of miles behind. You know that I am liable todisappointment in such things from over-expectation, but Venice isabove, beyond, out of all reach of coming near, the imagination of aman. It has never been rated high enough. It is a thing you would shedtears to see. When I came _on board_ here last night (after a fivemiles' row in a gondola; which somehow or other, I wasn't at allprepared for); when, from seeing the city lying, one light, upon thedistant water, like a ship, I came plashing through the silent anddeserted streets; I felt as if the houses were reality--the water, fever-madness. But when, in the bright, cold, bracing day, I stood uponthe piazza, this morning, by Heaven the glory of the place wasinsupportable! And diving down from that into its wickedness andgloom--its awful prisons, deep below the water; its judgment chambers, secret doors, deadly nooks, where the torches you carry with you blinkas if they couldn't bear the air in which the frightful scenes wereacted; and coming out again into the radiant, unsubstantial Magic of thetown; and diving in again, into vast churches, and old tombs--a newsensation, a new memory, a new mind came upon me. Venice is a bit of mybrain from this time. My dear Forster, if you could share my transports(as you would if you were here) what would I not give! I feel cruel notto have brought Kate and Georgy; positively cruel and base. Canalettiand Stanny, miraculous in their truth. Turner, very noble. But thereality itself, beyond all pen or pencil. I never saw the thing beforethat I should be afraid to describe. But to tell what Venice is, I feelto be an impossibility. And here I sit alone, writing it: with nothingto urge me on, or goad me to that estimate, which, speaking of it toanyone I loved, and being spoken to in return, would lead me to form. Inthe sober solitude of a famous inn; with the great bell of Saint Markringing twelve at my elbow; with three arched windows in my room (twostories high) looking down upon the grand canal and away, beyond, towhere the sun went down to-night in a blaze; and thinking over againthose silent speaking faces of Titian and Tintoretto; I swear (uncooledby any humbug I have seen) that Venice is _the_ wonder and the newsensation of the world! If you could be set down in it, never havingheard of it, it would still be so. With your foot upon its stones, itspictures before you, and its history in your mind, it is something pastall writing of or speaking of--almost past all thinking of. You couldn'ttalk to me in this room, nor I to you, without shaking hands and saying'Good God my dear fellow, have we lived to see this!'" Five days later, Sunday the 17th, he was at Lodi, from which he wrote tome that he had been, like Leigh Hunt's pig, up "all manner of streets"since he left his palazzo; that with one exception he had not on anynight given up more than five hours to rest; that all the days excepttwo had been bad ("the last two foggy as Blackfriars-bridge on LordMayor's day"); and that the cold had been dismal. But what cheerful, keen, observant eyes he carried everywhere; and, in the midst of new andunaccustomed scenes, and of objects and remains of art for which noprevious study had prepared him, with what a delicate play ofimagination and fancy the minuteness and accuracy of his ordinaryvision was exalted and refined; I think strikingly shown by the fewunstudied passages I am preserving from these friendly letters. He saweverything for himself; and from mistakes in judging for himself whichnot all the learning and study in the world will save ordinary men, theintuition of genius almost always saved him. Hence there is hardlyanything uttered by him, of this much-trodden and wearisomely-visited, but eternally beautiful and interesting country, that will not be foundworth listening to. "I am already brim-full of cant about pictures, and shall be happy toenlighten you on the subject of the different schools, at any length youplease. It seems to me that the preposterous exaggeration in which ourcountrymen delight in reference to this Italy, hardly extends to thereally good things. [91] Perhaps it is in its nature, that there itshould fall short. I have never seen any praise of Titian's greatpicture of the Transfiguration of the Virgin at Venice, which soaredhalf as high as the beautiful and amazing reality. It is perfection. Tintoretto's picture too, of the Assembly of the Blest, at Venice also, with all the lines in it (it is of immense size and the figures arecountless) tending majestically and dutifully to Almighty God in thecentre, is grand and noble in the extreme. There are some wonderfulportraits there, besides; and some confused, and hurried, andslaughterous battle pieces, in which the surprising art that presentsthe generals to your eye, so that it is almost impossible you can missthem in a crowd though they are in the thick of it, is very pleasant todwell upon. I have seen some delightful pictures; and some (at Veronaand Mantua) really too absurd and ridiculous even to laugh at. Hampton-court is a fool to 'em--and oh there are some rum 'uns there, myfriend. Some werry rum 'uns. . . . Two things are clear to me already. Oneis, that the rules of art are much too slavishly followed; making it apain to you, when you go into galleries day after day, to be so veryprecisely sure where this figure will be turning round, and that figurewill be lying down, and that other will have a great lot of draperytwined about him, and so forth. This becomes a perfect nightmare. Thesecond is, that these great men, who were of necessity very much in thehands of the monks and priests, painted monks and priests a vast dealtoo often. I constantly see, in pictures of tremendous power, headsquite below the story and the painter; and I invariably observe thatthose heads are of the convent stamp, and have their counterparts, exactly, in the convent inmates of this hour. I see the portraits ofmonks I know at Genoa, in all the lame parts of strong paintings: so Ihave settled with myself that in such cases the lameness was not withthe painter, but with the vanity and ignorance of his employers, who_would_ be apostles on canvas at all events. "[92] In the same letter he described the Inns. "It is a great thing--quite amatter of course--with English travellers, to decry the Italian inns. Ofcourse you have no comforts that you are used to in England; andtravelling alone, you dine in your bedroom always. Which is opposed toour habits. But they are immeasurably better than you would suppose. Theattendants are very quick; very punctual; and so obliging, if you speakto them politely, that you would be a beast not to look cheerful, andtake everything pleasantly. I am writing this in a room like a room onthe two-pair front of an unfinished house in Eaton-square: the verywalls make me feel as if I were a bricklayer distinguished by Mr. Cubittwith the favour of having it to take care of. The windows won't open, and the doors won't shut; and these latter (a cat could get in, betweenthem and the floor) have a windy command of a colonnade which is open tothe night, so that my slippers positively blow off my feet, and makelittle circuits in the room--like leaves. There is a very ashywood-fire, burning on an immense hearth which has no fender (there is nosuch thing in Italy); and it only knows two extremes--an agony of heatwhen wood is put on, and an agony of cold when it has been on twominutes. There is also an uncomfortable stain in the wall, where thefifth door (not being strictly indispensable) was walled up a year ortwo ago, and never painted over. But the bed is clean; and I have had anexcellent dinner; and without being obsequious or servile, which is notat all the characteristic of the people in the North of Italy, thewaiters are so amiably disposed to invent little attentions which theysuppose to be English, and are so lighthearted and goodnatured, that itis a pleasure to have to do with them. But so it is with all the people. Vetturino-travelling involves a stoppage of two hours in the middle ofthe day, to bait the horses. At that time I always walk on. If there aremany turns in the road, I necessarily have to ask my way, very often:and the men are such gentlemen, and the women such ladies, that it isquite an interchange of courtesies. " Of the help his courier continued to be to him I had whimsical instancesin almost every letter, but he appears too often in the published bookto require such celebration here. He is however an essential figure totwo little scenes sketched for me at Lodi, and I may preface them bysaying that Louis Roche, a native of Avignon, justified to the close hismaster's high opinion. He was again engaged for nearly a year inSwitzerland, and soon after, poor fellow, though with a jovialrobustness of look and breadth of chest that promised unusual length ofdays, was killed by heart-disease. "The brave C continues to be aprodigy. He puts out my clothes at every inn as if I were going to staythere twelve months; calls me to the instant every morning; lights thefire before I get up; gets hold of roast fowls and produces them incoaches at a distance from all other help, in hungry moments; and isinvaluable to me. He is such a good fellow, too, that little rewardsdon't spoil him. I always give him, after I have dined, a tumbler ofSauterne or Hermitage or whatever I may have; sometimes (as yesterday)when we have come to a public-house at about eleven o'clock, very cold, having started before day-break and had nothing, I make him take hisbreakfast with me; and this renders him only more anxious than ever, byredoubling attentions, to show me that he thinks he has got a goodmaster . . . I didn't tell you that the day before I left Genoa, we had adinner-party--our English consul and his wife; the banker; Sir GeorgeCrawford and his wife; the De la Rues; Mr. Curry; and some others, fourteen in all. At about nine in the morning, two men in immense papercaps enquired at the door for the brave C, who presently introduced themin triumph as the Governor's cooks, his private friends, who had come todress the dinner! Jane wouldn't stand this, however; so we were obligedto decline. Then there came, at half-hourly intervals, six gentlemenhaving the appearance of English clergymen; other private friends whohad come to wait. . . . We accepted _their_ services; and you never sawanything so nicely and quietly done. He had asked, as a specialdistinction, to be allowed the supreme control of the dessert; and hehad ices made like fruit, had pieces of crockery turned upside down soas to look like other pieces of crockery non-existent in this part ofEurope, and carried a case of tooth-picks in his pocket. Then hisdelight was, to get behind Kate at one end of the table, to look at meat the other, and to say to Georgy in a low voice whenever he handed heranything, 'What does master think of datter 'rangement? Is hecontent?'. . . If you could see what these fellows of couriers are whentheir families are not upon the move, you would feel what a prize he is. I can't make out whether he was ever a smuggler, but nothing will inducehim to give the custom-house-officers anything: in consequence of whichthat portmanteau of mine has been unnecessarily opened twenty times. Two of them will come to the coach-door, at the gate of a town. 'Isthere anything contraband in this carriage, signore?'--'No, no. There'snothing here. I am an Englishman, and this is my servant. ' 'A buono manosignore?' 'Roche, '(in English) 'give him something, and get rid of him. 'He sits unmoved. 'A buono mano signore?' 'Go along with you!' says thebrave C. 'Signore, I am a custom-house-officer!' 'Well, then, more shamefor you!'--he always makes the same answer. And then he turns to me andsays in English: while the custom-house-officer's face is a portrait ofanguish framed in the coach-window, from his intense desire to know whatis being told to his disparagement: 'Datter chip, ' shaking his fist athim, 'is greatest tief--and you know it you rascal--as never did en-razhme so, that I cannot bear myself!' I suppose chip to mean chap, but itmay include the custom-house-officer's father and have some reference tothe old block, for anything I distinctly know. " He closed his Lodi letter next day at Milan, whither his wife and hersister had made an eighty miles journey from Genoa, to pass a couple ofdays with him in Prospero's old Dukedom before he left for London. "Weshall go our several ways on Thursday morning, and I am still bent onappearing at Cuttris's on Sunday the first, as if I had walked thitherfrom Devonshire-terrace. In the meantime I shall not write to you again. . . To enhance the pleasure (if anything _can_ enhance the pleasure) ofour meeting . . . I am opening my arms so wide!" One more letter I hadnevertheless; written at Strasburg on Monday night the 25th; to tell meI might look for him one day earlier, so rapid had been his progress. Hehad been in bed only once, at Friburg for two or three hours, since heleft Milan; and he had sledged through the snow on the top of theSimplon in the midst of prodigious cold. "I am sitting here _in_ awood-fire, and drinking brandy and water scalding hot, with a faint ideaof coming warm in time. My face is at present tingling with the frostand wind, as I suppose the cymbals may, when that turbaned turk attachedto the life guards' band has been newly clashing at them in St. James's-park. I am in hopes it may be the preliminary agony of returninganimation. " [Illustration: AT 58 LINCOLN'S-INN-FIELDS, MONDAY THE 2^{ND} OF DECEMBER1844. ] There was certainly no want of animation when we met. I have but towrite the words to bring back the eager face and figure, as they flashedupon me so suddenly this wintry Saturday night that almost before Icould be conscious of his presence I felt the grasp of his hand. It isalmost all I find it possible to remember of the brief, bright, meeting. Hardly did he seem to have come when he was gone. But all that the visitproposed he accomplished. He saw his little book in its final form forpublication; and, to a select few brought together on Monday the 2nd ofDecember at my house, had the opportunity of reading it aloud. Anoccasion rather memorable, in which was the germ of those readings tolarger audiences by which, as much as by his books, the world knew himin his later life; but of which no detail beyond the fact remains in mymemory, and all are now dead who were present at it excepting only Mr. Carlyle and myself. Among those however who have thus passed away wasone, our excellent Maclise, who, anticipating the advice of CaptainCuttle, had "made a note of" it in pencil, which I am able here toreproduce. It will tell the reader all he can wish to know. He will seeof whom the party consisted; and may be assured (with allowance for atouch of caricature to which I may claim to be considered myself as thechief victim), that in the grave attention of Carlyle, the eagerinterest of Stanfield and Maclise, the keen look of poor LamanBlanchard, Fox's rapt solemnity, Jerrold's skyward gaze, and the tearsof Harness and Dyce, the characteristic points of the scene aresufficiently rendered. All other recollection of it is passed and gone;but that at least its principal actor was made glad and grateful, sufficient farther testimony survives. Such was the report made of it, that once more, on the pressing intercession of our friend ThomasIngoldsby (Mr. Barham), there was a second reading to which the presenceand enjoyment of Fonblanque gave new zest;[93] and when I expressed toDickens, after he left us, my grief that he had had so tempestuous ajourney for such brief enjoyment, he replied that the visit had been onehappiness and delight to him. "I would not recall an inch of the way toor from you, if it had been twenty times as long and twenty thousandtimes as wintry. It was worth any travel--anything! With the soil of theroad in the very grain of my cheeks, I swear I wouldn't have missedthat week, that first night of our meeting, that one evening of thereading at your rooms, aye, and the second reading too, for any easilystated or conceived consideration. " He wrote from Paris, at which he had stopped on his way back to seeMacready, whom an engagement to act there with Mr. Mitchell's Englishcompany had prevented from joining us in Lincoln's-inn-fields. There hadbeen no such frost and snow since 1829, and he gave dismal report of thecity. With Macready he had gone two nights before to the Odéon to seeAlexandre Dumas' _Christine_ played by Madame St. George, "onceNapoleon's mistress; now of an immense size, from dropsy I suppose; andwith little weak legs which she can't stand upon. Her age, withal, somewhere about 80 or 90. I never in my life beheld such a sight. Everystage-conventionality she ever picked up (and she has them all) has gotthe dropsy too, and is swollen and bloated hideously. The other actorsnever looked at one another, but delivered all their dialogues to thepit, in a manner so egregiously unnatural and preposterous that Icouldn't make up my mind whether to take it as a joke or an outrage. "And then came allusion to a project we had started on the night of thereading, that a private play should be got up by us on his return fromItaly. "You and I, sir, will reform this altogether. " He had but to waitanother night, however, when he saw it all reformed at the Italian operawhere Grisi was singing in _Il Pirato_, and "the passion and fire of ascene between her, Mario, and Fornasari, was as good and great as it ispossible for anything operatic to be. They drew on one another, the twomen--not like stage-players, but like Macready himself: and she, rushingin between them; now clinging to this one, now to that, now making asheath for their naked swords with her arms, now tearing her hair indistraction as they broke away from her and plunged again at each other;was prodigious. " This was the theatre at which Macready was immediatelyto act, and where Dickens saw him next day rehearse the scene before thedoge and council in _Othello_, "not as usual facing the float butarranged on one side, " with an effect that seemed to him to heighten thereality of the scene. He left Paris on the night of the 13th with the malle poste, which didnot reach Marseilles till fifteen hours behind its time, after threedays and three nights travelling over horrible roads. Then, in aconfusion between the two rival packets for Genoa, he unwillinglydetained one of them more than an hour from sailing; and only managed atlast to get to her just as she was moving out of harbour. As he went upthe side, he saw a strange sensation among the angry travellers whom hehad detained so long; heard a voice exclaim "I am blarmed if it ain'tDICKENS!" and stood in the centre of a group of _Five Americans_! Butthe pleasantest part of the story is that they were, one and all, gladto see him; that their chief man, or leader, who had met him in NewYork, at once introduced them all round with the remark, "Personally ourcountrymen, and you, can fix it friendly sir, I do expectuate;" andthat, through the stormy passage to Genoa which followed, they wereexcellent friends. For the greater part of the time, it is true, Dickenshad to keep to his cabin; but he contrived to get enjoyment out of themnevertheless. The member of the party who had the travelling dictionarywouldn't part with it, though he was dead sick in the cabin next to myfriend's; and every now and then Dickens was conscious of hisfellow-travellers coming down to him, crying out in varied tones ofanxious bewilderment, "I say, what's French for a pillow?" "Is there anyItalian phrase for a lump of sugar? Just look, will you?" "What thedevil does echo mean? The garsong says echo to everything!" They wereexcessively curious to know, too, the population of every little town onthe Cornice, and all its statistics; "perhaps the very last subjectswithin the capacity of the human intellect, " remarks Dickens, "thatwould ever present themselves to an Italian steward's mind. He was avery willing fellow, our steward; and, having some vague idea that theywould like a large number, said at hazard fifty thousand, ninetythousand, four hundred thousand, when they asked about the population ofa place not larger than Lincoln's-inn-fields. And when they said _NonPossible!_ (which was the leader's invariable reply), he doubled ortrebled the amount; to meet what he supposed to be their views, and makeit quite satisfactory. " FOOTNOTES: [90] "I began this letter, my dear friend" (he wrote it from Venice onTuesday night the 12th of November), "with the intention of describingmy travels as I went on. But I have seen so much, and travelled so hard(seldom dining, and being almost always up by candle light), that I mustreserve my crayons for the greater leisure of the Peschiere after wehave met, and I have again returned to it. As soon as I have fixed aplace in my mind, I bolt--at such strange seasons and at such unexpectedangles, that the brave C stares again. But in this way, and by insistingon having everything shewn to me whether or no, and against allprecedents and orders of proceeding, I get on wonderfully. " Two daysbefore he had written to me from Ferrara, after the very prettydescription of the vineyards between Piacenza and Parma which will befound in the _Pictures from Italy_ (pp. 203-4): "If you want an antidoteto this, I may observe that I got up, this moment, to fasten the window;and the street looked as like some byeway in Whitechapel--or--I lookagain--like Wych Street, down by the little barber's shop on the sameside of the way as Holywell Street--or--I look again--as like HolywellStreet itself--as ever street was like to street, or ever will be, inthis world. " [91] Four months later, after he had seen the galleries at Rome and theother great cities, he sent me a remark which has since had eloquentreinforcement from critics of undeniable authority. "The most famous ofthe oil paintings in the Vatican you know through the medium of thefinest line-engravings in the world; and as to some of them I muchdoubt, if you had seen them with me, whether you might not think you hadlost little in having only known them hitherto in that translation. Where the drawing is poor and meagre, or alloyed by time, --it is so, andit must be, often; though no doubt it is a heresy to hint at such athing--the engraving presents the forms and the idea to you, in a simplemajesty which such defects impair. Where this is not the case, and allis stately and harmonious, still it is somehow in the very grain andnature of a delicate engraving to suggest to you (I think) the utmostdelicacy, finish, and refinement, as belonging to the original. Therefore, though the Picture in this latter case will greatly charm andinterest you, it does not take you by surprise. You are quite preparedbeforehand for the fullest excellence of which it is capable. " In thesame letter he wrote of what remained always a delight in his memory, the charm of the more private collections. He found magnificentportraits and paintings in the private palaces, where he thought themseen to greater advantage than in galleries; because in numbers not solarge as to distract attention or confuse the eye. "There are portraitsinnumerable by Titian, Rubens, Rembrandt and Vandyke; heads by Guido, and Domenichino, and Carlo Dolci; subjects by Raphael, and Correggio, and Murillo, and Paul Veronese, and Salvator; which it would bedifficult indeed to praise too highly, or to praise enough. It is ahappiness to me to think that they cannot be felt, as they should befelt, by the profound connoisseurs who fall into fits upon the longestnotice and the most unreasonable terms. Such tenderness and grace, suchnoble elevation, purity, and beauty, so shine upon me from somewell-remembered spots in the walls of these galleries, as to relieve mytortured memory from legions of whining friars and waxy holy families. Iforgive, from the bottom of my soul, whole orchestras of earthy angels, and whole groves of St. Sebastians stuck as full of arrows according topattern as a lying-in pincushion is stuck with pins. And I am in nohumour to quarrel even with that priestly infatuation, or priestlydoggedness of purpose, which persists in reducing every mystery of ourreligion to some literal development in paint and canvas, equallyrepugnant to the reason and the sentiment of any thinking man. " [92] The last two lines he has printed in the _Pictures_, p. 249, "certain of" being inserted before "his employers. " [93] I find the evening mentioned in the diary which Mr. Barham's sonquotes in his Memoir. "December 5, 1844. Dined at Forster's with CharlesDickens, Stanfield, Maclise, and Albany Fonblanque. Dickens read withremarkable effect his Christmas story, the _Chimes_, from theproofs. . . . " (ii. 191. ) CHAPTER VIII. LAST MONTHS IN ITALY. 1845. Jesuit Interferences--Travel Southward--Carrara and Pisa--A Wild Journey--At Radicofani--A Beggar and his Staff--At Rome--Terracina--Bay of Naples--Lazzaroni--Sad English News--At Florence--Visit to Landor's Villa--At Lord Holland's--Return to Genoa--Italy's Best Season--A Funeral--Nautical Incident--Fireflies at Night--Returning by Switzerland--At Lucerne--Passage of the St. Gothard--Splendour of Swiss Scenery--Swiss Villages. ON the 22nd of December he had resumed his ordinary Genoa life; and of aletter from Jeffrey, to whom he had dedicated his little book, he wroteas "most energetic and enthusiastic. Filer sticks in his throat rather, but all the rest is quivering in his heart. He is very much struck bythe management of Lilian's story, and cannot help speaking of that;writing of it all indeed with the freshness and ardour of youth, and notlike a man whose blue and yellow has turned grey. " Some of its wordshave been already given. "Miss Coutts has sent Charley, with the best ofletters to me, a Twelfth Cake weighing ninety pounds, magnificentlydecorated; and only think of the characters, Fairburn's Twelfth Nightcharacters, being detained at the custom-house for Jesuiticalsurveillance! But these fellows are---- Well! never mind. Perhaps youhave seen the history of the Dutch minister at Turin, and of thespiriting away of his daughter by the Jesuits? It is all true; though, like the history of our friend's servant, [94] almost incredible. Buttheir devilry is such that I am assured by our consul that if, while weare in the south, we were to let our children go out with servants onwhom we could not implicitly rely, these holy men would trot even theirsmall feet into churches with a view to their ultimate conversion! It istremendous even to see them in the streets, or slinking about thisgarden. " Of his purpose to start for the south of Italy in the middle ofJanuary, taking his wife with him, his letter the following week toldme; dwelling on all he had missed, in that first Italian Christmas, ofour old enjoyments of the season in England; and closing its pleasanttalk with a postscript at midnight. "First of January, 1845. Many manymany happy returns of the day! A life of happy years! The Baby isdressed in thunder, lightning, rain, and wind. His birth is mostportentous here. " It was of ill-omen to me, one of its earliest incidents being my onlybrother's death; but Dickens had a friend's true helpfulness in sorrow, and a portion of what he then wrote to me I permit myself to preservein a note[95] for what it relates of his own sad experiences and solemnbeliefs and hopes. The journey southward began on the 20th January, andfive days later I had a letter written from La Scala, at a little inn, "supported on low brick arches like a British haystack, " the bed intheir room "like a mangle, " the ceiling without lath or plaster, nothingto speak of available for comfort or decency, and nothing particular toeat or drink. "But for all this I have become attached to the countryand I don't care who knows it. " They had left Pisa that morning andCarrara the day before: at the latter place an ovation awaiting him, theresult of the zeal of our eccentric friend Fletcher, who happened to bestaying there with an English marble-merchant. [96] "There is a beautifullittle theatre there, built of marble; and they had it illuminated thatnight, in my honour. There was really a very fair opera: but it iscurious that the chorus has been always, time out of mind, made up oflabourers in the quarries, who don't know a note of music, and singentirely by ear. It was crammed to excess, and I had a great reception;a deputation waiting upon us in the box, and the orchestra turning outin a body afterwards and serenading us at Mr. Walton's. " Between thisand Rome they had a somewhat wild journey;[97] and before Radicofani wasreached, there were disturbing rumours of bandits and even uncomfortablewhispers as to their night's lodging-place. "I really began to think wemight have an adventure; and as I had brought (like an ass) a bag ofNapoleons with me from Genoa, I called up all the theatrical ways ofletting off pistols that I could call to mind, and was the more disposedto fire them from not having any. " It ended in no worse adventure, however, than a somewhat exciting dialogue with an old professionalbeggar at Radicofani itself, in which he was obliged to confess that hecame off second-best. It transpired at a little town hanging on a hillside, of which the inhabitants, being all of them beggars, had the habitof swooping down, like so many birds of prey, upon any carriage thatapproached it. "Can you imagine" (he named a first-rate bore, for whose name I shallsubstitute) "M. F. G. In a very frowsy brown cloak concealing his wholefigure, and with very white hair and a very white beard, darting out ofthis place with a long staff in his hand, and begging? There he was, whether you can or not; out of breath with the rapidity of his dive, andstaying with his staff all the Radicofani boys, that he might fight itout with me alone. It was very wet, and so was I: for I had kept, according to custom, my box-seat. It was blowing so hard that I couldscarcely stand; and there was a custom-house on the spot, besides. Overand above all this, I had no small money; and the brave C never has, when I want it for a beggar. When I had excused myself several times, hesuddenly drew himself up and said, with a wizard look (fancy theaggravation of M. F. G. As a wizard!) 'Do you know what you are doing, my lord? Do you mean to go on, to-day?' 'Yes, ' I said, 'I do. ' 'Mylord, ' he said, 'do you know that your vetturino is unacquainted withthis part of the country; that there is a wind raging on the mountain, which will sweep you away; that the courier, the coach, and all thepassengers, were blown from the road last year; and that the danger isgreat and almost certain?' 'No, ' I said, 'I don't. ' 'My lord, you don'tunderstand me, I think?' 'Yes I do, d---- you!' nettled by this (youfeel it? I confess it). 'Speak to my servant. It's his business. Notmine'--for he really was too like M. F. G. To be borne. If you couldhave seen him!--'Santa Maria, these English lords! It's not theirbusiness, if they're killed! They leave it to their servants!' He drewoff the boys; whispered them to keep away from the heretic; and ran upthe hill again, almost as fast as he had come down. He stopped at alittle distance as we moved on; and pointing to Roche with his longstaff cried loudly after me, 'It's _his_ business if you're killed, isit, my lord? Ha! ha! ha! whose business is it, when the English lordsare born! Ha! ha! ha!' The boys taking it up in a shrill yell, I leftthe joke and them at this point. But I must confess that I thought hehad the best of it. And he had so far reason for what he urged, thatwhen we got on the mountain pass the wind became terrific, so that wewere obliged to take Kate out of the carriage lest she should be blownover, carriage and all, and had ourselves to hang on to it, on the windyside, to prevent its going Heaven knows where!" The first impression of Rome was disappointing. It was the evening ofthe 30th of January, and the cloudy sky, dull cold rain, and muddyfootways, he was prepared for; but he was not prepared for the longstreets of commonplace shops and houses like Paris or any other capital, the busy people, the equipages, the ordinary walkers up and down. "Itwas no more my Rome, degraded and fallen and lying asleep in the sunamong a heap of ruins, than Lincoln's-inn-fields is. So I really went tobed in a very indifferent humour. " That all this yielded to later andworthier impressions I need hardly say; and he had never in his life, hetold me afterwards, been so moved or overcome by any sight as by that ofthe Coliseum, "except perhaps by the first contemplation of the Falls ofNiagara. " He went to Naples for the interval before the holy week; andhis first letter from it was to say that he had found the wonderfulaspects of Rome before he left, and that for loneliness and grandeur ofruin nothing could transcend the southern side of the Campagna. Butfarther and farther south the weather had become worse; and for a weekbefore his letter (the 11th of February), the only bright sky he hadseen was just as the sun was coming up across the sea at Terracina. "Ofwhich place, a beautiful one, you can get a very good idea by imaginingsomething as totally unlike the scenery in _Fra Diavolo_ as possible. "He thought the bay less striking at Naples than at Genoa, the shape ofthe latter being more perfect in its beauty, and the smaller sizeenabling you to see it all at once, and feel it more like an exquisitepicture. The city he conceived the greatest dislike to. [98] "Thecondition of the common people here is abject and shocking. I am afraidthe conventional idea of the picturesque is associated with such miseryand degradation that a new picturesque will have to be established asthe world goes onward. Except Fondi, there is nothing on earth that Ihave seen so dirty as Naples. I don't know what to liken the streets towhere the mass of the lazzaroni live. You recollect that favouritepigstye of mine near Broadstairs? They are more like streets of suchapartments heaped up story on story, and tumbled house on house, thananything else I can think of, at this moment. " In a later letter he waseven less tolerant. "What would I give that you should see the lazzaronias they really are--mere squalid, abject, miserable animals for verminto batten on; slouching, slinking, ugly, shabby, scavenging scarecrows!And oh the raffish counts and more than doubtful countesses, the noodlesand the blacklegs, the good society! And oh the miles of miserablestreets and wretched occupants, [99] to which Saffron-hill or theBorough-mint is a kind of small gentility, which are found to be sopicturesque by English lords and ladies; to whom the wretchedness leftbehind at home is lowest of the low, and vilest of the vile, andcommonest of all common things. Well! well! I have often thought thatone of the best chances of immortality for a writer is in the Death ofhis language, when he immediately becomes good company; and I oftenthink here, --What _would_ you say to these people, milady and milord, ifthey spoke out of the homely dictionary of your own 'lower orders. '" Hewas again at Rome on Sunday the second of March. Sad news from me as to a common and very dear friend awaited him there;but it is a subject on which I may not dwell farther than to say thatthere arose from it much to redeem even such a sorrow, and that this Icould not indicate better than by these wise and tender words fromDickens. "No philosophy will bear these dreadful things, or make amoment's head against them, but the practical one of doing all the goodwe can, in thought and deed. While we can, God help us! ourselves strayfrom ourselves so easily; and there are all around us such frightfulcalamities besetting the world in which we live; nothing else will carryus through it. . . . What a comfort to reflect on what you tell me. BulwerLytton's conduct is that of a generous and noble-minded man, as I haveever thought him. Our dear good Procter too! And Thackeray--how earnestthey have all been! I am very glad to find you making special mention ofCharles Lever. I am glad over every name you write. It says somethingfor our pursuit, in the midst of all its miserable disputes andjealousies, that the common impulse of its followers, in such aninstance as this, is surely and certainly of the noblest. " After the ceremonies of the holy week, of which the descriptions sent tome were reproduced in his book, he went to Florence, [100] which livedalways afterwards in his memory with Venice, and with Genoa. He thoughtthese the three great Italian cities. "There are some placeshere, [101]--oh Heaven how fine! I wish you could see the tower of thepalazzo Vecchio as it lies before me at this moment, on the oppositebank of the Arno! But I will tell you more about it, and about allFlorence, from my shady arm-chair up among the Peschiere oranges. Ishall not be sorry to sit down in it again. . . . Poor Hood, poor Hood! Istill look for his death, and he still lingers on. And Sydney Smith'sbrother gone after poor dear Sydney himself! Maltby will wither when hereads it; and poor old Rogers will contradict some young man at dinner, every day for three weeks. " Before he left Florence (on the 4th of April) I heard of a "verypleasant and very merry day" at Lord Holland's; and I ought to havementioned how much he was gratified, at Naples, by the attentions of theEnglish Minister there, Mr. Temple, Lord Palmerston's brother, whom hedescribed as a man supremely agreeable, with everything about him inperfect taste, and with that truest gentleman-manner which has its rootin kindness and generosity of nature. He was back at home in thePeschiere on Wednesday the ninth of April. Here he continued to write tome every week, for as long as he remained, of whatever he had seen: withno definite purpose as yet, but the pleasure of interchanging withmyself the impressions and emotions undergone by him. "Seriously, " hewrote to me on the 13th of April, "it is a great pleasure to me to findthat you are really pleased with these shadows in the water, and thinkthem worth the looking at. Writing at such odd places, and in such oddseasons, I have been half savage with myself, very often, for not doingbetter. But d'Orsay, from whom I had a charming letter three days since, seems to think as you do of what he has read in those shown to him, andsays they remind him vividly of the real aspect of these scenes. . . . Well, if we should determine, after we have sat in council, that theexperiences they relate are to be used, we will call B. And E. To theirshare and voice in the matter. " Shortly before he left, the subject wasagain referred to (7th of June). "I am in as great doubt as you aboutthe letters I have written you with these Italian experiences. I cannotfor the life of me devise any plan of using them to my own satisfaction, and yet think entirely with you that in some form I ought to use them. "Circumstances not in his contemplation at this time settled the formthey ultimately took. Two more months were to finish his Italian holiday, and I do not thinkhe enjoyed any part of it so much as its close. He had formed a realfriendship for Genoa, was greatly attached to the social circle he haddrawn round him there, and liked rest after his travel all the more forthe little excitement of living its activities over again, week by week, in these letters to me. And so, from his "shady arm-chair up among thePeschiere oranges, " I had at regular intervals what he called hisrambling talk; went over with him again all the roads he had taken; andof the more important scenes and cities, such as Venice, Rome, andNaples, received such rich filling-in to the first outlines sent, asfairly justified the title of _Pictures_ finally chosen for them. Theweather all the time too had been without a flaw. "Since our return, " hewrote on the 27th April, "we have had charming spring days. The gardenis one grove of roses; we have left off fires; and we breakfast and dineagain in the great hall, with the windows open. To-day we have rain, but rain was rather wanted I believe, so it gives offence to nobody. Asfar as I have had an opportunity of judging yet, the spring is the mostdelightful time in this country. But for all that I am looking witheagerness to the tenth of June, impatient to renew our happy old walksand old talks in dear old home. " Of incidents during these remaining weeks there were few, but such as hementioned had in them points of humour or character still worthremembering. [102] Two men were hanged in the city; and two ladies ofquality, he told me, agreed to keep up for a time a prayer for the soulsof these two miserable creatures so incessant that Heaven should neverfor a moment be left alone; to which end "they relieved each other"after such wise, that, for the whole of the stated time, one of them wasalways on her knees in the cathedral church of San Lorenzo. From whichhe inferred that "a morbid sympathy for criminals is not wholly peculiarto England, though it affects more people in that country perhaps thanin any other. " Of Italian usages to the dead some notices from his letters have beengiven, and he had an example before he left of the way in which theyaffected English residents. A gentleman of his friend Fletcher'sacquaintance living four miles from Genoa had the misfortune to lose hiswife; and no attendance on the dead beyond the city gate, nor even anydecent conveyance, being practicable, the mourner, to whom Fletcher hadpromised nevertheless the sad satisfaction of an English funeral, whichhe had meanwhile taken enormous secret pains to arrange with a smallGenoese upholsterer, was waited upon, on the appointed morning, by avery bright yellow hackney-coach-and-pair driven by a coachman in yetbrighter scarlet knee-breeches and waistcoat, who wanted to put thehusband and the body inside together. "They were obliged to leave one ofthe coach-doors open for the accommodation even of the coffin; thewidower walked beside the carriage to the Protestant cemetery; andFletcher followed on a big grey horse. "[103] Scarlet breeches reappear, not less characteristically, in what his nextletter told of a couple of English travellers who took possession atthis time (24th of May) of a portion of the ground floor of thePeschiere. They had with them a meek English footman who immediatelyconfided to Dickens's servants, among other personal grievances, thefact that he was made to do everything, even cooking, in crimsonbreeches; which in a hot climate, he protested, was "a grinding of himdown. " "He is a poor soft country fellow; and his master locks him up atnight, in a basement room with iron bars to the window. Between whichour servants poke wine in, at midnight. His master and mistress buy oldboxes at the curiosity shops, and pass their lives in lining 'em withbits of parti-coloured velvet. A droll existence, is it not? We arelucky to have had the palace to ourselves until now, but it is so largethat we never see or hear these people; and I should not have knowneven, if they had not called upon us, that another portion of the groundfloor had been taken by some friends of old Lady Holland--whom I seem tosee again, crying about dear Sydney Smith, behind that green screen aswe last saw her together. "[104] Then came a little incident also characteristic. An English ship of war, the Phantom, appeared in the harbour; and from her commander, Sir HenryNicholson, Dickens received, among attentions very pleasant to him, aninvitation to lunch on board and bring his wife, for whom, at a timeappointed, a boat was to be sent to the Ponte Reale (the royal bridge). But no boat being there at the time, Dickens sent off his servant inanother boat to the ship to say he feared some mistake. "While we werewalking up and down a neighbouring piazza in his absence, a brilliantfellow in a dark blue shirt with a white hem to it all round the collar, regular corkscrew curls, and a face as brown as a berry, comes up to meand says 'Beg your pardon sir--Mr. Dickens?' 'Yes. ' 'Beg your pardonsir, but I'm one of the ship's company of the Phantom sir, cox'en of thecap'en's gig sir, she's a lying off the pint sir--been there half anhour. ' 'Well but my good fellow, ' I said, 'you're at the wrong place!''Beg your pardon sir, I was afeerd it was the wrong place sir, but I'veasked them Genoese here sir, twenty times, if it was Port Real; and theyknows no more than a dead jackass!'--Isn't it a good thing to have madea regular Portsmouth name of it?" That was in his letter of the 1st June, which began by telling me it hadbeen twice begun and twice flung into the basket, so great was hisindisposition to write as the time for departure came; and which endedthus. "The fire-flies at night now, are miraculously splendid; makinganother firmament among the rocks on the seashore, and the vines inland. They get into the bedrooms, and fly about, all night, like beautifullittle lamps. [105]. . . I have surrendered much I had fixed my heartupon, as you know, admitting you have had reason for not coming to ushere: but I stand by the hope that you and Mac will come and meet us atBrussels; it being so very easy. A day or two there, and at Antwerp, would be very happy for us; and we could still dine in Lincoln's-inn-fieldson the day of arrival. " I had been unable to join him in Genoa, urgentlyas he had wished it: but what is said here was done, and Jerrold wasadded to the party. His last letter from Genoa was written on the 7th of June, not from thePeschiere, but from a neighbouring palace, "Brignole Rosso, " into whichhe had fled from the miseries of moving. "They are all at sixes andsevens up at the Peschiere, as you may suppose; and Roche is in acondition of tremendous excitement, engaged in settling the inventorywith the house-agent, who has just told me he is the devil himself. Ihad been appealed to, and had contented myself with this expression ofopinion. 'Signor Noli, you are an old impostor!' 'Illustrissimo, ' saidSignor Noli in reply, 'your servant is the devil himself: sent on earthto torture me. ' I look occasionally towards the Peschiere (it is visiblefrom this room), expecting to see one of them flying out of a window. Another great cause of commotion is, that they have been paving the laneby which the house is approached, ever since we returned from Rome. Wehave not been able to get the carriage up since that time, inconsequence; and unless they finish to-night, it can't be packed in thegarden, but the things will have to be brought down in baskets, piecemeal, and packed in the street. To avoid this inconvenientnecessity, the Brave made proposals of bribery to the paviours lastnight, and induced them to pledge themselves that the carriage shouldcome up at seven this evening. The manner of doing that sort of pavingwork here, is to take a pick or two with an axe, and then lie down tosleep for an hour. When I came out, the Brave had issued forth toexamine the ground; and was standing alone in the sun among a heap ofprostrate figures: with a Great Despair depicted in his face, which itwould be hard to surpass. It was like a picture--'After theBattle'--Napoleon by the Brave: Bodies by the Paviours. " He came home by the Great St. Gothard, and was quite carried away bywhat he saw of Switzerland. The country was so divine that he shouldhave wondered indeed if its sons and daughters had ever been other thana patriotic people. Yet, infinitely above the country he had left as heranked it in its natural splendours, there was something more enchantingthan these that he lost in leaving Italy; and he expressed thisdelightfully in the letter from Lucerne (14th of June) which closes thenarrative of his Italian life. "We came over the St. Gothard, which has been open only eight days. Theroad is cut through the snow, and the carriage winds along a narrow pathbetween two massive snow walls, twenty feet high or more. Vast plains ofsnow range up the mountain-sides above the road, itself seven thousandfeet above the sea; and tremendous waterfalls, hewing out arches forthemselves in the vast drifts, go thundering down from precipices intodeep chasms, here and there and everywhere: the blue water tearingthrough the white snow with an awful beauty that is most sublime. Thepass itself, the mere pass over the top, is not so fine, I think, as theSimplon; and there is no plain upon the summit, for the moment it isreached the descent begins. So that the loneliness and wildness of theSimplon are not equalled _there_. But being much higher, the ascent andthe descent range over a much greater space of country; and on bothsides there are places of terrible grandeur, unsurpassable, I shouldimagine, in the world. The Devil's Bridge, terrific! The whole descentbetween Andermatt (where we slept on Friday night) and Altdorf, WilliamTell's town, which we passed through yesterday afternoon, is the highestsublimation of all you can imagine in the way of Swiss scenery. Oh God!what a beautiful country it is! How poor and shrunken, beside it, isItaly in its brightest aspect! "I look upon the coming down from the Great St. Gothard with a carriageand four horses and only one postilion, as the most dangerous thing thata carriage and horses can do. We had two great wooden logs for drags, and snapped them both like matches. The road is like a geometricalstaircase, with horrible depths beneath it; and at every turn it is atoss-up, or seems to be, whether the leaders shall go round or over. Thelives of the whole party may depend upon a strap in the harness; and ifwe broke our rotten harness once yesterday, we broke it at least a dozentimes. The difficulty of keeping the horses together in the continualand steep circle, is immense. They slip and slide, and get their legsover the traces, and are dragged up against the rocks; carriage, horses, harness, all a confused heap. The Brave, and I, and the postilion, wereconstantly at work, in extricating the whole concern from a tangle, likea skein of thread. We broke two thick iron chains, and crushed the boxof a wheel, as it was; and the carriage is now undergoing repair, underthe window, on the margin of the lake: where a woman in shortpetticoats, a stomacher, and two immensely long tails of black hairhanging down her back very nearly to her heels, is lookingon--apparently dressed for a melodrama, but in reality a waitress atthis establishment. "If the Swiss villages look beautiful to me in winter, their summeraspect is most charming: most fascinating: most delicious. Shut in byhigh mountains capped with perpetual snow; and dotting a rich carpet ofthe softest turf, overshadowed by great trees; they seem so many littlehavens of refuge from the troubles and miseries of great towns. Thecleanliness of the little baby-houses of inns is wonderful to those whocome from Italy. But the beautiful Italian manners, the sweet language, the quick recognition of a pleasant look or cheerful word; thecaptivating expression of a desire to oblige in everything; are leftbehind the Alps. Remembering them, I sigh for the dirt again: the brickfloors, bare walls, unplaistered ceilings, and broken windows. " We met at Brussels; Maclise, Jerrold, myself, and the travellers; passeda delightful week in Flanders together; and were in England at the closeof June. FOOTNOTES: [94] In a previous letter he had told me that history. "Apropos ofservants, I must tell you of a child-bearing handmaiden of some friendsof ours, a thorough out and outer, who, by way of expiating her sins, caused herself, the other day, to be received into the bosom of theinfallible church. She had two marchionesses for her sponsors; and sheis heralded in the Genoa newspapers as Miss B--, an English lady, whohas repented of her errors and saved her soul alive. " [95] "I feel the distance between us now, indeed. I would to Heaven, mydearest friend, that I could remind you in a manner more lively andaffectionate than this dull sheet of paper can put on, that you have aBrother left. One bound to you by ties as strong as ever Nature forged. By ties never to be broken, weakened, changed in any way--but to beknotted tighter up, if that be possible, until the same end comes tothem as has come to these. That end but the bright beginning of ahappier union, I believe; and have never more strongly and religiouslybelieved (and oh! Forster, with what a sore heart I have thanked God forit) than when that shadow has fallen on my own hearth, and made it coldand dark as suddenly as in the home of that poor girl you tell me of. . . . When you write to me again, the pain of this will have passed. Noconsolation can be so certain and so lasting to you as that softened andmanly sorrow which springs up from the memory of the Dead. I read yourheart as easily as if I held it in my hand, this moment. And I know--I_know_, my dear friend--that before the ground is green above him, youwill be content that what was capable of death in him, should liethere. . . . I am glad to think it was so easy, and full of peace. What canwe hope for more, when our own time comes!--The day when he visited usin our old house is as fresh to me as if it had been yesterday. Iremember him as well as I remember you. . . . I have many things to say, but cannot say them now. Your attached and loving friend for life, andfar, I hope, beyond it. C. D. " (8th of January, 1845. ) [96] "A Yorkshireman, who talks Yorkshire Italian with the drollest andpleasantest effect; a jolly, hospitable excellent fellow; as odd yetkindly a mixture of shrewdness and simplicity as I have ever seen. He isthe only Englishman in these parts who has been able to erect an Englishhousehold out of Italian servants, but he has done it to admiration. Itwould be a capital country-house at home; and for staying in'first-rate. ' (I find myself inadvertently quoting _Tom Thumb_. ) Mr. Walton is a man of an extraordinarily kind heart, and has acompassionate regard for Fletcher to whom his house is open as a home, which is half affecting and half ludicrous. He paid the other day ahundred pounds for him, which he knows he will never see a penny ofagain. " C. D. To J. F. (25th of January, 1845. ) [97] "Do you think, " he wrote from Ronciglione on the 29th January, "inyour state room, when the fog makes your white blinds yellow, and thewind howls in the brick and mortar gulf behind that square perspective, with a middle distance of two ladder-tops and a background of Drury-lanesky--when the wind howls, I say, as if its eldest brother, born inLincoln's-inn-fields, had gone to sea and was making a fortune on theAtlantic--at such times do you ever think of houseless Dick?" [98] He makes no mention in his book of the pauper burial-place atNaples, to which the reference made in his letters is striking enoughfor preservation. "In Naples, the burying place of the poor people is agreat paved yard with three hundred and sixty-five pits in it: every onecovered by a square stone which is fastened down. One of these pits isopened every night in the year; the bodies of the pauper dead arecollected in the city; brought out in a cart (like that I told you of atRome); and flung in, uncoffined. Some lime is then cast down into thepit; and it is sealed up until a year is past, and its turn again comesround. Every night there is a pit opened; and every night that same pitis sealed up again, for a twelvemonth. The cart has a red lamp attached, and at about ten o'clock at night you see it glaring through the streetsof Naples: stopping at the doors of hospitals and prisons, and suchplaces, to increase its freight: and then rattling off again. Attachedto the new cemetery (a very pretty one, and well kept: immeasurablybetter in all respects than Père-la-Chaise) there is another similaryard, but not so large. ". . . In connection with the same subject he adds:"About Naples, the dead are borne along the street, uncovered, on anopen bier; which is sometimes hoisted on a sort of palanquin, coveredwith a cloth of scarlet and gold. This exposure of the deceased is notpeculiar to that part of Italy; for about midway between Rome and Genoawe encountered a funeral procession attendant on the body of a woman, which was presented in its usual dress, to my eyes (looking from myelevated seat on the box of a travelling carriage) as if she were alive, and resting on her bed. An attendant priest was chanting lustily--and asbadly as the priests invariably do. Their noise is horrible. . . . " [99] "Thackeray praises the people of Italy for being kind to brutes. There is probably no country in the world where they are treated withsuch frightful cruelty. It is universal. " (Naples, 2nd. Feb. 1845. )Emphatic confirmation of this remark has been lately given by the Naplescorrespondent of the _Times_, writing under date of February 1872. [100] The reader will perhaps think with me that what he noticed, on theroads in Tuscany more than in any others, of wayside crosses andreligious memorials, may be worth preserving. . . . "You know that in thestreets and corners of roads, there are all sorts of crosses and similarmemorials to be seen in Italy. The most curious are, I think, inTuscany. There is very seldom a figure on the cross, though there issometimes a face; but they are remarkable for being garnished withlittle models in wood of every possible object that can be connectedwith the Saviour's death. The cock that crowed when Peter had denied hismaster thrice, is generally perched on the tip-top; and anornithological phenomenon he always is. Under him is the inscription. Then, hung on to the cross-beam, are the spear, the reed with the spongeof vinegar and water at the end, the coat without seam for which thesoldiers cast lots, the dice-box with which they threw for it, thehammer that drove in the nails, the pincers that pulled them out, theladder which was set against the cross, the crown of thorns, theinstrument of flagellation, the lantern with which Mary went to thetomb--I suppose; I can think of no other--and the sword with which Petersmote the high priest's servant. A perfect toyshop of little objects;repeated at every four or five miles all along the highway. " [101] Of his visit to Fiesole I have spoken in my LIFE OF LANDOR. "Tenyears after Landor had lost this home, an Englishman travelling inItaly, his friend and mine, visited the neighbourhood for his sake, drove out from Florence to Fiesole, and asked his coachman which was thevilla in which the Landor family lived. 'He was a dull dog, and pointedto Boccaccio's. I didn't believe him. He was so deuced ready that I knewhe lied. I went up to the convent, which is on a height, and was leaningover a dwarf wall basking in the noble view over a vast range of hilland valley, when a little peasant girl came up and began to point outthe localities. _Ecco la villa Landora!_ was one of the first half-dozensentences she spoke. My heart swelled as Landor's would have done when Ilooked down upon it, nestling among its olive-trees and vines, and withits upper windows (there are five above the door) open to the settingsun. Over the centre of these there is another story, set upon thehousetop like a tower; and all Italy, except its sea, is melted downinto the glowing landscape it commands. I plucked a leaf of ivy from theconvent-garden as I looked; and here it is. 'For Landor. With my love. 'So wrote Mr. Dickens to me from Florence on the and of April 1845; andwhen I turned over Landor's papers in the same month after an intervalof exactly twenty years, the ivy-leaf was found carefully enclosed, withthe letter in which I had sent it. " Dickens had asked him before leavingwhat he would most wish to have in remembrance of Italy. "An ivy-leaffrom Fiesole, " said Landor. [102] One message sent me, though all to whom it refers have now passedaway, I please myself by thinking may still, where he might most havedesired it, be the occasion of pleasure. ". . . Give my love to Colden, and tell him if he leaves London before I return I will ever moreaddress him and speak of him as _Colonel_ Colden. Kate sends _her_ loveto him also, and we both entreat him to say all the affectionate thingshe can spare for third parties--using so many himself--when he writes toMrs. Colden: whom you ought to know, for she, as I have often told you, is BRILLIANT. I would go five hundred miles to see her for five minutes. I am deeply grieved by poor Felton's loss. His letter is manly, and of amost rare kind in the dignified composure and silence of his sorrow. "(See Vol. I. P. 315). [103] "It matters little now, " says Dickens, after describing thisincident in one of his minor writings, "for coaches of all colours arealike to poor Kindheart, and he rests far north of the little cemeterywith the cypress trees, by the city walls where the Mediterranean is sobeautiful. " What was said on a former page (_ante_, 182) may here becompleted by a couple of stories told to Dickens by Mr. Walton, suggestive strongly of the comment that it required indeed a kind heartand many attractive qualities (which undoubtedly Fletcher possessed) torender tolerable such eccentricities. Dickens made one of these storieswonderfully amusing. It related the introduction by Fletcher of anunknown Englishman to the marble-merchant's house; the stay there of theEnglishman, unasked, for ten days; and finally the walking off of theEnglishman in a shirt, pair of stockings, neckcloth, pocket-handkerchief, and other etceteras belonging to Mr. Walton, which never reappearedafter that hour. On another occasion, Fletcher confessed to Mr. Waltonhis having given a bill to a man in Carrara for £30; and themarble-merchant having asked, "And pray, Fletcher, have you arranged tomeet it when it falls due?" Fletcher at once replied, "Yes, " and to themarble-merchant's farther enquiry "how?" added, in his politest manner, "I have arranged to blow my brains out the day before!" The poor fellowdid afterwards almost as much self-violence without intending it, dyingof fever caught in night-wanderings through Liverpool half-clothed amidstorms of rain. [104] Sydney died on the 22nd of February ('45), in his 77th year. [105] A remark on this, made in my reply, elicited what follows in aletter during his travel home: "Odd enough that remark of yours. I hadbeen wondering at Rome that Juvenal (which I have been always luggingout of a bag, on all occasions) never used the fire-flies for anillustration. But even now, they are only partially seen; and no where Ibelieve in such enormous numbers as on the Mediterranean coast-road, between Genoa and Spezzia. I will ascertain for curiosity's sake, whether there are any at this time in Rome, or between it and thecountry-house of Mæcenas--on the ground of Horace's journey. I knowthere is a place on the French side of Genoa, where they begin at aparticular boundary-line, and are never seen beyond it. . . . All wild tosee you at Brussels! What a meeting we will have, please God!" CHAPTER IX. AGAIN IN ENGLAND. 1845-1846. Proposed Weekly Paper--Christmas Book of 1845--Stage Studies--Private Theatricals--Dickens as Performer and as Manager--Second Raven's Death--Busy with the _Cricket_--Disturbing Engagements--Prospectus written by him--New Book to be written in Switzerland--Leaves England. HIS first letter after again taking possession of Devonshire-terracerevived a subject on which opinions had been from time to timeinterchanged during his absence, and to which there was allusion in theagreement executed before his departure. The desire was still as strongwith him as when he started _Master Humphrey's Clock_ to establish aperiodical, that, while relieving his own pen by enabling him to receivefrequent help from other writers, might yet retain always the popularityof his name. "I really think I have an idea, and not a bad one, for theperiodical. I have turned it over, the last two days, very much in mymind: and think it positively good. I incline still to weekly; pricethree halfpence, if possible; partly original, partly select; notices ofbooks, notices of theatres, notices of all good things, notices of allbad ones; _Carol_ philosophy, cheerful views, sharp anatomization ofhumbug, jolly good temper; papers always in season, pat to the time ofyear; and a vein of glowing, hearty, generous, mirthful, beamingreference in everything to Home, and Fireside. And I would call it, sir, -- -------------------------------------------------------- | | | THE CRICKET. | | | | A cheerful creature that chirrups on the Hearth. | | | | _Natural History. _ | | | -------------------------------------------------------- "Now, don't decide hastily till you've heard what I would do. I wouldcome out, sir, with a prospectus on the subject of the Cricket thatshould put everybody in a good temper, and make such a dash at people'sfenders and arm-chairs as hasn't been made for many a long day. I couldapproach them in a different mode under this name, and in a more winningand immediate way, than under any other. I would at once sit down upontheir very hobs; and take a personal and confidential position with themwhich should separate me, instantly, from all other periodicalsperiodically published, and supply a distinct and sufficient reason formy coming into existence. And I would chirp, chirp, chirp away in everynumber until I chirped it up to----well, you shall say how many hundredthousand! . . . Seriously, I feel a capacity in this name and notion whichappears to give us a tangible starting-point, and a real, defined, strong, genial drift and purpose. I seem to feel that it is an aim andname which people would readily and pleasantly connect with _me_; andthat, for a good course and a clear one, instead of making circlespigeon-like at starting, here we should be safe. I think the generalrecognition would be likely to leap at it; and of the helpfulassociations that could be clustered round the idea at starting, and thepleasant tone of which the working of it is susceptible, I have not thesmallest doubt. . . . But you shall determine. What do you think? And whatdo you say? The chances are, that it will either strike you instantly, or not strike you at all. Which is it, my dear fellow? You know I am notbigoted to the first suggestions of my own fancy; but you know alsoexactly how I should use such a lever, and how much power I should findin it. Which is it? What do you say?--I have not myself said halfenough. Indeed I have said next to nothing; but like the parrot in thenegro-story, I 'think a dam deal. '" My objection, incident more or less to every such scheme, was the riskof losing its general advantage by making it too specially dependent onindividual characteristics; but there was much in favour of the presentnotion, and its plan had been modified so far, in the discussions thatfollowed, as to involve less absolute personal identification withDickens, --when discussion, project, everything was swept away by alarger scheme, in its extent and its danger more suitable to the wildand hazardous enterprises of that prodigious year (1845) of excitementand disaster. In this more tremendous adventure, already hinted at on aprevious page, we all became involved; and the chirp of the Cricket, delayed in consequence until Christmas, was heard then in circumstancesquite other than those that were first intended. The change he thusannounced to me about half way through the summer, in the same letterwhich told me the success of d'Orsay's kind exertion to procure a freshengagement for his courier Roche. [106] "What do you think of a notionthat has occurred to me in connection with our abandoned little weekly?It would be a delicate and beautiful fancy for a Christmas book, makingthe Cricket a little household god--silent in the wrong and sorrow ofthe tale, and loud again when all went well and happy. " The reader willnot need to be told that thus originated the story of the _Cricket onthe Hearth_, a Fairy Tale of Home, which had a great popularity in theChristmas days of 1845. Its sale at the outset doubled that of both itspredecessors. But as yet the larger adventure has not made itself known, and theinterval was occupied with the private play of which the notion had beenstarted between us at his visit in December, and which cannot now bebetter introduced than by a passage of autobiography. This belongs tohis early life, but I overlooked it when engaged on that portion of thememoir; and the accident gives it now a more appropriate place. For, though the facts related belong to the interval described in the chapteron his school-days and start in life, when he had to pass nearly twoyears as a reporter for one of the offices in Doctors' Commons, theinfluences and character it illustrates had their strongest expressionat this later time. I had asked him, after his return to Genoa, whetherhe continued to think that we should have the play; and this was hisreply. It will startle and interest the reader, and I must confess thatit took myself by surprise; for I did not thus early know the story ofhis boyish years, and I thought it strange that he could have concealedfrom me so much. "ARE we to have that play??? Have I spoken of it, ever since I came homefrom London, as a settled thing! I do not know if I have ever told youseriously, but I have often thought, that I should certainly have beenas successful on the boards as I have been between them. I assure you, when I was on the stage at Montreal (not having played for years) I wasas much astonished at the reality and ease, to myself, of what I did asif I had been another man. See how oddly things come about! When I wasabout twenty, and knew three or four successive years of Mathews's AtHomes from sitting in the pit to hear them, I wrote to Bartley who wasstage manager at Covent-garden, and told him how young I was, andexactly what I thought I could do; and that I believed I had a strongperception of character and oddity, and a natural power of reproducingin my own person what I observed in others. There must have beensomething in the letter that struck the authorities, for Bartley wroteto me, almost immediately, to say that they were busy getting up the_Hunchback_ (so they were!) but that they would communicate with meagain, in a fortnight. Punctual to the time, another letter came: withan appointment to do anything of Mathews's I pleased, before him andCharles Kemble, on a certain day at the theatre. My sister Fanny was inthe secret, and was to go with me to play the songs. I was laid up, whenthe day came, with a terrible bad cold and an inflammation of the face;the beginning, by the bye, of that annoyance in one ear to which I amsubject at this day. I wrote to say so, and added that I would resume myapplication next season. I made a great splash in the gallery soonafterwards; the _Chronicle_ opened to me; I had a distinction in thelittle world of the newspaper, which made me like it; began to write;didn't want money; had never thought of the stage, but as a means ofgetting it; gradually left off turning my thoughts that way; and neverresumed the idea. I never told you this, did I? See how near I may havebeen, to another sort of life. "This was at the time when I was at Doctors' Commons as a shorthandwriter for the proctors. And I recollect I wrote the letter from alittle office I had there, where the answer came also. It wasn't a verygood living (though not a _very_ bad one), and was wearily uncertain;which made me think of the Theatre in quite a business-like way. I wentto some theatre every night, with a very few exceptions, for at leastthree years: really studying the bills first, and going to where therewas the best acting: and always to see Mathews whenever he played. Ipractised immensely (even such things as walking in and out, and sittingdown in a chair): often four, five, six hours a day: shut up in my ownroom, or walking about in the fields. I prescribed to myself, too, asort of Hamiltonian system for learning parts; and learnt a greatnumber. I haven't even lost the habit now, for I knew my Canadian partsimmediately, though they were new to me. I must have done a good deal:for, just as Macready found me out, they used to challenge me atBraham's: and Yates, who was knowing enough in those things, wasn't tobe parried at all. It was just the same, that day at Keeley's, when theywere getting up the _Chuzzlewit_ last June. "If you think Macready would be interested in this Strange news from theSouth, tell it him. Fancy Bartley or Charles Kemble _now_! And howlittle they suspect me!" In the later letter from Lucerne written as hewas travelling home, he adds: "_Did_ I ever tell you the details of mytheatrical idea, before? Strange, that I should have quite forgotten it. I had an odd fancy, when I was reading the unfortunate little farce atCovent-garden, that Bartley looked as if some struggling recollectionand connection were stirring up within him--but it may only have beenhis doubts of that humorous composition. " The last allusion is to thefarce of the _Lamplighter_ which he read in the Covent-gardengreen-room, and to which former allusion was made in speaking of hiswish to give help to Macready's managerial enterprise. _What Might have Been_ is a history of too little profit to be worthanybody's writing, and here there is no call even to regret how greatan actor was in Dickens lost. He took to a higher calling, but itincluded the lower. There was no character created by him into whichlife and reality were not thrown with such vividness, that the thingwritten did not seem to his readers the thing actually done, whether theform of disguise put on by the enchanter was Mrs. Gamp, Tom Pinch, Mr. Squeers, or Fagin the Jew. He had the power of projecting himself intoshapes and suggestions of his fancy which is one of the marvels ofcreative imagination, and what he desired to express he became. Theassumptions of the theatre have the same method at a lower pitch, depending greatly on personal accident; but the accident as much as thegenius favoured Dickens, and another man's conception underwent in hisacting the process which in writing he applied to his own. Into both heflung himself with the passionate fullness of his nature; and though thetheatre had limits for him that may be named hereafter, and he wasalways greater in quickness of assumption than in steadiness ofdelineation, there was no limit to his delight and enjoyment in theadventures of our theatrical holiday. In less than three weeks after his return we had selected our play, castour parts, and all but engaged our theatre; as I find by a note from myfriend of the 22nd of July, in which the good natured laugh can give nowno offence, since all who might have objected to it have long gone fromus. Fanny Kelly, the friend of Charles Lamb, and a genuine successor tothe old school of actresses in which the Mrs. Orgers and Miss Popes werebred, was not more delightful on the stage than impracticable when off, and the little theatre in Dean-street which the Duke of Devonshire'smunificence had enabled her to build, and which with any ordinary goodsense might handsomely have realized both its uses, as a private schoolfor young actresses and a place of public amusement, was made uselessfor both by her mere whims and fancies. "Heavens! Such a scene as I havehad with Miss Kelly here, this morning! She wanted us put off until thetheatre should be cleaned and brushed up a bit, and she would and shewould not, for she is eager to have us and alarmed when she thinks ofus. By the foot of Pharaoh, it was a great scene! Especially when shechoked, and had the glass of water brought. She exaggerates theimportance of our occupation, dreads the least prejudice against theestablishment in the minds of any of our company, says the place alreadyhas quite ruined her, and with tears in her eyes protests that any jokesat her additional expense in print would drive her mad. By the body ofCæsar, the scene was incredible! It's like a preposterous dream. "Something of our play is disclosed by the oaths à la Bobadil, and of ouractors by "the jokes" poor Miss Kelly was afraid of. We had chosen EVERYMAN IN HIS HUMOUR, with special regard to the singleness andindividuality of the "humours" portrayed in it; and our company includedthe leaders of a journal then in its earliest years, but already notmore renowned as the most successful joker of jokes yet known inEngland, than famous for that exclusive use of its laughter and satirefor objects the highest or most harmless which makes it still soenjoyable a companion to mirth-loving right-minded men. Maclise tookearnest part with us, and was to have acted, but fell away on the eve ofthe rehearsals; and Stanfield, who went so far as to rehearse Downrighttwice, then took fright and also ran away:[107] but Jerrold, who playedMaster Stephen, brought with him Lemon, who took Brainworm; Leech, towhom Master Matthew was given; A'Beckett, who had condescended to thesmall part of William; and Mr. Leigh, who had Oliver Cob. I playedKitely, and Bobadil fell to Dickens, who took upon him the redoubtableCaptain long before he stood in his dress at the footlights; humouringthe completeness of his assumption by talking and writing Bobadil, tillthe dullest of our party were touched and stirred to something of hisown heartiness of enjoyment. One or two hints of these have been given, and I will only add to them his refusal of my wish that he should go andsee some special performance of the Gamester. "Man of the House. _Gamester!_ By the foot of Pharaoh, I will _not_ see the _Gamester_. Manshall not force, nor horses drag, this poor gentleman-like carcass intothe presence of the _Gamester_. I have said it. . . . The player Mac hathbidden me to eat and likewise drink with him, thyself, and short-neckedFox to-night--An' I go not, I am a hog, and not a soldier. But an' thougoest not--Beware citizen! Look to it. . . . Thine as thou meritest. BOBADIL (Captain). Unto Master Kitely. These. " The play was played on the 21st of September with a success that out-ranthe wildest expectation; and turned our little enterprise into one ofthe small sensations of the day. The applause of the theatre found soloud an echo in the press, that for the time nothing else was talkedabout in private circles; and after a week or two we had to yield (wedid not find it difficult) to a pressure of demand for more publicperformance in a larger theatre, by which a useful charity receivedimportant help, and its committee showed their gratitude by anentertainment to us at the Clarendon, a month or two later, when LordLansdowne took the chair. There was also another performance by us atthe same theatre, before the close of the year, of a play by Beaumontand Fletcher. I may not farther indicate the enjoyments that attendedthe success, and gave always to the first of our series of performancesa pre-eminently pleasant place in memory. Of the thing itself, however, it is necessary to be said that a modicumof merit goes a long way in all such matters, and it would not be safenow to assume that ours was much above the average of amateur attemptsin general. Lemon certainly had most of the stuff, conventional as wellas otherwise, of a regular actor in him, but this was not of a highkind; and though Dickens had the title to be called a born comedian, theturn for it being in his very nature, his strength was rather in thevividness and variety of his assumptions, than in the completeness, finish, or ideality he could give to any part of them. It is expressedexactly by what he says of his youthful preference for therepresentations of the elder Mathews. At the same time this was initself so thoroughly genuine and enjoyable, and had in it such quicknessand keenness of insight, that of its kind it was unrivalled; and itenabled him to present in Bobadil, after a richly coloured picture ofbombastical extravagance and comic exaltation in the earlier scenes, acontrast in the later of tragical humility and abasement, that had awonderful effect. But greatly as his acting contributed to the successof the night, this was nothing to the service he had rendered asmanager. It would be difficult to describe it. He was the life and soulof the entire affair. I never seemed till then to have known hisbusiness capabilities. He took everything on himself, and did the wholeof it without an effort. He was stage-director, very oftenstage-carpenter, scene-arranger, property-man, prompter, andband-master. Without offending any one he kept every one in order. Forall he had useful suggestions, and the dullest of clays under hispotter's hand were transformed into little bits of porcelain. Headjusted scenes, assisted carpenters, invented costumes, devisedplaybills, wrote out calls, and enforced as well as exhibited in hisproper person everything of which he urged the necessity on others. Sucha chaos of dirt, confusion, and noise, as the little theatre was the daywe entered it, and such a cosmos as he made it of cleanliness, order, and silence, before the rehearsals were over! There were only twothings left as we found them, bits of humanity both, understood fromthe first as among the fixtures of the place: a Man in a Straw Hat, tall, and very fitful in his exits and entrances, of whom we never couldpierce the mystery, whether he was on guard or in possession, or what hewas; and a solitary little girl, who flitted about so silently among ouractors and actresses that she might have been deaf and dumb but forsudden small shrieks and starts elicited by the wonders going on, whichobtained for her the name of Fireworks. There is such humorous allusionto both in a letter of Dickens's of a year's later date, on the occasionof the straw-hatted mystery revealing itself as a gentleman in trainingfor the tragic stage, that it may pleasantly close for the present ourprivate theatricals. "OUR STRAW-HATTED FRIEND from Miss Kelly's! Oh my stars! To think ofhim, all that time--Macbeth in disguise; Richard the Third grownstraight; Hamlet as he appeared on his seavoyage to England. What anartful villain he must be, never to have made any sign of the melodramathat was in him! What a wicked-minded and remorseless Iago to have seenyou doing Kitely night after night! raging to murder you and seize thepart! Oh fancy Miss Kelly 'getting him up' in Macbeth. Good Heaven! whata mass of absurdity must be shut up sometimes within the walls of thatsmall theatre in Dean-street! FIREWORKS will come out shortly, dependupon it, in the dumb line; and will relate her history in profoundlyunintelligible motions that will be translated into long and complicateddescriptions by a grey-headed father, and a red-wigged countryman, hisson. You remember the dumb dodge of relating an escape from captivity?Clasping the left wrist with the right hand, and the right wrist withthe left hand--alternately (to express chains)--and then going round andround the stage very fast, and coming hand over hand down an imaginarycord; at the end of which there is one stroke on the drum, and akneeling to the chandelier? If Fireworks can't do that--and won'tsomewhere--I'm a Dutchman. " Graver things now claim a notice which need not be proportioned to theirgravity, because, though they had an immediate effect on Dickens'sfortunes, they do not otherwise form part of his story. But first let mesay, he was at Broadstairs for three weeks in the autumn;[108] we hadthe private play on his return; and a month later, on the 28th ofOctober, a sixth child and fourth son, named Alfred Tennyson after hisgodfathers d'Orsay and Tennyson, was born in Devonshire-terrace. A deathin the family followed, the older and more gifted of his ravens havingindulged the same illicit taste for putty and paint which had been fatalto his predecessor. Voracity killed him, as it killed Scott's. He diedunexpectedly before the kitchen-fire. "He kept his eye to the last uponthe meat as it roasted, and suddenly turned over on his back with asepulchral cry of _Cuckoo_!" The letter which told me this (31st ofOctober) announced to me also that he was at a dead lock in hisChristmas story: "Sick, bothered and depressed. Visions of Brighton comeupon me; and I have a great mind to go there to finish my second part, or to Hampstead. I have a desperate thought of Jack Straw's. I never wasin such bad writing cue as I am this week, in all my life. " The reasonwas not far to seek. In the preparation for the proposed new Daily Paperto which reference has been made, he was now actively assisting, and hadall but consented to the publication of his name. I entertained at this time, for more than one powerful reason, thegreatest misgiving of his intended share in the adventure. It was notfully revealed until later on what difficult terms, physical as well asmental, Dickens held the tenure of his imaginative life; but already Iknew enough to doubt the wisdom of what he was at present undertaking. In all intellectual labour, his will prevailed so strongly when he fixedit on any object of desire, that what else its attainment might exactwas never duly measured; and this led to frequent strain and unconsciouswaste of what no man could less afford to spare. To the world gladdenedby his work, its production might always have seemed quite as easy asits enjoyment; but it may be doubted if ever any man's mental effortcost him more. His habits were robust, but not his health; that secrethad been disclosed to me before he went to America; and to the last herefused steadily to admit the enormous price he had paid for histriumphs and successes. The morning after his last note I heard again. "I have been so very unwell this morning, with giddiness, and headache, and botheration of one sort or other, that I didn't get up till noon:and, shunning Fleet-street" (the office of the proposed new paper), "amnow going for a country walk, in the course of which you will find me, if you feel disposed to come away in the carriage that goes to you withthis. It is to call for a pull of the first part of the _Cricket_, andwill bring you, if you like, by way of Hampstead to me, and subsequentlyto dinner. There is much I should like to discuss, if you can manage it. It's the loss of my walks, I suppose; but I am as giddy as if I weredrunk, and can hardly see. " I gave far from sufficient importance at thetime to the frequency of complaints of this kind, or to the recurrence, at almost regular periods after the year following the present, ofthose spasms in the side of which he has recorded an instance in therecollections of his childhood, and of which he had an attack in Genoa;but though not conscious of it to its full extent, this considerationwas among those that influenced me in a determination to endeavour toturn him from what could not but be regarded as full of peril. Hishealth, however, had no real prominence in my letter; and it is strangenow to observe that it appears as an argument in his reply. I had simplyput before him, in the strongest form, all the considerations drawn fromhis genius and fame that should deter him from the labour andresponsibility of a daily paper, not less than from the party andpolitical involvements incident to it; and here was the material part ofthe answer made. "Many thanks for your affectionate letter, which isfull of generous truth. These considerations weigh with me, _heavily_:but I think I descry in these times, greater stimulants to such aneffort; greater chance of some fair recognition of it; greater means ofpersevering in it, or retiring from it unscratched by any weapon oneshould care for; than at any other period. And most of all I have, sometimes, that possibility of failing health or fading popularitybefore me, which beckons me to such a venture when it comes within myreach. At the worst, I have written to little purpose, if I cannot_write myself right_ in people's minds, in such a case as this. " And so it went on: but it does not fall within my plan to describe morethan the issue, which was to be accounted so far at least fortunate thatit established a journal which has advocated steadily improvements inthe condition of all classes, rich as well as poor, and has been able, during late momentous occurrences, to give wider scope to its influenceby its enterprise and liberality. To that result, the great writer whosename gave its earliest attraction to the _Daily News_ was not enabled tocontribute much; but from him it certainly received the first impress ofthe opinions it has since consistently maintained. Its prospectus isbefore me in his handwriting, but it bears upon itself sufficiently thecharacter of his hand and mind. The paper would be kept free, it said, from personal influence or party bias; and would be devoted to theadvocacy of all rational and honest means by which wrong might beredressed, just rights maintained, and the happiness and welfare ofsociety promoted. The day for the appearance of its first number was that which was tofollow Peel's speech for the repeal of the corn laws; but, brief as myallusions to the subject are, the remark should be made that even beforethis day came there were interruptions to the work of preparation, atone time very grave, which threw such "changes of vexation" on Dickens'spersonal relations to the venture as went far to destroy both his faithand his pleasure in it. No opinion need be offered as to where most ofthe blame lay, and it would be useless now to apportion the share thatmight possibly have belonged to himself; but, owing to this cause, hiseditorial work began with such diminished ardour that its briefcontinuance could not but be looked for. A little note written "beforegoing home" at six o'clock in the morning of Wednesday the 21st ofJanuary 1846, to tell me they had "been at press three quarters of anhour, and were out before the _Times_, " marks the beginning; and a notewritten in the night of Monday the 9th of February, "tired to death andquite worn out, " to say that he had just resigned his editorialfunctions, describes the end. I had not been unprepared. A week before(Friday 30th of January) he had written: "I want a long talk with you. Iwas obliged to come down here in a hurry to give out a travelling letterI meant to have given out last night, and could not call upon you. Willyou dine with us to-morrow at six sharp? I have been revolving plans inmy mind this morning for quitting the paper and going abroad again towrite a new book in shilling numbers. Shall we go to Rochester to-morrowweek (my birthday) if the weather be, as it surely must be, better?" ToRochester accordingly we had gone, he and Mrs. Dickens and her sister, with Maclise and Jerrold and myself; going over the old Castle, Watts'sCharity, and Chatham fortifications on the Saturday, passing Sunday inCobham church and Cobham park; having our quarters both days at the Bullinn made famous in _Pickwick_; and thus, by indulgence of the desirewhich was always strangely urgent in him, associating his new resolve inlife with those earliest scenes of his youthful time. On one point ourfeeling had been in thorough agreement. If long continuance with thepaper was not likely, the earliest possible departure from it wasdesirable. But as the letters descriptive of his Italian travel (turnedafterwards into _Pictures from Italy_) had begun with its first number, his name could not at once be withdrawn; and for the time during whichthey were still to appear, he consented to contribute other occasionalletters on important social questions. Public executions and Raggedschools were among the subjects chosen by him, and all were handled withconspicuous ability. But the interval they covered was a short one. To the supreme control which he had quitted, I succeeded, retaining itvery reluctantly for the greater part of that weary, anxious, laboriousyear; but in little more than four months from the day the paperstarted, the whole of Dickens's connection with the _Daily News_, eventhat of contributing letters with his signature, had ceased. As he saidin the preface to the republished _Pictures_, it was a mistake to havedisturbed the old relations between himself and his readers, in sodeparting from his old pursuits. It had however been "a brief mistake;"the departure had been only "for a moment;" and now those pursuits were"joyfully" to be resumed in Switzerland. Upon the latter point we hadmuch discussion; but he was bent on again removing himself from London, and his glimpse of the Swiss mountains on his coming from Italy hadgiven him a passion to visit them again. "I don't think, " he wrote tome, "I _could_ shut out the paper sufficiently, here, to write well. No. . . I will write my book in Lausanne and in Genoa, and forget everythingelse if I can; and by living in Switzerland for the summer, and in Italyor France for the winter, I shall be saving money while I write. " Sotherefore it was finally determined. There is not much that calls for mention before he left. The firstconceiving of a new book was always a restless time, and other subjectsbeside the characters that were growing in his mind would persistentlyintrude themselves into his night-wanderings. With some surprise I heardfrom him afterwards, for example, of a communication opened with aleading member of the Government to ascertain what chances there mightbe for his appointment, upon due qualification, to the paid magistracyof London: the reply not giving him encouragement to entertain thenotion farther. It was of course but an outbreak of momentarydiscontent; and if the answer had been as hopeful as for others' sakerather than his own one could have wished it to be, the result wouldhave been the same. Just upon the eve of his departure, I may add, hetook much interest in the establishment of the General Theatrical Fund, of which he remained a trustee until his death. It had originated in thefact that the Funds of the two large theatres, themselves then disusedfor theatrical performances, were no longer available for the ordinarymembers of the profession; and on the occasion of his presiding at itsfirst dinner in April he said, very happily, that now the statue ofShakespeare outside the door of Drury-lane, as emphatically as his bustinside the church of Stratford-on-Avon, _pointed out his grave_. I amtempted also to mention as felicitous a word which I heard fall from himat one of the many private dinners that were got up in those days ofparting to give him friendliest farewell. "Nothing is ever so good as itis thought, " said Lord Melbourne. "And nothing so bad, " interposedDickens. The last incidents were that he again obtained Roche for his travellingservant, and that he let his Devonshire-terrace house to Sir James Dukefor twelve months, the entire proposed term of his absence. On the 30thof May they all dined with me, and on the following day left England. FOOTNOTES: [106] Count d'Orsay's note about Roche, replying to Dickens'srecommendation of him at his return, has touches of the pleasantry, wit, and kindliness that gave such a wonderful fascination to its writer. "Gore House, 6 July, 1845. MON CHER DICKENS, Nous sommes enchantés devotre retour. Voici, thank God, Devonshire Place ressuscité. Venezluncheoner demain à 1 heure, et amenez notre brave ami Forster. J'attends la perle fine des couriers. Vous l'immortalisez par cecertificat--la difficulté sera de trouver un maître digne de lui. J'essayerai de tout mon coeur. La Reine devroit le prendre pour alleren Saxe Gotha, car je suis convaincu qu'il est assez intelligent pourpouvoir découvrir ce Royaume. Gore House vous envoye un cargo d'amitiésdes plus sincères. Donnez de ma part 100, 000 kind regards à MadameDickens. Toujours votre affectionné, Ce D'ORSAY. J'ai vu le courier, c'est le tableau de l'honnêteté, et de la bonne humeur. Don't forget tobe here at one to-morrow, with Forster. " [107] "Look here! Enclosed are two packets--a large one and a small one. The small one, read first. It contains Stanny's renunciation as anactor!!! After receiving it, at dinner time to-day" (22nd of August), "Igave my brains a shake, and thought of George Cruikshank. After muchshaking, I made up the big packet, wherein I have put the case in theartfullest manner. R-r-r-r-ead it! as a certain Captain whom you knowobserves. " The great artist was not for that time procurable, havingengagements away from London, and Mr. Dudley Costello was substituted;Stanfield taking off the edge of his desertion as an actor by doingvaluable work in management and scenery. [108] Characteristic glimpse of this Broadstairs holiday is afforded bya letter of the 19th of August 1845. "Perhaps it is a fair specimen ofthe odd adventures which befall the inimitable, that the cab in whichthe children and the luggage were (I and my womankind being in theother) got its shafts broken in the city, last Friday morning, throughthe horse stumbling on the greasy pavement; _and was drawn to the wharf(about a mile) by a stout man_, amid such frightful howlings andderisive yellings on the part of an infuriated populace, as I neverheard before. Conceive the man in the broken shafts with his backtowards the cab; all the children looking out of the windows; and themuddy portmanteaus and so forth (which were all tumbled down when thehorse fell) tottering and nodding on the box! The best of it was, that_our_ cabman, being an intimate friend of the damaged cabman, insistedon keeping him company; and proceeded at a solemn walk, in front of theprocession; thereby securing to me a liberal share of the popularcuriosity and congratulation. . . . Everything here at Broadstairs is thesame as of old. I have walked 20 miles a day since I came down, and Iwent to a circus at Ramsgate on Saturday night, where _Mazeppa_ wasplayed in three long acts without an H in it: as if for a wager. Evven, and edds, and errors, and ands, were as plentiful as blackberries; butthe letter H was neither whispered in Evven, nor muttered in Ell, norpermitted to dwell in any form on the confines of the sawdust. " Withthis I will couple another theatrical experience of this holiday, whenhe saw a Giant played by a village comedian with a quite Gargantuesquefelicity, and singled out for my admiration his fine manner of sittingdown to a hot supper (of children), with the self-lauding exaltingremark, by way of grace, "How pleasant is a quiet conscience and anapproving mind!" CHAPTER X. A HOME IN SWITZERLAND. 1846. On the Rhine--Travelling Englishmen--At Lausanne--House-hunting--A Cottage chosen--First Impressions of Switzerland--Lausanne described--His Villa described--Design as to Work--English Neighbours--Swiss Prison System--Blind Institution--Interesting Case--Idiot Girl--Habits in Idiot Life and Savage--Begins Dombey--The Christmas Tale. HALTING only at Ostend, Verviers, Coblentz, and Mannheim, they reachedStrasburg on the seventh of June: the beauty of the weather[109] showingthem the Rhine at its best. At Mayence there had come aboard their boata German, who soon after accosted Mrs. Dickens on deck in excellentEnglish: "Your countryman Mr. Dickens is travelling this way just now, our papers say. Do you know him, or have you passed him anywhere?"Explanations ensuing, it turned out, by one of the odd chances my friendthought himself always singled out for, that he had with him a letter ofintroduction to the brother of this gentleman; who then spoke to him ofthe popularity of his books in Germany, and of the many persons he hadseen reading them in the steamboats as he came along. Dickens remarkingat this how great his own vexation was not to be able himself to speak aword of German, "Oh dear! that needn't trouble you, " rejoined the other;"for even in so small a town as ours, where we are mostly primitivepeople and have few travellers, I could make a party of at least fortypeople who understand and speak English as well as I do, and of at leastas many more who could manage to read you in the original. " His town wasWorms, which Dickens afterwards saw, ". . . A fine old place, thoughgreatly shrunken and decayed in respect of its population; with apicturesque old cathedral standing on the brink of the Rhine, and somebrave old churches shut up, and so hemmed in and overgrown withvineyards that they look as if they were turning into leaves andgrapes. " He had no other adventure on the Rhine. But, on the same steamer, a notunfamiliar bit of character greeted him in the well-known lineaments, moral and physical, of two travelling Englishmen who had got an immensebarouche on board with them, and had no plan whatever of going anywherein it. One of them wanted to have this barouche wheeled ashore at everylittle town and village they came to. The other was bent upon "seeing itout, " as he said--meaning, Dickens supposed, the river; though neitherof them seemed to have the slightest interest in it. "The locomotive onewould have gone ashore without the carriage, and would have beendelighted to get rid of it; but they had a joint courier, and neither ofthem would part with _him_ for a moment; so they went growling andgrumbling on together, and seemed to have no satisfaction but in askingfor impossible viands on board the boat, and having a grim delight inthe steward's excuses. " From Strasburg they went by rail on the 8th to Bâle, from which theystarted for Lausanne next day, in three coaches, two horses to each, taking three days for the journey: its only enlivening incident being anuproar between the landlord of an inn on the road, and one of thevoituriers who had libelled Boniface's establishment by complaining ofthe food. "After various defiances on both sides, the landlord said'Scélérat! Mécréant! Je vous boaxerai!' to which the voiturier replied, 'Aha! Comment dites-vous? Voulez-vous boaxer? Eh? Voulez-vous? Ah!Boaxez-moi donc! Boaxez-moi!'--at the same time accompanying theseretorts with gestures of violent significance, which explained that thisnew verb-active was founded on the well-known English verb to boax, orbox. If they used it once, they used it at least a hundred times, andgoaded each other to madness with it always. " The travellers reached thehotel Gibbon at Lausanne on the evening of Thursday the 11th of June;having been tempted as they came along to rest somewhat short of it, bya delightful glimpse of Neuchâtel. "On consideration however I thoughtit best to come on here, in case I should find, when I begin to write, that I want streets sometimes. In which case, Geneva (which I hope wouldanswer the purpose) is only four and twenty miles away. " He at once began house-hunting, and had two days' hard work of it. Hefound the greater part of those let to the English like small villas inthe Regent's-park, with verandahs, glass-doors opening on lawns, andalcoves overlooking the lake and mountains. One he was tempted by, higher up the hill, "poised above the town like a ship on a high wave;"but the possible fury of its winter winds deterred him. Greater stillwas the temptation to him of "L'Elysée, " more a mansion than a villa;with splendid grounds overlooking the lake, and in its corridors andstaircases as well as furniture like an old fashioned country house inEngland; which he could have got for twelve months for £160. "But when Icame to consider its vastness, I was rather dismayed at the prospect ofwindy nights in the autumn, with nobody staying in the house to make itgay. " And so he again fell back upon the very first place he had seen, Rosemont, quite a doll's house; with two pretty little salons, adining-room, hall, and kitchen, on the ground floor; and with justenough bedrooms upstairs to leave the family one to spare. "It isbeautifully situated on the hill that rises from the lake, within tenminutes' walk of this hotel, and furnished, though scantily as all hereare, better than others except Elysée, on account of its having beingbuilt and fitted up (the little salons in the Parisian way) by thelandlady and her husband for themselves. They lived now in a smallerhouse like a porter's lodge, just within the gate. A portion of thegrounds is farmed by a farmer, and _he_ lives close by; so that, whileit is secluded, it is not at all lonely. " The rent was to be ten poundsa month for half a year, with reduction to eight for the second half, ifhe should stay so long; and the rooms and furniture were to be describedto me, so that according to custom I should be quite at home there, assoon as, also according to a custom well-known, his own ingeniousre-arrangements and improvements in the chairs and tables should becompleted. "I shall merely observe at present therefore, that my littlestudy is upstairs, and looks out, from two French windows opening into abalcony, on the lake and mountains; and that there are roses enough tosmother the whole establishment of the _Daily News_ in. Likewise, thereis a pavilion in the garden, which has but two rooms in it; in one ofwhich, I think you shall do your work when you come. As to bowers forreading and smoking, there are as many scattered about the grounds, asthere are in Chalk-farm tea-gardens. But the Rosemont bowers are reallybeautiful. Will you come to the bowers. . . ?" Very pleasant were the earliest impressions of Switzerland with whichthis first letter closed. "The country is delightful in the extreme--asleafy, green, and shady, as England; full of deep glens, and branchyplaces (rather a Leigh Huntish expression), and bright with all sorts offlowers in profusion. [110] It abounds in singing birds besides--verypleasant after Italy; and the moonlight on the lake is noble. Prodigiousmountains rise up from its opposite shore (it is eight or nine milesacross, at this point), and the Simplon, the St. Gothard, Mont Blanc, and all the Alpine wonders are piled there, in tremendous grandeur. Thecultivation is uncommonly rich and profuse. There are all manner ofwalks, vineyards, green lanes, cornfields, and pastures full of hay. Thegeneral neatness is as remarkable as in England. There are no priests ormonks in the streets, and the people appear to be industrious andthriving. French (and very intelligible and pleasant French) seems to bethe universal language. I never saw so many booksellers' shops crammedwithin the same space, as in the steep up-and-down streets of Lausanne. " Of the little town he spoke in his next letter as having its naturaldulness increased by that fact of its streets going up and down hillabruptly and steeply, like the streets in a dream; and the consequentdifficulty of getting about it. "There are some suppressed churches init, now used as packers' warehouses: with cranes and pulleys growing outof steeple-towers; little doors for lowering goods through, fitted intoblocked-up oriel windows; and cart-horses stabled in crypts. These alsohelp to give it a deserted and disused appearance. On the other hand, asit is a perfectly free place subject to no prohibitions or restrictionsof any kind, there are all sorts of new French books and publications init, and all sorts of fresh intelligence from the world beyond the Juramountains. It contains only one Roman Catholic church, which is mainlyfor the use of the Savoyards and Piedmontese who come trading over theAlps. As for the country, it cannot be praised too highly, or reportedtoo beautiful. There are no great waterfalls, or walks throughmountain-gorges, _close_ at hand, as in some other parts of Switzerland;but there is a charming variety of enchanting scenery. There is theshore of the lake, where you may dip your feet, as you walk, in thedeep blue water, if you choose. There are the hills to climb up, leadingto the great heights above the town; or to stagger down, leading to thelake. There is every possible variety of deep green lanes, vineyard, cornfield, pasture-land, and wood. There are excellent country roadsthat might be in Kent or Devonshire: and, closing up every view andvista, is an eternally changing range of prodigious mountains--sometimesred, sometimes grey, sometimes purple, sometimes black; sometimes whitewith snow; sometimes close at hand; and sometimes very ghosts in theclouds and mist. " In the heart of these things he was now to live and work for at leastsix months; and, as the love of nature was as much a passion with him inhis intervals of leisure, as the craving for crowds and streets when hewas busy with the creatures of his fancy, no man was better qualified toenjoy what was thus open to him from his little farm. The view from each side of it was different in character, and from onethere was visible the liveliest aspect of Lausanne itself, close athand, and seeming, as he said, to be always coming down the hill withits steeples and towers, not able to stop itself. "From a fine longbroad balcony on which the windows of my little study on the first floor(where I am now writing) open, the lake is seen to wonderfuladvantage, --losing itself by degrees in the solemn gorge of mountainsleading to the Simplon pass. Under the balcony is a stone colonnade, onwhich the six French windows of the drawing-room open; and quantities ofplants are clustered about the pillars and seats, very prettily. One ofthese drawing-rooms is furnished (like a French hotel) with red velvet, and the other with green; in both, plenty of mirrors and nice whitemuslin curtains; and for the larger one in cold weather there is acarpet, the floors being bare now, but inlaid in squares withdifferent-coloured woods. " His description did not close until, in everynook and corner inhabited by the several members of the family, I wasmade to feel myself at home; but only the final sentence need be added. "Walking out into the balcony as I write, I am suddenly reminded, by thesight of the Castle of Chillon glittering in the sunlight on the lake, that I omitted to mention that object in my catalogue of the Rosemontbeauties. Please to put it in, like George Robins, in a line by itself. " [Illustration] Regular evening walks of nine or ten miles were named in the same letter(22nd of June) as having been begun;[111] and thoughts of his books werealready stirring in him. "An odd shadowy undefined idea is at workwithin me, that I could connect a great battle-field somehow with mylittle Christmas story. Shapeless visions of the repose and peacepervading it in after-time; with the corn and grass growing over theslain, and people singing at the plough; are so perpetually floatingbefore me, that I cannot but think there may turn out to be somethinggood in them when I see them more plainly. . . . I want to get Four Numbersof the monthly book done here, and the Christmas book. If all goes well, and nothing changes, and I can accomplish this by the end of November, Ishall run over to you in England for a few days with a light heart, andleave Roche to move the caravan to Paris in the meanwhile. It will bejust the very point in the story when the life and crowd of thatextraordinary place will come vividly to my assistance in writing. " Suchwas his design; and, though difficulties not now seen started up whichhe had a hard fight to get through, he managed to accomplish it. Hisletter ended with a promise to tell me, when next he wrote, of the smallcolony of English who seemed ready to give him even more than the usualwelcome. Two visits had thus early been paid him by Mr. Haldimand, formerly a member of the English parliament, an accomplished man, who, with his sister Mrs. Marcet (the well-known authoress), had long madeLausanne his home. He had a very fine seat just below Rosemont, and hischaracter and station had made him quite the little sovereign of theplace. "He has founded and endowed all sorts of hospitals andinstitutions here, and he gives a dinner to-morrow to introduce ourneighbours, whoever they are. " He found them to be happily the kind of people who rendered entirelypleasant those frank and cordial hospitalities which the charm of hispersonal intercourse made every one so eager to offer him. The dinner atMr. Haldimand's was followed by dinners from the guests he met there;from an English lady[112] married to a Swiss, Mr. And Mrs. Cerjat, clever and agreeable both, far beyond the common; from her sister weddedto an Englishman, Mr. And Mrs. Goff; and from Mr. And Mrs. Watson ofRockingham-castle in Northamptonshire, who had taken the Elysée onDickens giving it up, and with whom, as with Mr. Haldimand, hisrelations continued to be very intimate long after he left Lausanne. Inhis drive to Mr. Cerjat's dinner a whimsical difficulty presenteditself. He had set up, for use of his wife and children, an odd littleone-horse-carriage; made to hold three persons sideways, so that theyshould avoid the wind always blowing up or down the valley; and he foundit attended with one of the drollest consequences conceivable. "It can'tbe easily turned; and as you face to the side, all sorts of evolutionsare necessary to bring you 'broad-side to' before the door of the housewhere you are going. The country houses here are very like those uponthe Thames between Richmond and Kingston (this, particularly), withgrounds all round. At Mr. Cerjat's we were obliged to be carried, likethe child's riddle, round the house and round the house, withouttouching the house; and we were presented in the most alarming manner, three of a row, first to all the people in the kitchen, then to thegoverness who was dressing in her bedroom, then to the drawing-roomwhere the company were waiting for us, then to the dining-room wherethey were spreading the table, and finally to the hall where we were gotout--scraping the windows of each apartment as we glared slowly intoit. " A dinner party of his own followed of course; and a sad occurrence, ofwhich he and his guests were unconscious, signalised the evening (15thof July). "While we were sitting at dinner, one of the prettiest girlsin Lausanne was drowned in the lake--in the most peaceful water, reflecting the steep mountains, and crimson with the setting sun. Shewas bathing in one of the nooks set apart for women, and seems somehowto have entangled her feet in the skirts of her dress. She was anaccomplished swimmer, as many of the girls are here, and drifted, suddenly, out of only five feet water. Three or four friends who werewith her, _ran away_, screaming. Our children's governess was on thelake in a boat with M. Verdeil (my prison-doctor) and his family. Theyran inshore immediately; the body was quickly got out; and M. Verdeil, with three or four other doctors, laboured for some hours to restoreanimation; but she only sighed once. After all that time, she wasobliged to be borne, stiff and stark, to her father's house. She was hisonly child, and but 17 years old. He has been nearly dead since, and allLausanne has been full of the story. I was down by the lake, near theplace, last night; and a boatman _acted_ to me the whole scene:depositing himself finally on a heap of stones, to represent the body. " With M. Verdeil, physician to the prison and vice-president of thecouncil of health, introduced by Mr. Haldimand, there had already beenmuch communication; and I could give nothing more characteristic ofDickens than his reference to this, and other similar matters in whichhis interest was strongly moved during his first weeks at Lausanne. [113] "Some years ago, when they set about reforming the prison at Lausanne, they turned their attention, in a correspondence of republican feeling, to America; and taking the Philadelphian system for granted, adopted it. Terrible fits, new phases of mental affection, and horrible madness, among the prisoners, were very soon the result; and attained to such analarming height, that M. Verdeil, in his public capacity, began toreport against the system, and went on reporting and working against ituntil he formed a party who were determined not to have it, and causedit to be abolished--except in cases where the imprisonment does notexceed ten months in the whole. It is remarkable that in his notes ofthe different cases, there is _every effect_ I mentioned as havingobserved myself at Philadelphia; even down to those contained in thedescription of the man who had been there thirteen years, and who_picked his hands_ so much as he talked. He has only recently, he says, read the _American Notes_; but he is so much struck by the perfectcoincidence that he intends to republish some extracts from his ownnotes, side by side with these passages of mine translated into French. I went with him over the prison the other day. It is wonderfully wellarranged for a continental jail, and in perfect order. The sentenceshowever, or some of them, are very terrible. I saw one man sent therefor murder under circumstances of mitigation--for 30 years. Upon thesilent social system all the time! They weave, and plait straw, and makeshoes, small articles of turnery and carpentry, and little common woodenclocks. But the sentences are too long for that monotonous and hopelesslife; and, though they are well-fed and cared for, they generally breakdown utterly after two or three years. One delusion seems to becomecommon to three-fourths of them after a certain time of imprisonment. Under the impression that there is something destructive put into theirfood 'pour les guérir de crime' (says M. Verdeil), they refuse to eat!" It was at the Blind Institution, however, of which Mr. Haldimand was thepresident and great benefactor, that Dickens's attention was most deeplyarrested; and there were two cases in especial of which the detail maybe read with as much interest now as when my friend's letters werewritten, and as to which his own suggestions open up still ratherstartling trains of thought. The first, which in its attraction for himhe found equal even to Laura Bridgman's, was that of a young man of 18:"born deaf and dumb, and stricken blind by an accident when he was aboutfive years old. The Director of the institution is a young German, ofgreat ability, and most uncommonly prepossessing appearance. Hepropounded to the scientific bodies of Geneva, a year ago (when thisyoung man was under education in the asylum), the possibility ofteaching him to speak--in other words, to play with his tongue upon histeeth and palate as if on an instrument, and connect particularperformances with particular words conveyed to him in thefinger-language. They unanimously agreed that it was quite impossible. The German set to work, and the young man now speaks very plainly anddistinctly: without the least modulation, of course, but withcomparatively little hesitation; expressing the words aloud as they arestruck, so to speak, upon his hands; and showing the most intense andwonderful delight in doing it. This is commonly acquired, as you know, by the deaf and dumb who learn by sight; but it has never before beenachieved in the case of a deaf, dumb, and blind subject. He is anextremely lively, intelligent, good-humoured fellow; an excellentcarpenter; a first-rate turner; and runs about the building with acertainty and confidence which none of the merely blind pupils acquire. He has a great many ideas, and an instinctive dread of death. He knowsof God, as of Thought enthroned somewhere; and once told, on nature'sprompting (the devil's of course), a lie. He was sitting at dinner, andthe Director asked him whether he had had anything to drink; to which heinstantly replied 'No, ' in order that he might get some more, though hehad been served in his turn. It was explained to him that this was awrong thing, and wouldn't do, and that he was to be locked up in a roomfor it: which was done. Soon after this, he had a dream of being bittenin the shoulder by some strange animal. As it left a great impression onhis mind, he told M. The Director that he had told another lie in thenight. In proof of it he related his dream, and added, 'It must be a lieyou know, because there is no strange animal here, and I never wasbitten. ' Being informed that this sort of lie was a harmless one, andwas called a dream, he asked whether dead people ever dreamed[114] whilethey were lying in the ground. He is one of the most curious andinteresting studies possible. " The second case had come in on the very day that Dickens visited theplace. "When I was there" (8th of July) "there had come in, thatmorning, a girl of ten years old, born deaf and dumb and blind, and soperfectly untaught that she has not learnt to have the least controleven over the performance of the common natural functions. . . . And yetshe _laughs sometimes_ (good God! conceive what at!)--and is dreadfullysensitive from head to foot, and very much alarmed, for some hoursbefore the coming on of a thunder storm. Mr. Haldimand has been longtrying to induce her parents to send her to the asylum. At last theyhave consented; and when I saw her, some of the little blind girls weretrying to make friends with her, and to lead her gently about. She wasdressed in just a loose robe from the necessity of changing herfrequently, but had been in a bath, and had had her nails cut (whichwere previously very long and dirty), and was not at allill-looking--quite the reverse; with a remarkably good and pretty littlemouth, but a low and undeveloped head of course. It was pointed out tome, as very singular, that the moment she is left alone, or freed fromanybody's touch (which is the same thing to her), she instantlycrouches down with her hands up to her ears, in exactly the position ofa child before its birth; and so remains. I thought this such a strangecoincidence with the utter want of advancement in her moral being, thatit made a great impression on me; and conning it over and over, I beganto think that this is surely the invariable action of savages too, andthat I have seen it over and over again described in books of voyagesand travels. Not having any of these with me, I turned to _RobinsonCrusoe_; and I find De Foe says, describing the savages who came on theisland after Will Atkins began to change for the better and commandedunder the grave Spaniard for the common defence, 'their posture wasgenerally sitting upon the ground, with their knees up towards theirmouth, and the head put between the two hands, leaning down upon theknees'--exactly the same attitude!" In his next week's letter hereported further: "I have not been to the Blind asylum again yet, butthey tell me that the deaf and dumb and blind child's _face_ isimproving obviously, and that she takes great delight in the firsteffort made by the Director to connect himself with an occupation of hertime. He gives her, every day, two smooth round pebbles to roll over andover between her two hands. She appears to have an idea that it is tolead to something; distinctly recognizes the hand that gives them toher, as a friendly and protecting one; and sits for hours quite busy. " To one part of his very thoughtful suggestion I objected, and would haveattributed to a mere desire for warmth, in her as in the savage, what hesupposed to be part of an undeveloped or embryo state explaining alsothe absence of sentient and moral being. To this he replied (25th ofJuly): "I do not think that there is reason for supposing that thesavage attitude originates in the desire of warmth, because all nakedsavages inhabit hot climates; and their instinctive attitude, if it hadreference to heat or cold, would probably be the coolest possible; liketheir delight in water, and swimming. I do not think there is any raceof savage men, however low in grade, inhabiting cold climates, who donot kill beasts and wear their skins. The girl decidedly improves inface, and, if one can yet use the word as applied to her, in manner too. No communication by the speech of touch has yet been established withher, but the time has not been long enough. " In a later letter he tellsme (24th of August): "The deaf, dumb, and blind girl is decidedlyimproved, and very much improved, in this short time. No communicationis yet established with her, but that is not to be expected. They havegot her out of that strange, crouching position; dressed her neatly; andaccustomed her to have a pleasure in society. She laughs frequently, andalso claps her hands and jumps; having, God knows how, some inwardsatisfaction. I never saw a more tremendous thing in its way, in mylife, than when they stood her, t'other day, in the centre of a group ofblind children who sang a chorus to the piano; and brought her hand, andkept it, in contact with the instrument. A shudder pervaded her wholebeing, her breath quickened, her colour deepened, --and I can compare itto nothing but returning animation in a person nearly dead. It wasreally awful to see how the sensation of the music fluttered and stirredthe locked-up soul within her. " The same letter spoke again of theyouth: "The male subject is well and jolly as possible. He is very fondof smoking. I have arranged to supply him with cigars during our stayhere; so he and I are in amazing sympathy. I don't know whether hethinks I grow them, or make them, or produce them by winking, or what. But it gives him a notion that the world in general belongs to me. ". . . Before his kind friend left Lausanne the poor fellow had been taught tosay, "Monsieur Dickens m'a donné les cigares, " and at their leave-takinghis gratitude was expressed by incessant repetition of these words for afull half-hour. Certainly by no man was gratitude more persistently earned, than byDickens, from all to whom nature or the world had been churlish orunfair. Not to those only made desolate by poverty or the temptationsincident to it, but to those whom natural defects or infirmities hadplaced at a disadvantage with their kind, he gave his firstconsideration; helping them personally where he could, sympathising andsorrowing with them always, but above all applying himself to theinvestigation of such alleviation or cure as philosophy or science mightbe able to apply to their condition. This was a desire so eager asproperly to be called one of the passions of his life, visible in him tothe last hour of it. Only a couple of weeks, themselves not idle ones, had passed over him atRosemont when he made a dash at the beginning of his real work; fromwhich indeed he had only been detained so long by the non-arrival of abox dispatched from London before his own departure, containing not hisproper writing materials only, but certain quaint little bronze figuresthat thus early stood upon his desk, and were as much needed for theeasy flow of his writing as blue ink or quill pens. "I have not beenidle" (28th of June) "since I have been here, though at first I was'kept out' of the big box as you know. I had a good deal to write forLord John about the Ragged schools. I set to work and did that. A gooddeal for Miss Coutts, in reference to her charitable projects. I set towork and did _that_. Half of the children's New Testament[115] to write, or pretty nearly. I set to work and did _that_. Next I cleared off thegreater part of such correspondence as I had rashly pledged myself to;and then. . . . BEGAN DOMBEY! I performed this feat yesterday--only wrote the first slip--but there itis, and it is a plunge straight over head and ears into the story. . . . Besides all this, I have really gone with great vigour at the French, where I find myself greatly assisted by the Italian; and am subject totwo descriptions of mental fits in reference to the Christmas book: one, of the suddenest and wildest enthusiasm; one, of solitary and anxiousconsideration. . . . By the way, as I was unpacking the big box I tookhold of a book, and said to 'Them, '--'Now, whatever passage my thumbrests on, I shall take as having reference to my work. ' It was TRISTRAMSHANDY, and opened at these words, 'What a work it is likely to turnout! Let us begin it!'" The same letter told me that he still inclined strongly to "the field ofbattle notion" for his Christmas volume, but was not as yet advanced init; being curious first to see whether its capacity seemed to strike meat all. My only objection was to his adventure of opening two stories atonce, of which he did not yet see the full danger; but for the momentthe Christmas fancy was laid aside, and not resumed, except in passingallusions, until after the close of August, when the first two numbersof _Dombey_ were done. The interval supplied fresh illustration of hislife in his new home, not without much interest; and as I have shownwhat a pleasant social circle, "wonderfully friendly andhospitable"[116] to the last, already had grouped itself round him inLausanne, and how full of "matter to be heard and learn'd" he found suchinstitutions as its prison and blind school, the picture will receiveattractive touches if I borrow from his letters written during thisoutset of _Dombey_, some farther notices as well of the generalprogress of his work, as of what was specially interesting or amusing tohim at the time, and of how the country and the people impressed him. Inall of these his character will be found strongly marked. FOOTNOTES: [109] "We have hardly seen a cloud in the sky since you and I parted atRamsgate, and the heat has been extraordinary. " [110] "The green woods and green shades about here, " he says in anotherletter, "are more like Cobham in Kent, than anything we dream of at thefoot of the Alpine passes. " [111] To these the heat interposed occasional difficulties. "Setting offlast night" (5th of July) "at six o'clock, in accordance with my usualcustom, for a long walk, I was really quite floored when I got to thetop of a long steep hill leading out of the town--the same by which weentered it. I believe the great heats, however, seldom last more than aweek at a time; there are always very long twilights, and very deliciousevenings; and now that there is moonlight, the nights are wonderful. Thepeacefulness and grandeur of the Mountains and the Lake areindescribable. There comes a rush of sweet smells with the morning airtoo, which is quite peculiar to the country. " [112] "One of her brothers by the bye, now dead, had large property inIreland--all Nenagh, and the country about; and Cerjat told me, as wewere talking about one thing and another, that when he went over therefor some months to arrange the widow's affairs, he procured a copy ofthe curse which had been read at the altar by the parish priest ofNenagh, against any of the flock who didn't subscribe to the O'Connelltribute. " [113] In a note may be preserved another passage from the same letter. "I have been queer and had trembling legs for the last week. But it hasbeen almost impossible to sleep at night. There is a breeze to-day (25thof July) and I hope another storm is coming up. . . . There is a theatrehere; and whenever a troop of players pass through the town, they haltfor a night and act. On the day of our tremendous dinner party of eight, there was an infant phenomenon; whom I should otherwise have seen. Lastnight there was a Vaudeville company; and Charley, Roche, and Anne went. The Brave reports the performances to have resembled Greenwich Fair. . . . There are some Promenade Concerts in the open air in progress now: butas they are just above one part of our garden we don't go: merelysitting outside the door instead, and hearing it all where we are. . . . Mont Blanc has been very plain lately. One heap of snow. A Frenchman gotto the top, the other day. " [114] ". . . Ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil. . . . " [115] This was an abstract, in plain language for the use of hischildren, of the narrative in the Four Gospels. Allusion was made, shortly after his death, to the existence of such a manuscript, withexpression of a wish that it might be published; but nothing would haveshocked himself so much as any suggestion of that kind. The little piecewas of a peculiarly private character, written for his children, andexclusively and strictly for their use only. [116] So he described it. "I do not think, " he adds, "we could havefallen on better society. It is a small circle certainly, but quitelarge enough. The Watsons improve very much on acquaintance. Everybodyis very well informed; and we are all as social and friendly as peoplecan be, and very merry. We play whist with great dignity and gravitysometimes, interrupted only by the occasional facetiousness of theinimitable. " CHAPTER XI. SWISS PEOPLE AND SCENERY. 1846. The Mountains and Lake--Manners of the People--A Country Fête--Rifle-shooting--A Marriage--Gunpowder Festivities--Progress in Work--Hints to Artist for Illustrating Dombey--Henry Hallam--Sight-seers from England--Trip to Chamounix--Mule Travelling--Mer de Glace--Tête Noire Pass--An Accident--Castle of Chillon described--Political Celebration--Good Conduct of the People--Protestant and Catholic Cantons. WHAT at once had struck him as the wonderful feature in the mountainscenery was its everchanging and yet unchanging aspect. It was nevertwice like the same thing to him. Shifting and altering, advancing andretreating, fifty times a day, it was unalterable only in its grandeur. The lake itself too had every kind of varying beauty for him. Bymoonlight it was indescribably solemn; and before the coming on of astorm had a strange property in it of being disturbed, while yet the skyremained clear and the evening bright, which he found to be mysteriousand impressive in an especial degree. Such a storm had come among hisearliest and most grateful experiences; a degree of heat worse even thanin Italy[117] having disabled him at the outset for all exertion untilthe lightning, thunder, and rain arrived. The letter telling me this(5th July) described the fruit as so abundant in the little farm, thatthe trees of the orchard in front of his house were bending beneath it;spoke of a field of wheat sloping down to the side window of hisdining-room as already cut and carried; and said that the roses, whichthe hurricane of rain had swept away, were come back lovelier and ingreater numbers than ever. Of the ordinary Swiss people he formed from the first a high opinionwhich everything during his stay among them confirmed. He thought it thegreatest injustice to call them "the Americans of the Continent. " In hisfirst letters he said of the peasantry all about Lausanne that they wereas pleasant a people as need be. He never passed, on any of the roads, man, woman, or child, without a salutation; and anything churlish ordisagreeable he never noticed in them. "They have not, " he continued, "the sweetness and grace of the Italians, or the agreeable manners ofthe better specimens of French peasantry, but they are admirablyeducated (the schools of this canton are extraordinarily good, in everylittle village), and always prepared to give a civil and pleasantanswer. There is no greater mistake. I was talking to my landlord[118]about it the other day, and he said he could not conceive how it hadever arisen, but that when he returned from his eighteen years' servicein the English navy he shunned the people, and had no interest in themuntil they gradually forced their real character upon his observation. We have a cook and a coachman here, taken at hazard from the people ofthe town; and I never saw more obliging servants, or people who didtheir work so truly _with a will_. And in point of cleanliness, order, and punctuality to the moment, they are unrivalled. . . . " The first great gathering of the Swiss peasantry which he saw was in thethird week after his arrival, when a country fête was held at a placecalled The Signal; a deep green wood, on the sides and summit of a veryhigh hill overlooking the town and all the country round; and he gave mevery pleasant account of it. "There were various booths for eating anddrinking, and the selling of trinkets and sweetmeats; and in one placethere was a great circle cleared, in which the common people waltzed andpolka'd, without cessation, to the music of a band. There was a greatroundabout for children (oh my stars what a family were proprietors ofit! A sunburnt father and mother, a humpbacked boy, a great poodle-dogpossessed of all sorts of accomplishments, and a young murderer ofseventeen who turned the machinery); and there were some games of chanceand skill established under trees. It was very pretty. In some of thedrinking booths there were parties of German peasants, twenty togetherperhaps, singing national drinking-songs, and making a most exhilaratingand musical chorus by rattling their cups and glasses on the table anddrinking them against each other, to a regular tune. You know it as astage dodge, but the real thing is splendid. Farther down the hill, other peasants were rifle-shooting for prizes, at targets set on theother side of a deep ravine, from two to three hundred yards off. It wasquite fearful to see the astonishing accuracy of their aim, and how, every time a rifle awakened the ten thousand echoes of the green glen, some men crouching behind a little wall immediately in front of thetargets, sprung up with large numbers in their hands denoting where theball had struck the bull's eye--and then in a moment disappeared again. Standing in a ring near these shooters was another party of Germanssinging hunting-songs, in parts, most melodiously. And down in thedistance was Lausanne, with all sorts of haunted-looking old towersrising up before the smooth water of the lake, and an evening sky allred, and gold, and bright green. When it closed in quite dark, all thebooths were lighted up; and the twinkling of the lamps among the forestof trees was beautiful. . . . " To this pretty picture, a letter of a littlelater date, describing a marriage on the farm, added farther comicalillustration of the rifle-firing propensities of the Swiss, and hadotherwise also whimsical touches of character. "One of the farmer'speople--a sister, I think--was married from here the other day. It iswonderful to see how naturally the smallest girls are interested inmarriages. Katey and Mamey were as excited as if they were eighteen. Thefondness of the Swiss for gunpowder on interesting occasions, is one ofthe drollest things. For three days before, the farmer himself, in themidst of his various agricultural duties, plunged out of a little doornear my windows, about once in every hour, and fired off a rifle. Ithought he was shooting rats who were spoiling the vines; but he wasmerely relieving his mind, it seemed, on the subject of the approachingnuptials. All night afterwards, he and a small circle of friends keptperpetually letting off guns under the casement of the bridal chamber. ABride is always drest here, in black silk; but this bride wore merino ofthat colour, observing to her mother when she bought it (the old lady is82, and works on the farm), 'You know, mother, I am sure to wantmourning for you, soon; and the same gown will do. '"[119] Meanwhile, day by day, he was steadily moving on with his first number;feeling sometimes the want of streets in an "extraordinary nervousnessit would be hardly possible to describe, " that would come upon him afterhe had been writing all day; but at all other times finding the reposeof the place very favourable to industry. "I am writing slowly at first, of course" (5th of July), "but I hope I shall have finished the firstnumber in the course of a fortnight at farthest. I have done the firstchapter, and begun another. I say nothing of the merits thus far, or ofthe idea beyond what is known to you; because I prefer that you shouldcome as fresh as may be upon them. I shall certainly have a greatsurprise for people at the end of the fourth number;[120] and I thinkthere is a new and peculiar sort of interest, involving the necessity ofa little bit of delicate treatment whereof I will expound my idea to youby and by. When I have done this number, I may take a run to Chamounixperhaps. . . . My thoughts have necessarily been called away from theChristmas book. The first _Dombey_ done, I think I should fly off tothat, whenever the idea presented itself vividly before me. I stillcherish the Battle fancy, though it is nothing but a fancy as yet. " Aweek later he told me that he hoped to finish the first number by thatday week or thereabouts, when he should then run and look for hisChristmas book in the glaciers at Chamounix. His progress to this pointhad been pleasing him. "I think _Dombey_ very strong--with greatcapacity in its leading idea; plenty of character that is likely totell; and some rollicking facetiousness, to say nothing of pathos. Ihope you will soon judge of it for yourself, however; and I know youwill say what you think. I have been very constantly at work. " Six dayslater I heard that he had still eight slips to write, and for a week hadput off Chamounix. But though the fourth chapter yet was incomplete, he could repress nolonger the desire to write to me of what he was doing (18th of July). "Ithink the general idea of _Dombey_ is interesting and new, and has greatmaterial in it. But I don't like to discuss it with you till you haveread number one, for fear I should spoil its effect. When done--aboutWednesday or Thursday, please God--I will send it in two days' posts, seven letters each day. If you have it set at once (I am afraid youcouldn't read it, otherwise than in print) I know you will impress on B. & E. The necessity of the closest secrecy. The very name getting out, would be ruinous. The points for illustration, and the enormous carerequired, make me excessively anxious. The man for Dombey, if Brownecould see him, the class man to a T, is Sir A---- E----, of D----'s. Great pains will be necessary with Miss Tox. The Toodle family shouldnot be too much caricatured, because of Polly. I should like Browne tothink of Susan Nipper, who will not be wanted in the first number. Afterthe second number, they will all be nine or ten years older, but thiswill not involve much change in the characters, except in the childrenand Miss Nipper. What a brilliant thing to be telling you all thesenames so familiarly, when you know nothing about 'em! I quite enjoy it. By the bye, I hope you may like the introduction of Solomon Gills. [121]I think he lives in a good sort of house. . . . One word more. What do youthink, as a name for the Christmas book, of THE BATTLE OF LIFE? It isnot a name I have conned at all, but has just occurred to me inconnection with that foggy idea. If I can see my way, I think I willtake it next, and clear it off. If you knew how it hangs about me, I amsure you would say so too. It would be an immense relief to have itdone, and nothing standing in the way of _Dombey_. " Within the time left for it the opening number was done, but two littleincidents preceded still the trip to Chamounix. The first was a visitfrom Hallam to Mr. Haldimand. "Heavens! how Hallam did talk yesterday! Idon't think I ever saw him so tremendous. Very good-natured andpleasant, in his way, but Good Heavens! how he did talk. That famous dayyou and I remember was nothing to it. His son was with him, and hisdaughter (who has an impediment in her speech, as if nature weredetermined to balance that faculty in the family), and his niece, apretty woman, the wife of a clergyman and a friend of Thackeray's. Itstrikes me that she must be 'the little woman' he proposed to take us todrink tea with, once, in Golden-square. Don't you remember? His greatfavourite? She is quite a charming person anyhow. " I hope to be pardonedfor preserving an opinion which more familiar later acquaintanceconfirmed, and which can hardly now give anything but pleasure to thelady of whom it is expressed. To the second incident he alludes morebriefly. "As Haldimand and Mrs. Marcet and the Cerjats had devised asmall mountain expedition for us for to-morrow, I didn't like to allowChamounix to stand in the way. So we go with them first, and start onour own account on Tuesday. We are extremely pleasant with thesepeople. " The close of the same letter (25th of July), mentioning twopieces of local news, gives intimation of the dangers incident to allSwiss travelling, and of such special precautions as were necessary forthe holiday among the mountains he was now about to take. "My first newsis that a crocodile is said to have escaped from the Zoological gardensat Geneva, and to be now 'zigzag-zigging' about the lake. But I can'tmake out whether this is a great fact, or whether it is a pious fraud toprevent too much bathing and liability to accidents. The other piece ofnews is more serious. An English family whose name I don't know, consisting of a father, mother, and daughter, arrived at the hotelGibbon here last Monday, and started off on some mountain expedition inone of the carriages of the country. It was a mere track, the road, andought to have been travelled only by mules, but the Englishman persisted(as Englishmen do) in going on in the carriage; and in answer to all therepresentations of the driver that no carriage had ever gone up there, said he needn't be afraid he wasn't going to be paid for it, and soforth. Accordingly, the coachman got down and walked by the horses'heads. It was fiery hot; and, after much tugging and rearing, the horsesbegan to back, and went down bodily, carriage and all, into a deepravine. The mother was killed on the spot; and the father and daughterare lying at some house hard by, not expected to recover. " His next letter (written on the second of August) described his ownfirst real experience of mountain-travel. "I begin my letter to-night, but only begin, for we returned from Chamounix in time for dinner justnow, and are pretty considerably done up. We went by a mountain pass notoften crossed by ladies, called the Col de Balme, where your imaginationmay picture Kate and Georgy on mules _for ten hours at a stretch_, riding up and down the most frightful precipices. We returned by thepass of the Tête Noire, which Talfourd knows, and which is of adifferent character, but astonishingly fine too. Mont Blanc, and theValley of Chamounix, and the Mer de Glace, and all the wonders of thatmost wonderful place, are above and beyond one's wildest expectations. Icannot imagine anything in nature more stupendous or sublime. If I wereto write about it now, I should quite rave--such prodigious impressionsare rampant within me. . . . You may suppose that the mule-travelling ispretty primitive. Each person takes a carpet-bag strapped on the mulebehind himself or herself: and that is all the baggage that can becarried. A guide, a thorough-bred mountaineer, walks all the way, leading the lady's mule; I say the lady's par excellence, in complimentto Kate; and all the rest struggle on as they please. The cavalcadestops at a lone hut for an hour and a half in the middle of the day, andlunches brilliantly on whatever it can get. Going by that Col de Balmepass, you climb up and up and up for five hours and more, andlook--from a mere unguarded ledge of path on the side of theprecipice--into such awful valleys, that at last you are firm in thebelief that you have got above everything in the world, and that therecan be nothing earthly overhead. Just as you arrive at this conclusion, a different (and oh Heaven! what a free and wonderful) air comes blowingon your face; you cross a ridge of snow; and lying before you (whollyunseen till then), towering up into the distant sky, is the vast rangeof Mont Blanc, with attendant mountains diminished by its majestic sideinto mere dwarfs tapering up into innumerable rude Gothic pinnacles;deserts of ice and snow; forests of firs on mountain sides, of noaccount at all in the enormous scene; villages down in the hollow, thatyou can shut out with a finger; waterfalls, avalanches, pyramids andtowers of ice, torrents, bridges; mountain upon mountain until the verysky is blocked away, and you must look up, overhead, to see it. GoodGod, what a country Switzerland is, and what a concentration of it is tobe beheld from that one spot! And (think of this in Whitefriars and inLincoln's-inn!) at noon on the second day from here, the first day beingbut half a one by the bye and full of uncommon beauty, you lie down onthat ridge and see it all! . . . I think I must go back again (whether youcome or not!) and see it again before the bad weather arrives. We havehad sunlight, moonlight, a perfectly transparent atmosphere with not acloud, and the grand plateau on the very summit of Mont Blanc so clearby day and night that it was difficult to believe in intervening chasmsand precipices, and almost impossible to resist the idea that one mightsally forth and climb up easily. I went into all sorts of places; armedwith a great pole with a spike at the end of it, like a leaping-pole, and with pointed irons buckled on to my shoes; and am all but knockedup. I was very anxious to make the expedition to what is called 'TheGarden:' a green spot covered with wild flowers, lying across the Mer deGlace, and among the most awful mountains: but I could find noEnglishman at the hotels who was similarly disposed, and the Brave_wouldn't go_. No sir! He gave in point blank (having been horriblyblown in a climbing excursion the day before), and couldn't stand it. Heis too heavy for such work, unquestionably. [122] In all other respects, I think he has exceeded himself on this journey; and if you could haveseen him riding a very small mule, up a road exactly like the brokenstairs of Rochester-castle; with a brandy bottle slung over hisshoulder, a small pie in his hat, a roast fowl looking out of hispocket, and a mountain staff of six feet long carried cross-wise on thesaddle before him; you'd have said so. He was (next to me) theadmiration of Chamounix, but he utterly quenched me on the road. " On the road as they returned there had been a small adventure, the daybefore this letter was written. Dickens was jingling slowly up the TêteNoire pass (his mule having thirty-seven bells on its head), riding atthe moment quite alone, when--"an Englishman came bolting out of alittle châlet in a most inaccessible and extraordinary place, and saidwith great glee 'There has been an accident here sir!' I had beenthinking of anything else you please; and, having no reason to supposehim an Englishman except his language, which went for nothing in theconfusion, stammered out a reply in French and stared at him, in a verydamp shirt and trowsers, as he stared at me in a similar costume. On hisrepeating the announcement, I began to have a glimmering of commonsense; and so arrived at a knowledge of the fact that a German lady hadbeen thrown from her mule and had broken her leg, at a short distanceoff, and had found her way in great pain to that cottage, where theEnglishman, a Prussian, and a Frenchman, had presently come up; and theFrenchman, by extraordinary good fortune, was a surgeon! They were allfrom Chamounix, and the three latter were walking in company. It wasquite charming to see how attentive they were. The lady was fromLausanne; where she had come from Frankfort to make excursions with hertwo boys, who are at the college here, during the vacation. She had noother attendants, and the boys were crying and very frightened. TheEnglishman was in the full glee of having just cut up one white dress, two chemises, and three pocket handkerchiefs, for bandages; theFrenchman had set the leg skilfully; the Prussian had scoured aneighboring wood for some men to carry her forward; and they were all atit, behind the hut, making a sort of handbarrow on which to bear her. When it was constructed, she was strapped upon it; had her poor headcovered over with a handkerchief, and was carried away; and we all wenton in company: Kate and Georgy consoling and tending the sufferer, whowas very cheerful, but had lost her husband only a year. " With the samedelightful observation, and missing no touch of kindly character thatmight give each actor his place in the little scene, the sequel isdescribed; but it does not need to add more. It was hoped that by meansof relays of men at Martigny the poor lady might have been carried onsome twenty miles, in the cooler evening, to the head of the lake, andso have been got into the steamer; but she was too exhausted to be bornebeyond the inn, and there she had to remain until joined by relativesfrom Frankfort. A few days' rest after his return were interposed, before he began hissecond number; and until the latter has been completed, and theChristmas story taken in hand, I do not admit the reader to his fullconfidences about his writing. But there were other subjects that amusedand engaged him up to that date, as well when he was idle as when againhe was at work, to which expression so full of character is given in hisletters that they properly find mention here. Between the second and the ninth of August he went down one evening tothe lake, five minutes after sunset, when the sky was covered withsullen black clouds reflected in the deep water, and saw the Castle ofChillon. He thought it the best deserving and least exaggerated inrepute, of all the places he had seen. "The insupportable solitude anddreariness of the white walls and towers, the sluggish moat anddrawbridge, and the lonely ramparts, I never saw the like of. But thereis a court-yard inside; surrounded by prisons, oubliettes, and oldchambers of torture; so terrifically sad, that death itself is not moresorrowful. And oh! a wicked old Grand Duke's bedchamber upstairs in thetower, with a secret staircase down into the chapel, where the bats werewheeling about; and Bonnivard's dungeon; and a horrible trap whenceprisoners were cast out into the lake; and a stake all burnt andcrackled up, that still stands in the torture-ante-chamber to the saloonof justice (!)--what tremendous places! Good God, the greatest mysteryin all the earth, to me, is how or why the world was tolerated by itsCreator through the good old times, and wasn't dashed to fragments. " On the ninth of August he wrote to me that there was to be a prodigiousfête that day in Lausanne, in honour of the first anniversary of theproclamation of the New Constitution:[123] "beginning at sunrise withthe firing of great guns, and twice two thousand rounds of rifles by twothousand men; proceeding at eleven o'clock with a great service, andsome speechifying, in the church; and ending to-night with a great ballin the public promenade, and a general illumination of the town. " Theauthorities had invited him to a place of honour in the ceremony; andthough he did not go ("having been up till three o'clock in the morning, and being fast asleep at the appointed time"), the reply that sent histhanks expressed also his sympathy. He was the readier with this fromhaving discovered, in the "old" or "gentlemanly" party of the place("including of course the sprinkling of English who are always tory, hang 'em!"), so wonderfully sore a feeling about the revolution thuscelebrated, that to avoid its fête the majority had gone off by steamerthe day before, and those who remained were prophesying assaults on theunilluminated houses, and other excesses. Dickens had no faith in suchpredictions. "The people are as perfectly good tempered and quietalways, as people can be. I don't know what the last Government may havebeen, but they seem to me to do very well with this, and to berationally and cheaply provided for. If you believed what thediscontented assert, you wouldn't believe in one solitary man or womanwith a grain of goodness or civility. I find nothing _but_ civility; andI walk about in all sorts of out-of-the-way places, where they liverough lives enough, in solitary cottages. " The issue was told in twopostscripts to his letter, and showed him to be so far right. "P. S. 6o'clock afternoon. The fête going on, in great force. Not one of 'theold party' to be seen. I went down with one to the ground before dinner, and nothing would induce him to go within the barrier with me. Yet whatthey call a revolution was nothing but a change of government. Thirty-six thousand people, in this small canton, petitioned against theJesuits--God knows with good reason. The Government chose to call them'a mob. ' So, to prove that they were not, they turned the Governmentout. I honour them for it. They are a genuine people, these Swiss. Thereis better metal in them than in all the stars and stripes of all thefustian banners of the so-called, and falsely called, U-nited States. They are a thorn in the sides of European despots, and a good wholesomepeople to live near Jesuit-ridden Kings on the brighter side of themountains. " "P. P. S. August 10th. . . . The fête went off as quietly as Isupposed it would; and they danced all night. " These views had forcible illustration in a subsequent letter, where hedescribes a similar revolution that occurred at Geneva before he leftthe country; and nothing could better show his practical good sense in amatter of this kind. The description will be given shortly; andmeanwhile I subjoin a comment made by him, not less worthy of attention, upon my reply to his account of the anti-Jesuit celebration at Lausanne. "I don't know whether I have mentioned before, that in the valley of theSimplon hard by here, where (at the bridge of St. Maurice, over theRhone) this Protestant canton ends and a Catholic canton begins, youmight separate two perfectly distinct and different conditions ofhumanity by drawing a line with your stick in the dust on the ground. Onthe Protestant side, neatness; cheerfulness; industry; education;continual aspiration, at least, after better things. On the Catholicside, dirt, disease, ignorance, squalor, and misery. I have soconstantly observed the like of this, since I first came abroad, that Ihave a sad misgiving that the religion of Ireland lies as deep at theroot of all its sorrows, even as English misgovernment and Toryvillainy. " Almost the counterpart of this remark is to be found in oneof the later writings of Macaulay. FOOTNOTES: [117] "When it is very hot, it is hotter than in Italy. The over-hangingroofs of the houses, and the quantity of wood employed in theirconstruction (where they use tile and brick in Italy), render themperfect forcing-houses. The walls and floors, hot to the hand all thenight through, interfere with sleep; and thunder is almost alwaysbooming and rumbling among the mountains. " Besides this, though therewere no mosquitoes as in Genoa, there was at first a plague of flies, more distressing even than at Albaro. "They cover everything eatable, fall into everything drinkable, stagger into the wet ink ofnewly-written words and make tracks on the writing paper, clog theirlegs in the lather on your chin while you are shaving in the morning, and drive you frantic at any time when there is daylight if you fallasleep. " [118] His preceding letter had sketched his landlord for me. . . . "Therewas an annual child's fête at the Signal the other night: given by thetown. It was beautiful to see perhaps a hundred couple of childrendancing in an immense ring in a green wood. Our three eldest were amongthem, presided over by my landlord, who was 18 years in the Englishnavy, and is the Sous Prefet of the town--a very good fellow indeed;quite an Englishman. Our landlady, nearly twice his age, used to keepthe Inn (a famous one) at Zurich: and having made £50, 000 bestowed it ona young husband. She might have done worse. " [119] The close of this letter sent family remembrances incharacteristic form. "Kate, Georgy, Mamey, Katey, Charley, Walley, Chickenstalker, and Sampson Brass, commend themselves unto your Honour'sloving remembrance. " The last but one, who continued long to bear thename, was Frank; the last, who very soon will be found to have another, was Alfred. [120] The life of Paul was nevertheless prolonged to the fifth number. [121] The mathematical-instrument-maker, who Mr. Taine describes as amarine store dealer. [122] Poor fellow! he had latent disease of the heart, which developeditself rapidly on Dickens's return to England. [123] Out of the excitements consequent on the public festivities arosesome domestic inconveniences. I will give one of them. "Fanchette thecook, distracted by the forthcoming fête, madly refused to buy a duckyesterday as ordered by the Brave, and a battle of life ensued betweenthose two powers. The Brave is of opinion that 'datter woman have wentmad. ' But she seems calm to-day; and I suppose won't poison thefamily. . . . " CHAPTER XII. SKETCHES CHIEFLY PERSONAL. 1846. Home Politics--Malthus Philosophy--Mark Lemon--An Incident of Character--Hood's _Tylney Hall_--Duke of Wellington--Lord Grey--A Recollection of his Reporting Days--Returns to _Dombey_--Two English Travellers--Party among the Hills--Lord Vernon--A Wonderful Carriage--Reading of First _Dombey_--A Sketch from Life--Trip to Great St. Bernard--Ascent of the Mountain--The Convent--Scene at the Mountain Top--Bodies found in the Snow--The Holy Fathers--A Holy Brother and _Pickwick_. SOME sketches from the life in his pleasantest vein now claim to betaken from the same series of letters; and I will prefix one or two lessimportant notices, for the most part personal also, that havecharacteristic mention of his opinions in them. Home-politics he criticized in what he wrote on the 24th of August, muchin the spirit of his last excellent remark on the Protestant andCatholic cantons; having no sympathy with the course taken by the whigsin regard to Ireland after they had defeated Peel on his coercion bill, and resumed the government. "I am perfectly appalled by the hesitationand cowardice of the whigs. To bring in that arms bill, bear the bruntof the attack upon it, take out the obnoxious clauses, still retain thebill, and finally withdraw it, seems to me the meanest and most haltingway of going to work that ever was taken. I cannot believe in them. Lord John must be helpless among them. They seem somehow or other neverto know what cards they hold in their hands, and to play them outblindfold. The contrast with Peel (as he was last) is, I agree with you, certainly not favourable. I don't believe now they ever would havecarried the repeal of the corn law, if they could. " Referring in thesame letter[124] to the reluctance of public men of all parties to givethe needful help to schemes of emigration, he ascribed it to a secretbelief "in the gentle politico-economical principle that a surpluspopulation must and ought to starve;" in which for himself he nevercould see anything but disaster for all who trusted to it. "I amconvinced that its philosophers would sink any government, any cause, any doctrine, even the most righteous. There is a sense and humanity inthe mass, in the long run, that will not bear them; and they will wrecktheir friends always, as they wrecked them in the working of thePoor-law-bill. Not all the figures that Babbage's calculating machinecould turn up in twenty generations, would stand in the long run againstthe general heart. " Of other topics in his letters, one or two have the additionalattractiveness derivable from touches of personal interest when thesemay with propriety be printed. Hardly within the class might have fallena mention of Mark Lemon, of whom our recent play, and his dramaticadaptation of the _Chimes_, had given him pleasant experiences, if Ifelt less strongly not only that its publication would have been gladlysanctioned by the subject of it, but that it will not now displeaseanother to whom also it refers, herself the member of a family invarious ways distinguished on the stage, and to whom, since herhusband's death, well-merited sympathy and respect have been paid. "After turning Mrs. Lemon's portrait over, in my mind, I am convincedthat there is not a grain of bad taste in the matter, and that there isa manly composure and courage in the proceeding deserving of the utmostrespect. If Lemon were one of your braggart honest men, he would set ataint of bad taste upon that action as upon everything else he might sayor do; but being what he is, I admire him for it greatly, and hold it tobe a proof of an exalted nature and a true heart. Your idea of him, ismine. I am sure he is an excellent fellow. We talk about not liking suchand such a man because he doesn't look one in the face, --but how much weshould esteem a man who looks the world in the face, composedly, andneither shirks it nor bullies it. Between ourselves, I say with shameand self-reproach that I am quite sure if Kate had been a Columbine herportrait would not be hanging, 'in character, ' in Devonshire-terrace. " He speaks thus of a novel by Hood. "I have been reading poor Hood's_Tylney Hall_; the most extraordinary jumble of impossible extravagance, and especial cleverness, I ever saw. The man drawn to the life from thepirate-bookseller, is wonderfully good; and his recommendation to areduced gentleman from the university, to rise from nothing as he, thepirate, did, and go round to the churches and see whether there's anopening, and begin by being a beadle, is one of the finest things I everread, in its way. " The same letter has a gentle little trait of thegreat duke, touching in its simplicity, and worth preserving. "I had aletter from Tagart the day before yesterday, with a curious littleanecdote of the Duke of Wellington in it. They have had a small cottageat Walmer; and one day--the other day only--the old man met their littledaughter Lucy, a child about Mamey's age, near the garden; and havingkissed her, and asked her what was her name, and who and what herparents were, tied a small silver medal round her neck with a bit ofpink ribbon, and asked the child to keep it in remembrance of him. Thereis something good, and aged, and odd in it. Is there not?" Another of his personal references was to Lord Grey, to whose style ofspeaking and general character of mind he had always a strongly-expresseddislike, drawn not impartially or quite justly from the days of reactionthat followed the reform debates, when the whig leader's leastattractive traits were presented to the young reporter. "He is a veryintelligent agreeable fellow, the said Watson by the bye" (he isspeaking of the member of the Lausanne circle with whom he establishedfriendliest after-intercourse); "he sat for Northamptonshire in thereform bill time, and is high sheriff of his county and all the rest ofit; but has not the least nonsense about him, and is a thorough goodliberal. He has a charming wife, who draws well, and is making a sketchof Rosemont for us that shall be yours in Paris. " (It is already, bypermission of its present possessor, the reader's, and all the world'swho may take interest in the little doll's house of Lausanne whichlodged so illustrious a tenant. ) "He was giving me some goodrecollections of Lord Grey the other evening when we were playing atbattledore (old Lord Grey I mean), and of the constitutionalimpossibility he and Lord Lansdowne and the rest laboured under, of everpersonally attaching a single young man, in all the excitement of thatexciting time, to the leaders of the party. It was quite a delight tome, as I listened, to recall my own dislike of his style of speaking, his fishy coldness, his uncongenial and unsympathetic politeness, andhis insufferable though most gentlemanly artificiality. The shape of hishead (I see it now) was misery to me, and weighed down my youth. . . . " It was now the opening of the second week in August; and before hefinally addressed himself to the second number of _Dombey_, he had againturned a lingering look in the direction of his Christmas book. "Itwould be such a great relief to me to get that small story out of theway. " Wisely, however, again he refrained, and went on with _Dombey_; atwhich he had been working for a little time when he described to me(24th of August) a visit from two English travellers, of one of whomwith the slightest possible touch he gives a speaking likeness. [125] "Not having your letter as usual, I sat down to write to you onspeculation yesterday, but lapsed in my uncertainty into _Dombey_, andworked at it all day. It was, as it has been since last Tuesday morning, incessantly raining regular mountain rain. After dinner, at a littleafter seven o'clock, I was walking up and down under the littlecolonnade in the garden, racking my brain about _Dombeys_ and _Battlesof Lives_, when two travel-stained-looking men approached, of whom one, in a very limp and melancholy straw hat, ducked, perpetually to me as hecame up the walk. I couldn't make them out at all; and it wasn't till Igot close up to them that I recognised A. And (in the straw hat) N. Theyhad come from Geneva by the steamer, and taken a scrambling dinner onboard. I gave them some fine Rhine wine, and cigars innumerable. A. Enjoyed himself and was quite at home. N. (an odd companion for a man ofgenius) was snobbish, but pleased and good-natured. A. Had a five poundnote in his pocket which he had worn down, by careless carrying about, to some two-thirds of its original size, and which was so ragged in itsremains that when he took it out bits of it flew about the table. 'OhLor you know--now really--like Goldsmith you know--or any of those greatmen!' said N. With the very 'snatches in his voice and burst ofspeaking' that reminded Leigh Hunt of Cloten. . . . The clouds were lying, as they do in such weather here, on the earth, and our friends saw nomore of Lake Leman than of Battersea. Nor had they, it might appear, seen more of the Mer de Glace, on their way here; their talk about itbearing much resemblance to that of the man who had been to Niagara andsaid it was nothing but water. " His next letter described a day's party of the Cerjats, Watsons, andHaldimands, among the neighbouring hills, which, contrary to his customwhile at work, he had been unable to resist the temptation of joining. They went to a mountain-lake twelve miles off, had dinner at thepublic-house on the lake, and returned home by Vevay at which theyrested for tea; and where pleasant talk with Mr. Cerjat led to anecdotesof an excellent friend of ours, formerly resident at Lausanne, withwhich the letter closed. Our friend was a distinguished writer, and aman of many sterling fine qualities, but with a habit of occasional freeindulgence in coarseness of speech, which, though his earlier life hadmade it as easy to acquire as difficult to drop, did always less thanjustice to a very manly, honest, and really gentle nature. He had asmuch genuinely admirable stuff in him as any favourite hero of Smollettor Fielding, and I never knew anyone who reminded me of those charactersso much. "It would seem, Mr. Cerjat tells me, that he was, when here, infinitely worse in his general style of conversation, thannow--sermuchser, as Toodles says, that Cerjat describes himself ashaving always been in unspeakable agony when he was at his table, lesthe should forget himself (or remember himself, as I suggested) and breakout before the ladies. There happened to be living here at that time astately English baronet and his wife, who had two milksop sons, concerning whom they cherished the idea of accomplishing their educationinto manhood coexistently with such perfect purity and innocence, thatthey were hardly to know their own sex. Accordingly, they were sent tono school or college, but had masters of all sorts at home, and thusreached eighteen years or so, in what Falstaff calls a kind of malegreen-sickness. At this crisis of their innocent existence, our ogrefriend encountered these lambs at dinner, with their father, at Cerjat'shouse; and, as if possessed by a devil, launched out into such frightfuland appalling impropriety--ranging over every kind of forbidden topicand every species of forbidden word and every sort of scandalousanecdote--that years of education in Newgate would have been as nothingcompared with their experience of that one afternoon. After turningpaler and paler, and more and more stoney, the baronet, with ahalf-suppressed cry, rose and fled. But the sons--intent on theogre--remained behind instead of following him; and are supposed to havebeen ruined from that hour. Isn't that a good story? I can SEE ourfriend and his pupils now. . . . Poor fellow! He seems to have a hard timeof it with his wife. She had no interest whatever in her children; andwas such a fury, that, being dressed to go out to dinner, she wouldsometimes, on no other provocation than a pin out of its place or somesuch thing, fall upon a little maid she had, beat her till she couldn'tstand, then tumble into hysterics, and be carried to bed. He sufferedmartyrdom with her; and seems to have been himself, in all good-naturedeasy-going ways, just what we know him now. " There were at this time some fresh arrivals of travelling English atLausanne, outside their own little circle, and among them anotherbaronet and his family made amusing appearance. "We have another Englishfamily here, one Sir Joseph and his lady, and ten children. Sir Joseph, a large baronet something in the Graham style, with a little, loquacious, flat-faced, damaged-featured, _old young_ wife. They arefond of society, and couldn't well have less. They delight in a view, and live in a close street at Ouchy, down among the drunken boatmen andthe drays and omnibuses, where nothing whatever is to be seen but thelocked wheels of carts scraping down the uneven, steep, stone pavement. The baronet plays double-dummy all day long, with an unhappy Swiss whomhe has entrapped for that purpose; the baronet's lady pays visits; andthe baronet's daughters play a Lausanne piano, which must be heard to beappreciated. . . . " Another sketch in the same letter touches little more than theeccentricities (but all in good taste and good humour) of the subject ofit, who is still gratefully remembered by English residents in Italy forhis scholarly munificence, and for very valuable service conferred by iton Italian literature. "Another curious man is backwards and forwardshere--a Lord Vernon, [126] who is well-informed, a great Italian scholardeep in Dante, and a very good-humoured gentleman, but who has falleninto the strange infatuation of attending every rifle-match that takesplace in Switzerland, accompanied by two men who load rifles for him, one after another, which he has been frequently known to fire off, two aminute, for fourteen hours at a stretch, without once changing hisposition or leaving the ground. He wins all kinds of prizes; goldwatches, flags, teaspoons, tea-boards, and so forth; and is constantlytravelling about with them, from place to place, in an extraordinarycarriage, where you touch a spring and a chair flies out, touch anotherspring and a bed appears, touch another spring and a closet of picklesopens, touch another spring and disclose a pantry. While Lady Vernon(said to be handsome and accomplished) is continually cutting acrossthis or that Alpine pass in the night, to meet him on the road, for aminute or two, on one of his excursions; these being the only times atwhich she can catch him. The last time he saw her, was five or sixmonths ago, when they met and supped together on the St. Gothard! It isa monomania with him, of course. He is a man of some note; seconded oneof Lord Melbourne's addresses; and had forty thousand a year, nowreduced to ten, but nursing and improving every day. He was with us lastMonday, and comes back from some out-of-the-way place to join anothersmall picnic next Friday. As I have said, he is the very soul of goodnature and cheerfulness, but one can't help being melancholy to see aman wasting his life in such a singular delusion. Isn't it odd? He knowsmy books very well, and seems interested in everything concerning them;being indeed accomplished in books generally, and attached to manyelegant tastes. " But the most agreeable addition to their own special circle was referredto in his first September letter, just when he was coming to the closeof his second number of _Dombey_. "There are two nice girls here, theLadies Taylor, daughters of Lord Headfort. Their mother was daughter (Ithink) of Sir John Stevenson, and Moore dedicated one part of the IrishMelodies to her. They inherit the musical taste, and sing very well. Aproposal is on foot for our all bundling off on Tuesday (16 strong) tothe top of the Great St. Bernard. But the weather seems to have broken, and the autumn rains to have set in; which I devoutly hope will break upthe party. It would be a most serious hindrance to me, just now; but Ihave rashly promised. Do you know young Romilly? He is coming over fromGeneva when 'the reading' comes off, and is a fine fellow I am told. There is not a bad little theatre here; and by way of an artificialcrowd, I should certainly have got it open with an amateur company, ifwe were not so few that the only thing we want is the audience. ". . . The"reading" named by him was that of his first number, which was to "comeoff" as soon as I could get the proofs out to him; but which the changesneedful to be made, and to be mentioned hereafter, still delayed. TheSt. Bernard holiday, which within sight of his Christmas-book labour hewould fain have thrown over, came off as proposed very fortunately forthe reader, who might otherwise have lost one of his pleasantestdescriptions. But before giving it, one more little sketch of charactermay be interposed as delicately done as anything in his writings. Steele's observation is in the outline, and Charles Lamb's humour in itstouch of colouring. ". . . There are two old ladies (English) living here who may serve me fora few lines of gossip--as I have intended they should, over and overagain, but I have always forgotten it. There were originally four oldladies, sisters, but two of them have faded away in the course ofeighteen years, and withered by the side of John Kemble in the cemetery. They are very little, and very skinny; and each of them wears a row offalse curls, like little rolling-pins, so low upon her brow, that thereis no forehead; nothing above the eyebrows but a deep horizontalwrinkle, and then the curls. They live upon some small annuity. Forthirteen years they have wanted very much to move to Italy, as theeldest old lady says the climate of this part of Switzerland doesn'tagree with her, and preys upon her spirits; but they have never beenable to go, because of the difficulty of moving 'the books. ' Thistremendous library belonged once upon a time to the father of these oldladies, and comprises about fifty volumes. I have never been able tosee what they are, because one of the old ladies always sits beforethem; but they look, outside, like very old backgammon-boards. The twodeceased sisters died in the firm persuasion that this precious propertycould never be got over the Simplon without some gigantic effort towhich the united family was unequal. The two remaining sisters live, andwill die also, in the same belief. I met the eldest (evidently drooping)yesterday, and recommended her to try Genoa. She looked shrewdly at thesnow that closes up the mountain prospect just now, and said that whenthe spring was quite set in, and the avalanches were down, and thepasses well open, she would certainly try that place, if they coulddevise any plan, in the course of the winter, for moving 'the books. 'The whole library will be sold by auction here, when they are both dead, for about a napoleon; and some young woman will carry it home in twojourneys with a basket. " The last letter sent me before he fell upon his self-appointed task forChristmas, contained a delightful account of the trip to the Great St. Bernard. It was dated on the sixth of September. "The weather obstinately clearing, we started off last Tuesday for theGreat St. Bernard, returning here on Friday afternoon. The partyconsisted of eleven people and two servants--Haldimand, Mr. And Mrs. Cerjat and one daughter, Mr. And Mrs. Watson, two Ladies Taylor, Kate, Georgy, and I. We were wonderfully unanimous and cheerful; went awayfrom here by the steamer; found at its destination a whole omnibusprovided by the Brave (who went on in advance everywhere); rode thereinto Bex; found two large carriages ready to take us to Martigny; sleptthere; and proceeded up the mountain on mules next day. Although the St. Bernard convent is, as I dare say you know, the highest inhabited spotbut one in the world, the ascent is extremely gradual and uncommonlyeasy: really presenting no difficulties at all, until within the lastleague, when the ascent, lying through a place called the valley ofdesolation, is very awful and tremendous, and the road is renderedtoilsome by scattered rocks and melting snow. The convent is a mostextraordinary place, full of great vaulted passages, divided from eachother with iron gratings; and presenting a series of the mostastonishing little dormitories, where the windows are so small (onaccount of the cold and snow), that it is as much as one can do to getone's head out of them. Here we slept: supping, thirty strong, in arambling room with a great wood-fire in it set apart for that purpose;with a grim monk, in a high black sugar-loaf hat with a great knob atthe top of it, carving the dishes. At five o'clock in the morning thechapel bell rang in the dismallest way for matins: and I, lying in bedclose to the chapel, and being awakened by the solemn organ and thechaunting, thought for a moment I had died in the night and passed intothe unknown world. "I wish to God you could see that place. A great hollow on the top of arange of dreadful mountains, fenced in by riven rocks of every shape andcolour: and in the midst, a black lake, with phantom clouds perpetuallystalking over it. Peaks, and points, and plains of eternal ice and snow, bounding the view, and shutting out the world on every side: the lakereflecting nothing: and no human figure in the scene. The air so fine, that it is difficult to breathe without feeling out of breath; and thecold so exquisitely thin and sharp that it is not to be described. Nothing of life or living interest in the picture, but the grey dullwalls of the convent. No vegetation of any sort or kind. Nothinggrowing, nothing stirring. Everything iron-bound, and frozen up. Besidethe convent, in a little outhouse with a grated iron door which you mayunbolt for yourself, are the bodies of people found in the snow who havenever been claimed and are withering away--not laid down, or stretchedout, but standing up, in corners and against walls; some erect andhorribly human, with distinct expressions on the faces; some sunk downon their knees; some dropping over on one side; some tumbled downaltogether, and presenting a heap of skulls and fibrous dust. There isno other decay in that atmosphere; and there they remain during theshort days and the long nights, the only human company out of doors, withering away by grains, and holding ghastly possession of the mountainwhere they died. "It is the most distinct and individual place I have seen, even in thistranscendent country. But, for the Saint Bernard holy fathers andconvent in themselves, I am sorry to say that they are a piece of assheer humbug as we ever learnt to believe in, in our young days. TrashyFrench sentiment and the dogs (of which, by the bye, there are onlythree remaining) have done it all. They are a lazy set of fellows; notover fond of going out themselves; employing servants to clear the road(which has not been important or much used as a pass these hundredyears); rich; and driving a good trade in Innkeeping: the convent beinga common tavern in everything but the sign. No charge is made for theirhospitality, to be sure; but you are shown to a box in the chapel, whereeverybody puts in more than could, with any show of face, be charged forthe entertainment; and from this the establishment derives a right goodincome. As to the self-sacrifice of living up there, they are obliged togo there young, it is true, to be inured to the climate: but it is aninfinitely more exciting and various life than any other convent canoffer; with constant change and company through the whole summer; with ahospital for invalids down in the valley, which affords another change;and with an annual begging-journey to Geneva and this place and all theplaces round for one brother or other, which affords farther change. Thebrother who carved at our supper could speak some English, and had justhad _Pickwick_ given him!--what a humbug he will think me when he triesto understand it! If I had had any other book of mine with me, I wouldhave given it him, that I might have had some chance of beingintelligible. . . . " FOOTNOTES: [124] Where he makes remark also on a class of offences which are stillmost inadequately punished: "I hope you will follow up your idea aboutthe defective state of the law in reference to women, by some remarks onthe inadequate punishment of that ruffian flippantly called by theliners the Wholesale Matrimonial Speculator. My opinion is, that in anywell-ordered state of society, and advanced spirit of socialjurisprudence, he would have been flogged more than once (privately), and certainly sentenced to transportation for no less a term than therest of his life. Surely the man who threw the woman out of window wasno worse, if so bad. " [125] Ten days before there had been a visit from Mr. Ainsworth and hisdaughters on their way to Geneva. "I breakfasted with him at the hotelGibbon next morning and they dined here afterwards, and we walked aboutall day, talking of our old days at Kensal-lodge. " The same letter toldme: "We had a regatta at Ouchy the other day, mainly supported by thecontributions of the English handfull. It concluded with a rowing-matchby women, which was very funny. I wish you could have seen Roche appearon the Lake, rowing, in an immense boat, Cook, Anne, two nurses, Katey, Mamey, Walley, Chickenstalker, and Baby; no boatmen or other degradingassistance; and all sorts of Swiss tubs splashing about them . . . Senioris coming here to-morrow, I believe, with his wife; and they talk ofBrunel and his wife as on their way. We dine at Haldimand's to meetSenior--which solitary and most interesting piece of intelligence is allthe news I know of . . . Take care you don't back out of your Parisengagement; but that we really do have (please God) some happy hoursthere. Kate, Georgy, Mamey, Katey, Charley, Walley, Chickenstalker, andBaby, send loves. . . . I am all anxiety and fever to know what we start_Dombey_ with!" [126] This was the fourth Baron Vernon, who succeeded to the title in1829, and died seven years after the date of Dickens's description, inhis 74th year. CHAPTER XIII. LITERARY LABOUR AT LAUSANNE. 1846. A Picture completed--Self-judgments--Christmas Fancies--Second Number of _Dombey_--A Personal Revelation--First Thought of Public Readings--Two Tales in Hand--Christmas Book given up--Goes to Geneva--Disquietudes of Authorship--Shadows from _Dombey_--A New Social Experience--Eccentricities--Feminine Smoking Party--Visit of the Talfourds--Christmas Book resumed--Lodging his Friends. SOMETHING of the other side of the medal has now to be presented. Hisletters enable us to see him amid his troubles and difficulties ofwriting, as faithfully as in his leisure and enjoyments; and when, tothe picture thus given of Dickens's home life in Switzerland, someaccount has been added of the vicissitudes of literary labour undergonein the interval, as complete a representation of the man will beafforded as could be taken from any period of his career. Of the largerlife whereof it is part, the Lausanne life is indeed a perfectmicrocosm, wanting only the London streets. This was his chief presentwant, as will shortly be perceived: but as yet the reader does not feelit, and he sees otherwise in all respects at his best the great observerand humourist; interested in everything that commended itself to athoroughly earnest and eagerly enquiring nature; popular beyond measurewith all having intercourse with him; the centre, and very soul, ofsocial enjoyment; letting nothing escape a vision that was not more keenthan kindly; and even when apparently most idle, never idle in the senseof his art, but adding day by day to experiences that widened its range, and gave freer and healthier play to an imagination always busily atwork, alert and active in a singular degree, and that seemed to be quiteuntiring. At his heart there was a genuine love of nature at all times;and strange as it may seem to connect this with such forms of humorousdelineation as are most identified with his genius, it is yet theliteral truth that the impressions of this noble Swiss scenery were withhim during the work of many subsequent years: a present and actual, though it might be seldom a directly conscious, influence. When he saidafterwards, that, while writing the book on which he is now engaged, hehad not seen less clearly each step of the wooden midshipman'sstaircase, each pew of the church in which Florence was married, or eachbed in the dormitory of Doctor Blimber's establishment, because he washimself at the time by the lake of Geneva, he might as truly have saidthat he saw them all the more clearly even because of that circumstance. He worked his humour to its greatest results by the freedom and force ofhis imagination; and while the smallest or commonest objects around himwere food for the one, the other might have pined or perished withoutadditional higher aliment. Dickens had little love for Wordsworth, buthe was himself an example of the truth the great poet never tired ofenforcing, that Nature has subtle helps for all who are admitted tobecome free of her wonders and mysteries. Another noticeable thing in him is impressed upon these letters, as uponmany also heretofore quoted, for indeed all of them are marvellouslyexact in the reproduction of his nature. He did not think lightly of hiswork; and the work that occupied him at the time was for the timeparamount with him. But the sense he entertained, whether right orwrong, of the importance of what he had to do, of the degree to which itconcerned others that the power he held should be exercisedsuccessfully, and of the estimate he was justified in forming as thefair measure of its worth or greatness, does not carry with it ofnecessity presumption or self-conceit. Few men have had less of either. It was part of the intense individuality by which he effected so much, to set the high value which in general he did upon what he was strivingto accomplish; he could not otherwise have mastered one half the work hedesigned; and we are able to form an opinion, more just now forourselves than it might have seemed to us then from others, of theweight and truth of such self-judgment. The fussy pretension of smallmen in great places, and the resolute self-assertion of great men insmall places, are things essentially different. _Respice finem_. Theexact relative importance of all our pursuits is to be arrived at bynicer adjustments of the Now and the Hereafter than are possible tocontemporary judgments; and there have been some indications since hisdeath confirmatory of the belief, that the estimate which he thoughthimself entitled to form of the labours to which his life was devoted, will be strengthened, not lessened, by time. Dickens proposed to himself, it will be remembered, to write at Lausannenot only the first four numbers of his larger book, but the Christmasbook suggested to him by his fancy of a battle field; and reserving whatis to be said of _Dombey_ to a later chapter, this and its successorwill deal only with what he finished as well as began in Switzerland, and will show at what cost even so much was achieved amid his other andlarger engagements. He had restless fancies and misgivings before he settled to his firstnotion. "I have been thinking this last day or two, " he wrote on the25th of July, "that good Christmas characters might be grown out of theidea of a man imprisoned for ten or fifteen years; his imprisonmentbeing the gap between the people and circumstances of the first part andthe altered people and circumstances of the second, and his own changedmind. Though I shall probably proceed with the Battle idea, I shouldlike to know what you think of this one?" It was afterwards used in amodified shape for the _Tale of Two Cities_. "I shall begin the littlestory straightway, " he wrote a few weeks later; "but I have been dimlyconceiving a very ghostly and wild idea, which I suppose I must nowreserve for the _next_ Christmas book. _Nous verrons. _ It will mature inthe streets of Paris by night, as well as in London. " This tookultimately the form of the _Haunted Man_, which was not written untilthe winter of 1848. At last I knew that his first slip was done, andthat even his eager busy fancy would not turn him back again. But other unsatisfied wants and cravings had meanwhile broken out inhim, of which I heard near the close of the second number of _Dombey_. The first he had finished at the end of July; and the second, which hebegan on the 8th of August, he was still at work upon in the first weekof September, when this remarkable announcement came to me. It was hisfirst detailed confession of what he felt so continuously, and if thatwere possible even more strongly, as the years went on, that there is nosingle passage in any of his letters which throws such a flood ofilluminative light into the portions of his life which always awaken thegreatest interest. Very much that is to follow must be read by it. "Youcan hardly imagine, " he wrote on the 30th of August, "what infinitepains I take, or what extraordinary difficulty I find in getting onFAST. Invention, thank God, seems the easiest thing in the world; and Iseem to have such a preposterous sense of the ridiculous, after thislong rest" (it was now over two years since the close of _Chuzzlewit_), "as to be constantly requiring to restrain myself from launching intoextravagances in the height of my enjoyment. But the difficulty of goingat what I call a rapid pace, is prodigious; it is almost animpossibility. I suppose this is partly the effect of two years' ease, and partly of the absence of streets and numbers of figures. I can'texpress how much I want these. It seems as if they supplied something tomy brain, which it cannot bear, when busy, to lose. For a week or afortnight I can write prodigiously in a retired place (as atBroadstairs), and a day in London sets me up again and starts me. Butthe toil and labour of writing, day after day, without that magiclantern, is IMMENSE!! I don't say this at all in low spirits, for weare perfectly comfortable here, and I like the place very much indeed, and the people are even more friendly and fond of me than they were inGenoa. I only mention it as a curious fact, which I have never had anopportunity of finding out before. _My_ figures seem disposed tostagnate without crowds about them. I wrote very little in Genoa (onlythe _Chimes_), and fancied myself conscious of some such influencethere--but Lord! I had two miles of streets at least, lighted at night, to walk about in; and a great theatre to repair to, every night. " At theclose of the letter he told me that he had pretty well matured thegeneral idea of the Christmas book, and was burning to get to work onit. He thought it would be all the better, for a change, to have nofairies or spirits in it, but to make it a simple domestic tale. [127] In less than a week from this date his second number was finished, hisfirst slip of the little book done, and his confidence greater. They hadhad wonderful weather, [128] so clear that he could see from theNeuchâtel road the whole of Mont Blanc, six miles distant, as plainlyas if he were standing close under it in the courtyard of the little innat Chamounix; and, though again it was raining when he wrote, his"nailed shoes" were by him and his "great waterproof cloak" inpreparation for a "fourteen-mile walk" before dinner. Then, after threedays more, came something of a sequel to the confession before made, which will be read with equal interest. "The absence of any accessiblestreets continues to worry me, now that I have so much to do, in a mostsingular manner. It is quite a little mental phenomenon. I should notwalk in them in the day time, if they were here, I dare say: but atnight I want them beyond description. I don't seem able to get rid of myspectres unless I can lose them in crowds. However, as you say, thereare streets in Paris, and good suggestive streets too: and trips toLondon will be nothing then. WHEN I have finished the Christmas book, Ishall fly to Geneva for a day or two, before taking up with _Dombey_again. I like this place better and better; and never saw, I think, moreagreeable people than our little circle is made up of. It is so little, that one is not 'bothered' in the least; and their interest in theinimitable seems to strengthen daily. I read them the first number lastnight 'was a' week, with unrelateable success; and old Mrs. Marcet, whois devilish 'cute, guessed directly (but I didn't tell her she wasright) that little Paul would die. They were all so apprehensive that itwas a great pleasure to read it; and I shall leave here, if all goeswell, in a brilliant shower of sparks struck out of them by the promisedreading of the Christmas book. " Little did either of us then imagine towhat these readings were to lead, but even thus early they were takingin his mind the shape of a sort of jest that the smallest opportunity offavour might have turned into earnest. In his very next letter he wroteto me: "I was thinking the other day that in these days of lecturingsand readings, a great deal of money might possibly be made (if it werenot infra dig) by one's having Readings of one's own books. It would bean _odd_ thing. I think it would take immensely. What do you say? Willyou step to Dean-street, and see how Miss Kelly's engagement-book (itmust be an immense volume!) stands? Or shall I take the St. James's?" Myanswer is to be inferred from his rejoinder: but even at this time, while heightening and carrying forward his jest, I suspected him ofgraver desires than he cared to avow; and the time was to come, after adozen years, when with earnestness equal to his own I continued tooppose, for reasons to be stated in their place, that which he had sethis heart upon too strongly to abandon, and which I still can only wishhe had preferred to surrender with all that seemed to be its enormousgains! "I don't think you have exercised your usual judgment in takingCovent-garden for me. I doubt it is too large for my purpose. However, Ishall stand by whatever you propose to the proprietors. " Soon came the changes of trouble and vexation I had too surely seen. "You remember, " he wrote, "your objection about the two stories. I madeover light of it. I ought to have considered that I have never beforereally tried the opening of two together--having always had one prettyfar ahead when I have been driving a pair of them. I know it all now. The apparent impossibility of getting each into its place, coupled withthat craving for streets, so thoroughly put me off the track, that, upto Wednesday or Thursday last, I really contemplated, at times, thetotal abandonment of the Christmas book this year, and the limitation ofmy labours to _Dombey and Son_! I cancelled the beginning of a firstscene--which I have never done before--and, with a notion in my head, ran wildly about and about it, and could not get the idea into anynatural socket. At length, thank Heaven, I nailed it all at once; andafter going on comfortably up to yesterday, and working yesterday fromhalf-past nine to six, I was last night in such a state of enthusiasmabout it that I think I was an inch or two taller. I am a little coolerto-day, with a headache to boot; but I really begin to hope you willthink it a pretty story, with some delicate notions in it agreeablypresented, and with a good human Christmas groundwork. I fancy I see agreat domestic effect in the last part. " That was written on the 20th of September; but six days later changedthe picture and surprised me not a little. I might grudge the space thusgiven to one of the least important of his books but that theillustration goes farther than the little tale it refers to, and is apicture of him in his moods of writing, with their weakness as well asstrength upon him, of a perfect truth and applicability to every periodof his life. Movement and change while he was working were not mererestlessness, as we have seen; it was no impatience of labour, or desireof pleasure, that led at such times to his eager craving for the freshcrowds and faces in which he might lose or find the creatures of hisfancy; and recollecting this, much hereafter will be understood thatmight else be very far from clear, in regard to the sensitive conditionsunder which otherwise he carried on these exertions of his brain. "I amgoing to write you" (26th of September) "a most startling piece ofintelligence. I fear there may be NO CHRISTMAS BOOK! I would give theworld to be on the spot to tell you this. Indeed I once thought ofstarting for London to-night. I have written nearly a third of it. Itpromises to be pretty; quite a new idea in the story, I hope; but tomanage it without the supernatural agency now impossible ofintroduction, and yet to move it naturally within the required space, orwith any shorter limit than a _Vicar of Wakefield_, I find to be adifficulty so perplexing--the past _Dombey_ work taken intoaccount--that I am fearful of wearing myself out if I go on, and notbeing able to come back to the greater undertaking with the necessaryfreshness and spirit. If I had nothing but the Christmas book to do, IWOULD do it; but I get horrified and distressed beyond conception at theprospect of being jaded when I come back to the other, and making it amere race against time. I have written the first part; I know the endand upshot of the second; and the whole of the third (there are onlythree in all). I know the purport of each character, and the plain ideathat each is to work out; and I have the principal effects sketched onpaper. It cannot end _quite_ happily, but will end cheerfully andpleasantly. But my soul sinks before the commencement of the secondpart--the longest--and the introduction of the under-idea. (The main onealready developed, with interest. ) I don't know how it is. I suppose itis the having been almost constantly at work in this quiet place; andthe dread for the _Dombey_; and the not being able to get rid of it, innoise and bustle. The beginning two books together is also, no doubt, afruitful source of the difficulty; for I am now sure I could not haveinvented the _Carol_ at the commencement of the _Chuzzlewit_, or gone toa new book from the _Chimes_. But this is certain. I am sick, giddy, andcapriciously despondent. I have bad nights; am full of disquietude andanxiety; and am constantly haunted by the idea that I am wasting themarrow of the larger book, and ought to be at rest. One letter that Iwrote you before this, I have torn up. In that the Christmas book waswholly given up for this year: but I now resolve to make one effortmore. I will go to Geneva to-morrow, and try on Monday and Tuesdaywhether I can get on at all bravely, in the changed scene. If I cannot, I am convinced that I had best hold my hand at once; and not fritter myspirits and hope away, with that long book before me. You may supposethat the matter is very grave when I can so nearly abandon anything inwhich I am deeply interested, and fourteen or fifteen close MS. Pages ofwhich, that have made me laugh and cry, are lying in my desk. Writingthis letter at all, I have a great misgiving that the letter I shallwrite you on Tuesday night will not make it better. Take it, forHeaven's sake, as an extremely serious thing, and not a fancy of themoment. Last Saturday after a very long day's work, and last Wednesdayafter finishing the first part, I was full of eagerness and pleasure. Atall other times since I began, I have been brooding and brooding overthe idea that it was a wild thing to dream of, ever: and that I ought tobe at rest for the _Dombey_. " The letter came, written on Wednesday not Tuesday night, and it left thequestion still unsettled. "When I came here" (Geneva, 30th of September)"I had a bloodshot eye; and my head was so bad, with a pain across thebrow, that I thought I must have got cupped. I have become a great dealbetter, however, and feel quite myself again to-day. . . . I still have notmade up my mind as to what I CAN do with the Christmas book. I wouldgive any money that it were possible to consult with you. I have begunthe second part this morning, and have done a very fair morning's workat it, but I do not feel it _in hand_ within the necessary space anddivisions: and I have a great uneasiness in the prospect of fallingbehind hand with the other labour, which is so transcendantly important. I feel quite sure that unless I (being in reasonably good state andspirits) like the Christmas book myself, I had better not go on with it;but had best keep my strength for _Dombey_, and keep my number inadvance. On the other hand I am dreadfully averse to abandoning it, andam so torn between the two things that I know not what to do. It isimpossible to express the wish I have that I could take counsel withyou. Having begun the second part I will go on here, to-morrow andFriday (Saturday, the Talfourds come to us at Lausanne, leaving onMonday morning), unless I see new reason to give it up in the meanwhile. Let it stand thus--that my next Monday's letter shall finally decide thequestion. But if you have not already told Bradbury and Evans of my lastletter I think it will now be best to do so. . . . This non-publication ofa Christmas book, if it must be, I try to think light of with thegreater story just begun, and with this _Battle of Life_ story (of whichI really think the leading idea is very pretty) lying by me, for futureuse. But I would like you to consider, in the event of my not going on, how best, by timely announcement, in November's or December's _Dombey_, I may seem to hold the ground prospectively. . . . Heaven send me a gooddeliverance! If I don't do it, it will be the first time I everabandoned anything I had once taken in hand; and I shall not haveabandoned it until after a most desperate fight. I could do it, but forthe _Dombey_, as easily as I did last year or the year before. But Icannot help falling back on that continually: and this, combined withthe peculiar difficulties of the story for a Christmas book, and mybeing out of sorts, discourages me sadly. . . . Kate is here, and sends herlove. ". . . A postscript was added on the following day. "Georgy has comeover from Lausanne, and joins with Kate, &c. &c. My head remains greatlybetter. My eye is recovering its old hue of beautiful white, tinged withcelestial blue. If I hadn't come here, I think I should have had somebad low fever. The sight of the rushing Rhone seemed to stir my bloodagain. I don't think I shall want to be cupped, this bout; but itlooked, at one time, worse than I have confessed to you. If I have anyreturn, I will have it done immediately. " He stayed two days longer at Geneva, which he found to be a very goodplace; pleasantly reporting himself as quite dismayed at first by thesight of gas in it, and as trembling at the noise in its streets, whichhe pronounced to be fully equal to the uproar of Richmond in Surrey; butderiving from it some sort of benefit both in health and in writing. Sofar his trip had been successful, though he had to leave the placehurriedly to welcome his English visitors to Rosemont. One social and very novel experience he had in his hotel, however, thenight before he left, which may be told before he hastens back toLausanne; for it could hardly now offend any one even if the names weregiven. "And now sir I will describe, modestly, tamely, literally, thevisit to the small select circle which I promised should make your hairstand on end. In our hotel were Lady A, and Lady B, mother and daughter, who came to the Peschiere shortly before we left it, and who have a deepadmiration for your humble servant the inimitable B. They are both veryclever. Lady B, extremely well-informed in languages, living and dead;books, and gossip; very pretty; with two little children, and not yetfive and twenty. Lady A, plump, fresh, and rosy; matronly, but full ofspirits and good looks. Nothing would serve them but we _must_ dine withthem; and accordingly, on Friday at six, we went down to their room. Iknew them to be rather odd. For instance, I have known Lady A, _fulldressed_, walk alone through the streets of Genoa, the squalid Italianbye streets, to the Governor's soirée; and announce herself at thepalace of state, by knocking at the door. I have also met Lady B, fulldressed, without any cap or bonnet, walking a mile to the opera, withall sorts of jingling jewels about her, beside a sedan chair in whichsat enthroned her mama. Consequently, I was not surprised at such littlesparkles in the conversation (from the young lady) as 'Oh God what asermon we had here, last Sunday!' 'And did you ever read such infernaltrash as Mrs. Gore's?'--and the like. Still, but for Kate and Georgy(who were decidedly in the way, as we agreed afterwards), I should havethought it all very funny; and, as it was, I threw the ball back again, was mighty free and easy, made some rather broad jokes, and was highlyapplauded. 'You smoke, don't you?' said the young lady, in a pause ofthis kind of conversation. 'Yes, ' I said, 'I generally take a cigarafter dinner when I am alone. ' 'I'll give you a good 'un, ' said she, 'when we go up-stairs. ' Well sir, in due course we went up stairs, andthere we were joined by an American lady residing in the same hotel, wholooked like what we call in old England 'a reg'lar Bunter'--fluffy face(rouged); considerable development of figure; one groggy eye; blue satindress made low with short sleeves, and shoes of the same. Also adaughter; face likewise fluffy; figure likewise developed; dresslikewise low, with short sleeves, and shoes of the same; and one eye notyet actually groggy, but going to be. American lady married at sixteen;daughter sixteen now, often mistaken for sisters, &c. &c. &c. When thatwas over, Lady B brought out a cigar box, and gave me a cigar, made ofnegrohead she said, which would quell an elephant in six whiffs. The boxwas full of cigarettes--good large ones, made of pretty strong tobacco;I always smoke them here, and used to smoke them at Genoa, and I knewthem well. When I lighted my cigar, Lady B lighted hers, at mine; leanedagainst the mantelpiece, in conversation with me; put out her stomach, folded her arms, and with her pretty face cocked up sideways and hercigarette smoking away like a Manchester cotton mill, laughed, andtalked, and smoked, in the most gentlemanly manner I ever beheld. Lady Aimmediately lighted her cigar; American lady immediately lighted hers;and in five minutes the room was a cloud of smoke, with us four in thecentre pulling away bravely, while American lady related stories of her'Hookah' up stairs, and described different kinds of pipes. But eventhis was not all. For presently two Frenchmen came in, with whom, andthe American lady, Lady B sat down to whist. The Frenchmen smoked ofcourse (they were really modest gentlemen, and seemed dismayed), andLady B played for the next hour or two with a cigar continually in hermouth--never out of it. She certainly smoked six or eight. Lady A gavein soon--I think she only did it out of vanity. American lady had beensmoking all the morning. I took no more; and Lady B and the Frenchmenhad it all to themselves. "Conceive this in a great hotel, with not only their own servants, buthalf a dozen waiters coming constantly in and out! I showed no atom ofsurprise; but I never _was_ so surprised, so ridiculously taken aback, in my life; for in all my experience of 'ladies' of one kind andanother, I never saw a woman--not a basket woman or a gypsy--smoke, before!" He lived to have larger and wider experience, but there wasenough to startle as well as amuse him in the scene described. But now Saturday is come; he has hurried back for the friends who are ontheir way to his cottage; and on his arrival, even before they haveappeared, he writes to tell me his better news of himself and his work. "In the breathless interval" (Rosemont: 3rd of October) "between ourreturn from Geneva and the arrival of the Talfourds (expected in an houror two), I cannot do better than write to you. For I think you will bewell pleased if I anticipate my promise, and Monday, at the same time. Ihave been greatly better at Geneva, though I still am made uneasy byoccasional giddiness and headache: attributable, I have not the leastdoubt, to the absence of streets. There is an idea here, too, thatpeople are occasionally made despondent and sluggish in their spirits bythis great mass of still water, lake Leman. At any rate I have been veryuncomfortable: at any rate I am, I hope, greatly better: and (lastly) atany rate I hope and trust, _now_, the Christmas book will come in duecourse!! I have had three very good days' work at Geneva, and trust Imay finish the second part (the third is the shortest) by this day week. Whenever I finish it, I will send you the first two together. I do notthink they can begin to illustrate it, until the third arrives; for itis a single minded story, as it were, and an artist should know theend: which I don't think very likely, unless he reads it. " Then, afterrelating a superhuman effort he was making to lodge his visitors in hisdoll's house ("I didn't like the idea of turning them out at night. Itis so dark in these lanes, and groves, when the moon's not bright"), hesketched for me what he possibly might, and really did, accomplish. Hewould by great effort finish the small book on the 20th; would fly toGeneva for a week to work a little at _Dombey_, if he felt "prettysound;" in any case would finish his number three by the 10th ofNovember; and on that day would start for Paris: "so that, instead ofresting unprofitably here, I shall be using my interval of idleness tomake the journey and get into a new house, and shall hope so to put apinch of salt on the tail of the sliding number in advance. . . . I amhorrified at the idea of getting the blues (and bloodshots) again. "Though I did not then know how gravely ill he had been, I was fain toremind him that it was bad economy to make business out of rest itself;but I received prompt confirmation that all was falling out as hewished. The Talfourds stayed two days: "and I think they were veryhappy. He was in his best aspect; the manner so well known to us, notthe less loveable for being laughable; and if you could have seen himgoing round and round the coach that brought them, as a preliminary topaying the voiturier to whom he couldn't speak, in a currency he didn'tunderstand, you never would have forgotten it. " His friends leftLausanne on the 5th; and five days later he sent me two-thirds of themanuscript of his Christmas book. FOOTNOTES: [127] Writing on Sunday he had said: "I hope to finish the second numberto-morrow, and to send it off bodily by Tuesday's post. On Wednesday Ipurpose, please God, beginning the _Battle of Life_. I shall peg away atthat, without turning aside to _Dombey_ again; and _if_ I can only do itwithin the month!" I had to warn him, on receiving these intimations, that he was trying too much. [128] The storm of rain formerly mentioned by him had not been repeated, but the weather had become unsettled, and he thus referred to therainfall which made that summer so disastrous in England. "What a stormthat must have been in London! I wish we could get something like it, here. . . . It is thundering while I write, but I fear it don't look blackenough for a clearance. The echoes in the mountains are of such astupendous sort, that a peal of thunder five or ten minutes long, ishere the commonest of circumstances. . . . " That was early in August, andat the close of the month he wrote: "I forgot to tell you that yesterdayweek, at half-past 7 in the morning, we had a smart shock of anearthquake, lasting, perhaps, a quarter of a minute. It awoke me in bed. The sensation was so curious and unlike any other, that I called out atthe top of my voice I was sure it was an earthquake. " CHAPTER XIV. REVOLUTION AT GENEVA, CHRISTMAS BOOK, AND LAST DAYS IN SWITZERLAND. 1846. At Lausanne--Large Sale of _Dombey_--Christmas Book done--At Geneva--Back to _Dombey_--Rising against the Jesuits--The Fight in Geneva--Rifle against Cannon--Genevese "Aristocracy"--Swiss "Rabble"--Traces left by the Revolution--Smaller Revolution in Whitefriars--_Daily News_ changes--Letters about his _Battle of Life_--Sketch of Story--Difficulty in Plot--His own Comments--Date of Story--Reply to Criticism--Stanfield's Offer of Illustrations--Doubts of Third Part--Tendency to Blank Verse--Stanfield's Designs--Grave Mistake by Leech--Last Days in Switzerland--Mountain Winds--A Ravine in the Hills--Sadness of Leave-taking--Travelling to Paris. "I SEND you in twelve letters, counting this as one, the first two parts(thirty-five slips) of the Christmas book. I have two present anxietiesrespecting it. One to know that you have received it safely; and thesecond to know how it strikes you. Be sure you read the first and secondparts together. . . . There seems to me to be interest in it, and a prettyidea; and it is unlike the others. . . . There will be some minor pointsfor consideration: as, the necessity for some slight alterations in oneor two of the Doctor's speeches in the first part; and whether it shouldbe called 'The Battle of Life. A Love Story'--to express both a lovestory in the common acceptation of the phrase, and also a story of love;with one or two other things of that sort. We can moot these by and by. I made a tremendous day's work of it yesterday and was horriblyexcited--so I am going to rush out, as fast as I can: being a littleused up, and sick. . . . But never say die! I have been to the glass tolook at my eye. Pretty bright!" I made it brighter next day by telling him that the first number of_Dombey_ had outstripped in sale the first of _Chuzzlewit_ by more thantwelve thousand copies; and his next letter, sending the close of hislittle tale, showed his need of the comfort my pleasant news had givenhim. "I really do not know what this story is worth. I am so floored:wanting sleep, and never having had my head free from it for this monthpast. I think there are some places in this last part which I may bringbetter together in the proof, and where a touch or two may be ofservice; particularly in the scene between Craggs and Michael Warden, where, as it stands, the interest seems anticipated. But I shall havethe benefit of your suggestions, and my own then cooler head, I hope;and I will be very careful with the proofs, and keep them by me as longas I can. . . . Mr. Britain must have another Christian name, then? 'AuntMartha' is the Sally of whom the Doctor speaks in the first part. Marthais a better name. What do you think of the concluding paragraph? Wouldyou leave it for happiness' sake? It is merely experimental. . . . I amflying to Geneva to-morrow morning. " (That was on the 18th of October;and on the 20th he wrote from Geneva. ) "We came here yesterday, and weshall probably remain until Katey's birthday, which is next Thursdayweek. I shall fall to work on number three of _Dombey_ as soon as I can. At present I am the worse for wear, but nothing like as much so as Iexpected to be on Sunday last. I had not been able to sleep for sometime, and had been hammering away, morning, noon, and night. A bottle ofhock on Monday, when Elliotson dined with us (he went away homewardyesterday morning), did me a world of good; the change comes in the verynick of time; and I feel in Dombeian spirits already. . . . But I havestill rather a damaged head, aching a good deal occasionally, as it isdoing now, though I have not been cupped--yet. . . . I dreamed all lastweek that the _Battle of Life_ was a series of chambers impossible to begot to rights or got out of, through which I wandered drearily allnight. On Saturday night I don't think I slept an hour. I wasperpetually roaming through the story, and endeavouring to dove-tail therevolution here into the plot. The mental distress, quite horrible. " Of the "revolution" he had written to me a week before, from Lausanne;where the news had just reached them, that, upon the Federal Dietdecreeing the expulsion of the Jesuits, the Roman Catholic cantons hadrisen against the decree, the result being that the Protestants haddeposed the grand council and established a provisional government, dissolving the Catholic league. His interest in this, and prompt seizureof what really was brought into issue by the conflict, is every waycharacteristic of Dickens. "You will know, " he wrote from Lausanne onthe 11th of October, "long before you get this, all about therevolution at Geneva. There were stories of plots against theGovernment when I was there, but I didn't believe them; for all sorts oflies are always afloat against the radicals, and wherever there is aconsul from a Catholic Power the most monstrous fictions are inperpetual circulation against them: as in this very place, where theSardinian consul was gravely whispering the other day that a societycalled the Homicides had been formed, whereof the president of thecouncil of state, the O'Connell of Switzerland and a clever fellow, wasa member; who were sworn on skulls and cross-bones to exterminate men ofproperty, and so forth. There was a great stir here, on the day of thefight in Geneva. We heard the guns (they shook this house) all day; andseven hundred men marched out of this town of Lausanne to go and helpthe radical party--arriving at Geneva just after it was all over. Thereis no doubt they had received secret help from here; for a powderbarrel, found by some of the Genevese populace with 'Canton de Vaud'painted on it, was carried on a pole about the streets as a standard, toshow that they were sympathized with by friends outside. It was a poormean fight enough, I am told by Lord Vernon, who was present and who waswith us last night. The Government was afraid; having no confidencewhatever, I dare say, in its own soldiers; and the cannon were firedeverywhere except at the opposite party, who (I mean the revolutionists)had barricaded a bridge with an omnibus only, and certainly in thebeginning might have been turned with ease. The precision of the commonmen with the rifle was especially shown by a small party of _five_, whowaited on the ramparts near one of the gates of the town, to turn abody of soldiery who were coming in to the Government assistance. Theypicked out every officer and struck him down instantly, the moment theparty appeared; there were three or four of them; upon which thesoldiers gravely turned round and walked off. I dare say there are notfifty men in this place who wouldn't click your card off a target ahundred and fifty yards away, at least. I have seen them, time aftertime, fire across a great ravine as wide as the ornamental ground in St. James's-park, and never miss the bull's-eye. "It is a horribly ungentlemanly thing to say here, though I _do_ say itwithout the least reserve--but my sympathy is all with the radicals. Idon't know any subject on which this indomitable people have so good aright to a strong feeling as Catholicity--if not as a religion, clearlyas a means of social degradation. They know what it is. They live closeto it. They have Italy beyond their mountains. They can compare theeffect of the two systems at any time in their own valleys; and theirdread of it, and their horror of the introduction of Catholic priestsand emissaries into their towns, seems to me the most rational feelingin the world. Apart from this, you have no conception of thepreposterous, insolent little aristocracy of Geneva: the most ridiculouscaricature the fancy can suggest of what we know in England. I wastalking to two famous gentlemen (very intelligent men) of that place, not long ago, who came over to invite me to a sort of receptionthere--which I declined. Really their talk about 'the people' and 'themasses, ' and the necessity they would shortly be under of shooting a fewof them as an example for the rest, was a kind of monstrosity one mighthave heard at Genoa. The audacious insolence and contempt of the peopleby their newspapers, too, is quite absurd. It is difficult to believethat men of sense can be such donkeys politically. It was precisely sucha state of things that brought about the change here. There was a mostrespectful petition presented on the Jesuit question, signed by its tensof thousands of small farmers; the regular peasants of the canton, allsplendidly taught in public schools, and intellectually as well asphysically a most remarkable body of labouring men. This document istreated by the gentlemanly party with the most sublime contempt, and thesignatures are said to be the signatures of 'the rabble. ' Upon which, each man of the rabble shoulders his rifle, and walks in upon a givenday agreed upon among them to Lausanne; and the gentlemanly party walkout without striking a blow. " Such traces of the "revolution" as he found upon his present visit toGeneva he described in writing to me from the hotel de l'Ecu on the 20thof October. "You never would suppose from the look of this town thatthere had been anything revolutionary going on. Over the window of myold bedroom there is a great hole made by a cannon-ball in thehouse-front; and two of the bridges are under repair. But these aresmall tokens which anything else might have brought about as well. Thepeople are all at work. The little streets are rife with every sight andsound of industry; the place is as quiet by ten o'clock asLincoln's-inn-fields; and the only outward and visible sign of publicinterest in political events is a little group at every street corner, reading a public announcement from the new Government of the forthcomingelection of state-officers, in which the people are reminded of theirimportance as a republican institution, and desired to bear in mindtheir dignity in all their proceedings. Nothing very violent or badcould go on with a community so well educated as this. It is the bestantidote to American experiences, conceivable. As to the nonsense 'thegentlemanly interest' talk about, their opposition to property and soforth, there never was such mortal absurdity. One of the principalleaders in the late movement has a stock of watches and jewellery hereof immense value--and had, during the disturbance--perfectlyunprotected. James Fahzey has a rich house and a valuable collection ofpictures; and, I will be bound to say, twice as much to lose as half theconservative declaimers put together. This house, the liberal one, isone of the most richly furnished and luxurious hotels on the continent. And if I were a Swiss with a hundred thousand pounds, I would be assteady against the Catholic cantons and the propagation of Jesuitism asany radical among 'em: believing the dissemination of Catholicity to bethe most horrible means of political and social degradation left in theworld. Which these people, thoroughly well educated, know perfectly. . . . The boys of Geneva were very useful in bringing materials for theconstruction of the barricades on the bridges; and the enclosed song mayamuse you. They sing it to a tune that dates from the great FrenchRevolution--a very good one. " But revolutions may be small as well as their heroes, and while he thuswas sending me his Gamin de Genève I was sending him news of a suddenchange in Whitefriars which had quite as vivid interest for him. Notmuch could be told him at first, but his curiosity instantly arose tofever pitch. "In reference to that _Daily News_ revolution, " he wrotefrom Geneva on the 26th, "I have been walking and wondering all daythrough a perfect Miss Burney's Vauxhall of conjectural dark walks. Heaven send you enlighten me fully on Wednesday, or number three willsuffer!" Two days later he resumed, as he was beginning his journey backto Lausanne. "I am in a great state of excitement on account of yourintelligence, and desperately anxious to know all about it. I shall beput out to an unspeakable extent if I don't find your letter awaitingme. God knows there has been small comfort for either of us in the _D. N. _'s nine months. " There was not much to tell then, and there is lessnow; but at last the discomfort was over for us both, as I had beenunable to reconcile myself to a longer continuance of the service I hadgiven in Whitefriars since he quitted it. The subject may be left withthe remark made upon it in his first letter after returning to Rosemont. "I certainly am very glad of the result of the _Daily News_ business, though my gladness is dashed with melancholy to think that you shouldhave toiled there so long, to so little purpose. I escaped more easily. However, it is all past now. . . . As to the undoubted necessity of thecourse you took, I have not a grain of question in my mind. That, beingwhat you are, you had only one course to take and have taken it, I nomore doubt than that the Old Bailey is not Westminster Abbey. In theutmost sum at which you value yourself, you were bound to leave; andnow you _have_ left, you will come to Paris, and there, and at homeagain, we'll have, please God, the old kind of evenings and the old lifeagain, as it used to be before those daily nooses caught us by the legsand sometimes tripped us up. Make a vow (as I have done) never to godown that court with the little news-shop at the corner, any more, andlet us swear by Jack Straw as in the ancient times. . . . I am beginning toget over my sorrow for your nights up aloft in Whitefriars, and to feelnothing but happiness in the contemplation of your enfranchisement. Godbless you!" The time was now shortening for him at Lausanne; but before my sketchesof his pleasant days there close, the little story of his Christmas bookmay be made complete by a few extracts from the letters that followedimmediately upon the departure of the Talfourds. Without comment theywill explain its closing touches, his own consciousness of thedifficulties in working out the tale within limits too confined not torender its proper development imperfect, and his ready tact in dealingwith objection and suggestion from without. His condition while writingit did not warrant me in pressing what I might otherwise have thoughtnecessary; but as the little story finally left his hands, it had pointsnot unworthy of him; and a sketch of its design will render thefragments from his letters more intelligible. I read it lately with asense that its general tone of quiet beauty deserved well the praisewhich Jeffrey in those days had given it. "I like and admire the_Battle_ extremely, " he said in a letter on its publication, sent me byDickens and not included in Lord Cockburn's Memoir. "It is better thanany other man alive could have written, and has passages as fine asanything that ever came from the man himself. The dance of the sistersin that autumn orchard is of itself worth a dozen inferior tales, andtheir reunion at the close, and indeed all the serious parts, arebeautiful, some traits of Clemency charming. " Yet it was probably here the fact, as with the _Chimes_, that theserious parts were too much interwoven with the tale to render thesubject altogether suitable to the old mirth-bringing season; but thishad also some advantages. The story is all about two sisters, theyounger of whom, Marion, sacrifices her own affection to give happinessto the elder, Grace. But Grace had already made the same sacrifice forthis younger sister; life's first and hardest battle had been won by herbefore the incidents begin; and when she is first seen, she is busyingherself to bring about her sister's marriage with Alfred Heathfield, whom she has herself loved, and whom she has kept wholly unconscious, bya quiet change in her bearing to him, of what his own still disengagedheart would certainly not have rejected. Marion, however, had earlierdiscovered this, though it is not until her victory over herself thatAlfred knows it; and meanwhile he is become her betrothed. The sistersthus shown at the opening, one believing her love undiscovered and theother bent for the sake of that love on surrendering her own, eachpractising concealment and both unselfishly true, form a pretty andtender picture. The second part is intended to give to Marion's flightthe character of an elopement; and so to manage this as to show her allthe time unchanged to the man she is pledged to, yet flying from, wasthe author's difficulty. One Michael Warden is the _deus ex machinâ_ bywhom it is solved, hardly with the usual skill; but there is much art inrendering his pretensions to the hand of Marion, whose husband hebecomes after an interval of years, the means of closing against him allhope of success, in the very hour when her own act might seem to beopening it to him. During the same interval Grace, believing Marion tobe gone with Warden, becomes Alfred's wife; and not until reunion aftersix years' absence is the truth entirely known to her. The struggle, toall of them, has been filled and chastened with sorrow; but joy revisitsthem at its close. Hearts are not broken by the duties laid upon them;nor is life shown to be such a perishable holiday, that amidst noblesorrow and generous self-denial it must lose its capacity for happiness. The tale thus justifies its place in the Christmas series. What Jeffreysays of Clemency, too, may suggest another word. The story would not beDickens's if we could not discover in it the power peculiar to him ofpresenting the commonest objects with freshness and beauty, of detectingin the homeliest forms of life much of its rarest loveliness, and ofspringing easily upward from everyday realities into regions ofimaginative thought. To this happiest direction of his art, Clemency andher husband render new tribute; and in her more especially, once again, we recognize one of those true souls who fill so large a space in hiswritings, for whom the lowest seats at life's feasts are commonly kept, but whom he moves and welcomes to a more fitting place among the prizedand honoured at the upper tables. "I wonder whether you foresaw the end of the Christmas book! There aretwo or three places in which I can make it prettier, I think, by slightalterations. . . . I trust to Heaven you may like it. What an affectingstory I could have made of it in one octavo volume. Oh to think of theprinters transforming my kindly cynical old father into Doctor Taddler!"(28th of October. ) * * * * * "Do you think it worth while, in the illustrations, to throw the periodback at all for the sake of anything good in the costume? The story mayhave happened at any time within a hundred years. Is it worth havingcoats and gowns of dear old Goldsmith's day? or thereabouts? I reallydon't know what to say. The probability is, if it has not occurred toyou or to the artists, that it is hardly worth considering; but I easemyself of it by throwing it out to you. It may be already too late, oryou may see reason to think it best to 'stick to the _last_' (I feel itnecessary to italicize the joke), and abide by the ladies' andgentlemen's spring and winter fashions of this time. Whatever you thinkbest, in this as in all other things, is best, I am sure. . . . I would go, in the illustrations, for 'beauty' as much as possible; and I shouldlike each part to have a general illustration to it at the beginning, shadowing out its drift and bearing: much as Browne goes at that kind ofthing on _Dombey_ covers. I don't think I should fetter your discretionin the matter farther. The better it is illustrated, the better I shallbe pleased of course. " (29th of October. ) ". . . I only write to say that it is of no use my writing at length, until I have heard from you; and that I will wait until I shall haveread your promised communication (as my father would call it) to-morrow. I have glanced over the proofs of the last part and really don't wonder, some of the most extravagant mistakes occurring in Clemency's account toWarden, that the marriage of Grace and Alfred should seem ratherunsatisfactory to you. Whatever is done about that must be done with thelightest hand, for the reader MUST take something for granted; but Ithink it next to impossible, without dreadful injury to the effect, tointroduce a scene between Marion and Michael. The introduction must bein the scene between the sisters, and must be put, mainly, into themouth of Grace. Rely upon it there is no other way, in keeping with thespirit of the tale. With this amendment, and a touch here and there inthe last part (I know exactly where they will come best), I think it maybe pretty and affecting, and comfortable too. . . . " (31st of October. ) * * * * * ". . . I shall hope to touch upon the Christmas book as soon as I get youropinion. I wouldn't do it without. I am delighted to hear of noble oldStanny. Give my love to him, and tell him I think of turning Catholic. It strikes me (it may have struck you perhaps) that another good placefor introducing a few lines of dialogue, is at the beginning of thescene between Grace and her husband, where he speaks about the messengerat the gate. " (4th of November. ) "Before I reply to your questions I wish to remark generally of thethird part that all the passion that can be got into it, through myinterpretation at all events, is there. I know that, by what it cost me;and I take it to be, as a question of art and interest, in the verynature of the story that it _should_ move at a swift pace after thesisters are in each other's arms again. Anything after that would draglike lead, and must. . . . Now for your questions. I don't think any littlescene with Marion and anybody can prepare the way for the last paragraphof the tale: I don't think anything but a printer's line _can_ gobetween it and Warden's speech. A less period than ten years? Yes. I seeno objection to six. I have no doubt you are right. Any word from Alfredin his misery? Impossible: you might as well try to speak to somebody inan express train. The preparation for his change is in the first part, and he kneels down beside her in that return scene. He is left alonewith her, as it were, in the world. I am quite confident it is whollyimpossible for me to alter that. . . . BUT (keep your eye on me) whenMarion went away, she left a letter for Grace in which she charged herto encourage the love that Alfred would conceive for her, and FOREWARNEDher that years would pass before they met again, &c. &c. This coming outin the scene between the sisters, and something like it being expressedin the opening of the little scene between Grace and her husband beforethe messenger at the gate, will make (I hope) a prodigious difference;and I will try to put in something with Aunt Martha and the Doctor whichshall carry the tale back more distinctly and unmistakeably to thebattle-ground. I hope to make these alterations next week, and to sendthe third part back to you before I leave here. If you think it canstill be improved after that, say so to me in Paris and I will go at itagain. I wouldn't have it limp, if it can fly. I say nothing to you of agreat deal of this being already expressed in the sentiment of thebeginning, because your delicate perception knows all that already. Observe for the artists. Grace will now only have _one child_--littleMarion. ". . . (At night, on same day. ). . . "You recollect that I asked youto read it all together, for I knew that I was working for that? But Ihave no doubt of _your_ doubts, and will do what I have said. . . . I hadthought of marking the time in the little story, and will do so. . . . Think, once more, of the period between the second and third parts. Iwill do the same. " (7th of November. ) * * * * * "I hope you will think the third part (when you read it in type withthese amendments) very much improved. I think it so. If there shouldstill be anything wanting, in your opinion, pray suggest it to me inParis. I am bent on having it right, if I can. . . . If in going over theproofs you find the tendency to blank verse (I _cannot_ help it, when Iam very much in earnest) too strong, knock out a word's brains here andthere. " (13th of November. Sending the proofs back. ) * * * * * ". . . Your Christmas book illustration-news makes me jump for joy. I willwrite you at length to-morrow. I should like this dedication: ThisChristmas Book is cordially inscribed To my English Friends inSwitzerland. Just those two lines, and nothing more. When I get theproofs again I think I may manage another word or two about thebattle-field, with advantage. I am glad you like the alterations. I feelthat they make it complete, and that it would have been incompletewithout your suggestions. " (21st of November. From Paris. ) I had managed, as a glad surprise for him, to enlist both Stanfield andMaclise in the illustration of the story, in addition to thedistinguished artists whom the publishers had engaged for it, Leech andRichard Doyle; and among the subjects contributed by Stanfield are threemorsels of English landscape which had a singular charm for Dickens atthe time, and seem to me still of their kind quite faultless. I may adda curious fact, never mentioned until now. In the illustration whichcloses the second part of the story, where the festivities to welcomethe bridegroom at the top of the page contrast with the flight of thebride represented below, Leech made the mistake of supposing thatMichael Warden had taken part in the elopement, and has introduced hisfigure with that of Marion. We did not discover this until too late forremedy, the publication having then been delayed, for these drawings, tothe utmost limit; and it is highly characteristic of Dickens, and of thetrue regard he had for this fine artist, that, knowing the pain he mustgive in such circumstances by objection or complaint, he preferred topass it silently. Nobody made remark upon it, and there the illustrationstill stands; but any one who reads the tale carefully will at onceperceive what havoc it makes of one of the most delicate turns in it. "When I first saw it, it was with a horror and agony not to beexpressed. Of course I need not tell _you_, my dear fellow, Warden hasno business in the elopement scene. _He_ was never there! In the firsthot sweat of this surprise and novelty, I was going to implore theprinting of that sheet to be stopped, and the figure taken out of theblock. But when I thought of the pain this might give to ourkind-hearted Leech; and that what is such a monstrous enormity to me, asnever having entered my brain, may not so present itself to others, Ibecame more composed: though the fact is wonderful to me. No doubt agreat number of copies will be printed by the time this reaches you, andtherefore I shall take it for granted that it stands as it is. Leechotherwise is very good, and the illustrations altogether are by far thebest that have been done for any of the Christmas books. You know how Ibuild up temples in my mind that are not made with hands (or expressedwith pen and ink, I am afraid), and how liable I am to be disappointedin these things. But I really am _not_ disappointed in this case. Quietness and beauty are preserved throughout. Say everything to Mac andStanny, more than everything! It is a delight to look at these littlelandscapes of the dear old boy. How gentle and elegant, and yet howmanly and vigorous, they are! I have a perfect joy in them. " Of the few days that remained of his Lausanne life, before he journeyedto Paris, there is not much requiring to be said. His work had continuedduring the whole of the month before departure to occupy him so entirelyas to leave room for little else, and even occasional letters to verydear friends at home were intermitted. Here is one example of many. "Iwill write to Landor as soon as I can possibly make time, but I reallyam so much at my desk perforce, and so full of work, whether I am thereor elsewhere, between the Christmas book and _Dombey_, that it is themost difficult thing in the world for me to make up my mind to write aletter to any one but you. I ought to have written to Macready. I wishyou would tell him, with my love, how I am situated in respect of pen, ink, and paper. One of the Lausanne papers, treating of free trade, hasbeen very copious lately in its mention of LORD GOBDEN. Fact; and Ithink it a good name. " Then, as the inevitable time approached, he castabout him for such comfort as the coming change might bring, to setagainst the sorrow of it; and began to think of Paris, "'in a lessromantic and more homely contemplation of the picture, ' as not whollyundesirable. I have no doubt that constant change, too, is indispensableto me when I am at work: and at times something more than a doubt willforce itself upon me whether there is not something in a Swiss valleythat disagrees with me. Certainly, whenever I live in Switzerland again, it shall be on the hill-top. Something of the _goître_ and _cretin_influence seems to settle on my spirits sometimes, on the lowerground. [129] How sorry, ah yes! how sorry I shall be to leave thelittle society nevertheless. We have been thoroughly good-humoured andagreeable together, and I'll always give a hurrah for the Swiss andSwitzerland. " One or two English travelling by Lausanne had meanwhile greeted him asthey were passing home, and a few days given him by Elliotson had beenan enjoyment without a drawback. It was now the later autumn, very highwinds were coursing through the valley, and his last letter but onedescribed the change which these approaches of winter were making in thescene. "We have had some tremendous hurricanes at Lausanne. It is anextraordinary place now for wind, being peculiarly situated amongmountains--between the Jura, and the Simplon, St. Gothard, St. Bernard, and Mont Blanc ranges; and at night you would swear (lying in bed) youwere at sea. You cannot imagine wind blowing so, over earth. It is veryfine to hear. The weather generally, however, has been excellent. Thereis snow on the tops of nearly all the hills, but none has fallen in thevalley. On a bright day, it is quite hot between eleven and half pasttwo. The nights and mornings are cold. For the last two or three days, it has been thick weather; and I can see no more of Mont Blanc fromwhere I am writing now than if I were in Devonshire terrace, though lastweek it bounded all the Lausanne walks. I would give a great deal thatyou could take a walk with me about Lausanne on a clear cold day. It isimpossible to imagine anything more noble and beautiful than the scene;and the autumn colours in the foliage are more brilliant and vivid nowthan any description could convey to you. I took Elliotson, when he waswith us, up to a ravine I had found out in the hills eight hundred or athousand feet deep! Its steep sides dyed bright yellow, and deep red, bythe changing leaves; a sounding torrent rolling down below; the lake ofGeneva lying at its foot; one enormous mass and chaos of trees at itsupper end; and mountain piled on mountain in the distance, up into thesky! He really was struck silent by its majesty and splendour. " He had begun his third number of _Dombey_ on the 26th of October, on the4th of the following month he was half through it, on the 7th he was inthe "agonies" of its last chapter, and on the 9th, one day before thatproposed for its completion, all was done. This was marvellously rapidwork, after what else he had undergone; but within a week, Monday the16th being the day for departure, they were to strike their tents, andtroubled and sad were the few days thus left him for preparation andfarewell. He included in his leave-taking his deaf, dumb, and blindfriends; and, to use his own homely phrase, was yet more terribly "downin the mouth" at taking leave of his hearing, speaking, and seeingfriends. "I shall see you soon, please God, and that sets all to rights. But I don't believe there are many dots on the map of the world where weshall have left such affectionate remembrances behind us, as inLausanne. It was quite miserable this last night, when we left them atHaldimand's. " He shall himself describe how they travelled post to Paris, occupyingfive days. "We got through the journey charmingly, though not quite soquickly as we hoped. The children as good as usual, and even Skittlesjolly to the last. (That name has long superseded Sampson Brass, by thebye. I call him so, from something skittle-playing and public-housey inhis countenance. ) We have been up at five every morning, and on the roadbefore seven. We were three carriages: a sort of wagon, with a cabrioletattached, for the luggage; a ramshackle villainous old swing upon wheels(hired at Geneva), for the children; and for ourselves, that travellingchariot which I was so kind as to bring here for sale. It was very coldindeed crossing the Jura--nothing but fog and frost; but when we wereout of Switzerland and across the French frontier, it became warmer, andcontinued so. We stopped at between six and seven each evening; had tworather queer inns, wild French country inns; but the rest good. Theywere three hours and a half examining the luggage at the frontiercustom-house--atop of a mountain, in a hard and biting frost; where Anneand Roche had sharp work I assure you, and the latter insisted onvolunteering the most astonishing and unnecessary lies about my books, for the mere pleasure of deceiving the officials. When we were out ofthe mountain country, we came at a good pace, but were a day late ingetting to our hotel here. " They were in Paris when that was written; at the hotel Brighton; whichthey had reached in the evening of Friday the 20th of November. FOOTNOTES: [129] "I may tell you, " he wrote to me from Paris at the end ofNovember, "now it is all over. I don't know whether it was the hotsummer, or the anxiety of the two new books coupled with D. N. Remembrances and reminders, but I was in that state in Switzerland, whenmy spirits sunk so, I felt myself in serious danger. Yet I had littlepain in my side; excepting that time at Genoa I have hardly had anysince poor Mary died, when it came on so badly; and I walked my fifteenmiles a day constantly, at a great pace. " CHAPTER XV. THREE MONTHS IN PARIS. 1846-1847. Lord Brougham--French Sunday--A House taken--His French Abode--A Former Tenant--Sister Fanny's Illness--The King of the Barricades--The Morgue--Parisian Population--Americans and French--Unsettlement of Plans--A True Friend--Hard Frost--Alarming Neighbour--A Fellow-littérateur--London Visit--Return to Paris--Begging-letter-writers--A Boulogne Reception--French-English--Citizen Dickens--Sight-seeing--Evening with Victor Hugo--At the Bibliothèque Royale--Adventure with a Coachman--Illness of Eldest Son--Visit of his Father--The "Man that put together Dombey. " NO man enjoyed brief residence in a hotel more than Dickens, but"several tons of luggage, other tons of servants, and other tons ofchildren" are not desirable accompaniments to this kind of life; and hisfirst day in Paris did not close before he had offered for an "eligiblemansion. " That same Saturday night he took a "colossal" walk about thecity, of which the brilliancy and brightness almost frightened him; andamong other things that attracted his notice was "rather a good bookannounced in a bookseller's window as _Les Mystères de Londres par SirTrollopp_. Do you know him?" A countryman better known had given himearlier greeting. "The first man who took hold of me in the street, immediately outside this door, was Bruffum in his check trousers, andwithout the proper number of buttons on his shirt, who was going awaythis morning, he told me, but coming back in two months, when we wouldgo and dine--at some place known to him and fame. " Next day he took another long walk about the streets, and lost himselffifty times. This was Sunday, and he hardly knew what to say of it, ashe saw it there and then. The bitter observance of that day he alwayssharply resisted, believing a little rational enjoyment to be notopposed to either rest or religion; but here was another matter. "Thedirty churches, and the clattering carts and waggons, and the open shops(I don't think I passed fifty shut up, in all my strollings in and out), and the work-a-day dresses and drudgeries, are not comfortable. Opentheatres and so forth I am well used to, of course, by this time; but somuch toil and sweat on what one would like to see, apart from religiousobservances, a sensible holiday, is painful. " The date of his letter was the 22nd of November, and it had threepostscripts. [130] The first, "Monday afternoon, " told me a house wastaken; that, unless the agreement should break off on any unforeseenfight between Roche and the agent ("a French Mrs. Gamp"), I was toaddress him at No. 48, Rue de Courcelles, Faubourg St. Honoré; and thathe would merely then advert to the premises as in his belief the "mostridiculous, extraordinary, unparalleled, and preposterous" in the wholeworld; being something between a baby-house, a "shades, " a hauntedcastle, and a mad kind of clock. "They belong to a Marquis Castellan, and you will be ready to die of laughing when you go over them. " Thesecond P. S. Declared that his lips should be sealed till I beheld formyself. "By Heaven it is not to be imagined by the mind of man!" Thethird P. S. Closed the letter. "One room is a tent. Another room is agrove. Another room is a scene at the Victoria. The upstairs rooms arelike fanlights over street-doors. The nurseries--but no, no, no, nomore! . . . " His following letter nevertheless sent more, even in the form of anadditional protestation that never till I saw it should the place bedescribed. "I will merely observe that it is fifty yards long, andeighteen feet high, and that the bedrooms are exactly like opera-boxes. It has its little courtyard and garden, and porter's house, and cordonto open the door, and so forth; and is a Paris mansion in little. Thereis a gleam of reason in the drawing-room. Being a gentleman's house, andnot one furnished to let, it has some very curious things in it; some ofthe oddest things you ever beheld in your life; and an infinity of easychairs and sofas. . . . Bad weather. It is snowing hard. There is not adoor or window here--but that's nothing! there's not a door or window inall Paris--that shuts; not a chink in all the billions of trillions ofchinks in the city that can he stopped to keep the wind out. And thecold!--but you shall judge for yourself; and also of this preposterousdining-room. The invention, sir, of Henry Bulwer, who when he hadexecuted it (he used to live here), got frightened at what he had done, as well he might, and went away. . . . The Brave called me aside onSaturday night, and showed me an improvement he had effected in thedecorative way. 'Which, ' he said, 'will very much s'prize Mis'r Fors'erwhen he come. ' You are to be deluded into the belief that there is aperspective of chambers twenty miles in length, opening from thedrawing-room. . . . " My visit was not yet due, however, and what occupied or interested himin the interval may first be told. He had not been two days in Pariswhen a letter from his father made him very anxious for the health ofhis eldest sister. "I was going to the play (a melodrama in eight acts, five hours long), but hadn't the heart to leave home after my father'sletter, " he is writing on the 30th of November, "and sent Georgy andKate by themselves. There seems to be no doubt whatever that Fanny is ina consumption. " She had broken down in an attempt to sing at a party inManchester; and subsequent examination by Sir Charles Bell's son, whowas present and took much interest in her, too sadly revealed the cause. "He advised that neither she nor Burnett should be told the truth, andmy father has not disclosed it. In worldly circumstances they are verycomfortable, and they are very much respected. They seem to be happytogether, and Burnett has a great deal of teaching. You remember myfears about her when she was in London the time of Alfred's marriage, and that I said she looked to me as if she were in a decline? Kate tookher to Elliotson, who said that her lungs were certainly not affectedthen. And she cried for joy. Don't you think it would be better for herto be brought up, if possible, to see Elliotson again? I am deeply, deeply grieved about it. " This course was taken, and for a time thereseemed room for hope; but the result will be seen. In the same letter Iheard of poor Charles Sheridan, well known to us both, dying of the sameterrible disease; and his chief, Lord Normanby, whose many acts ofsympathy and kindness had inspired strong regard in Dickens, he hadalready found "as informal and good-natured as ever, but not so gay asusual, and having an anxious, haggard way with him, as if hisresponsibilities were more than he had bargained for. " Nor, to accountfor this, had Dickens far to seek, when a little leisure enabled him tosee something of what was passing in Paris in that last year of LouisPhilippe's reign. What first impressed him most unfavourably was aglimpse in the Champs Elysées, of the King himself coming in from thecountry. "There were two carriages. His was surrounded by horseguards. It went at a great pace, and he sat very far back in a corner of it, Ipromise you. It was strange to an Englishman to see the Prefet of Policeriding on horseback some hundreds of yards in advance of the cortége, turning his head incessantly from side to side, like a figure in a Dutchclock, and scrutinizing everybody and everything, as if he suspected allthe twigs in all the trees in the long avenue. " But these and other political indications were only, as they generallyprove to be, the outward signs of maladies more deeply-seated. He sawalmost everywhere signs of canker eating into the heart of the peoplethemselves. "It is a wicked and detestable place, though wonderfullyattractive; and there can be no better summary of it, after all, thanHogarth's unmentionable phrase. " He sent me no letter that did notcontribute something of observation or character. He went at firstrather frequently to the Morgue, until shocked by something so repulsivethat he had not courage for a long time to go back; and on that sameoccasion he had noticed the keeper smoking a short pipe at his littlewindow, "and giving a bit of fresh turf to a linnet in a cage. " Of thecondition generally of the streets he reported badly; the quays on theother side of the Seine were not safe after dark; and here was his ownnight experience of one of the best quarters of the city. "I took Georgyout, the night before last, to show her the Palais Royal lighted up; andon the Boulevard, a street as bright as the brightest part of the Strandor Regent-street, we saw a man fall upon another, close before us, andtry to tear the cloak off his back. It was in a little dark corner nearthe Porte St. Denis, which stands out in the middle of the street. Aftera short struggle, the thief fled (there were thousands of people walkingabout), and was captured just on the other side of the road. " An incident of that kind might mean little or much: but what heproceeded to remark of the ordinary Parisian workpeople and smallershopkeepers, had a more grave complexion; and may be thought perhapsstill to yield some illustration, not without value, to the story ofthe quarter of a century that has passed since, and even to some of theappalling events of its latest year or two. "It is extraordinary whatnonsense English people talk, write, and believe, about foreigncountries. The Swiss (so much decried) will do anything for you, if youare frank and civil; they are attentive and punctual in all theirdealings; and may be relied upon as steadily as the English. TheParisian workpeople and smaller shopkeepers are more like (and unlike)Americans than I could have supposed possible. To the Americanindifference and carelessness, they add a procrastination and want ofthe least heed about keeping a promise or being exact, which iscertainly not surpassed in Naples. They have the Americansemi-sentimental independence too, and none of the American vigour orpurpose. If they ever get free trade in France (as I suppose they will, one day), these parts of the population must, for years and years, beruined. They couldn't get the means of existence, in competition withthe English workmen. Their inferior manual dexterity, their lazy habits, perfect unreliability, and habitual insubordination, would ruin them inany such contest, instantly. They are fit for nothing butsoldiering--and so far, I believe, the successors in the policy of yourfriend Napoleon have reason on their side. Eh bien, mon ami, quand vousvenez à Paris, nous nous mettrons à quatre épingles, et nous verronstoutes les merveilles de la cité, et vous en jugerez. God bless me, Ibeg your pardon! It comes so natural. " On the 30th he wrote to me that he had got his papers into order andhoped to begin that day. But the same letter told me of theunsettlement thus early of his half-formed Paris plans. Three monthssooner than he designed he should be due in London for family reasons;should have to keep within the limit of four months abroad; and as hisown house would not be free till July, would have to hire one from theend of March. "In these circumstances I think I shall send Charley toKing's-college after Christmas. I am sorry he should lose so muchFrench, but don't you think to break another half-year's schooling wouldbe a pity? Of my own will I would not send him to King's-college at all, but to Bruce-castle instead. I suppose, however, Miss Coutts is best. Wewill talk over all this when I come to London. " The offer to take chargeof his eldest son's education had been pressed upon Dickens by this truefriend, to whose delicate and noble consideration for him it wouldhardly become me to make other allusion here. Munificent as the kindnesswas, however, it was yet only the smallest part of the obligation whichDickens felt that he owed this lady; to whose generous schemes for theneglected and uncared-for classes of the population, in all which hedeeply sympathised, he did the very utmost to render, through manyyears, unstinted service of his time and his labour, with sacrificeunselfish as her own. His proposed early visit to London, named in thisletter, was to see the rehearsal of his Christmas story, dramatised byMr. Albert Smith for Mr. And Mrs. Keeley at the Lyceum; and my ownproposed visit to Paris was to be in the middle of January. "It willthen be the height of the season, and a good time for testing theunaccountable French vanity which really does suppose there are no fogshere, but that they are all in London. "[131] The opening of his next letter, which bore date the 6th of December, andits amusing sequel, will sufficiently speak for themselves. "Coldintense. The water in the bedroom-jugs freezes into solid masses fromtop to bottom, bursts the jugs with reports like small cannon, and rollsout on the tables and wash-stands, hard as granite. I stick to theshower-bath, but have been most hopelessly out of sorts--writing sorts;that's all. Couldn't begin, in the strange place; took a violent disliketo my study, and came down into the drawing-room; couldn't find a cornerthat would answer my purpose; fell into a black contemplation of thewaning month; sat six hours at a stretch, and wrote as many lines, &c. &c. &c. . . . Then, you know what arrangements are necessary with thechairs and tables; and then what correspondence had to be cleared off;and then how I tried to settle to my desk, and went about and about it, and dodged at it, like a bird at a lump of sugar. In short I have justbegun; five printed pages finished, I should say; and hope I shall beblessed with a better condition this next week, or I shall bebehind-hand. I shall try to go at it--hard. I can't do more. . . . There israther a good man lives in this street, and I have had a correspondencewith him which is preserved for your inspection. His name is Barthélemy. He wears a prodigious Spanish cloak, a slouched hat, an immense beard, and long black hair. He called the other day and left his card. Allow meto enclose his card, which has originality and merit. [Illustration: =Rue de Courcelles= _Barthélemy_ =49. =] Roche said I wasn't at home. Yesterday, he wrote me to say that he toowas a 'Littérateur'--that he had called, in compliment to mydistinguished reputation--'qu'il n'avait pas été reçu--qu'il n'était pashabitué à cette sorte de procédé--et qu'il pria Monsieur Dickensd'oublier son nom, sa mémoire, sa carte, et sa visite, et de considérerqu'elle n'avait pas été rendu!' Of course I wrote him a very politereply immediately, telling him good-humouredly that he was quitemistaken, and that there were always two weeks in the beginning of everymonth when M. Dickens ne pouvait rendre visite à personne. He wrote backto say that he was more than satisfied; that it was his case too, atthe end of every month; and that when busy himself, he not only can'treceive or pay visits, but--'tombe, généralement, aussi, dans deshumeurs noires qui approchent de l'anthropophagie!!!' I think that'spretty well. " He was in London eight days, from the 15th to the 23rd of December;[132]and among the occupations of his visit, besides launching his littlestory on the stage, was the settlement of form for a cheap edition ofhis writings, which began in the following year. It was to be printed indouble-columns, and issued weekly in three-halfpenny numbers; there wereto be new prefaces, but no illustrations; and for each book somethingless than a fourth of the original price was to be charged. Its successwas very good, but did not come even near to the mark of the laterissues of his writings. His own feeling as to this, however, though anyfailure at the moment affected him on other grounds, was always that ofa quiet confidence; and he had expressed this in a proposed dedicationof this very edition, which for other reasons was ultimately laid aside. It will be worth preserving here. "This cheap edition of my books isdedicated to the English people, in whose approval, if the books be truein spirit, they will live, and out of whose memory, if they be false, they will very soon die. " Upon his return to Paris I had frequent report of his progress with hisfamous fifth number, on the completion of which I was to join him. Theday at one time seemed doubtful. "It would be miserable to have to workwhile you were here. Still, I make such sudden starts, and am sopossessed of what I am going to do, that the fear may prove to be quitegroundless, and if any alteration would trouble you, let the 13th standat all hazards. " The cold he described as so intense, and the price offuel so enormous, that though the house was not half warmed ("as you'llsay, when you feel it") it cost him very near a pound a day. Begging-letter writers had found out "Monsieur Dickens, le romanciercélèbre, " and waylaid him at the door and in the street as numerously asin London: their distinguishing peculiarity being that they were nearlyall of them "Chevaliers de la Garde Impériale de sa Majesté Napoléon leGrand, " and that their letters bore immense seals with coats of arms aslarge as five-shilling pieces. His friends the Watsons passed new year'sday with him on their way to Rockingham from Lausanne, leaving thatcountry covered with snow and the Bise blowing cruelly over it, butdescribing it as nothing to the cold of Paris. On the day that closedthe old year he had gone into the Morgue and seen an old man with greyhead lying there. "It seemed the strangest thing in the world that itshould have been necessary to take any trouble to stop such a feeble, spent, exhausted morsel of life. It was just dusk when I went in; theplace was empty; and he lay there, all alone, like an impersonation ofthe wintry eighteen hundred and forty-six. . . . I find I am gettinginimitable, so I'll stop. " The time for my visit having come, I had grateful proof of the minuteand thoughtful provision characteristic of him in everything. My dinnerhad been ordered to the second at Boulogne, my place in the malle-postetaken, and these and other services announced in a letter, which, by wayof doing its part also in the kindly work of preparation, broke out intoFrench. He never spoke that language very well, his accent being somehowdefective; but he practised himself into writing it with remarkable easeand fluency. "I have written to the Hôtel des Bains at Boulogne to sendon to Calais and take your place in the malle-poste. . . . Of course youknow that you'll be assailed with frightful shouts all along the twolines of ropes from all the touters in Boulogne, and of course you'llpass on like the princess who went up the mountain after the talkingbird; but don't forget quietly to single out the Hôtel des Bainscommissionnaire. The following circumstances will then occur. Myexperience is more recent than yours, and I will throw them into adramatic form. . . . You are filtered into the little office, where thereare some soldiers; and a gentleman with a black beard and a pen and inksitting behind a counter. _Barbe Noire_ (to the lord of L. I. F. ). Monsieur, votre passeport. _Monsieur. _ Monsieur, le voici! _BarbeNoire. _ Où allez-vous, monsieur? _Monsieur. _ Monsieur, je vais à Paris. _Barbe Noire. _ Quand allez-vous partir, monsieur? _Monsieur. _ Monsieur, je vais partir aujourd'hui. Avec la malle-poste. _Barbe Noire. _ C'estbien. (To Gendarme. ) Laissez sortir monsieur! _Gendarme. _ Par ici, monsieur, s'il vous plait. Le gendarme ouvert une très petite porte. Monsieur se trouve subitement entouré de tous les gamins, agents, commissionnaires, porteurs, et polissons, en général, de Boulogne, quis'élancent sur lui, en poussant des cris épouvantables. Monsieur est, pour le moment, tout-à-fait effrayé et bouleversé. Mais monsieur reprendses forces et dit, de haute voix: 'Le Commissionnaire de l'Hôtel desBains!' _Un petit homme_ (s'avançant rapidement, et en souriantdoucement). Me voici, monsieur. Monsieur Fors Tair, n'est-ce pas? . . . Alors. . . . Alors monsieur se promène _à_ l'Hôtel des Bains, où monsieurtrouvera qu'un petit salon particulier, en haut, est déjà préparé poursa réception, et que son dîner est déjà commandé, aux soins du braveCourier, _à midi et demi_. . . . Monsieur mangera son dîner près du feu, avec beaucoup de plaisir, et il boirera de vin rouge à la santé deMonsieur de Boze, et sa famille intéressante et aimable. La malle-postearrivera au bureau de la poste aux lettres à deux heures ou peut-être unpeu plus tard. Mais monsieur chargera le commissionnaire d'yl'accompagner de bonne heure, car c'est beaucoup mieux de l'attendre quede la perdre. La malle-poste arrivé, monsieur s'assiéra, aussiconfortablement qu'il le peut, et il y restera jusqu'à son arrivé aubureau de la poste aux lettres à Paris. Parceque, le convoi (_train_)n'est pas l'affaire de monsieur, qui continuera s'asseoir dans lamalle-poste, sur le chemin de fer, et après le chemin de fer, jusqu'ilse trouve à la basse-cour du bureau de la poste aux lettres à Paris, oùil trouvera une voiture qui a été dépêché de la Rue de Courcelles, quarante-huit. Mais monsieur aura la bonté d'observer--Si le convoiarriverait à Amiens après le départ du convoi à minuit, il faudra yrester jusqu'à l'arrivé d'un autre convoi à trois heures moins un quart. En attendant, monsieur peut rester au buffet (_refreshment room_), oùl'on peut toujours trouver un bon feu, et du café chaud, et des trèsbonnes choses à boire et à manger, pendant toute la nuit. --Est-ce quemonsieur comprend parfaitement toutes ces règles pour sa guidance?--Vivele Roi des Français! Roi de la nation la plus grande, et la plus noble, et la plus extraordinairement merveilleuse, du monde! A bas des Anglais! "CHARLES DICKENS, "Français naturalisé, et Citoyen de Paris. " We passed a fortnight together, and crowded into it more than might seempossible to such a narrow space. With a dreadful insatiability we passedthrough every variety of sight-seeing, prisons, palaces, theatres, hospitals, the Morgue and the Lazare, as well as the Louvre, Versailles, St. Cloud, and all the spots made memorable by the first revolution. Theexcellent comedian Regnier, known to us through Macready and endeared bymany kindnesses, incomparable for his knowledge of the city andunwearying in friendly service, made us free of the green-room of theFrançais, where, on the birthday of Molière, we saw his "Don Juan"revived. At the Conservatoire we witnessed the masterly teaching ofSamson; at the Odéon saw a new play by Ponsard, done but indifferently;at the Variétés "Gentil-Bernard, " with four grisettes as if stepped outof a picture by Watteau; at the Gymnase "Clarisse Harlowe, " with adeath-scene of Rose Cheri which comes back to me, through the distanceof time, as the prettiest piece of pure and gentle stage-pathos in mymemory; at the Porte St. Martin "Lucretia Borgia" by Hugo; at theCirque, scenes of the great revolution, and all the battles ofNapoleon; at the Comic Opera, "Gibby"; and at the Palais Royal the usualnew-year's piece, in which Alexandre Dumas was shown in his study besidea pile of quarto volumes five feet high, which proved to be the firsttableau of the first act of the first piece to be played on the firstnight of his new theatre. That new theatre, the Historique, we also sawverging to a very short-lived completeness; and we supped with Dumashimself, and Eugène Sue, and met Théophile Gautier and Alphonse Karr. Wesaw Lamartine also, and had much friendly intercourse with Scribe, andwith the kind good-natured Amedée Pichot. One day we visited in the Ruedu Bac the sick and ailing Chateaubriand, whom we thought like BasilMontagu; found ourselves at the other extreme of opinion in thesculpture-room of David d'Angers; and closed that day at the house ofVictor Hugo, by whom Dickens was received with infinite courtesy andgrace. The great writer then occupied a floor in a noble corner-house inthe Place Royale, the old quarter of Ninon l'Enclos and the people ofthe Regency, of whom the gorgeous tapestries, the painted ceilings, thewonderful carvings and old golden furniture, including a canopy of stateout of some palace of the middle age, quaintly and grandly reminded us. He was himself, however, the best thing we saw; and I find it difficultto associate the attitudes and aspect in which the world has latelywondered at him, with the sober grace and self-possessed quiet gravityof that night of twenty-five years ago. Just then Louis Philippe hadennobled him, but the man's nature was written noble. Rather under themiddle size, of compact close-buttoned-up figure, with ample dark hairfalling loosely over his close-shaven face, I never saw upon anyfeatures so keenly intellectual such a soft and sweet gentility, andcertainly never heard the French language spoken with the picturesquedistinctness given to it by Victor Hugo. He talked of his childhood inSpain, and of his father having been Governor of the Tagus in Napoleon'swars; spoke warmly of the English people and their literature; declaredhis preference for melody and simplicity over the music then fashionableat the Conservatoire; referred kindly to Ponsard, laughed at the actorswho had murdered his tragedy at the Odéon, and sympathized with thedramatic venture of Dumas. To Dickens he addressed very charmingflattery, in the best taste; and my friend long remembered the enjoymentof that evening. There is little to add of our Paris holiday, if indeed too much has notbeen said already. We had an adventure with a drunken coachman, of whichthe sequel showed at least the vigour and decisiveness of the police inregard to hired vehicles[133] in those last days of the Orleansmonarchy. At the Bibliothèque Royale we were much interested by seeing, among many other priceless treasures, Gutenberg's types, Racine's notesin his copy of Sophocles, Rousseau's music, and Voltaire's note uponFrederick of Prussia's letter. Nor should I omit that in what Dickensthen told me, of even his small experience of the social aspects ofParis, there seemed but the same disease which raged afterwards throughthe second Empire. Not many days after I left, all Paris was crowding tothe sale of a lady of the demi-monde, Marie du Plessis, who had led themost brilliant and abandoned of lives, and left behind her the mostexquisite furniture and the most voluptuous and sumptuous bijouterie. Dickens wished at one time to have pointed the moral of this life anddeath of which there was great talk in Paris while we were together. Thedisease of satiety, which only less often than hunger passes for abroken heart, had killed her. "What do you want?" asked the most famousof the Paris physicians, at a loss for her exact complaint. At last sheanswered: "To see my mother. " She was sent for; and there came a simpleBreton peasant-woman clad in the quaint garb of her province, who prayedby her bed until she died. Wonderful was the admiration and sympathy;and it culminated when Eugène Sue bought her prayer-book at the sale. Our last talk before I quitted Paris, after dinner at the Embassy, wasof the danger underlying all this, and of the signs also visibleeverywhere of the Napoleon-worship which the Orleanists themselves hadmost favoured. Accident brought Dickens to England a fortnight later, when again we met together, at Gore-house, the self-contained reticentman whose doubtful inheritance was thus rapidly preparing to fall tohim. [134] The accident was the having underwritten his number of _Dombey_ by twopages, which there was not time to supply otherwise than by coming toLondon to write them. [135] This was done accordingly; but anothergreater trouble followed. He had hardly returned to Paris when hiseldest son, whom I had brought to England with me and placed in thehouse of Doctor Major, then head-master of King's-college-school, wasattacked by scarlet fever; and this closed prematurely Dickens'sresidence in Paris. But though he and his wife at once came over, andwere followed after some days by the children and their aunt, theisolation of the little invalid could not so soon be broken through. Hisfather at last saw him, nearly a month before the rest, in a lodging inAlbany-street, where his grandmother, Mrs. Hogarth, had devoted herselfto the charge of him; and an incident of the visit, which amused us allvery much, will not unfitly introduce the subject that waits me in mynext chapter. An elderly charwoman employed about the place had shown so much sympathyin the family trouble, that Mrs. Hogarth specially told her of theapproaching visit, and who it was that was coming to the sick-room. "Lawk ma'am!" she said. "Is the young gentleman upstairs the son of theman that put together _Dombey_?" Reassured upon this point, sheexplained her question by declaring that she never thought there was aman that _could_ have put together _Dombey_. Being pressed farther as towhat her notion was of this mystery of a _Dombey_ (for it was known shecould not read), it turned out that she lodged at a snuff-shop kept by aperson named Douglas, where there were several other lodgers; and thaton the first Monday of every month there was a Tea, and the landlordread the month's number of _Dombey_, those only of the lodgers whosubscribed to the tea partaking of that luxury, but all having thebenefit of the reading; and the impression produced on the old charwomanrevealed itself in the remark with which she closed her account of it. "Lawk ma'am! I thought that three or four men must have put together_Dombey_!" Dickens thought there was something of a compliment in this, and was notungrateful. [Illustration] FOOTNOTES: [130] It had also the mention of another floating fancy for the weeklyperiodical which was still and always present to his mind, and whichsettled down at last, as the reader knows, into _Household Words_. "Asto the Review, I strongly incline to the notion of a kind of _Spectator_(Addison's)--very cheap, and pretty frequent. We must have it thoroughlydiscussed. It would be a great thing to found something. If the markbetween a sort of _Spectator_, and a different sort of _Athenæum_, couldbe well hit, my belief is that a deal might be done. But it should besomething with a marked and distinctive and obvious difference, in itsdesign, from any other existing periodical. " [131] Some smaller items of family news were in the same letter. "Mameyand Katey have come out in Parisian dresses, and look very fine. Theyare not proud, and send their loves. Skittles is cutting teeth, and getscross towards evening. Frankey is smaller than ever, and Walter verylarge. Charley in statu quo. Everything is enormously dear. Fuel, stupendously so. In airing the house, we burnt five pounds' worth offirewood in one week!! We mix it with coal now, as we used to do inItaly, and find the fires much warmer. To warm the house thoroughly, this singular habitation requires fires on the ground floor. We burnthree. . . . " [132] "I shall bring the Brave, though I have no use for him. He'd dieif I didn't. " [133] Dickens's first letter after my return described it to me. "Do youremember my writing a letter to the prefet of police about thatcoachman? I heard no more about it until this very day" (12th ofFebruary), "when, at the moment of your letter arriving, Roche put hishead in at the door (I was busy writing in the Baronial drawing-room)and said, 'Here is datter cocher!'--Sir, he had been in prison eversince! and being released this morning, was sent by the police to payback the franc and a half, and to beg pardon, and to get a certificatethat he had done so, or he could not go on the stand again! Isn't thisadmirable? But the culminating point of the story (it could happen withnobody but me) is that he WAS DRUNK WHEN HE CAME!! Not very, but his eyewas fixed, and he swayed in his sabots, and smelt of wine, and toldRoche incoherently that he wouldn't have done it (committed the offence, that is) if the people hadn't made him. He seemed to be troubled with aphantasmagorial belief that all Paris had gathered round us that nightin the Rue St. Honoré, and urged him on with frantic shouts. . . . Snow, frost, and cold. . . . The Duke of Bordeaux is very well, and dines atthe Tuileries to-morrow. . . . _When_ I have done, I will write you abrilliant letter. . . . Loves from all. . . . Your blue and golden bedlooks desolate. " The allusion to the Duc de Bordeaux was to remind mepleasantly of a slip of his own during our talk with Chateaubriand, when, at a loss to say something interesting to the old royalist, hebethought him to enquire with sympathy when he had last seen therepresentative of the elder branch of Bourbons, as if he were residentin the city then and there! [134] This was on Sunday, the 21st of February, when a party wereassembled of whom I think the French Emperor, his cousin the PrinceNapoleon, Doctor Quin, Dickens's eldest son, and myself, are now theonly survivors. Lady Blessington had received the day before from herbrother Major Power, who held a military appointment in Hobart Town, asmall oil-painting of a girl's face by the murderer Wainewright(mentioned on a former page as having been seen by us together inNewgate), who was among the convicts there under sentence oftransportation, and who had contrived somehow to put the expression ofhis own wickedness into the portrait of a nice kind-hearted girl. MajorPower knew nothing of the man's previous history at this time, and hademployed him on the painting out of a sort of charity. As soon as thetruth went back, Wainewright was excluded from houses before open tohim, and shortly after died very miserably. What Reynolds said ofportrait painting, to explain its frequent want of refinement, that aman could only put into a face what he had in himself, was forciblyshown in this incident. The villain's story altogether moved Dickens tothe same interest as it had excited in another profound student ofhumanity (Sir Edward Lytton), and, as will be seen, he also introducedhim into one of his later writings. [135] ". . . I am horrified to find that the first chapter makes _atleast_ two pages less than I had supposed, and I have a terribleapprehension that there will not be copy enough for the number! As itcould not possibly come out short, and as there would be no greaterpossibility of sending to me, in this short month, to supply what may bewanted, I decide--after the first burst of nervousness is gone--_tofollow this letter by Diligence to-morrow morning_. The malle poste isfull for days and days. I shall hope to be with you some time onFriday. " C. D. To J. F. Paris: Wednesday, 17th February, 1847. THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS BY JOHN FORSTER. THREE VOLUMES IN TWO. VOL. II. BOSTON: JAMES R. OSGOOD & COMPANY, (LATE TICKNOR & FIELDS, AND FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO. ) 1875. CHAPTER XVI. DOMBEY AND SON. 1846-1848. Drift of the Tale--Why undervalued--Mistakes of Critics--Adherence to First Design--Design as to Paul and Sister--As to Dombey and Daughter--Real Character of Hero--Walter Gay--Omissions proposed--Anxiety as to Face of his Hero--Passage of Original MS. Omitted--Artist-fancies for Mr. Dombey--Dickens and his Illustrators--Hints for Artist--Letter to Cruikshank--An Experience of Ben Jonson's--Sale of the First Number--A Reading of the Second Number--Scene at Mrs. Pipchin's--The Mrs. Pipchin of his Childhood--First Thought of his Autobiography--Paul's School-life--Jeffrey's Forecast of the Tale--A Damper to the Spirit--A Fancy for New Zealand--Close of Paul's Life--Jeffrey on Paul's Death--Florence and Little Nell--Jeffrey on the Edith Scenes--Edith's First Destiny--Jack Bunsby--Dombey Household--Blimber Establishment--Supposed Originals. THOUGH his proposed new "book in shilling numbers" had been mentioned tome three months before he quitted England, he knew little himself atthat time or when he left excepting the fact, then also named, that itwas to do with Pride what its predecessor had done with Selfishness. Butthis limit he soon overpassed; and the succession of independent groupsof character, surprising for the variety of their forms and handling, with which he enlarged and enriched his plan, went far beyond the rangeof the passion of Mr. Dombey and Mr. Dombey's second wife. Obvious causes have led to grave under-estimates of this novel. Itsfirst five numbers forced up interest and expectation so high that therest of necessity fell short; but it is not therefore true of thegeneral conception that thus the wine of it had been drawn, and only thelees left. In the treatment of acknowledged masterpieces in literatureit not seldom occurs that the genius and the art of the master have notpulled together to the close; but if a work of imagination is to forfeitits higher meed of praise because its pace at starting has not beenuniformly kept, hard measure would have to be dealt to books ofundeniable greatness. Among other critical severities it was said here, that Paul died at the beginning not for any need of the story, but onlyto interest its readers somewhat more; and that Mr. Dombey relented atthe end for just the same reason. What is now to be told will show howlittle ground existed for either imputation. The so-called "violentchange" in the hero has more lately been revived in the notices of Mr. Taine, who says of it that "_it spoils a fine novel_;" but it will beseen that in the apparent change no unnaturalness of change wasinvolved, and certainly the adoption of it was not a sacrifice to"public morality. " While every other portion of the tale had to submitto such varieties in development as the characters themselves entailed, the design affecting Paul and his father had been planned from theopening, and was carried without alteration to the close. And of theperfect honesty with which Dickens himself repelled such charges asthose to which I have adverted, when he wrote the preface to hiscollected edition, remarkable proof appears in the letter to myselfwhich accompanied the manuscript of his proposed first number. No otherline of the tale had at this time been placed on paper. When the first chapter only was done, and again when all was finishedbut eight slips, he had sent me letters formerly quoted. What followscame with the manuscript of the first four chapters on the 25th of July. "I will now go on to give you an outline of my immediate intentions inreference to _Dombey_. I design to show Mr. D. With that one idea of theSon taking firmer and firmer possession of him, and swelling andbloating his pride to a prodigious extent. As the boy begins to grow up, I shall show him quite impatient for his getting on, and urging hismasters to set him great tasks, and the like. But the natural affectionof the boy will turn towards the despised sister; and I purpose showingher learning all sorts of things, of her own application anddetermination, to assist him in his lessons; and helping him always. When the boy is about ten years old (in the fourth number), he will betaken ill, and will die; and when he is ill, and when he is dying, Imean to make him turn always for refuge to the sister still, and keepthe stern affection of the father at a distance. So Mr. Dombey--for allhis greatness, and for all his devotion to the child--will find himselfat arms' length from him even then; and will see that his love andconfidence are all bestowed upon his sister, whom Mr. Dombey hasused--and so has the boy himself too, for that matter--as a mereconvenience and handle to him. The death of the boy is a death-blow, ofcourse, to all the father's schemes and cherished hopes; and 'Dombey andSon, ' as Miss Tox will say at the end of the number, 'is a Daughterafter all. '. . . From that time, I purpose changing his feeling ofindifference and uneasiness towards his daughter into a positive hatred. For he will always remember how the boy had his arm round her neck whenhe was dying, and whispered to her, and would take things only from herhand, and never thought of him. . . . At the same time I shall change _her_feeling towards _him_ for one of a greater desire to love him, and to beloved by him; engendered in her compassion for his loss, and her lovefor the dead boy whom, in his way, he loved so well too. So I mean tocarry the story on, through all the branches and offshoots andmeanderings that come up; and through the decay and downfall of thehouse, and the bankruptcy of Dombey, and all the rest of it; when hisonly staff and treasure, and his unknown Good Genius always, will bethis rejected daughter, who will come out better than any son at last, and whose love for him, when discovered and understood, will be hisbitterest reproach. For the struggle with himself which goes on in allsuch obstinate natures, will have ended then; and the sense of hisinjustice, which you may be sure has never quitted him, will have atlast a gentler office than that of only making him more harshlyunjust. . . . I rely very much on Susan Nipper grown up, and acting partlyas Florence's maid, and partly as a kind of companion to her, for astrong character throughout the book. I also rely on the Toodles, and onPolly, who, like everybody else, will be found by Mr. Dombey to havegone over to his daughter and become attached to her. This is what cookscall 'the stock of the soup. ' All kinds of things will be added to it, of course. " Admirable is the illustration thus afforded of his way ofworking, and very interesting the evidence it gives of the genuinefeeling for his art with which this book was begun. The close of the letter put an important question affecting gravely aleading person in the tale. . . . "About the boy, who appears in the lastchapter of the first number, I think it would be a good thing todisappoint all the expectations that chapter seems to raise of his happyconnection with the story and the heroine, and to show him gradually andnaturally trailing away, from that love of adventure and boyishlight-heartedness, into negligence, idleness, dissipation, dishonesty, and ruin. To show, in short, that common, every-day, miserabledeclension of which we know so much in our ordinary life; to exhibitsomething of the philosophy of it, in great temptations and an easynature; and to show how the good turns into bad, by degrees. If I keptsome little notion of Florence always at the bottom of it, I think itmight be made very powerful and very useful. What do you think? Do youthink it may be done, without making people angry? I could bring outSolomon Gills and Captain Cuttle well, through such a history; and Idescry, anyway, an opportunity for good scenes between Captain Cuttleand Miss Tox. This question of the boy is very important. . . . Let me hearall you think about it. Hear! I wish I could. ". . . For reasons that need not be dwelt upon here, but in which Dickensultimately acquiesced, Walter was reserved for a happier future; and theidea thrown out took subsequent shape, amid circumstances better suitedto its excellent capabilities, in the striking character of RichardCarstone in the tale of _Bleak House_. But another point had risenmeanwhile for settlement not admitting of delay. In the first enjoymentof writing after his long rest, to which a former letter has referred, he had over-written his number by nearly a fifth; and upon his proposalto transfer the fourth chapter to his second number, replacing it byanother of fewer pages, I had to object that this might damage hisinterest at starting. Thus he wrote on the 7th of August: ". . . I havereceived your letter to-day with the greatest delight, and am overjoyedto find that you think so well of the number. I thought well of itmyself, and that it was a great plunge into a story; but I did not knowhow far I might be stimulated by my paternal affection. . . . What shouldyou say, for a notion of the illustrations, to 'Miss Tox introduces theParty?' and 'Mr. Dombey and family?' meaning Polly Toodle, the baby, Mr. Dombey, and little Florence: whom I think it would be well to have. Walter, his uncle, and Captain Cuttle, might stand over. It is a greatquestion with me, now, whether I had not better take this last chapterbodily out, and make it the last chapter of the second number; writingsome other new one to close the first number. I think it would beimpossible to take out six pages without great pangs. Do you think sucha proceeding as I suggest would weaken number one very much? I wish youwould tell me, as soon as you can after receiving this, what youropinion is on the point. If you thought it would weaken the firstnumber, beyond the counterbalancing advantage of strengthening thesecond, I would cut down somehow or other, and let it go. I shall beanxious to hear your opinion. In the meanwhile I will go on with thesecond, which I have just begun. I have not been quite myself since wereturned from Chamounix, owing to the great heat. " Two days later: "Ihave begun a little chapter to end the first number, and certainly thinkit will be well to keep the ten pages of Wally and Co. Entire for numbertwo. But this is still subject to your opinion, which I am very anxiousto know. I have not been in writing cue all the week; but really theweather has rendered it next to impossible to work. " Four days later: "Ishall send you with this (on the chance of your being favourable to thatview of the subject) a small chapter to close the first number, in lieuof the Solomon Gills one. I have been hideously idle all the week, andhave done nothing but this trifling interloper: but hope to begin againon Monday--ding dong. . . . The inkstand is to be cleaned out to-night, andrefilled, preparatory to execution. I trust I may shed a good deal ofink in the next fortnight. " Then, the day following, on arrival of myletter, he submitted to a hard necessity. "I received yours to-day. Adecided facer to me! I had been counting, alas! with a miser's greed, upon the gained ten pages. . . . No matter. I have no doubt you are right, and strength is everything. The addition of two lines to each page, orsomething less, --coupled with the enclosed cuts, will bring it all tobear smoothly. In case more cutting is wanted, I must ask you to tryyour hand. I shall agree to whatever you propose. " These cuttings, absolutely necessary as they were, were not without much disadvantage;and in the course of them he had to sacrifice a passage foreshadowinghis final intention as to Dombey. It would have shown, thus early, something of the struggle with itself that such pride must always gothrough; and I think it worth preserving in a note. [136] [Illustration] [Illustration] Several letters now expressed his anxiety and care about theillustrations. A nervous dread of caricature in the face of hismerchant-hero, had led him to indicate by a living person the type ofcity-gentleman he would have had the artist select; and this is all hemeant by his reiterated urgent request, "I do wish he could get aglimpse of A, for he is the very Dombey. " But as the glimpse of A wasnot to be had, it was resolved to send for selection by himself glimpsesof other letters of the alphabet, actual heads as well as fancifulones; and the sheetful I sent out, which he returned when the choice wasmade, I here reproduce in fac-simile. In itself amusing, it has now theimportant use of showing, once for all, in regard to Dickens'sintercourse with his artists, that they certainly had not an easy timewith him; that, even beyond what is ordinary between author andillustrator, his requirements were exacting; that he was apt, as he hassaid himself, to build up temples in his mind not always makeable withhands; that in the results he had rarely anything but disappointment;and that of all notions to connect with him the most preposterous wouldbe that which directly reversed these relations, and depicted him asreceiving from any artist the inspiration he was always vainly strivingto give. An assertion of this kind was contradicted in my first volume;but it has since been repeated so explicitly, that to prevent anypossible misconstruction from a silence I would fain have persisted in, the distasteful subject is again reluctantly introduced. It originated with a literary friend of the excellent artist by whom_Oliver Twist_ was illustrated from month to month, during the earlierpart of its monthly issue. This gentleman stated, in a paper written andpublished in America, that Mr. Cruikshank, by executing the platesbefore opportunity was afforded him of seeing the letter press, hadsuggested to the writer the finest effects in his story; and to this, opposing my clear recollection of all the time the tale was in progress, it became my duty to say that within my own personal knowledge thealleged fact was not true. "Dickens, " the artist is reported an sayingto his admirer, "ferreted out that bundle of drawings, and when he cameto the one which represents Fagin in the cell, he silently studied itfor half an hour, and told me he was tempted to change the whole plot ofhis story. . . . I consented to let him write up to my designs; and thatwas the way in which Fagin, Sikes, and Nancy were created. " Happily Iwas able to add the complete refutation of this folly by producing aletter of Dickens written at the time, which proved incontestably thatthe closing illustrations, including the two specially named in supportof the preposterous charge, Sikes and his Dog, and Fagin in his Cell, had not even been seen by Dickens until his finished book was on the eveof appearance. As however the distinguished artist, notwithstanding therefreshment of his memory by this letter, has permitted himself again toendorse the statement of his friend, I can only again print, on the samepage which contains the strange language used by him, the words withwhich Dickens himself repels its imputation on his memory. To some itmay be more satisfactory if I print the latter in fac-simile; and soleave for ever a charge in itself so incredible that nothing would havejustified farther allusion to it but the knowledge of my friend's oldand true regard for Mr. Cruikshank, of which evidence will shortlyappear, and my own respect for an original genius well able to subsistof itself without taking what belongs to others. [Illustration: My dear Cruikshank, I returned suddenly to town yesterday afternoon to look at the latter["last" crossed out] pages of Oliver Twist before it was delivered tothe booksellers, when I saw the majority of the plates in the lastvolume for the first time. With reference to the last one, Rose Maylie and Oliver. Without enteringinto the question of great haste or [word crossed out] any other causewhich may have led to its being what it is. I am quite sure there can belittle difference of opinion between us with [word crossed out] respectto the result--may] [Illustration: I ask you whether you will object to designing [word crossed out] this plate afresh and doing so ~at once~ in order that as few impressions as possible of the present one may go forth? I feel confident [words crossed out] you know me too well to feel hurt by this enquiry, and with that confidence in you I have lost no time in preparing it. ][137] Resuming the _Dombey_ letters I find him on the 30th of August in betterheart about his illustrator. "I shall gladly acquiesce in whatever morechanges or omissions you propose. Browne seems to be getting on well. . . . He will have a good subject in Paul's christening. Mr. Chick is likeD, if you'll mention that when you think of it. The little chapter ofMiss Tox and the Major, which you alas! (but quite wisely) rejected fromthe first number, I have altered for the last of the second. I have notquite finished the middle chapter yet--having, I should say, three gooddays' work to do at it; but I hope it will be all a worthy successor tonumber one. I will send it as soon as finished. " Then, a little later:"Browne is certainly interesting himself, and taking pains. I think thecover very good: perhaps with a little too much in it, but that is anungrateful objection. " The second week of September brought me thefinished MS. Of number two; and his letter of the 3rd of October, noticing objections taken to it, gives additional touches to thispicture of him while at work. The matter that engages him is one of hismasterpieces. There is nothing in all his writings more perfect, forwhat it shows of his best qualities, than the life and death of PaulDombey. The comedy is admirable; nothing strained, everything hearty andwholesome in the laughter and fun; all who contribute to the mirth, Doctor Blimber and his pupils, Mr. Toots, the Chicks and the Toodles, Miss Tox and the Major, Paul and Mrs. Pipchin, up to his highest mark;and the serious scenes never falling short of it, from the death ofPaul's mother in the first number, to that of Paul himself in the fifth, which, as a writer of genius with hardly exaggeration said, threw awhole nation into mourning. But see how eagerly this fine writer takesevery suggestion, how little of self-esteem and self-sufficiency thereis, with what a consciousness of the tendency of his humour toexuberance he surrenders what is needful to restrain it, and of whatsmall account to him is any special piece of work in his care and hisconsiderateness for the general design. I think of Ben Jonson'sexperience of the greatest of all writers. "He was indeed honest, and ofan open and free nature; had an excellent phantasy, brave notions andgentle expressions; wherein he flowed with that facility, that sometimesit was necessary he should be stopped. " Who it was that stopped _him_, and the ease of doing it, no one will doubt. Whether he, as well as thewriter of later time, might not with more advantage have been leftalone, will be the only question. Thus ran the letter of the 3rd of October: "Miss Tox's colony I willsmash. Walter's allusion to Carker (would you take it _all_ out?) shallbe dele'd. Of course, you understand the man! I turned that speech overin my mind; but I thought it natural that a boy should run on, with sucha subject, under the circumstances: having the matter so presented tohim. . . . I thought of the possibility of malice on christening points offaith, and put the drag on as I wrote. Where would you make theinsertion, and to what effect? _That_ shall be done too. I want you tothink the number sufficiently good stoutly to back up the first. Itoccurs to me--might not your doubt about the christening be a reason fornot making the ceremony the subject of an illustration? Just turn thisover. Again: if I could do it (I shall have leisure to consider thepossibility before I begin), do you think it would be advisable to makenumber three a kind of half-way house between Paul's infancy, and hisbeing eight or nine years old?--In that case I should probably not killhim until the fifth number. Do you think the people so likely to bepleased with Florence, and Walter, as to relish another number of themat their present age? Otherwise, Walter will be two or three and twenty, straightway. I wish you would think of this. . . . I am sure you are rightabout the christening. It shall be artfully and easily amended. . . . Eh?" Meanwhile, two days before this letter, his first number had beenlaunched with a sale that transcended his hopes and brought back_Nickleby_ days. The _Dombey_ success "is BRILLIANT!" he wrote to me onthe 11th. "I had put before me thirty thousand as the limit of the mostextreme success, saying that if we should reach that, I should be morethan satisfied and more than happy; you will judge how happy I am! Iread the second number here last night to the most prodigious anduproarious delight of the circle. I never saw or heard people laugh so. You will allow me to observe that my reading of the Major has merit. "What a valley of the shadow he had just been passing, in his journeythrough his Christmas book, has before been told; but always, and withonly too much eagerness, he sprang up under pressure. "A week of perfectidleness, " he wrote to me on the 26th, "has brought me roundagain--idleness so rusting and devouring, so complete and unbroken, thatI am quite glad to write the heading of the first chapter of numberthree to-day. I shall be slow at first, I fear, in consequence of thatchange of the plan. But I allow myself nearly three weeks for thenumber; designing, at present, to start for Paris on the 16th ofNovember. Full particulars in future bills. Just going to bed. I think Ican make a good effect, on the after story, of the feeling created bythe additional number before Paul's death. " . . . Five more days confirmedhim in this hope. "I am at work at _Dombey_ with good speed, thank God. All well here. Country stupendously beautiful. Mountains covered withsnow. Rich, crisp weather. " There was one drawback. The second numberhad gone out to him, and the illustrations he found to be so "dreadfullybad" that they made him "curl his legs up. " They made him also more thanusually anxious in regard to a special illustration on which he set muchstore, for the part he had in hand. The first chapter of it was sent me only four days later (nearly halfthe entire part, so freely his fancy was now flowing and overflowing), with intimation for the artist: "The best subject for Browne will be atMrs. Pipchin's; and if he liked to do a quiet odd thing, Paul, Mrs. Pipchin, and the Cat, by the fire, would be very good for the story. Iearnestly hope he will think it worth a little extra care. The secondsubject, in case he shouldn't take a second from that same chapter, Iwill shortly describe as soon as I have it clearly (to-morrow or nextday), and send it to _you_ by post. " The result was not satisfactory;but as the artist more than redeemed it in the later course of the tale, and the present disappointment was mainly the incentive to that bettersuccess, the mention of the failure here will be excused for what itillustrates of Dickens himself. "I am really _distressed_ by theillustration of Mrs. Pipchin and Paul. It is so frightfully and wildlywide of the mark. Good Heaven! in the commonest and most literalconstruction of the text, it is all wrong. She is described as an oldlady, and Paul's 'miniature arm-chair' is mentioned more than once. Heought to be sitting in a little arm-chair down in the corner of thefireplace, staring up at her. I can't say what pain and vexation it isto be so utterly misrepresented. I would cheerfully have given a hundredpounds to have kept this illustration out of the book. He never couldhave got that idea of Mrs. Pipchin if he had attended to the text. Indeed I think he does better without the text; for then the notion ismade easy to him in short description, and he can't help taking it in. " He felt the disappointment more keenly, because the conception of thegrim old boarding-house keeper had taken back his thoughts to themiseries of his own child-life, and made her, as her prototype in veritywas, a part of the terrible reality. [138] I had forgotten, until I againread this letter of the 4th of November 1846, that he thus earlyproposed to tell me that story of his boyish sufferings which a questionfrom myself, of some months later date, so fully elicited. He was nowhastening on with the close of his third number, to be ready fordeparture to Paris. ". . . I hope to finish the number by next Tuesday or Wednesday. It ishard writing under these bird-of-passage circumstances, but I have noreason to complain, God knows, having come to no knot yet. . . . I hope youwill like Mrs. Pipchin's establishment. It is from the life, and I wasthere--I don't suppose I was eight years old; but I remember it all aswell, and certainly understood it as well, as I do now. We should bedevilish sharp in what we do to children. I thought of that passage inmy small life, at Geneva. _Shall I leave you my life in MS. When I die?There are some things in it that would touch you very much, and thatmight go on the same shelf with the first volume of Holcroft's. _" On the Monday week after that was written he left Lausanne for Paris, and my first letter to him there was to say that he had overwritten hisnumber by three pages. "I have taken out about two pages and a half, " hewrote by return from the hotel Brighton, "and the rest I must ask you totake out with the assurance that you will satisfy me in whatever you do. The sale, prodigious indeed! I am very thankful. " Next day he wrote asto Walter. "I see it will be best as you advise, to give that idea up;and indeed I don't feel it would be reasonable to carry it out now. I amfar from sure it could be wholesomely done, after the interest he hasacquired. But when I have disposed of Paul (poor boy!) I will considerthe subject farther. " The subject was never resumed. He was at theopening of his admirable fourth part, when, on the 6th of December, hewrote from the Rue de Courcelles: "Here am I, writing letters, anddelivering opinions, politico-economical and otherwise, as if there wereno undone number, and no undone Dick! Well. Cosi va il mondo (God blessme! Italian! I beg your pardon)--and one must keep one's spirits up, ifpossible, even under _Dombey_ pressure. Paul, I shall slaughter at theend of number five. His school ought to be pretty good, but I haven'tbeen able to dash at it freely, yet. However, I have avoided unnecessarydialogue so far, to avoid overwriting; and all I _have_ written ispoint. " And so, in "point, " it went to the close; the rich humour of its pictureof Doctor Blimber and his pupils alternating with the quaint pathos ofits picture of little Paul; the first a good-natured exposure of theforcing-system and its fruits, as useful as the sterner revelation in_Nickleby_ of the atrocities of Mr. Squeers, and the last even lessattractive for the sweetness and sadness of its foreshadowing of achild's death, than for those strange images of a vague, deepthoughtfulness, of a shrewd unconscious intellect, of mysterious smallphilosophies and questionings, by which the young old-fashioned littlecreature has a glamour thrown over him as he is passing away. It waswonderfully original, this treatment of the part that thus preceded theclose of Paul's little life; and of which the first conception, as Ihave shown, was an afterthought. It quite took the death itself out ofthe region of pathetic commonplaces, and gave to it the proper relationto the sorrow of the little sister that survives it. It is a fairyvision to a piece of actual suffering; a sorrow with heaven's hues uponit, to a sorrow with all the bitterness of earth. The number had been finished, he had made his visit to London, and wasagain in the Rue de Courcelles, when on Christmas day he sent me itshearty old wishes, and a letter of Jeffrey's on his new story of whichthe first and second part had reached him. "Many merry Christmases, manyhappy new years, unbroken friendship, great accumulation of cheerfulrecollections, affection on earth, and Heaven at last! . . . Is it not astrange example of the hazard of writing in parts, that a man likeJeffrey should form his notion of Dombey and Miss Tox on three months'knowledge? I have asked him the same question, and advised him to keephis eye on both of them as time rolls on. [139] I do not at heart, however, lay much real stress on his opinion, though one is naturallyproud of awakening such sincere interest in the breast of an old man whohas so long worn the blue and yellow. . . . He certainly did some servicein his old criticisms, especially to Crabbe. And though I don't think sohighly of Crabbe as I once did (feeling a dreary want of fancy in hispoems), I think he deserved the pains-taking and conscientious trackingwith which Jeffrey followed him". . . . Six days later he described himselfsitting down to the performance of one of his greatest achievements, hisnumber five, "most abominably dull and stupid. I have only written aslip, but I hope to get to work in strong earnest to-morrow. It occurredto me on special reflection, that the first chapter should be with Pauland Florence, and that it should leave a pleasant impression of thelittle fellow being happy, before the reader is called upon to see himdie. I mean to have a genteel breaking-up at Doctor Blimber's therefore, for the Midsummer vacation; and to show him in a little quiet light (nowdawning through the chinks of my mind), which I hope will create anagreeable impression. " Then, two days later: ". . . I am working veryslowly. You will see in the first two or three lines of the enclosedfirst subject, with what idea I am ploughing along. It is difficult; buta new way of doing it, it strikes me, and likely to be pretty. " And then, after three days more, came something of a damper to hisspirits, as he thus toiled along. He saw public allusion made to areview that had appeared in the _Times_ of his Christmas book, and itmomentarily touched what he too truly called his morbid susceptibilityto exasperation. "I see that the 'good old Times' are again at issuewith the inimitable B. Another touch of a blunt razor on B. 's nervoussystem. --Friday morning. Inimitable very mouldy and dull. Hardly able towork. Dreamed of _Timeses_ all night. Disposed to go to New Zealand andstart a magazine. " But soon he sprang up, as usual, more erect for themoment's pressure; and after not many days I heard that the number wasas good as done. His letter was very brief, and told me that he hadworked so hard the day before (Tuesday, the 12th of January), and soincessantly, night as well as morning, that he had breakfasted and lainin bed till midday. "I hope I have been very successful. " There was butone small chapter more to write, in which he and his little friend wereto part company for ever; and the greater part of the night of the dayon which it was written, Thursday the 14th, he was wandering desolateand sad about the streets of Paris. I arrived there the followingmorning on my visit; and as I alighted from the malle-poste, a littlebefore eight o'clock, found him waiting for me at the gate of thepost-office bureau. I left him on the 2nd of February with his writing-table in readinessfor number six; but on the 4th, enclosing me subjects for illustration, he told me he was "not under weigh yet. Can't begin. " Then, on the 7th, his birthday, he wrote to warn me he should be late. "Could not beginbefore Thursday last, and find it very difficult indeed to fall into thenew vein of the story. I see no hope of finishing before the 16th at theearliest, in which case the steam will have to be put on for this shortmonth. But it can't be helped. Perhaps I shall get a rush ofinspiration. . . . I will send the chapters as I write them, and youmust not wait, of course, for me to read the end in type. To transfer toFlorence, instantly, all the previous interest, is what I am aiming at. For that, all sorts of other points must be thrown aside in this number. . . . We are going to dine again at the Embassy to-day--with a very illwill on my part. All well. I hope when I write next I shall reportmyself in better cue. . . . I have had a tremendous outpouring fromJeffrey about the last part, which he thinks the best thing past, present, or to come. "[140] Three more days and I had the MS. Of thecompleted chapter, nearly half the number (in which as printed it standssecond, the small middle chapter having been transposed to its place). "I have taken the most prodigious pains with it; the difficulty, immediately after Paul's death, being very great. May you like it! Myhead aches over it now (I write at one o'clock in the morning), and Iam strange to it. . . . I think I shall manage Dombey's second wife(introduced by the Major), and the beginning of that business in hispresent state of mind, very naturally and well. . . . Paul's death hasamazed Paris. All sorts of people are open-mouthed with admiration. . . . When I have done, I'll write you _such_ a letter! Don't cut me shortin your letters just now, because I'm working hard. . . . _I_'ll makeup. . . . Snow--snow--snow--a foot thick. " The day after this, came thebrief chapter which was printed as the first; and then, on the 16th, which he had fixed as his limit for completion, the close reached me;but I had meanwhile sent him out so much of the proof as convinced himthat he had underwritten his number by at least two pages, anddetermined him to come to London. The incident has been told which soonafter closed his residence abroad, and what remained of his story waswritten in England. I shall not farther dwell upon it in any detail. It extended over thewhole of the year; and the interest and passion of it, when to himselfboth became centred in Florence and in Edith Dombey, took stronger holdof him, and more powerfully affected him, than had been the case in anyof his previous writings, I think, excepting only the close of the _OldCuriosity Shop_. Jeffrey compared Florence to little Nell, but thedifferences from the outset are very marked, and it is rather in whatdisunites or separates them that we seem to find the purpose aimed at. If the one, amid much strange and grotesque violence surrounding her, expresses the innocent, unconsciousness of childhood to such rough waysof the world, passing unscathed as Una to her home beyond it, the otheris this character in action and resistance, a brave young resolute heartthat will _not_ be crushed, and neither sinks nor yields, but fromearth's roughest trials works out her own redemption even here. Of Edithfrom the first Jeffrey judged more rightly; and, when the story wasnearly half done, expressed his opinion about her, and about the bookitself, in language that pleased Dickens for the special reason that atthe time this part of the book had seemed to many to have fallen greatlyshort of the splendour of its opening. Jeffrey said however quite truly, claiming to be heard with authority as his "Critic-laureate, " that ofall his writings it was perhaps the most finished in diction, and thatit equalled the best in the delicacy and fineness of its touches, "whileit rises to higher and deeper passions, not resting, like most of theformer, in sweet thoughtfulness, and thrilling and attractivetenderness, but boldly wielding all the lofty and terrible elements oftragedy, and bringing before us the appalling struggles of a proud, scornful, and repentant spirit. " Not that she was exactly this. Edith'sworst qualities are but the perversion of what should have been herbest. A false education in her, and a tyrant passion in her husband, make them other than Nature meant; and both show how life may run itsevil course against the higher dispensations. As the catastrophe came in view, a nice point in the management of hercharacter and destiny arose. I quote from a letter of the 19th ofNovember, when he was busy with his fourteenth part. "Of course shehates Carker in the most deadly degree. I have not elaborated that, now, because (as I was explaining to Browne the other day) I have relied onit very much for the effect of her death. But I have no question thatwhat you suggest will be an improvement. The strongest place to put itin, would be the close of the chapter immediately before this last one. I want to make the two first chapters as light as I can, but I will tryto do it, solemnly, in that place. " Then came the effect of thisfourteenth number on Jeffrey; raising the question of whether the endmight not come by other means than her death, and bringing with it amore bitter humiliation for her destroyer. While engaged on thefifteenth (21st December) Dickens thus wrote to me: "I am thoroughlydelighted that you like what I sent. I enclose designs. Shadow-plate, poor. But I think Mr. Dombey admirable. One of the prettiest things inthe book ought to be at the end of the chapter I am writing now. But inFlorence's marriage, and in her subsequent return to her father, I see abrilliant opportunity. . . . Note from Jeffrey this morning, who won'tbelieve (positively refuses) that Edith is Carker's mistress. What doyou think of a kind of inverted Maid's Tragedy, and a tremendous sceneof her undeceiving Carker, and giving him to know that she never meantthat?" So it was done; and when he sent me the chapter in which Edithsays adieu to Florence, I had nothing but praise and pleasure toexpress. "I need not say, " he wrote in reply, "I can't, how delightedand overjoyed I am by what you say and feel of it. I propose to showDombey _twice_ more; and in the end, leave him exactly as you describe. "The end came; and, at the last moment when correction was possible, thisnote arrived. "I suddenly remember that I have forgotten Diogenes. Willyou put him in the last little chapter? After the word 'favourite' inreference to Miss Tox, you can add, 'except with Diogenes, who isgrowing old and wilful. ' Or, on the last page of all, after 'and withthem two children: boy and girl' (I quote from memory), you might say'and an old dog is generally in their company, ' or to that effect. Justwhat you think best. " That was on Saturday the 25th of March, 1848, and may be my lastreference to _Dombey_ until the book, in its place with the rest, findscritical allusion when I close. But as the confidences revealed in thischapter have dealt wholly with the leading currents of interest, thereis yet room for a word on incidental persons in the story, of whom Ihave seen other so-called confidences alleged which it will be onlyright to state have really no authority. And first let me say whatunquestionable evidence these characters give of the unimpairedfreshness, richness, variety, and fitness of Dickens's invention at thistime. Glorious Captain Cuttle, laying his head to the wind and fightingthrough everything; his friend Jack Bunsby, [141] with a head tooponderous to lay-to, and so falling victim to the inveterate MacStinger;good-hearted, modest, considerate Toots, whose brains rapidly go as hiswhiskers come, but who yet gets back from contact with the world, in hisshambling way, some fragments of the sense pumped out of him by theforcing Blimbers; breathless Susan Nipper, beaming Polly Toodle, theplaintive Wickham, and the awful Pipchin, each with her duty in thestarched Dombey household so nicely appointed as to seem born for onlythat; simple thoughtful old Gills and his hearty young lad of a nephew;Mr. Toodle and his children, with the charitable grinder's decline andfall; Miss Tox, obsequious flatterer from nothing but good-nature;spectacled and analytic, but not unkind Miss Blimber; and the gooddroning dull benevolent Doctor himself, withering even the fruits of hiswell-spread dinner-table with his _It is remarkable, Mr. Feeder, thatthe Romans_--"at the mention of which terrible people, their implacableenemies, every young gentleman fastened his gaze upon the Doctor, withan assumption of the deepest interest. " So vivid and life-like were allthese people, to the very youngest of the young gentlemen, that itbecame natural eagerly to seek out for them actual prototypes; but Ithink I can say with some confidence of them all, that, whatever singletraits may have been taken from persons known to him (a practice withall writers, and very specially with Dickens), only two had livingoriginals. His own experience of Mrs. Pipchin has been related; I hadmyself some knowledge of Miss Blimber; and the Little Wooden Midshipmandid actually (perhaps does still) occupy his post of observation inLeadenhall-street. The names that have been connected, I doubt not inperfect good faith, with Sol Gills, Perch the messenger, and CaptainCuttle, have certainly not more foundation than the fancy a courteouscorrespondent favours me with, that the redoubtable Captain must havesat for his portrait to Charles Lamb's blustering, loud-talking, hook-handed Mr. Mingay. As to the amiable and excellent city-merchantwhose name has been given to Mr. Dombey, he might with the same amountof justice or probability be supposed to have originated _Coriolanus_ or_Timon of Athens_. FOOTNOTES: [136] "He had already laid his hand upon the bell-rope to convey hisusual summons to Richards, when his eye fell upon a writing-desk, belonging to his deceased wife, which had been taken, among otherthings, from a cabinet in her chamber. It was not the first time thathis eye had lighted on it. He carried the key in his pocket; and hebrought it to his table and opened it now--having previously locked theroom door--with a well accustomed hand. "From beneath a heap of torn and cancelled scraps of paper, he took oneletter that remained entire. Involuntarily holding his breath as heopened this document, and 'bating in the stealthy action something ofhis arrogant demeanour, he sat down, resting his head upon one hand, andread it through. "He read it slowly and attentively, and with a nice particularity toevery syllable. Otherwise than as his great deliberation seemedunnatural, and perhaps the result of an effort equally great, he allowedno sign of emotion to escape him. When he had read it through, he foldedand refolded it slowly several times, and tore it carefully intofragments. Checking his hand in the act of throwing these away, he putthem in his pocket, as if unwilling to trust them even to the chances ofbeing reunited and deciphered; and instead of ringing, as usual, forlittle Paul, he sat solitary all the evening in his cheerless room. "From the original MS. Of _Dombey and Son_. [137] "I will now explain that 'Oliver Twist, ' the ----, the ----, etc. "(naming books by another writer), "were produced in an entirelydifferent manner from what would be considered as the usual course; _forI, the Artist, suggested to the Authors of those works the originalidea, or subject_, for them to write out--furnishing, at the same time, the principal characters and the scenes. And then, as the tale had to beproduced in monthly parts, the _Writer_, or _Author_, and the Artist, had every month to arrange and settle what scenes, or subjects, andcharacters were to be introduced, and the Author had to _weave_ in suchscenes as I wished to represent. "--_The Artist and the Author_, byGeorge Cruikshank, p. 15. (Bell & Daldy: 1872. ) The italics are Mr. Cruikshank's own. [138] I take, from his paper of notes for the number, the various names, beginning with that of her real prototype, out of which the nameselected came to him at last. "Mrs. Roylance . . . House at the seaside. Mrs. Wrychin. Mrs. Tipchin. Mrs. Alchin. Mrs. Somching. Mrs. Pipchin. "See Vol. I. P. 55. [139] Some passages may be subjoined from the letter, as it does notappear among those printed by Lord Cockburn. "EDINBURGH, _14thDecember_, '46. My dear, dear Dickens!--and dearer every day, as youevery day give me more pleasure and do me more good! You do not wonderat this style? for you know that I have been _in love with you_, eversince Nelly! and I do not care now who knows it. . . . The Dombeys, my dearD! how can I thank you enough for them! The truth, and the delicacy, andthe softness and depth of the pathos in that opening death-scene, couldonly come from one hand; and the exquisite taste which spares alldetails, and breaks off just when the effect is at its height, is whollyyours. But it is Florence on whom my hopes chiefly repose; and in her Isee the promise of another Nelly! though reserved, I hope, for a happierfate, and destined to let us see what a _grown-up_ female angel is like. I expect great things, too, from Walter, who begins charmingly, and willbe still better I fancy than young Nickleby, to whom as yet he bearsmost resemblance. I have good hopes too of Susan Nipper, who I think hasgreat capabilities, and whom I trust you do not mean to drop. Dombey israther too hateful, and strikes me as a mitigated Jonas, without hisbrutal coarseness and ruffian ferocity. I am quite in the dark as towhat you mean to make of Paul, but shall watch his development withinterest. About Miss Tox, and her Major, and the Chicks, perhaps I donot care enough. But you know I always grudge the exquisite painting youwaste on such portraits. I love the Captain, tho', and his hook, as muchas you can wish; and look forward to the future appearances of CarkerJunior, with expectations which I know will not be disappointed. . . . " [140] "EDINBURGH, _31st January_, 1847. Oh, my dear, dear Dickens! whata No. 5 you have now given us! I have so cried and sobbed over it lastnight, and again this morning; and felt my heart purified by thosetears, and blessed and loved you for making me shed them; and I nevercan bless and love you enough. Since the divine Nelly was found dead onher humble couch, beneath the snow and the ivy, there has been nothinglike the actual dying of that sweet Paul, in the summer sunshine of thatlofty room. And the long vista that leads us so gently and sadly, andyet so gracefully and winningly, to the plain consummation! Every traitso true, and so touching--and yet lightened by the fearless innocencewhich goes _playfully_ to the brink of the grave, and that pureaffection which bears the unstained spirit, on its soft and lambentflash, at once to its source in eternity. ". . . In the same letter he toldhim of his having been reading the _Battle of Life_ again, charmed withits sweet writing and generous sentiments. [141] "_Isn't Bunsby good_?" I heard Lord Denman call out, withunmistakable glee and enjoyment, over Talfourd's table--I think to SirEdward Ryan; one of the few survivors of that pleasant dinner party ofMay 1847. CHAPTER XVII. SPLENDID STROLLING. 1847-1852. Birth of Fifth Son--Theatrical Benefit for Leigh Hunt--Troubles at Rehearsals--Leigh Hunt's Account--Receipts and Expenses--Anecdote of Macready--At Broadstairs--Appearance of Mrs. Gamp--Fancy for a Jeu-d'esprit--Mrs. Gamp at the Play--Mrs. Gamp with the Strollers--Confidences with Mrs. Harris--Leigh Hunt and Poole--Ticklish Society--Mrs. Gamp's Cabman--George Cruikshank--Mr. Wilson the Hair-dresser--In the Sweedlepipes Line--Fatigues of a Powder Ball--C. D. 's Moustache and Whiskers--John Leech--Mark Lemon--Douglas Jerrold--Dudley Costello--Frank Stone--Augustus Egg--J. F. --Cruikshank's _Bottle_--Profits of _Dombey_--Design for Edition of Old Novelists--Street-music at Broadstairs--Margate Theatre--Public Meetings--Book Friends--Friendly Reception in Glasgow--Scott-monument--Purchase of Shakespeare's House--Amateur Theatricals--Origin of Guild of Literature and Art--Travelling Theatre and Scenes--Success of Comedy and Farce--Troubles of a Manager--Acting under Difficulties--Scenery overturned--Dinner at Manchester. DEVONSHIRE TERRACE remaining still in possession of Sir James Duke, ahouse was taken in Chester-place, Regent's-park, where, on the 18th ofApril, his fifth son, to whom he gave the name of Sydney SmithHaldimand, was born. [142] Exactly a month before, we had attendedtogether the funeral, at Highgate, of his publisher Mr. William Hall, his old regard for whom had survived the recent temporary cloud, andwith whom he had the association as well of his first success, as ofmuch kindly intercourse not forgotten at this sad time. Of the summermonths that followed, the greater part was passed by him at Brighton orBroadstairs; and the chief employment of his leisure, in the intervalsof _Dombey_, was the management of an enterprise originating in thesuccess of our private play, of which the design was to benefit a greatman of letters. The purpose and the name had hardly been announced, when, with thestatesmanlike attention to literature and its followers for which LordJohn Russell has been eccentric among English politicians, a civil-listpension of two hundred a year was granted to Leigh Hunt; but though thismodified our plan so far as to strike out of it performances meant to begiven in London, so much was still thought necessary as might clear offpast liabilities, and enable one of the most genuine of writers betterto enjoy the easier future that had at last been opened to him. Reserving therefore anything realized beyond a certain sum for adramatic author of merit, Mr. John Poole, to whom help had become alsoimportant, it was proposed to give, on Leigh Hunt's behalf, tworepresentations of Ben Jonson's comedy, one at Manchester and the otherat Liverpool, to be varied by different farces in each place; and with aprologue of Talfourd's which Dickens was to deliver in Manchester, whilea similar address by Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton was to be spoken by me inLiverpool. Among the artists and writers associated in the scheme wereMr. Frank Stone, Mr. Augustus Egg, Mr. John Leech, and Mr. GeorgeCruikshank; Mr. Douglas Jerrold, Mr. Mark Lemon, Mr. Dudley Costello, and Mr. George Henry Lewes; the general management and supreme controlbeing given to Dickens. Leading men in both cities contributed largely to the design, and myfriend Mr. Alexander Ireland of Manchester has lately sent me someletters not more characteristic of the energy of Dickens in regard to itthan of the eagerness of every one addressed to give what help theycould. Making personal mention of his fellow-sharers in the enterprisehe describes the troop, in one of those letters, as "the most easilygovernable company of actors on earth;" and to this he had doubtlessbrought them, but not very easily. One or two of his managerial troublesat rehearsals remain on record in letters to myself, and may giveamusement still. Comedy and farces are referred to indiscriminately, butthe farces were the most recurring plague. "Good Heaven! I find that A. Hasn't twelve words, and I am in hourly expectation of rebellion!"--"Youwere right about the green baize, that it would certainly muffle thevoices; and some of our actors, by Jove, haven't too much of thatcommodity at the best. "--"B. Shocked me so much the other night by arestless, stupid movement of his hands in his first scene with you, thatI took a turn of an hour with him yesterday morning, and I hope quietedhis nerves a little. "--"I made a desperate effort to get C. To give uphis part. Yet in spite of all the trouble he gives me I am sorry forhim, he is so evidently hurt by his own sense of not doing well. Heclutched the part, however, tenaciously; and three weary times wedragged through it last night. "--"That infernal E. Forgetseverything. "--"I plainly see that F. When nervous, which he is sure tobe, loses his memory. Moreover his asides are inaudible, even at MissKelly's; and as regularly as I stop him to say them again, he exclaims(with a face of agony) that 'he'll speak loud on the night, ' as ifanybody ever did without doing it always!"--"G. Not born for it at all, and too innately conceited, I much fear, to do anything well. I thoughthim better last night, but I would as soon laugh at a kitchenpoker. "--"Fancy H. Ten days after the casting of that farce, wantingF. 's part therein! Having himself an excellent old man in it already, and a quite admirable part in the other farce. " From which it willappear that my friend's office was not a sinecure, and that he was not, as few amateur-managers have ever been, without the experiences of PeterQuince. Fewer still, I suspect, have fought through them with suchperfect success, for the company turned out at last would have donecredit to any enterprise. They deserved the term applied to them byMaclise, who had invented it first for Macready, on his being driven to"star" in the provinces when his managements in London closed. They were"splendid strollers. "[143] On Monday the 26th July we played at Manchester, and on Wednesday the28th at Liverpool; the comedy being followed on the first night by _AGood Night's Rest_ and _Turning the Tables_, and on the second by_Comfortable Lodgings, or Paris in 1750_; and the receipts being, on thefirst night £440 12_s. _, and on the second, £463 8_s. _ 6_d. _ But thoughthe married members of the company who took their wives defrayed thatpart of the cost, and every one who acted paid three pounds ten to thebenefit-fund for his hotel charges, the expenses were necessarily sogreat that the profit was reduced to four hundred guineas, and, handsomely as this realised the design, expectations had been raised tofive hundred. There was just that shade of disappointment, therefore, when, shortly after we came back and Dickens had returned toBroadstairs, I was startled by a letter from him. On the 3rd of Augusthe had written: "All well. Children" (who had been going throughwhooping cough) "immensely improved. Business arising out of the lateblaze of triumph, worse than ever. " Then came what startled me, the verynext day. As if his business were not enough, it had occurred to himthat he might add the much longed-for hundred pounds to the benefit-fundby a little jeu d'esprit in form of a history of the trip, to bepublished with illustrations from the artists; and his notion was towrite it in the character of Mrs. Gamp. It was to be, in the phraseologyof that notorious woman, a new "Piljians Projiss;" and was to bear uponthe title page its description as an Account of a late Expedition intothe North, for an Amateur Theatrical Benefit, written by Mrs. Gamp (whowas an eye-witness), Inscribed to Mrs. Harris, Edited by CharlesDickens, and published, with illustrations on wood by so and so, in aidof the Benefit-fund. "What do you think of this idea for it? Theargument would be, that Mrs. Gamp, being on the eve of an excursion toMargate as a relief from her professional fatigues, comes to theknowledge of the intended excursion of our party; hears that several ofthe ladies concerned are in an interesting situation; and decides toaccompany the party unbeknown, in a second-class carriage--'in case. 'There, she finds a gentleman from the Strand in a checked suit, who isgoing down with the wigs"--the theatrical hair-dresser employed on theseoccasions, Mr. Wilson, had eccentric points of character that were afund of infinite mirth to Dickens--"and to his politeness Mrs. Gamp isindebted for much support and countenance during the excursion. She willdescribe the whole thing in her own manner: sitting, in each place ofperformance, in the orchestra, next the gentleman who plays thekettle-drums. She gives her critical opinion of Ben Jonson as a literarycharacter, and refers to the different members of the party, in thecourse of her description of the trip: having always an invincibleanimosity towards Jerrold, for Caudle reasons. She addresses herself, generally, to Mrs. Harris, to whom the book is dedicated, --but isdiscursive. Amount of matter, half a sheet of _Dombey_: may be a page orso more, but not less. " Alas! it never arrived at even that small size, but perished prematurely, as I feared it would, from failure of theartists to furnish needful nourishment. Of course it could not livealone. Without suitable illustration it must have lost its point andpleasantry. "Mac will make a little garland of the ladies for thetitle-page. Egg and Stone will themselves originate something fanciful, and I will settle with Cruikshank and Leech. I have no doubt the littlething will be droll and attractive. " So it certainly would have been, ifthe Thanes of art had not fallen from him; but on their desertion it hadto be abandoned after the first few pages were written. They were placedat my disposal then; and, though the little jest has lost much of itsflavour now, I cannot find it in my heart to omit them here. There areso many friends of Mrs. Gamp who will rejoice at this unexpected visitfrom her! "I. MRS. GAMP'S ACCOUNT OF HER CONNEXION WITH THIS AFFAIR. "Which Mrs. Harris's own words to me, was these: 'Sairey Gamp, ' shesays, 'why not go to Margate? Srimps, ' says that dear creetur, 'is toyour liking, Sairey; why not go to Margate for a week, bring yourconstitootion up with srimps, and come back to them loving arts as knowsand wallies of you, blooming? Sairey, ' Mrs. Harris says, 'you are butpoorly. Don't denige it, Mrs. Gamp, for books is in your looks. You musthave rest. Your mind, ' she says, 'is too strong for you; it gets youdown and treads upon you, Sairey. It is useless to disguige thefact--the blade is a wearing out the sheets. ' 'Mrs. Harris, ' I says toher, 'I could not undertake to say, and I will not deceive you ma'am, that I am the woman I could wish to be. The time of worrit as I had withMrs. Colliber, the baker's lady, which was so bad in her mind with herfirst, that she would not so much as look at bottled stout, and kept togruel through the month, has agued me, Mrs. Harris. But ma'am, ' I saysto her, 'talk not of Margate, for if I do go anywheres, it is elsewheresand not there. ' 'Sairey, ' says Mrs. Harris, solemn, 'whence thismystery? If I have ever deceived the hardest-working, soberest, and bestof women, which her name is well beknown is S. Gamp Midwife KingsgateStreet High Holborn, mention it. If not, ' says Mrs. Harris, with thetears a standing in her eyes, 'reweal your intentions. ' 'Yes, Mrs. Harris, ' I says, 'I will. Well I knows you Mrs. Harris; well you knowsme; well we both knows wot the characters of one another is. Mrs. Harris then, ' I says, 'I _have_ heerd as there _is_ a expedition goingdown to Manjestir and Liverspool, a play-acting. If I goes anywheres forchange, it is along with that. ' Mrs. Harris clasps her hands, and dropsinto a chair, as if her time was come--which I know'd it couldn't be, byrights, for six weeks odd. 'And have I lived to hear, ' she says, 'ofSairey Gamp, as always kept hersef respectable, in company withplay-actors!' 'Mrs. Harris, ' I says to her, 'be not alarmed--not reg'larplay-actors--hammertoors. ' 'Thank Evans!' says Mrs. Harris, and bustigesinto a flood of tears. "When the sweet creetur had compoged hersef (which a sip of brandy andwater warm, and sugared pleasant, with a little nutmeg did it), Iproceeds in these words. 'Mrs. Harris, I am told as these hammertoorsare litter'ry and artistickle. ' 'Sairey, ' says that best of wimmin, witha shiver and a slight relasp, 'go on, it might be worse. ' 'I likewisehears, ' I says to her, 'that they're agoin play-acting, for the benefitof two litter'ry men; one as has had his wrongs a long time ago, and hasgot his rights at last, and one as has made a many people merry in histime, but is very dull and sick and lonely his own sef, indeed. ''Sairey, ' says Mrs. Harris, 'you're an Inglish woman, and that's nobusiness of you'rn. ' "'No, Mrs. Harris, ' I says, 'that's very true; I hope I knows my dootyand my country. But, ' I says, 'I am informed as there is Ladies in thisparty, and that half a dozen of 'em, if not more, is in various stagesof a interesting state. Mrs. Harris, you and me well knows what Ingeinsoften does. If I accompanies this expedition, unbeknown and secondcladge, may I not combine my calling with change of air, and prove aservice to my feller creeturs?' 'Sairey, ' was Mrs. Harris's reply, 'youwas born to be a blessing to your sex, and bring 'em through it. Good gowith you! But keep your distance till called in, Lord bless you Mrs. Gamp; for people is known by the company they keeps, and litterary andartistickle society might be the ruin of you before you was aware, withyour best customers, both sick and monthly, if they took a pride inthemselves. ' "II. MRS. GAMP IS DESCRIPTIVE. "The number of the cab had a seven in it I think, and a ought Iknow--and if this should meet his eye (which it was a black 'un, newdone, that he saw with; the other was tied up), I give him warning thathe'd better take that umbereller and patten to the Hackney-coach Officebefore he repents it. He was a young man in a weskit with sleeves to itand strings behind, and needn't flatter himsef with a suppogition ofescape, as I gave this description of him to the Police the moment Ifound he had drove off with my property; and if he thinks there an'tlaws enough he's much mistook--I tell him that: "I do assure you, Mrs. Harris, when I stood in the railways office thatmorning with my bundle on my arm and one patten in my hand, you mighthave knocked me down with a feather, far less porkmangers which was alumping against me, continual and sewere all round. I was drove aboutlike a brute animal and almost worritted into fits, when a gentlemanwith a large shirt-collar and a hook nose, and a eye like one of Mr. Sweedlepipes's hawks, and long locks of hair, and wiskers that Iwouldn't have no lady as I was engaged to meet suddenly a turning rounda corner, for any sum of money you could offer me, says, laughing, 'Halloa, Mrs. Gamp, what are _you_ up to!' I didn't know him from a man(except by his clothes); but I says faintly, 'If you're a Christian man, show me where to get a second-cladge ticket for Manjester, and have meput in a carriage, or I shall drop!' Which he kindly did, in a cheerfulkind of a way, skipping about in the strangest manner as ever I see, making all kinds of actions, and looking and vinking at me from underthe brim of his hat (which was a good deal turned up), to that extent, that I should have thought he meant something but for being so flurriedas not to have no thoughts at all until I was put in a carriage alongwith a individgle--the politest as ever I see--in a shepherd's plaidsuit with a long gold watch-guard hanging round his neck, and his hand atrembling through nervousness worse than a aspian leaf. "'I'm wery appy, ma'am, ' he says--the politest vice as ever Iheerd!--'to go down with a lady belonging to our party. ' "'Our party, sir!' I says. "'Yes, m'am, ' he says, 'I'm Mr. Wilson. I'm going down with the wigs. ' "Mrs. Harris, wen he said he was agoing down with the wigs, such was mystate of confugion and worrit that I thought he must be connected withthe Government in some ways or another, but directly moment he explainshimsef, for he says: "'There's not a theatre in London worth mentioning that I don't attendpunctually. There's five-and-twenty wigs in these boxes, ma'am, ' hesays, a pinting towards a heap of luggage, 'as was worn at the Queen'sFancy Ball. There's a black wig, ma'am, ' he says, 'as was worn byGarrick; there's a red one, ma'am, ' he says, 'as was worn by Kean;there's a brown one, ma'am, ' he says, 'as was worn by Kemble; there's ayellow one, ma'am, ' he says, 'as was made for Cooke; there's a grey one, ma'am, ' he says, 'as I measured Mr. Young for, mysef; and there's awhite one, ma'am, that Mr. Macready went mad in. There's a flaxen one aswas got up express for Jenny Lind the night she came out at the ItalianOpera. It was very much applauded was that wig, ma'am, through theevening. It had a great reception. The audience broke out, the momentthey see it. ' "'Are you in Mr. Sweedlepipes's line, sir?' I says. "'Which is that, ma'am?' he says--the softest and genteelest vice I everheerd, I do declare, Mrs. Harris! "'Hair-dressing, ' I says. "'Yes, ma'am, ' he replies, 'I have that honour. Do you see this, ma'am?'he says, holding up his right hand. "'I never see such a trembling, ' I says to him. And I never did! "'All along of Her Majesty's Costume Ball, ma'am, ' he says. 'Theexcitement did it. Two hundred and fifty-seven ladies of the first rankand fashion had their heads got up on that occasion by this hand, and myt'other one. I was at it eight-and-forty hours on my feet, ma'am, without rest. It was a Powder ball, ma'am. We have a Powder piece atLiverpool. Have I not the pleasure, ' he says, looking at me curious, 'of addressing Mrs. Gamp?' "'Gamp I am, sir, ' I replies. 'Both by name and natur. ' "'Would you like to see your beeograffer's moustache and wiskers, ma'am?' he says. 'I've got 'em in this box. ' "'Drat my beeograffer, sir, ' I says, 'he has given me no region to wishto know anythink about him. ' "'Oh, Missus Gamp, I ask your parden'--I never see such a polite man, Mrs. Harris! 'P'raps, ' he says, 'if you're not of the party, you don'tknow who it was that assisted you into this carriage!' "'No, Sir, ' I says, 'I don't, indeed. ' "'Why, ma'am, ' he says, a wisperin', 'that was George, ma'am. ' "'What George, sir? I don't know no George, ' says I. "'The great George, ma'am, ' says he. 'The Crookshanks. ' "If you'll believe me, Mrs. Harris, I turns my head, and see the weryman a making picturs of me on his thumb nail, at the winder! whileanother of 'em--a tall, slim, melancolly gent, with dark hair and a bagevice--looks over his shoulder, with his head o' one side as if heunderstood the subject, and cooly says, '_I_'ve draw'd her severaltimes--in Punch, ' he says too! The owdacious wretch! "'Which I never touches, Mr. Wilson, ' I remarks out loud--I couldn'thave helped it, Mrs. Harris, if you had took my life for it!--'which Inever touches, Mr. Wilson, on account of the lemon!' "'Hush!' says Mr. Wilson. 'There he is!' "I only see a fat gentleman with curly black hair and a merry face, astanding on the platform rubbing his two hands over one another, as ifhe was washing of 'em, and shaking his head and shoulders wery much; andI was a wondering wot Mr. Wilson meant, wen he says, 'There's Dougladge, Mrs. Gamp!' he says. 'There's him as wrote the life of Mrs. Caudle!' "Mrs. Harris, wen I see that little willain bodily before me, it give mesuch a turn that I was all in a tremble. If I hadn't lost my umberellerin the cab, I must have done him a injury with it! Oh the bragian littletraitor! right among the ladies, Mrs. Harris; looking his wickedest anddeceitfullest of eyes while he was a talking to 'em; laughing at his ownjokes as loud as you please; holding his hat in one hand to coolhis-sef, and tossing back his iron-grey mop of a head of hair with theother, as if it was so much shavings--there, Mrs. Harris, I see him, getting encouragement from the pretty delooded creeturs, which neverknow'd that sweet saint, Mrs. C, as I did, and being treated with asmuch confidence as if he'd never wiolated none of the domestic ties, andnever showed up nothing! Oh the aggrawation of that Dougladge! Mrs. Harris, if I hadn't apologiged to Mr. Wilson, and put a little bottle tomy lips which was in my pocket for the journey, and which it is veryrare indeed I have about me, I could not have abared the sight ofhim--there, Mrs. Harris! I could not!--I must have tore him, or havegive way and fainted. "While the bell was a ringing, and the luggage of the hammertoors ingreat confugion--all a litter'ry indeed--was handled up, Mr. Wilsondemeens his-sef politer than ever. 'That, ' he says, 'Mrs. Gamp, ' apinting to a officer-looking gentleman, that a lady with a little basketwas a taking care on, 'is another of our party. He's a authortoo--continivally going up the walley of the Muses, Mrs. Gamp. There, 'he says, alluding to a fine looking, portly gentleman, with a face likea amiable full moon, and a short mild gent, with a pleasant smile, 'istwo more of our artists, Mrs G, well beknowed at the Royal Academy, assure as stones is stones, and eggs is eggs. This resolute gent, ' hesays, 'a coming along here as is aperrently going to take the railwaysby storm--him with the tight legs, and his weskit very much buttoned, and his mouth very much shut, and his coat a flying open, and his heelsa giving it to the platform, is a cricket and beeograffer, and ourprincipal tragegian. ' 'But who, ' says I, when the bell had left off, andthe train had begun to move, 'who, Mr. Wilson, is the wild gent in theprespiration, that's been a tearing up and down all this time with agreat box of papers under his arm, a talking to everybody weryindistinct, and exciting of himself dreadful?' 'Why?' says Mr. Wilson, with a smile. 'Because, sir, ' I says, 'he's being left behind. ' 'GoodGod!' cries Mr. Wilson, turning pale and putting out his head, 'it's_your_ beeograffer--the Manager--and he has got the money, Mrs. Gamp!'Hous'ever, some one chucked him into the train and we went off. At thefirst shreek of the whistle, Mrs. Harris, I turned white, for I had tooknotice of some of them dear creeturs as was the cause of my being incompany, and I know'd the danger that--but Mr. Wilson, which is amarried man, puts his hand on mine, and says, 'Mrs. Gamp, calm yourself;it's only the Ingein. '" Of those of the party with whom these humorous liberties were takenthere are only two now living to complain of their friendlycaricaturist, and Mr. Cruikshank will perhaps join me in a frankforgiveness not the less heartily for the kind words about himself thatreached me from Broadstairs not many days after Mrs. Gamp. "AtCanterbury yesterday" (2nd of September) "I bought George Cruikshank's_Bottle_. I think it very powerful indeed: the two last plates mostadmirable, except that the boy and girl in the very last are too young, and the girl more like a circus-phenomenon than that no-phenomenon sheis intended to represent. I question, however, whether anybody elseliving could have done it so well. There is a woman in the last platebut one, garrulous about the murder, with a child in her arms, that isas good as Hogarth. Also, the man who is stooping down, looking at thebody. The philosophy of the thing, as a great lesson, I think all wrong;because to be striking, and original too, the drinking should have begunin sorrow, or poverty, or ignorance--the three things in which, in itsawful aspect, it _does_ begin. The design would then have been adouble-handed sword--but too 'radical' for good old George, I suppose. " The same letter made mention of other matters of interest. His accountsfor the first half-year of _Dombey_ were so much in excess of what hadbeen expected from the new publishing arrangements, that from this dateall embarrassments connected with money were brought to a close. Hisfuture profits varied of course with his varying sales, but there wasalways enough, and savings were now to begin. "The profits of thehalf-year are brilliant. Deducting the hundred pounds a month paid sixtimes, I have still to receive two thousand two hundred and twentypounds, which I think is tidy. Don't you? . . . Stone is still here, and Ilamed his foot by walking him seventeen miles the day before yesterday;but otherwise he flourisheth. . . . Why don't you bring down acarpet-bag-full of books, and take possession of the drawing-room allthe morning? My opinion is that Goldsmith would die more easy by theseaside. Charley and Walley have been taken to school this morning inhigh spirits, and at London Bridge will be folded in the arms ofBlimber. The Government is about to issue a Sanitary commission, andLord John, I am right well pleased to say, has appointed Henry Austinsecretary. " Mr. Austin, who afterwards held the same office under theSanitary act, had married his youngest sister Letitia; and of his twoyoungest brothers I may add that Alfred, also a civil-engineer, becameone of the sanitary inspectors, and that Augustus was now placed in acity employment by Mr. Thomas Chapman, which after a little time hesurrendered, and then found his way to America. The next Broadstairs letter (5th of September) resumed the subject ofGoldsmith, whose life I was then bringing nearly to completion. "Supposing your _Goldsmith_ made a general sensation, what should youthink of doing a cheap edition of his works? I have an idea that wemight do some things of that sort with considerable effect. There isreally no edition of the great British novelists in a handy nice form, and would it not be a likely move to do it with some attractive featurethat could not be given to it by the Teggs and such people? Supposingone wrote an essay on Fielding for instance, and another on Smollett, and another on Sterne, recalling how one read them as a child (no oneread them younger than I, I think;) and how one gradually grew up into adifferent knowledge of them, and so forth--would it not be interestingto many people? I should like to know if you descry anything in this. Itis one of the dim notions fluctuating within me. [144]. . . The profits, brave indeed, are four hundred pounds more than the utmost Iexpected. . . . The same yearnings have been mine, in reference to thePraslin business. It is pretty clear to me, for one thing, that theDuchess was one of the most uncomfortable women in the world, and thatit would have been hard work for anybody to have got on with her. It isstrange to see a bloody reflection of our friends Eugène Sue and Dumasin the whole melodrama. Don't you think so . . . Remembering what we oftensaid of the canker at the root of all that Paris life? I dreamed of you, in a wild manner, all last night. . . . A sea fog here, which preventsone's seeing the low-water mark. A circus on the cliff to the right, andof course I have a box to-night! Deep slowness in the inimitable'sbrain. A shipwreck on the Goodwin sands last Sunday, which WALLY, witha hawk's eye, SAW GO DOWN: for which assertion, subsequently confirmedand proved, he was horribly maltreated at the time. " Devonshire-terrace meanwhile had been left by his tenant; and coming upjoyfully himself to take possession, he brought for completion in hisold home an important chapter of _Dombey_. On the way he lost hisportmanteau, but "Thank God! the MS. Of the chapter wasn't in it. Whenever I travel, and have anything of that valuable article, I alwayscarry it in my pocket. "[145] He had begun at this time to finddifficulties in writing at Broadstairs, of which he told me on hisreturn. "Vagrant music is getting to that height here, and is soimpossible to be escaped from, that I fear Broadstairs and I must partcompany in time to come. Unless it pours of rain, I cannot writehalf-an-hour without the most excruciating organs, fiddles, bells, orglee-singers. There is a violin of the most torturing kind under thewindow now (time, ten in the morning) and an Italian box of music on thesteps--both in full blast. " He closed with a mention of improvements inthe Margate theatre since his memorable last visit. In the past twoyears it had been managed by a son of the great comedian, Dowton, withwhose name it is pleasant to connect this note. "We went to themanager's benefit on Wednesday" (10th of September): "_As You Like It_really very well done, and a most excellent house. Mr. Dowton delivereda sensible and modest kind of speech on the occasion, setting forth hisconviction that a means of instruction and entertainment possessing sucha literature as the stage in England, could not pass away; and, thatwhat inspired great minds, and delighted great men, two thousand yearsago, and did the same in Shakespeare's day, must have within itself aprinciple of life superior to the whim and fashion of the hour. And withthat, and with cheers, he retired. He really seems a most respectableman, and he has cleared out this dust-hole of a theatre into somethinglike decency. " He was to be in London at the end of the month: but I had from himmeanwhile his preface[146] for his first completed book in the popularedition (_Pickwick_ being now issued in that form, with an illustrationby Leslie); and sending me shortly after (12th of Sept. ) the first fewslips of the story of the _Haunted Man_ proposed for his next Christmasbook, he told me he must finish it in less than a month if it was to bedone at all, _Dombey_ having now become very importunate. This preparedme for his letter of a week's later date. "Have been at work all day, and am seedy in consequence. _Dombey_ takes so much time, and requiresto be so carefully done, that I really begin to have serious doubtswhether it is wise to go on with the Christmas book. Your kind help isinvoked. What do you think? Would there be any distinctly bad effect inholding this idea over for another twelvemonth? saying nothing whatevertill November; and then announcing in the _Dombey_ that its occupationof my entire time prevents the continuance of the Christmas series untilnext year, when it is proposed to be renewed. There might not beanything in that but a possibility of an extra lift for the little bookwhen it did come--eh? On the other hand, I am very loath to lose themoney. And still more so to leave any gap at Christmas firesides which Iought to fill. In short I am (forgive the expression) BLOWED if I knowwhat to do. I am a literary Kitely--and you ought to sympathize andhelp. If I had no _Dombey_, I could write and finish the story with thebloom on--but there's the rub. . . . Which unfamiliar quotation reminds meof a Shakspearian (put an e before the s; I like it much better)speculation of mine. What do you say to 'take arms against a sea oftroubles' having been originally written 'make arms, ' which is theaction of swimming. It would get rid of a horrible grievance in thefigure, and make it plain and apt. I think of setting up a claim to livein The House at Stratford, rent-free, on the strength of thissuggestion. You are not to suppose that I am anything but disconcertedto-day, in the agitation of my soul concerning Christmas; but I havebeen brooding, like Dombey himself, over _Dombey_ these two days, untilI really can't afford to be depressed. " To his Shakespearian suggestionI replied that it would hardly give him the claim he thought of settingup, for that swimming through your troubles would not be "opposing"them. And upon the other point I had no doubt of the wisdom of delay. The result was that the Christmas story was laid aside until thefollowing year. The year's closing incidents were his chairmanship at a meeting of theLeeds Mechanics' Society on the 1st of December, and his opening of theGlasgow Athenæum on the 28th; where, to immense assemblages inboth, [147] he contrasted the obstinacy and cruelty of the Power ofignorance with the docility and gentleness of the Power of knowledge;pointed the use of popular institutes in supplementing what is learntfirst in life, by the later education for its employments and equipmentfor its domesticities and virtues, which the grown person needs from dayto day as much as the child its reading and writing; and he closed atGlasgow with allusion to a bazaar set on foot by the ladies of the city, under patronage of the Queen, for adding books to its Athenæum library. "We never tire of the friendships we form with books, " he said, "andhere they will possess the added charm of association with theirdonors. Some neighbouring Glasgow widow will be mistaken for thatremoter one whom Sir Roger de Coverley could not forget; Sophia's muffwill be seen and loved, by another than Tom Jones, going down theHigh-street some winter day; and the grateful students of a library thusfilled will be apt, as to the fair ones who have helped to people it, tocouple them in their thoughts with Principles of the Population andAdditions to the History of Europe, by an author of older date thanSheriff Alison. " At which no one laughed so loudly as the Sheriffhimself, who had cordially received Dickens as his guest, and stood withhim on the platform. On the last day but one of the old year he wrote to me from Edinburgh. "We came over this afternoon, leaving Glasgow at one o'clock. Alisonlives in style in a handsome country house out of Glasgow, and is acapital fellow, with an agreeable wife, nice little daughter, cheerfulniece, all things pleasant in his household. I went over the prison andlunatic asylum with him yesterday;[148] at the Lord Provost's hadgorgeous state-lunch with the Town Council; and was entertained at agreat dinner-party at night. Unbounded hospitality and enthoozymoozy theorder of the day, and I have never been more heartily received anywhere, or enjoyed myself more completely. The great chemist, Gregory, who spokeat the meeting, returned with us to Edinburgh to-day, and gave me manynew lights on the road regarding the extraordinary pains Macaulay seemsfor years to have taken to make himself disagreeable and disliked here. No one else, on that side, would have had the remotest chance of beingunseated at the last election; and, though Gregory voted for him, Ithought he seemed quite as well pleased as anybody else that he didn'tcome in. . . . I am sorry to report the Scott Monument a failure. It islike the spire of a Gothic church taken off and stuck in the ground. " Onthe first day of 1848, still in Edinburgh, he wrote again: "Jeffrey, whois obliged to hold a kind of morning court in his own study during theholidays, came up yesterday in great consternation, to tell me that aperson had just been to make and sign a declaration of bankruptcy; andthat on looking at the signature he saw it was James Sheridan Knowles. He immediately sent after, and spoke with him; and of what passed I ameager to talk with you. " The talk will bring back the main subject ofthis chapter, from which another kind of strolling has led me away; forits results were other amateur performances, of which the object was tobenefit Knowles. This was the year when a committee had been formed for the purchase andpreservation of Shakespeare's house at Stratford, and the performancesin question took the form of contributions to the endowment of acuratorship to be held by the author of _Virginius_ and the _Hunchback_. The endowment was abandoned upon the town and council of Stratfordfinally (and very properly) taking charge of the house; but the sumrealised was not withdrawn from the object really desired, and one ofthe finest of dramatists profited yet more largely by it than Leigh Huntdid by the former enterprise. It may be proper to remark also, that, like Leigh Hunt, Knowles received soon after, through Lord John Russell, the same liberal pension; and that smaller claims to which attention hadbeen similarly drawn were not forgotten, Mr. Poole, after much kind helpfrom the Bounty Fund, being in 1850 placed on the Civil List for halfthe amount by the same minister and friend of letters. Dickens threw himself into the new scheme with all his old energy;[149]and prefatory mention may be made of our difficulty in selection of asuitable play to alternate with our old Ben Jonson. The _Alchemist_ hadbeen such a favourite with some of us, that, before finally laying itaside, we went through two or three rehearsals, in which I recollectthinking Dickens's Sir Epicure Mammon as good as anything he had done;and now the same trouble, with the same result, arising from a vaindesire to please everybody, was taken successively with Beaumont andFletcher's _Beggar's Bush_, and Goldsmith's _Good Natured Man_, withJerrold's characteristic drama of the _Rent Day_, and Bulwer's masterlycomedy of _Money_. Choice was at last made of Shakespeare's _MerryWives_, in which Lemon played Falstaff, I took again the jealous husbandas in Jonson's play, and Dickens was Justice Shallow; to which was addeda farce, _Love, Law, and Physick_, in which Dickens took the part he hadacted long ago, before his days of authorship; and, besides theprofessional actresses engaged, we had for our Dame Quickly the lady towhom the world owes incomparably the best _Concordance_ to Shakespearethat has ever been published, Mrs. Cowden Clarke. The success wasundoubtedly very great. At Manchester, Liverpool, and Edinburgh therewere single representations; but Birmingham and Glasgow had each twonights, and two were given at the Haymarket, on one of which the Queenand Prince were present. The gross receipts from the nine performances, before the necessary large deductions for London and local charges, weretwo thousand five hundred and fifty-one pounds and eightpence. [150] Thefirst representation was in London on the 15th of April, the last inGlasgow on the 20th of July, and everywhere Dickens was the leadingfigure. In the enjoyment as in the labour he was first. His animalspirits, unresting and supreme, were the attraction of rehearsal atmorning, and of the stage at night. At the quiet early dinner, and themore jovial unrestrained supper, where all engaged were assembled daily, his was the brightest face, the lightest step, the pleasantest word. There seemed to be no rest needed for that wonderful vitality. My allusion to the last of these splendid strollings in aid of what webelieved to be the interests of men of letters, shall be as brief as Ican make it. Two winters after the present, at the close of November1850, in the great hall of Lord Lytton's old family mansion inKnebworth-park, there were three private performances by the originalactors in Ben Jonson's _Every Man in His Humour_. All the circumstancesand surroundings were very brilliant; some of the gentlemen of thecounty played both in the comedy and farces; our generous host wasprofuse of all noble encouragement; and amid the general pleasure andexcitement hopes rose high. Recent experience had shown what the publicinterest in this kind of amusement might place within reach of itsproviders; and there came to be discussed the possibility of makingpermanent such help as had been afforded to fellow writers, by means ofan endowment that should not be mere charity, but should combine indeedsomething of both pension-list and college-lectureship, without thedrawbacks of either. It was not enough considered that schemes forself-help, to be successful, require from those they are meant tobenefit, not only a general assent to their desirability, but zealousand active co-operation. Without discussing now, however, what will haveto be stated hereafter, it suffices to say that the enterprise was seton foot, and the "Guild of Literature and Art" originated at Knebworth. A five-act comedy was to be written by Sir Edward Lytton, and, when acertain sum of money had been obtained by public representations of it, the details of the scheme were to be drawn up, and appeal made to thosewhom it addressed more especially. In a very few months everything wasready, except a farce which Dickens was to have written to follow thecomedy, and which unexpected cares of management and preparation wereheld to absolve him from. There were other reasons. "I have written thefirst scene, " he told me (23rd March, 1851), "and it has droll points init, more farcical points than you commonly find in farces, [151] reallybetter. Yet I am constantly striving, for my reputation's sake, to getinto it a meaning that is impossible in a farce; constantly thinking ofit, therefore, against the grain; and constantly impressed with aconviction that I could never act in it myself with that wildabandonment which can alone carry a farce off. Wherefore I haveconfessed to Bulwer Lytton and asked for absolution. " There wassubstituted a new farce of Lemon's, to which, however, Dickens sooncontributed so many jokes and so much Gampish and other fun of his own, that it came to be in effect a joint piece of authorship; and Gabblewig, which the manager took to himself, was one of those personation partsrequiring five or six changes of face, voice, and gait in the course ofit, from which, as we have seen, he derived all the early theatricalambition that the elder Mathews had awakened in him. "You have no idea, "he continued, "of the immensity of the work as the time advances, forthe Duke even throws the whole of the audience on us, or he would get(he says) into all manner of scrapes. " The Duke of Devonshire hadoffered his house in Piccadilly for the first representations, and inhis princely way discharged all the expenses attending them. A moveabletheatre was built and set up in the great drawing-room, and the librarywas turned into a green-room. _Not so Bad as We Seem_ was played for the first time atDevonshire-house on the 27th of May, 1851, before the Queen and Princeand as large an audience as places could be found for; _Mr. Nightingale's Diary_ being the name given to the farce. The successabundantly realised the expectations formed; and, after manyrepresentations at the Hanover-square Rooms in London, strolling beganin the country, and was continued at intervals for considerable portionsof this and the following year. From much of it, illness and occupationdisabled me, and substitutes had to be found; but to this I owe theopportunity now of closing with a characteristic picture of the courseof the play, and of Dickens amid the incidents and accidents to whichhis theatrical career exposed him. The company carried with them, itshould be said, the theatre constructed for Devonshire-house, as well asthe admirable scenes which Stanfield, David Roberts, Thomas Grieve, Telbin, Absolon, and Louis Haghe had painted as their generousfree-offerings to the comedy; of which the representations were thusrendered irrespective of theatres or their managers, and took place inthe large halls or concert-rooms of the various towns and cities. "The enclosure forgotten in my last" (Dickens writes from Sunderland onthe 29th of August 1852), "was a little printed announcement which Ihave had distributed at the doors wherever we go, knocking _Two o' Clockin the Morning_ bang out of the bills. Funny as it used to be, it isbecome impossible to get anything out of it after the scream of _Mr. Nightingale's Diary_. The comedy is so far improved by the reductionswhich your absence and other causes have imposed on us, that it acts nowonly two hours and twenty-five minutes, all waits included, and goes'like wildfire, ' as Mr. Tonson[152] says. We have had prodigious houses, though smaller rooms (as to their actual size) than I had hoped for. TheDuke was at Derby, and no end of minor radiances. Into the room atNewcastle (where Lord Carlisle was by the bye) they squeezed sixhundred people, at twelve and sixpence, into a space reasonably capableof holding three hundred. Last night, in a hall built like a theatre, with pit, boxes, and gallery, we had about twelve hundred--I dare saymore. They began with a round of applause when Coote's white waistcoatappeared in the orchestra, and wound up the farce with three deafeningcheers. I never saw such good fellows. Stanny is their fellow-townsman;was born here; and they applauded his scene as if it were himself. Butwhat I suffered from a dreadful anxiety that hung over me all the time, I can never describe. When we got here at noon, it appeared that thehall was a perfectly new one, and had only had the slates put upon theroof by torchlight over night. Farther, that the proprietors of someopposition rooms had declared the building to be unsafe, and that therewas a panic in the town about it; people having had their money back, and being undecided whether to come or not, and all kinds of suchhorrors. I didn't know what to do. The horrible responsibility ofrisking an accident of that awful nature seemed to rest wholly upon me;for I had only to say we wouldn't act, and there would be no chance ofdanger. I was afraid to take Sloman into council lest the panic shouldinfect our men. I asked W. What he thought, and he consolingly observedthat his digestion was so bad that death had no terrors for him! I wentand looked at the place; at the rafters, walls, pillars, and so forth;and fretted myself into a belief that they really were slight! To crownall, there was an arched iron roof without any brackets or pillars, on anew principle! The only comfort I had was in stumbling at length on thebuilder, and finding him a plain practical north-countryman with a footrule in his pocket. I took him aside, and asked him should we, or couldwe, prop up any weak part of the place: especially the dressing-rooms, which were under our stage, the weight of which must be heavy on a newfloor, and dripping wet walls. He told me there wasn't a strongerbuilding in the world; and that, to allay the apprehension, they hadopened it, on Thursday night, to thousands of the working people, andinduced them to sing, and beat with their feet, and make every possibletrial of the vibration. Accordingly there was nothing for it but to goon. I was in such dread, however, lest a false alarm should spring upamong the audience and occasion a rush, that I kept Catherine andGeorgina out of the front. When the curtain went up and I saw the greatsea of faces rolling up to the roof, I looked here and looked there, andthought I saw the gallery out of the perpendicular, and fancied thelights in the ceiling were not straight. Rounds of applause were perfectagony to me, I was so afraid of their effect upon the building. I wasready all night to rush on in case of an alarm--a false alarm was mymain dread--and implore the people for God's sake to sit still. I hadour great farce-bell rung to startle Sir Geoffrey instead of throwingdown a piece of wood, which might have raised a sudden-apprehension. Ihad a palpitation of the heart, if any of our people stumbled up or downa stair. I am sure I never acted better, but the anxiety of my mind wasso intense, and the relief at last so great, that I am half-dead to-day, and have not yet been able to eat or drink anything or to stir out ofmy room. I shall never forget it. As to the short time we had forgetting the theatre up; as to the upsetting, by a runaway pair ofhorses, of one of the vans at the Newcastle railway station, _with allthe scenery in it, every atom of which was turned over_; as to thefatigue of our carpenters, who have now been up four nights, and whowere lying dead asleep in the entrances last night; I say nothing, afterthe other gigantic nightmare, except that Sloman's splendid knowledge ofhis business, and the good temper and cheerfulness of all the workmen, are capital. I mean to give them a supper at Liverpool, and address themin a neat and appropriate speech. We dine at two to-day (it is now one)and go to Sheffield at four, arriving there at about ten. I had been asfresh as a daisy; walked from Nottingham to Derby, and from Newcastlehere; but seem to have had my nerves crumpled up last night, and have anexcruciating headache. That's all at present. I shall never be able tobear the smell of new deal and fresh mortar again as long as I live. " Manchester and Liverpool closed the trip with enormous success at bothplaces; and Sir Edward Lytton was present at a public dinner which wasgiven in the former city, Dickens's brief word about it being written ashe was setting foot in the train that was to bring him to London. "Bulwer spoke brilliantly at the Manchester dinner, and his earnestnessand determination about the Guild was most impressive. It carriedeverything before it. They are now getting up annual subscriptions, andwill give us a revenue to begin with. I swear I believe that people tobe the greatest in the world. At Liverpool I had a Round Robin on thestage after the play was over, a place being left for your signature, and as I am going to have it framed, I'll tell Green to send it toLincoln's-inn-fields. You have no idea how good Tenniel, Topham, andCollins have been in what they had to do. " These names, distinguished in art and letters, represent additions tothe company who had joined the enterprise; and the last of them, Mr. Wilkie Collins, became, for all the rest of the life of Dickens, one ofhis dearest and most valued friends. FOOTNOTES: [142] He entered the Royal Navy, and survived his father only a year andeleven months. He was a Lieutenant, at the time of his death from asharp attack of bronchitis; being then on board the P. And O. Steamer"Malta, " invalided from his ship the Topaze, and on his way home. He wasburied at sea on the 2nd of May, 1872. Poor fellow! He was the smallestin size of all the children, in his manhood reaching only to a littleover five feet; and throughout his childhood was never called by anyother name than the "Ocean Spectre, " from a strange little weird yetmost attractive look in his large wondering eyes, very happily caught ina sketch in oils by the good Frank Stone, done at Bonchurch in September1849 and remaining in his aunt's possession. "Stone has painted, "Dickens then wrote to me, "the Ocean Spectre, and made a very prettylittle picture of him. " It was a strange chance that led his father toinvent this playful name for one whom the ocean did indeed take toitself at last. [143] I think it right to place on record here Leigh Hunt's own allusionto the incident (_Autobiography_, p. 432), though it will be thought tohave too favourable a tone, and I could have wished that other names hadalso found mention in it. But I have already (p. 211) stated quiteunaffectedly my own opinion of the very modest pretensions of the wholeaffair, and these kind words of Hunt may stand _valeant quantum_. "Simultaneous with the latest movement about the pension was one on thepart of my admirable friend Dickens and other distinguished men, Forsters and Jerrolds, who, combining kindly purpose with an amateurinclination for the stage, had condescended to show to the public whatexcellent actors they could have been, had they so pleased, --whatexcellent actors, indeed, some of them were. . . . They proposed . . . Abenefit for myself, . . . And the piece performed on the occasion was BenJonson's _Every Man in his Humour_. . . . If anything had been needed toshow how men of letters include actors, on the common principle of thegreater including the less, these gentlemen would have furnished it. Mr. Dickens's Bobadil had a spirit in it of intellectual apprehension beyondanything the existing stage has shown . . . And Mr. Forster delivered theverses of Ben Jonson with a musical flow and a sense of their grace andbeauty unknown, I believe, to the recitation of actors at present. Atleast I have never heard anything like it since Edmund Kean's. ". . . Tothis may be added some lines from Lord Lytton's prologue spoken atLiverpool, of which I have not been able to find a copy, if indeed itwas printed at the time; but the verses come so suddenly and completelyback to me, as I am writing after twenty-five years, that in a small waythey recall a more interesting effort of memory told me once byMacready. On a Christmas night at Drury Lane there came a necessity toput up the _Gamester_, which he had not played since he was a youth inhis father's theatre thirty years before. He went to rehearsal shrinkingfrom the long and heavy study he should have to undergo, when, with theutterance of the opening sentence, the entire words of the part cameback, including even a letter which Beverly has to read, and which it isthe property-man's business to supply. My lines come back asunexpectedly; but with pleasanter music than any in Mr. Moore's drearytragedy, as a few will show. "Mild amid foes, within a prison free, He comes . . . Our grey-hair'd bard of Rimini! Comes with the pomp of memories in his train, Pathos and wit, sweet pleasure and sweet pain! Comes with familiar smile and cordial tone, Our hearths' wise cheerer!--Let us cheer his own! Song links her children with a golden thread, To aid the living bard strides forth the dead. Hark the frank music of the elder age-- Ben Jonson's giant tread sounds ringing up the stage! Hail! the large shapes our fathers loved! again Wellbred's light ease, and Kitely's jealous pain. Cob shall have sense, and Stephen be polite, Brainworm shall preach, and Bobadil shall fight-- Each, here, a merit not his own shall find, And _Every Man_ the _Humour_ to be kind. " [144] Another, which for many reasons we may regret went also into thelimbo of unrealized designs, is sketched in the subjoined (7th ofJanuary, 1848). "Mac and I think of going to Ireland for six weeks inthe spring, and seeing whether anything is to be done there, in the wayof a book? I fancy it might turn out well. " The Mac of course isMaclise. [145] "Here we are" (23rd of August) "in the noble old premises; andvery nice they look, all things considered. . . . Trifles happen to mewhich occur to nobody else. My portmanteau 'fell off' a cab last nightsomewhere between London-bridge and here. It contained on a moderatecalculation £70 worth of clothes. I have no shirt to put on, and amobliged to send out to a barber to come and shave me. " [146] "Do you see anything to object to in it? I have never had so muchdifficulty, I think, in setting about any slight thing; for I reallydidn't know that I had a word to say, and nothing seems to live 'twixtwhat I _have_ said and silence. The advantage of it is, that the latterpart opens an idea for future prefaces all through the series, and mayserve perhaps to make a feature of them. " (7th of September, 1847. ) [147] From his notes on these matters I may quote. "The Leeds appears tobe a very important institution, and I am glad to see that GeorgeStephenson will be there, besides the local lights, inclusive of all theBaineses. They talk at Glasgow of 6, 000 people. " (26th of November. )"You have got Southey's _Holly Tree_. I have not. Put it in your pocketto-day. It occurs to me (up to the eyes in a mass of Glasgow Athenæumpapers) that I could quote it with good effect in the North. " (24th ofDecember. ) "A most brilliant demonstration last night, and I think Inever did better. Newspaper reports bad. " (29th of December. ) [148] "Tremendous distress at Glasgow, and a truly damnable jail, exhibiting the separate system in a most absurd and hideous form. Governor practical and intelligent; very anxious for the associatedsilent system; and much comforted by my fault-finding. " (30th ofDecember. ) [149] It would amuse the reader, but occupy too much space, to add to myformer illustrations of his managerial troubles; but from an elaboratepaper of rules for rehearsals, which I have found in his handwriting, Iquote the opening and the close. "Remembering the very imperfectcondition of all our plays at present, the general expectation inreference to them, the kind of audience before which they will bepresented, and the near approach of the nights of performance, I hopeeverybody concerned will abide by the following regulations, and willaid in strictly carrying them out. " Elaborate are the regulations setforth, but I take only the three last. "Silence, on the stage and in thetheatre, to be faithfully observed; the lobbies &c. Being alwaysavailable for conversation. No book to be referred to on the stage; butthose who are imperfect to take their words from the prompter. Everyoneto act, as nearly as possible, as on the night of performance; everyoneto speak out, so as to be audible through the house. And every mistakeof exit, entrance, or situation, to be corrected _three times_successively. " He closes thus. "All who were concerned in the firstgetting up of _Every Man in his Humour_, and remember how carefully thestage was always kept then, and who have been engaged in the laterehearsals of the _Merry Wives_, and have experienced the difficulty ofgetting on, or off: of being heard, or of hearing anybody else: will, Iam sure, acknowledge the indispensable necessity of these regulations. " [150] I give the sums taken at the several theatres. Haymarket, £31914_s. _; Manchester, £266 12_s. _ 6_d. _; Liverpool, £467 6_s. _ 6_d. _;Birmingham, £327 10_s. _, and £262 18_s. _ 6_d. _; Edinburgh, £325 1_s. _6_d. _; Glasgow, £471 7_s. _ 8_d. _, and (at half the prices of the firstnight) £210 10_s. _ [151] "Those Rabbits have more nature in them than you commonly find inRabbits"--the self-commendatory remark of an aspiring animal-paintershowing his piece to the most distinguished master in that line--washere in my friend's mind. [152] Mr. Tonson was a small part in the comedy entrusted with muchappropriateness to Mr. Charles Knight, whose _Autobiography_ has thisallusion to the first performance, which, as Mr. Pepys says, is "prettyto observe. " "The actors and the audience were so close together that asMr. Jacob Tonson sat in Wills's Coffee-house he could have touched withhis clouded cane the Duke of Wellington. " (iii. 116. ) CHAPTER XVIII. SEASIDE HOLIDAYS. 1848-1851. Louis Philippe dethroned--French Missive from C. D. --At Broadstairs--A Chinese Junk--What it was like--Perplexing Questions--A Type of Finality--A Contrast--Dickens's View of Temperance Agitation--Cruikshank's _Bottle_: and _Drunkard's Children_--Realities of Cruikshank's Pencil--Dickens on Hogarth--Exit of Gin-lane--Wisdom of the Great Painter--Originality of Leech--Superiority of his Method--Excuses for the Rising Generation--What Leech will be remembered for--Pony-chaise Accident--Fortunate Escape--Strenuous Idleness--Hint for Mr. Taine--At Brighton--A Name for his New Book--At Broadstairs--Summoned as Special Juror--A Male Mrs. Gamp and Mrs. Harris--At Bonchurch--Rev. James White--First Impressions of the Undercliff--Talfourd made a Judge--Touching Letter from Jeffrey--The Comedian Regnier--Progress in Writing--A Startling Revelation--Effects of Bonchurch Climate--Mr. Browne's Sketch for Micawber--Accident to Leech--Its Consequences--At Broadstairs--A _Copperfield_ Banquet--Thoughts of a New Book. THE portion of Dickens's life over which his adventures of strollingextended was in other respects not without interest; and this chapterwill deal with some of his seaside holidays before I pass to thepublication in 1848 of the story of _The Haunted Man_, and to theestablishment in 1850 of the Periodical which had been in his thoughtsfor half a dozen years before, and has had foreshadowings nearly asfrequent in my pages. Among the incidents of 1848 before the holiday season came, were thedethronement of Louis Philippe, and birth of the second Frenchrepublic: on which I ventured to predict that a Gore-house friend ofours, and _his_ friend, would in three days be on the scene of action. The three days passed, and I had this letter. "Mardi, Février 29, 1848. MON CHER. Vous êtes homme de la plus grande pénétration! Ah, mon Dieu, que vous êtes absolument magnifique! Vous prévoyez presque toutes leschoses qui vont arriver; et aux choses qui viennent d'arriver vous êtesmerveilleusement au-fait. Ah, cher enfant, quelle idée sublime vous vousaviez à la tête quand vous prévîtes si clairement que M. Le Comte Alfredd'Orsay se rendrait au pays de sa naissance! Quel magicien! Mais--c'esttout égal, mais--il n'est pas parti. Il reste à Gore-house, où, avant-hier, il y avait un grand dîner à tout le monde. Mais quel homme, quel ange, néanmoins! MON AMI, je trouve que j'aime tant la République, qu'il me faut renoncer ma langue et écrire seulement le langage de laRépublique de France--langage des Dieux et des Anges--langage, en unmot, des Français! Hier au soir je rencontrai à l'Athenæum Monsieur MackLeese, qui me dit que MM. Les Commissionnaires des Beaux Arts luiavaient écrit, par leur secrétaire, un billet de remerciements à proposde son tableau dans la Chambre des Députés, et qu'ils lui avaient priéde faire l'autre tableau en fresque, dont on y a besoin. Ce qu'il apromis. Voici des nouvelles pour les champs de Lincoln's Inn! Vive lagloire de France! Vive la République! Vive le Peuple! Plus de Royauté!Plus des Bourbons! Plus de Guizot! Mort aux traîtres! Faisons couler lesang pour la liberté, la justice, la cause populaire! Jusqu'à cinqheures et demie, adieu, mon brave! Recevez l'assurance de maconsidération distinguée, et croyez-moi, CONCITOYEN! votre tout dévoué, CITOYEN CHARLES DICKENS. " I proved to be not quite so wrong, nevertheless, as my friend supposed. Somewhat earlier than usual this summer, on the close of theShakespeare-house performances, he tried Broadstairs once more, havingno important writing in hand: but in the brief interval before leavinghe saw a thing of celebrity in those days, the Chinese Junk; and I hadall the details in so good a description that I could not resist thetemptation of using some parts of it at the time. "Drive down to theBlackwall railway, " he wrote to me, "and for a matter of eighteen-penceyou are at the Chinese Empire in no time. In half a score of minutes, the tiles and chimney-pots, backs of squalid houses, frowsy pieces ofwaste ground, narrow courts and streets, swamps, ditches, masts ofships, gardens of dockweed, and unwholesome little bowers of scarletbeans, whirl away in a flying dream, and nothing is left but China. Howthe flowery region ever came into this latitude and longitude is thefirst thing one asks; and it is not certainly the least of the marvel. As Aladdin's palace was transported hither and thither by the rubbing ofa lamp, so the crew of Chinamen aboard the Keying devoutly believed thattheir good ship would turn up, quite safe, at the desired port, if theyonly tied red rags enough upon the mast, rudder, and cable. Somehow theydid not succeed. Perhaps they ran short of rag; at any rate they hadn'tenough on board to keep them above water; and to the bottom they wouldundoubtedly have gone but for the skill and coolness of a dozen Englishsailors, who brought them over the ocean in safety. Well, if there beany one thing in the world that this extraordinary craft is not at alllike, that thing is a ship of any kind. So narrow, so long, sogrotesque; so low in the middle, so high at each end, like a Chinapen-tray; with no rigging, with nowhere to go to aloft; with mats forsails, great warped cigars for masts, gaudy dragons and sea-monstersdisporting themselves from stem to stern, and _on_ the stern a giganticcock of impossible aspect, defying the world (as well he may) to producehis equal, --it would look more at home at the top of a public building, or at the top of a mountain, or in an avenue of trees, or down in amine, than afloat on the water. As for the Chinese lounging on the deck, the most extravagant imagination would never dare to suppose them to bemariners. Imagine a ship's crew, without a profile among them, in gauzepinafores and plaited hair; wearing stiff clogs a quarter of a footthick in the sole; and lying at night in little scented boxes, likebackgammon men or chess-pieces, or mother-of-pearl counters! But byJove! even this is nothing to your surprise when you go down into thecabin. There you get into a torture of perplexity. As, what became ofall those lanterns hanging to the roof when the Junk was out at sea?Whether they dangled there, banging and beating against each other, likeso many jesters' baubles? Whether the idol Chin Tee, of the eighteenarms, enshrined in a celestial Punch's Show, in the place of honour, ever tumbled out in heavy weather? Whether the incense and thejoss-stick still burnt before her, with a faint perfume and a littlethread of smoke, while the mighty waves were roaring all around? Whetherthat preposterous tissue-paper umbrella in the corner was always spread, as being a convenient maritime instrument for walking about the deckswith in a storm? Whether all the cool and shiny little chairs and tableswere continually sliding about and bruising each other, and if not whynot? Whether anybody on the voyage ever read those two books printed incharacters like bird-cages and fly-traps? Whether the Mandarinpassenger, He Sing, who had never been ten miles from home in his lifebefore, lying sick on a bamboo couch in a private china closet of hisown (where he is now perpetually writing autographs for inquisitivebarbarians), ever began to doubt the potency of the Goddess of the Sea, whose counterfeit presentment, like a flowery monthly nurse, occupiesthe sailors' joss-house in the second gallery? Whether it is possiblethat the said Mandarin, or the artist of the ship, Sam Sing, Esquire, R. A. Of Canton, _can_ ever go ashore without a walking-staff ofcinnamon, agreeably to the usage of their likenesses in Britishtea-shops? Above all, whether the hoarse old ocean could ever have beenseriously in earnest with this floating toy-shop; or had merely playedwith it in lightness of spirit--roughly, but meaning no harm--as thebull did with another kind of china-shop on St. Patrick's day in themorning. " The reply made on this brought back comment and sequel not less amusing. "Yes, there can be no question that this is Finality in perfection; andit is a great advantage to have the doctrine so beautifully worked out, and shut up in a corner of a dock near a fashionable white-bait housefor the edification of man. Thousands of years have passed away sincethe first junk was built on this model, and the last junk ever launchedwas no better for that waste and desert of time. The mimic eye paintedon their prows to assist them in finding their way, has opened as wideand seen as far as any actual organ of sight in all the interval throughthe whole immense extent of that strange country. It has been set in theflowery head to as little purpose for thousands of years. With all theirpatient and ingenious but never advancing art, and with all their richand diligent agricultural cultivation, not a new twist or curve has beengiven to a ball of ivory, and not a blade of experience has been grown. There is a genuine finality in that; and when one comes from behind thewooden screen that encloses the curious sight, to look again upon theriver and the mighty signs on its banks of life, enterprise, andprogress, the question that comes nearest is beyond doubt a home one. Whether _we_ ever by any chance, in storms, trust to red flags; or burnjoss-sticks before idols; or grope our way by the help of conventionaleyes that have no sight in them; or sacrifice substantial facts forabsurd forms? The ignorant crew of the Keying refused to enter on theships' books, until 'a considerable amount of silvered-paper, tin-foil, and joss-stick' had been laid in by the owners for the purposes of theirworship. And I wonder whether _our_ seamen, let alone our bishops anddeacons, ever stand out upon points of silvered-paper and tin-foil andjoss-sticks. To be sure Christianity is not Chin-Teeism, and that Isuppose is why we never lose sight of the end in contemptible andinsignificant quarrels about the means. There is enough matter forreflection aboard the Keying at any rate to last one's voyage home toEngland again. " Other letters of the summer from Broadstairs will complete what he wrotefrom the same place last year on Mr. Cruikshank's efforts in the causeof temperance, and will enable me to say, what I know he wished to beremembered in his story, that there was no subject on which through hiswhole life he felt more strongly than this. No man advocated temperance, even as far as possible its legislative enforcement, with greaterearnestness; but he made important reservations. Not thinkingdrunkenness to be a vice inborn, or incident to the poor more than toother people, he never would agree that the existence of a gin-shop wasthe alpha and omega of it. Believing it to be, _the_ "national horror, "he also believed that many operative causes had to do with having madeit so; and his objection to the temperance agitation was that these wereleft out of account altogether. He thought the gin-shop not fairly to berendered the exclusive object of attack, until, in connection with theclasses who mostly made it their resort, the temptations that led to it, physical and moral, should have been more bravely dealt with. Among theformer he counted foul smells, disgusting habitations, bad workshops andworkshop-customs, scarcity of light, air, and water, in short theabsence of all easy means of decency and health; and among the latter, the mental weariness and languor so induced, the desire of wholesomerelaxation, the craving for _some_ stimulus and excitement, not lessneedful than the sun itself to lives so passed, and last, and inclusiveof all the rest, ignorance, and the want of rational mental training, generally applied. This was consistently Dickens's "platform" throughoutthe years he was known to me; and holding it to be within the reach aswell as the scope of legislation, which even our political magnates havebeen discovering lately, he thought intemperance to be but the oneresult that, out of all those arising from the absence of legislation, was the most wretched. For him, drunkenness had a teeming andreproachful history anterior to the drunken stage; and he thought it thefirst duty of the moralist bent upon annihilating the gin-shop, to"strike deep and spare not" at those previous remediable evils. Certainly this was not the way of Mr. Cruikshank, any more than it isthat of the many excellent people who take part in temperanceagitations. His former tale of the _Bottle_, as told by his admirablepencil, was that of a decent working man, father of a boy and a girl, living in comfort and good esteem until near the middle age, when, happening unluckily to have a goose for dinner one day in the bosom ofhis thriving family, he jocularly sends out for a bottle of gin, persuades his wife, until then a picture of neatness and goodhousewifery, to take a little drop after the stuffing, and the wholefamily from that moment drink themselves to destruction. The sequel, ofwhich Dickens now wrote to me, traced the lives of the boy and girlafter the wretched deaths of their drunken parents, through gin-shop, beer-shop, and dancing-rooms, up to their trial for robbery, when theboy is convicted, dying aboard the hulks; and the girl, desolate andmad after her acquittal, flings herself from London-bridge into thenight-darkened river. "I think, " said Dickens, "the power of that closing scene quiteextraordinary. It haunts the remembrance like an awful reality. It isfull of passion and terror, and I doubt very much whether any hand buthis could so have rendered it. There are other fine things too. Thedeath-bed scene on board the hulks; the convict who is composing theface, and the other who is drawing the screen round the bed's head; seemto me masterpieces worthy of the greatest painter. The reality of theplace, and the fidelity with which every minute object illustrative ofit is presented, are surprising. I think myself no bad judge of thisfeature, and it is remarkable throughout. In the trial scene at the OldBailey, the eye may wander round the Court, and observe everything thatis a part of the place. The very light and atmosphere are faithfullyreproduced. So, in the gin-shop and the beer-shop. An inferior handwould indicate a fragment of the fact, and slur it over; but here everyshred is honestly made out. The man behind the bar in the gin-shop, isas real as the convicts at the hulks, or the barristers round the tablein the Old Bailey. I found it quite curious, as I closed the book, torecall the number of faces I had seen of individual identity, and tothink what a chance they have of living, as the Spanish friar said toWilkie, when the living have passed away. But it only makes moreexasperating to me the obstinate one-sidedness of the thing. When a manshows so forcibly the side of the medal on which the people in theirfaults and crimes are stamped, he is the more bound to help us to aglance at that other side on which the faults and vices of thegovernments placed over the people are not less gravely impressed. " This led to some remark on Hogarth's method in such matters, and I amglad to be able to preserve this fine criticism of that greatEnglishman, by a writer who closely resembled him in genius; as anothergeneration will be probably more apt than our own to discover. "Hogarthavoided the Drunkard's Progress, I conceive, precisely because thecauses of drunkenness among the poor were so numerous and widely spread, and lurked so sorrowfully deep and far down in all human misery, neglect, and despair, that even _his_ pencil could not bring them fairlyand justly into the light. It was never his plan to be content with onlyshowing the effect. In the death of the miser-father, his shoe new-soledwith the binding of his bible, before the young Rake begins his career;in the worldly father, listless daughter, impoverished young lord, andcrafty lawyer, of the first plate of Marriage-à-la mode; in thedetestable advances through the stages of Cruelty; and in the progressdownward of Thomas Idle; you see the effects indeed, but also thecauses. He was never disposed to spare the kind of drunkenness that wasof more 'respectable' engenderment, as one sees in his midnight modernconversation, the election plates, and crowds of stupid aldermen andother guzzlers. But after one immortal journey down Gin-lane, he turnedaway in pity and sorrow--perhaps in hope of better things, one day, frombetter laws and schools and poor men's homes--and went back no more. Thescene of Gin-lane, you know, is that just cleared away for theextension of Oxford-street, which we were looking at the other day; andI think it a remarkable trait of Hogarth's picture, that while itexhibits drunkenness in the most appalling forms, it also forces onattention a most neglected wretched neighbourhood, and an unwholesome, indecent, abject condition of life that might be put as frontispiece toour sanitary report of a hundred years later date. I have always myselfthought the purpose of this fine piece to be not adequately stated evenby CHARLES LAMB. 'The very houses seem absolutely reeling' it is true;but beside that wonderful picture of what follows intoxication, we haveindication quite as powerful of what leads to it among the neglectedclasses. There is no evidence that any of the actors in the dreary scenehave ever been much better than we see them there. The best are pawningthe commonest necessaries, and tools of their trades; and the worst arehomeless vagrants who give us no clue to their having been otherwise inbygone days. All are living and dying miserably. Nobody is interferingfor prevention or for cure, in the generation going out before us, orthe generation coming in. The beadle is the only sober man in thecomposition except the pawnbroker, and he is mightily indifferent to theorphan-child crying beside its parent's coffin. The little charity-girlsare not so well taught or looked after, but that they can take todram-drinking already. The church indeed is very prominent and handsome;but as, quite passive in the picture, it coldly surveys these things inprogress under shadow of its tower, I cannot but bethink me that it wasnot until this year of grace 1848 that a Bishop of London first came outrespecting something wrong in poor men's social accommodations, and Iam confirmed in my suspicion that Hogarth had many meanings which havenot grown obsolete in a century. " Another art-criticism by Dickens should be added. Upon a separatepublication by Leech of some drawings on stone called the RisingGeneration, from designs done for Mr. Punch's gallery, he wrote at myrequest a little essay of which a few sentences will find appropriateplace with his letter on the other great caricaturist of his time. I usethat word, as he did, only for want of a better. Dickens was of opinionthat, in this particular line of illustration, while he conceded all hisfame to the elder and stronger contemporary, Mr. Leech was the veryfirst Englishman who had made Beauty a part of his art; and he held, that, by striking out this course, and setting the successful example ofintroducing always into his most whimsical pieces some beautiful facesor agreeable forms, he had done more than any other man of hisgeneration to refine a branch of art to which the facilities ofsteam-printing and wood-engraving were giving almost unrivalleddiffusion and popularity. His opinion of Leech in a word was that heturned caricature into character; and would leave behind him not alittle of the history of his time and its follies, sketched withinimitable grace. "If we turn back to a collection of the works of Rowlandson or Gilray, we shall find, in spite of the great humour displayed in many of them, that they are rendered wearisome and unpleasant by a vast amount ofpersonal ugliness. Now, besides that it is a poor device to representwhat is satirized as being necessarily ugly, which is but the resourceof an angry child or a jealous woman, it serves no purpose but toproduce a disagreeable result. There is no reason why the farmer'sdaughter in the old caricature who is squalling at the harpsichord (tothe intense delight, by the bye, of her worthy father, whom it is herduty to please) should be squab and hideous. The satire on the manner ofher education, if there be any in the thing at all, would be just asgood, if she were pretty. Mr. Leech would have made her so. The averageof farmers' daughters in England are not impossible lumps of fat. One isquite as likely to find a pretty girl in a farm-house, as to find anugly one; and we think, with Mr. Leech, that the business of this Styleof art is with the pretty one. She is not only a pleasanter object, butwe have more interest in her. We care more about what does become her, and does not become her. Mr. Leech represented the other day certaindelicate creatures with bewitching countenances encased in severalvarieties of that amazing garment, the ladies' paletot. Formerly thosefair creatures would have been made as ugly and ungainly as possible, and then the point would have been lost. The spectator, with a laugh atthe absurdity of the whole group, would not have cared how such uncouthcreatures disguised themselves, or how ridiculous they became. . . . But torepresent female beauty as Mr. Leech represents it, an artist must have, a most delicate perception of it; and the gift of being able to realiseit to us with two or three slight, sure touches of his pencil. Thispower Mr. Leech possesses, in an extraordinary degree. . . . For thisreason, we enter our protest against those of the Rising Generation whoare precociously in love being made the subject of merriment by apitiless and unsympathizing world. We never saw a boy more distinctly inthe right than the young gentleman kneeling on the chair to beg a lockof hair from his pretty cousin, to take back to school. Madness is inher apron, and Virgil dog's-eared and defaced is in her ringlets. Doubtsmay suggest themselves of the perfect disinterestedness of the otheryoung gentleman contemplating the fair girl at the piano--doubtsengendered by his worldly allusion to 'tin'; though even that may havearisen in his modest consciousness of his own inability to support anestablishment--but that he should be 'deucedly inclined to go and cutthat fellow out, ' appears to us one of the most natural emotions of thehuman breast. The young gentleman with the dishevelled hair and claspedhands who loves the transcendant beauty with the bouquet, and can't behappy without her, is to us a withering and desolate spectacle. Who_could_ be happy without her? . . . The growing youths are not less happilyobserved and agreeably depicted than the grown women. The languid littlecreature who 'hasn't danced since he was quite a boy, ' is perfect; andthe eagerness of the small dancer whom he declines to receive for apartner at the hands of the glorious old lady of the house (the littlefeet quite ready for the first position, the whole heart projected intothe quadrille, and the glance peeping timidly at the desired one out ofa flutter of hope and doubt) is quite delightful to look at. Theintellectual juvenile who awakens the tremendous wrath of a Norma ofprivate life by considering woman an inferior animal, is lecturing atthe present moment, we understand, on the Concrete in connexion with theWill. The legs of the young philosopher who considers Shakespeare anover-rated man, were seen by us dangling over the side of an omnibuslast Tuesday. We have no acquaintance with the scowling young gentlemanwho is clear that 'if his Governor don't like the way he goes on in, whyhe must have chambers and so much a week;' but if he is not by this timein Van Diemen's land, he will certainly go to it through Newgate. Weshould exceedingly dislike to have personal property in a strong box, tolive in the suburb of Camberwell, and to be in the relation ofbachelor-uncle to that youth. . . . In all his designs, whatever Mr. Leechdesires to do, he does. His drawing seems to us charming; and theexpression indicated, though by the simplest means, is exactly thenatural expression, and is recognised as such immediately. Some forms ofour existing life will never have a better chronicler. His wit isgood-natured, and always the wit of a gentleman. He has a becoming senseof responsibility and self-restraint; he delights in agreeable things;he imparts some pleasant air of his own to things not pleasant inthemselves; he is suggestive and full of matter; and he is alwaysimproving. Into the tone as well as into the execution of what he does, he has brought a certain elegance which is altogether new, withoutinvolving any compromise of what is true. Popular art in England has nothad so rich an acquisition. " Dickens's closing allusion was to a remarkmade by Mr. Ford in a review of _Oliver Twist_ formerly referred to. "Itis eight or ten years since a writer in the _Quarterly Review_, makingmention of MR. GEORGE CRUIKSHANK, commented on the absurdity ofexcluding such a man from the Royal Academy, because his works were notproduced in certain materials, and did not occupy a certain space in itsannual shows. Will no Associates be found upon its books one of thesedays, the labours of whose oil and brushes will have sunk into theprofoundest obscurity, when many pencil-marks of MR. CRUIKSHANK and ofMR. LEECH will be still fresh in half the houses in the land?" Of what otherwise occupied him at Broadstairs in 1848 there is not muchto mention until the close of his holiday. He used to say that he neverwent for more than a couple of days from his own home without somethingbefalling him that never happened to anyone else, and his Broadstairsadventure of the present summer verged closer on tragedy than comedy. Returning there one day in August after bringing up his boys to school, it had been arranged that his wife should meet him at Margate; but hehad walked impatiently far beyond the place for meeting when at last hecaught sight of her, not in the small chaise but in a large carriage andpair followed by an excited crowd, and with the youth that should havebeen driving the little pony bruised and bandaged on the box behind thetwo prancing horses. "You may faintly imagine my amazement atencountering this carriage, and the strange people, and Kate, and thecrowd, and the bandaged one, and all the rest of it. " And then in a lineor two I had the story. "At the top of a steep hill on the road, with aditch on each side, the pony bolted, upon which what does John do butjump out! He says he was thrown out, but it cannot be. The reinsimmediately became entangled in the wheels, and away went the pony downthe hill madly, with Kate inside rending the Isle of Thanet with herscreams. The accident might have been a fearful one, if the pony hadnot, thank Heaven, on getting to the bottom, pitched over the side;breaking the shaft and cutting her hind legs, but in the mostextraordinary manner smashing her own way apart. She tumbled down, abundle of legs with her head tucked underneath, and left the chaisestanding on the bank! A Captain Devaynes and his wife were passing intheir carriage at the moment, saw the accident with no power ofpreventing it, got Kate out, laid her on the grass, and behaved withinfinite kindness. All's well that ends well, and I think she's reallynone the worse for the fright. John is in bed a good deal bruised, butwithout any broken bone, and likely soon to come right; though for thepresent plastered all over, and, like Squeers, a brown-paper parcelchock-full of nothing but groans. The women generally have no sympathyfor him whatever; and the nurse says, with indignation, how could he goand leave an unprotected female in the shay!" Holiday incidents there were many, but none that need detain us. Thiswas really a summer idleness: for it was the interval between two of hisimportant undertakings, there was no periodical yet to make demands onhim, and only the task of finishing his _Haunted Man_ for Christmas layahead. But he did even his nothings in a strenuous way, and on occasioncould make gallant fight against the elements themselves. He reportedhimself, to my horror, thrice wet through on a single day, "dressedfour times, " and finding all sorts of great things, brought out by therains, among the rocks on the sea-beach. He also sketched now and thenmorsels of character for me, of which I will preserve one. "F isphilosophical, from sunrise to bedtime: chiefly in the French line, about French women going mad, and in that state coming to theirhusbands, and saying, 'Mon ami, je vous ai trompé. Voici les lettres demon amant!' Whereupon the husbands take the letters and think them wastepaper, and become extra-philosophical at finding that they really _were_the lover's effusions: though what there is of philosophy in it all, oranything but unwholesomeness, it is not easy to see. " (A remark that itmight not be out of place to offer to Mr. Taine's notice. ) "Likewiseabout dark shades coming over our wedded Emmeline's face at parties; andabout F handing her to her carriage, and saying, 'May I come in, for alift homeward?' and she bending over him out of window, and saying in alow voice, I DARE NOT! And then of the carriage driving away likelightning, leaving F more philosophical than ever on the pavement. " Nottill the close of September I heard of work intruding itself, in aletter twitting me for a broken promise in not joining him: "We arereasonably jolly, but rurally so; going to bed o' nights at ten, andbathing o' mornings at half-past seven; and not drugging ourselves withthose dirty and spoiled waters of Lethe that flow round the base of thegreat pyramid. " Then, after mention of the friends who had left him, Sheriff Gordon, the Leeches, Lemon, Egg and Stone: "reflection andpensiveness are coming. I have NOT '--seen Fancy write With a pencil of light On the blotter so solid, commanding the sea!' but I shouldn't wonder if she were to do it, one of these days. Dimvisions of divers things are floating around me; and I must go to work, head foremost, when I get home. I am glad, after all, that I have notbeen at it here; for I am all the better for my idleness, no doubt. . . . Roche was very ill last night, and looks like one with his face turnedto the other world, this morning. When _are_ you coming? Oh what daysand nights there have been here, this week past!" My consent to asuggestion in his next letter, that I should meet him on his way back, and join him in a walking-excursion home, got me full absolution forbroken promises; and the way we took will remind friends of his laterlife, when he was lord of Gadshill, of an object of interest which hedelighted in taking them to see. "You will come down booked forMaidstone (I will meet you at Paddock-wood), and we will go thither incompany over a most beautiful little line of railroad. The eight mileswalk from Maidstone to Rochester, and the visit to the Druidical altaron the wayside, are charming. This could be accomplished on the Tuesday;and Wednesday we might look about us at Chatham, coming home by Cobhamon Thursday. . . . " His first seaside holiday in 1849 was at Brighton, where he passed someweeks in February; and not, I am bound to add, without the usual_un_usual adventure to signalize his visit. He had not been a week inhis lodgings, where Leech and his wife joined him, when both hislandlord and the daughter of his landlord went raving mad, and thelodgers were driven away to the Bedford hotel. "If you could have heardthe cursing and crying of the two; could have seen the physician andnurse quoited out into the passage by the madman at the hazard of theirlives; could have seen Leech and me flying to the doctor's rescue; couldhave seen our wives pulling us back; could have seen the M. D. Faint withfear; could have seen three other M. D. 's come to his aid; with anatmosphere of Mrs. Gamps, strait-waistcoats, struggling friends andservants, surrounding the whole; you would have said it was quite worthyof me, and quite in keeping with my usual proceedings. " The letter endedwith a word on what then his thoughts were full of, but for which noname had yet been found. "A sea-fog to-day, but yesterday inexpressiblydelicious. My mind running, like a high sea, on names--not satisfiedyet, though. " When he next wrote from the seaside, in the beginning ofJuly, he had found the name; had started his book; and was "rushing toBroadstairs" to write the fourth number of _David Copperfield_. In this came the childish experiences which had left so deep animpression upon him, and over which he had some difficulty in throwingthe needful disguises. "Fourteen miles to-day in the country, " he hadwritten to me on the 21st of June, "revolving number four!" Still he didnot quite see his way. Three days later he wrote: "On leaving you lastnight, I found myself summoned on a special jury in the Queen's Benchto-day. I have taken no notice of the document, [153] and hourly expectto be dragged forth to a dungeon for contempt of court. I think I shouldrather like it. It might help me with a new notion or two in mydifficulties. Meanwhile I shall take a stroll to-night in the greenfields from 7 to 10, if you feel inclined to join. " His troubles endedwhen he got to Broadstairs, from which he wrote on the tenth of July totell me that agreeably to the plan we had discussed he had introduced agreat part of his MS. Into the number. "I really think I have done itingeniously, and with a very complicated interweaving of truth andfiction. Vous verrez. I am getting on like a house afire in point ofhealth, and ditto ditto in point of number. " In the middle of July the number was nearly done, and he was stilldoubtful where to pass his longer summer holiday. Leech wished to joinhim in it, and both desired a change from Broadstairs. At first hethought of Folkestone, [154] but disappointment there led to a suddenchange. "I propose" (15th of July) "returning to town to-morrow by theboat from Ramsgate, and going off to Weymouth or the Isle of Wight, orboth, early the next morning. " A few days after, his choice was made. He had taken a house at Bonchurch, attracted there by the friend who hadmade it a place of interest for him during the last few years, theReverend James White, with whose name and its associations my mindconnects inseparably many of Dickens's happiest hours. To pay himfitting tribute would not be easy, if here it were called for. In thekindly shrewd Scotch face, a keen sensitiveness to pleasure and pain wasthe first thing that struck any common observer. Cheerfulness and gloomcoursed over it so rapidly that no one could question the tale theytold. But the relish of his life had outlived its more than usual shareof sorrows; and quaint sly humour, love of jest and merriment, capitalknowledge of books, and sagacious quips at men, made his companionshipdelightful. Like his life, his genius was made up of alternations ofmirth and melancholy. He would be immersed, at one time, in thosedarkest Scottish annals from which he drew his tragedies; andoverflowing, at another, into Sir Frizzle Pumpkin's exuberant farce. Thetragic histories may probably perish with the actor's perishable art;but three little abstracts of history written at a later time in prose, with a sunny clearness of narration and a glow of picturesque interestto my knowledge unequalled in books of such small pretension, will find, I hope, a lasting place in literature. They are filled with felicitiesof phrase, with breadth of understanding and judgment, with manfulhonesty, quiet sagacity, and a constant cheerful piety, valuable for alland priceless for the young. Another word I permit myself to add. WithDickens, White was popular supremely for his eager good fellowship; andfew men brought him more of what he always liked to receive. But hebrought nothing so good as his wife. "He is excellent, but she isbetter, " is the pithy remark of his first Bonchurch letter; and the trueaffection and respect that followed is happily still borne her by hisdaughters. Of course there is something strange to be recorded of the Bonchurchholiday, but it does not come till nearer the ending; and, with moreattention to Mrs. Malaprop's advice to begin with a little aversion, might probably not have come at all. He began with an excess of liking. Of the Undercliff he was full of admiration. "From the top of thehighest downs, " he wrote in his second letter (28th of July) "there areviews which are only to be equalled on the Genoese shore of theMediterranean; the variety of walks is extraordinary; things are cheap, and everybody is civil. The waterfall acts wonderfully, and the seabathing is delicious. Best of all, the place is certainly cold ratherthan hot, in the summer time. The evenings have been even chilly. Whitevery jovial, and emulous of the inimitable in respect of gin-punch. Hehad made some for our arrival. Ha! ha! not bad for a beginner. . . . Ihave been, and am, trying to work this morning; but I can't makeanything of it, and am going out to think. I am invited by adistinguished friend to dine with you on the first of August, but I havepleaded distance and the being resident in a cave on the sea shore; myfood, beans; my drink, the water from the rock. . . . I must pluck up heartof grace to write to Jeffrey, of whom I had but poor accounts fromGordon just before leaving. Talfourd delightful, and amuses me mightily. I am really quite enraptured at his success, and think of his happinesswith uncommon pleasure. " Our friend was now on the bench; which headorned with qualities that are justly the pride of that profession, andwith accomplishments that have become more rare in its highest placesthan they were in former times. His elevation only made those virtuesbetter known. Talfourd assumed nothing with the ermine but the privilegeof more frequent intercourse with the tastes and friends he loved, andhe continued to be the most joyous and least affected of companions. Such small oddities or foibles as he had made him secretly only dearerto Dickens, who had no friend he was more attached to; and the manyhappy nights made happier by the voice so affluent in generous words, and the face so bright with ardent sensibility, come back to mesorrowfully now. "Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue. "The poet's line has a double application and sadness. He wrote again on the first of August. "I have just begun to get intowork. We are expecting the Queen to come by very soon, in grand array, and are going to let off ever so many guns. I had a letter from Jeffreyyesterday morning, just as I was going to write to him. He has evidentlybeen very ill, and I begin to have fears for his recovery. It is a verypathetic letter, as to his state of mind; but only in a tranquilcontemplation of death, which I think very noble. " His next letter, fourdays later, described himself as continuing still at work; but alsotaking part in dinners at Blackgang, and picnics of "tremendous success"on Shanklin Down. "Two charity sermons for the school are preachedto-day, and I go to the afternoon one. The examination of said schoolt'other day was very funny. All the boys made Buckstone's bow in the_Rough Diamond_, and some in a very wonderful manner recited pieces ofpoetry, about a clock, and may we be like the clock, which is always agoing and a doing of its duty, and always tells the truth (supposing itto be a slap-up chronometer I presume, for the American clock in theschool was lying frightfully at that moment); and after being botheredto death by the multiplication table, they were refreshed with a publictea in Lady Jane Swinburne's garden. " (There was a reference in one ofhis letters, but I have lost it, to a golden-haired lad of theSwinburnes whom his own boys used to play with, since become more widelyknown. ) "The rain came in with the first tea-pot, and has been activeever since. On Friday we had a grand, and what is better, a very gooddinner at 'parson' Fielden's, with some choice port. On Tuesday we aregoing on another picnic; with the materials for a fire, at my expressstipulation; and a great iron pot to boil potatoes in. These things, andthe eatables, go to the ground in a cart. Last night we had some verygood merriment at White's, where pleasant Julian Young and his wife(who are staying about five miles off) showed some droll new games"--androused the ambition in my friend to give a "mighty conjuring performancefor all the children in Bonchurch, " for which I sent him the materialsand which went off in a tumult of wild delight. To the familiar names inthis letter I will add one more, grieving freshly even now to connect itwith suffering. "A letter from Poole has reached me since I began thisletter, with tidings in it that you will be very sorry to hear. PoorRegnier has lost his only child; the pretty daughter who dined with usthat nice day at your house, when we all pleased the poor mother byadmiring her so much. She died of a sudden attack of malignant typhus. Poole was at the funeral, and writes that he never saw, or could haveimagined, such intensity of grief as Regnier's at the grave. How oneloves him for it. But is it not always true, in comedy and in tragedy, that the more real the man the more genuine the actor?" After a few more days I heard of progress with his writing in spite ofall festivities. "I have made it a rule that the inimitable isinvisible, until two every day. I shall have half the number done, please God, to-morrow. I have not worked quickly here yet, but I don'tknow what I _may_ do. Divers cogitations have occupied my mind atintervals, respecting the dim design. " The design was the weeklyperiodical so often in his thoughts, of which more will appear in mynext chapter. His letter closed with intimations of discomfort in hishealth; of an obstinate cough; and of a determination he had formed tomount daily to the top of the downs. "It makes a great difference inthe climate to get a blow there and come down again. " Then I heard ofthe doctor "stethoscoping" him, of his hope that all was right in thatquarter, and of rubbings "à la St. John Long" being ordered for hischest. But the mirth still went on. "There has been a Doctor Lankesterat Sandown, a very good merry fellow, who has made one at the picnics, and whom I went over and dined with, along with Danby (I remember yourliking for Danby, and don't wonder at it), Leech, and White. " A lettertowards the close of August resumed yet more of his ordinary tone. "Wehad games and forfeits last night at White's. Davy Roberts's prettylittle daughter is there for a week, with her husband, Bicknell's son. There was a dinner first to say good-bye to Danby, who goes to otherclergyman's-duty, and we were very merry. Mrs. White unchanging; Whitecomically various in his moods. Talfourd comes down next Tuesday, and wethink of going over to Ryde on Monday, visiting the play, sleeping there(I don't mean at the play), and bringing the Judge back. Browne iscoming down when he has done his month's work. Should you like to go toAlum Bay while you are here? It would involve a night out, but I thinkwould be very pleasant; and if you think so too, I will arrange it subrosâ, so that we may not be, like Bobadil, 'oppressed by numbers. ' Imean to take a fly over from Shanklin to meet you at Ryde; so that wecan walk back from Shanklin over the landslip, where the scenery iswonderfully beautiful. Stone and Egg are coming next month, and we hopeto see Jerrold before we go. " Such notices from his letters may bethought hardly worth preserving; but a wonderful vitality in everycircumstance, as long as life under any conditions remained to thewriter, is the picture they contribute to; nor would it be completewithout the addition, that fond as he was, in the intervals of his work, of this abundance and variety of enjoyments, to no man were so essentialalso those quieter hours of thought, and talk, not obtainable when"oppressed by numbers. " My visit was due at the opening of September, but a few days earliercame the full revelation of which only a passing shadow had reached intwo or three previous letters. "Before I think of beginning my nextnumber, I perhaps cannot do better than give you an imperfectdescription of the results of the climate of Bonchurch after a fewweeks' residence. The first salubrious effect of which the Patientbecomes conscious is an almost continual feeling of sickness, accompanied with great prostration of strength, so that his legs trembleunder him, and his arms quiver when he wants to take hold of any object. An extraordinary disposition to sleep (except at night, when his rest, in the event of his having any, is broken by incessant dreams) is alwayspresent at the same time; and, if he have anything to do requiringthought and attention, this overpowers him to such a degree that he canonly do it in snatches: lying down on beds in the fitful intervals. Extreme depression of mind, and a disposition to shed tears from morningto night, developes itself at the same period. If the Patient happen tohave been a good walker, he finds ten miles an insupportable distance;in the achievement of which his legs are so unsteady, that he goes fromside to side of the road, like a drunken man. If he happen to have everpossessed any energy of any kind, he finds it quenched in a dull, stupidlanguor. He has no purpose, power, or object in existence whatever. Whenhe brushes his hair in the morning, he is so weak that he is obliged tosit upon a chair to do it. He is incapable of reading, at all times. Andhis bilious system is so utterly overthrown, that a ball of boiling fatappears to be always behind the top of the bridge of his nose, simmeringbetween his haggard eyes. If he should have caught a cold, he will findit impossible to get rid of it, as his system is wholly incapable ofmaking any effort. His cough will be deep, monotonous, and constant. 'The faithful watch-dog's honest bark' will be nothing to it. He willabandon all present idea of overcoming it, and will content himself withkeeping an eye upon his blood-vessels to preserve them whole and sound. _Patient's name, Inimitable B. _ . . . It's a mortal mistake!--That's theplain fact. Of all the places I ever have been in, I have never been inone so difficult to exist in, pleasantly. Naples is hot and dirty, NewYork feverish, Washington bilious, Genoa exciting, Paris rainy--butBonchurch, smashing. I am quite convinced that I should die here, in ayear. It's not hot, it's not close, I don't know what it is, but theprostration of it is _awful_. Nobody here has the least idea what Ithink of it; but I find, from all sorts of hints from Kate, Georgina, and the Leeches, that they are all affected more or less in the sameway, and find it very difficult to make head against. I make no sign, and pretend not to know what is going on. But they are right. I believethe Leeches will go soon, and small blame to 'em!--For me, when I leavehere at the end of this September, I must go down to some cold place; asRamsgate for example, for a week or two; or I seriously believe I shallfeel the effects of it for a long time. . . . What do you think of_that_? . . . The longer I live, the more I doubt the doctors. I amperfectly convinced, that, for people suffering under a wasting disease, this Undercliff is madness altogether. The doctors, with the oldmiserable folly of looking at one bit of a subject, take the patient'slungs and the Undercliff's air, and settle solemnly that they are fitfor each other. But the whole influence of the place, never taken intoconsideration, is to reduce and overpower vitality. I am quite confidentthat I should go down under it, as if it were so much lead, slowlycrushing me. An American resident in Paris many years, who brought me aletter from Olliffe, said, the day before yesterday, that he had alwayshad a passion for the sea never to be gratified enough, but that afterliving here a month, he could not bear to look at it; he couldn't endurethe sound of it; he didn't know how it was, but it seemed associatedwith the decay of his whole powers. " These were grave imputationsagainst one of the prettiest places in England; but of the generallydepressing influence of that Undercliff on particular temperaments, Ihad already enough experience to abate something of the surprise withwhich I read the letter. What it too bluntly puts aside are thesufferings other than his own, projected and sheltered by what onlyaggravated his; but my visit gave me proof that he had really verylittle overstated the effect upon himself. Making allowance, whichsometimes he failed to do, for special peculiarities, and for theexcitability never absent when he had in hand an undertaking such as_Copperfield_, I observed a nervous tendency to misgivings andapprehensions to the last degree unusual with him, which seemed to makethe commonest things difficult; and though he stayed out his time, andbrought away nothing that his happier associations with the place andits residents did not long survive, he never returned to Bonchurch. In the month that remained he completed his fifth number, and with theproof there came the reply to some questions of which I hardly remembermore than that they referred to doubts of mine; one being as to thepropriety of the kind of delusion he had first given to poor Mr. Dick, [155] which I thought a little too farcical for that reallytouching delineation of character. "Your suggestion is perfectly wiseand sound, " he wrote back (22nd of August). "I have acted on it. I havealso, instead of the bull and china-shop delusion, given Dick the idea, that, when the head of king Charles the First was cut off, some of thetrouble was taken out of it, and put into his (Dick's)". When he nextwrote, there was news very welcome to me for the pleasure to himself itinvolved. "Browne has sketched an uncommonly characteristic and capitalMr. Micawber for the next number. I hope the present number is a goodone. I hear nothing but pleasant accounts of the general satisfaction. "The same letter told me of an intention to go to Broadstairs, put asideby doubtful reports of its sanitary condition; but it will be seenpresently that there was another graver interruption. With his work welloff his hands, however, he had been getting on better where he was; andthey had all been very merry. "Yes, " he said, writing after a couple ofdays (23rd of September), "we have been sufficiently rollicking since Ifinished the number; and have had great games at rounders everyafternoon, with all Bonchurch looking on; but I begin to long for alittle peace and solitude. And now for my less pleasing piece of news. The sea has been running very high, and Leech, while bathing, wasknocked over by a bad blow from a great wave on the forehead. He is inbed, and had twenty of his namesakes on his temples this morning. When Iheard of him just now, he was asleep--which he had not been all night. "He closed his letter hopefully, but next day (24th September) I had lessfavourable report. "Leech has been very ill with congestion of the brainever since I wrote, and being still in excessive pain has had ice to hishead continuously, and been bled in the arm besides. Beard and I sat upthere, all night. " On the 26th he wrote, "My plans are all unsettled byLeech's illness; as of course I do not like to leave this place while Ican be of any service to him and his good little wife. But all visitorsare gone to-day, and Winterbourne once more left to the engaging familyof the inimitable B. Ever since I wrote to you Leech has been seriouslyworse, and again very heavily bled. The night before last he was in suchan alarming state of restlessness, which nothing could relieve, that Iproposed to Mrs. Leech to try magnetism. Accordingly, in the middle ofthe night I fell to; and after a very fatiguing bout of it, put him tosleep for an hour and thirty-five minutes. A change came on in thesleep, and he is decidedly better. I talked to the astounded little Mrs. Leech across him, when he was asleep, as if he had been a truss ofhay. . . . What do you think of my setting up in the magnetic line with alarge brass plate? 'Terms, twenty-five guineas per nap. '" When he wroteagain on the 30th, he had completed his sixth number; and his friend wasso clearly on the way to recovery that he was next day to leave forBroadstairs with his wife, her sister, and the two little girls. "I willmerely add that I entreat to be kindly remembered to Thackeray" (who hada dangerous illness at this time); "that I think I have, without adoubt, _got_ the Periodical notion; and that I am writing under thedepressing and discomforting influence of paying off the tribe of billsthat pour in upon an unfortunate family-young-man on the eve of aresidence like this. So no more at present from the disgusted, thoughstill inimitable, and always affectionate B. " He stayed at Broadstairs till he had finished his number seven, and whatelse chiefly occupied him were thoughts about the Periodical of whichaccount will presently be given. "Such a night and day of rain, " ran hisfirst letter, "I should think the oldest inhabitant never saw! and yet, in the ould formiliar Broadstairs, I somehow or other don't mind itmuch. The change has done Mamey a world of good, and I have begun tosleep again. As for news, you might as well ask me for dolphins. Nobodyin Broadstairs--to speak of. Certainly nobody in Ballard's. We are inthe part, which is the house next door to the hotel itself, that we oncehad for three years running, and just as quiet and snug now as it wasthen. I don't think I shall return before the 20th or so, when thenumber is done; but I _may_, in some inconstant freak, run up to youbefore. Preliminary despatches and advices shall be forwarded in anycase to the fragrant neighbourhood of Clare-market and thePortugal-street burying-ground. " Such was his polite designation of mywhereabouts: for which nevertheless he had secret likings. "On thePortsmouth railway, coming here, encountered Kenyon. On the ditto dittoat Reigate, encountered young Dilke, and took him in tow to Canterbury. On the ditto ditto at ditto (meaning Reigate), encountered Fox, M. P. For Oldham, and his daughter. All within an hour. Young Dilke greatabout the proposed Exposition under the direction of H. R. H. PrinceAlbert, and evincing, very pleasantly to me, unbounded faith in our oldfriend his father. " There was one more letter, taking a rather gloomyview of public affairs in connection with an inflated pastoral fromDoctor Wiseman "given out of the Flaminian Gate, " and speaking dolefullyof some family matters; which was subscribed, each word forming aseparate line, "Yours Despondently, And Disgustedly, Wilkins Micawber. " His visit to the little watering-place in the following year wassignalised by his completion of the most famous of his novels, and hisletters otherwise were occupied by elaborate managerial preparation forthe private performances at Knebworth. But again the plague of itinerantmusic flung him into such fevers of irritation, that he finally resolvedagainst any renewed attempt to carry on important work here; and thesummer of 1851, when he was only busy with miscellaneous writing, wasthe last of his regular residences in the place. He then let his Londonhouse for the brief remainder of its term; ran away at the end of May, when some grave family sorrows had befallen him, from the crowds andexcitements of the Great Exhibition; and with intervals of absence, chiefly at the Guild representations, stayed in his favourite Fort-houseby the sea until October, when he took possession of Tavistock-house. From his letters may be added a few notices of this last holiday atBroadstairs, which he had always afterwards a kindly word for; and towhich he said pleasant adieu in the sketch of "Our Watering-place, "written shortly before he left. "It is more delightful here" (1st of June) "than I can express. Corngrowing, larks singing, garden full of flowers, fresh air on the sea--Oit is wonderful! Why can't you come down next Saturday (bringing work)and go back with me on Wednesday for the _Copperfield_ banquet?Concerning which, of course, I say yes to Talfourd's kind proposal. Lemon by all means. And--don't you think? Browne? Whosoever, besides, pleases Talfourd will please me. " Great was the success of that banquet. The scene was the Star-and-Garter at Richmond; Thackeray and AlfredTennyson joined in the celebration; and the generous giver was in hisbest vein. I have rarely seen Dickens happier than he was amid thesunshine of that day. Jerrold and Thackeray returned to town with us;and a little argument between them about money and its uses, led to anavowal of Dickens about himself to which I may add the confirmation ofall our years of intercourse. "No man, " he said, "attaches lessimportance to the possession of money, or less disparagement to the wantof it, than I do. " Vague mention of a "next book" escaped in a letter at the end of July, on which I counselled longer abstinence. "Good advice, " he replied, "butdifficult: I wish you'd come to us and preach another kind ofabstinence. Fancy the Preventive men finding a lot of brandy in barrelson the rocks here, the day before yesterday! Nobody knows anything aboutthe barrels, of course. They were intended to have been landed with thenext tide, and to have been just covered at low water. But the waterbeing unusually low, the tops of the barrels became revealed toPreventive telescopes, and descent was made upon the brandy. They arealways at it, hereabouts, I have no doubt. And of course B would nothave had any of it. O dear no! certainly not. " His reading was considerable and very various at these intervals oflabour, and in this particular summer took in all the minor tales aswell as the plays of Voltaire, several of the novels (old favouriteswith him) of Paul de Kock, Ruskin's _Lamps of Architecture_, and asurprising number of books of African and other travel for which he hadinsatiable relish: but the notices of all this in his letters were few. "By the bye, I observe, reading that wonderful book the _FrenchRevolution_ again, for the 500th time, that Carlyle, who knowseverything, don't know what Mumbo Jumbo is. It is not an Idol. It is asecret preserved among the men of certain African tribes, and neverrevealed by any of them, for the punishment of their women. Mumbo Jumbocomes in hideous form out of the forest, or the mud, or the river, orwhere not, and flogs some woman who has been backbiting, or scolding, orwith some other domestic mischief disturbing the general peace. Carlyleseems to confound him with the common Fetish; but he is quite anotherthing. He is a disguised man; and all about him is a freemasons' secret_among the men_. "--"I finished the _Scarlet Letter_ yesterday. It fallsoff sadly after that fine opening scene. The psychological part of thestory is very much over-done, and not truly done I think. Theirsuddenness of meeting and agreeing to go away together, after all thoseyears, is very poor. Mr. Chillingworth ditto. The child out of naturealtogether. And Mr. Dimmisdale certainly never could have begotten her. "In Mr. Hawthorne's earlier books he had taken especial pleasure; his_Mosses from an Old Manse_ having been the first book he placed in myhands on his return from America, with reiterated injunctions to readit. I will add a word or two of what he wrote of the clever story ofanother popular writer, because it hits well the sort of ability thathas become so common, which escapes the highest point of cleverness, butstops short only at the very verge of it. "The story extremely goodindeed; but all the strongest things of which it is capable, missed. Itshows just how far that kind of power can go. It is more like a note ofthe idea than anything else. It seems to me as if it were written bysomebody who lived next door to the people, rather than inside of 'em. " I joined him for the August regatta and stayed a pleasant fortnight. Hispaper on "Our Watering-place" appeared while I was there, and great wasthe local excitement. His own restlessness with fancies for a new bookhad now risen beyond bounds, and for the time he was eager to open it inthat prettiest quaintest bit of English landscape, Strood valley, whichreminded him always of a Swiss scene. I had not left him many days whenthese lines followed me. "I very nearly packed up a portmanteau and wentaway, the day before yesterday, into the mountains of Switzerland, alone! Still the victim of an intolerable restlessness, I shouldn't beat all surprised if I wrote to you one of these mornings from under MontBlanc. I sit down between whiles to think of a new story, and, as itbegins to grow, such a torment of a desire to be anywhere but where Iam; and to be going I don't know where, I don't know why; takes hold ofme, that it is like being _driven away_. If I had had a passport, Isincerely believe I should have gone to Switzerland the night beforelast. I should have remembered our engagement--say, at Paris, and havecome back for it; but should probably have left by the next expresstrain. " At the end of November, when he had settled himself in his new Londonabode, the book was begun; and as generally happened with the moreimportant incidents of his life, but always accidentally, begun on aFriday. FOOTNOTES: [153] My friend Mr. Shirley Brooks sends me a "characteristic" cuttingfrom an autograph catalogue in which these few lines are given from anearly letter in the Doughty-street days. "I always pay my taxes whenthey won't call any longer, in order to get a bad name in the parish andso escape all honours. " It is a touch of character, certainly; butthough his motive in later life was the same, his method was not. Heattended to the tax-collector, but of any other parochial or politicalapplication took no notice whatever. [154] Even in the modest retirement of a note I fear that I shall offendthe dignity of history, and of biography, by printing the lines in whichthis intention was announced to me. They were written "in character;"and the character was that of the "waterman" at the Charing-crosscabstand, first discovered by George Cattermole, whose imitations of himwere a delight to Dickens at this time, and adapted themselves in theexuberance of his admiration to every conceivable variety of subject. The painter of the Derby Day will have a fullness of satisfaction inremembering this. "Sloppy" the hero in question, had a friend "Jack" inwhom he was supposed to typify his own early and hard experiences beforehe became a convert to temperance; and Dickens used to point to "Jack"as the justification of himself and Mrs. Gamp for their portentousinvention of Mrs. Harris. It is amazing nonsense to repeat; but to hearCattermole, in the gruff hoarse accents of what seemed to be the remainsof a deep bass voice wrapped up in wet straw, repeat the wildproceedings of Jack, was not to be forgotten. "Yes sir, Jack went madsir, just afore he 'stablished hisself by Sir Robert Peel's-s-s, sir. Hewas allis a callin' for a pint o' beer sir, and they brings him watersir. Yes sir. And so sir, I sees him dodgin' about one day sir, yes sir, and at last he gits a hopportunity sir and claps a pitch-plaster on themouth o' th' pump sir, and says he's done for his wust henemy sir. Yessir. And then they finds him a-sittin' on the top o' the corn-chest sir, yes sir, a crammin' a old pistol with wisps o' hay and horse-beans sir, and swearin' he's a goin' to blow hisself to hattoms, yes sir, but hedoesn't, no sir. For I sees him arterwards a lyin' on the straw amanifacktrin' Bengal cheroots out o' corn-chaff sir and swearin' he'dmake 'em smoke sir, but they hulloxed him off round by the corner ofDrummins's-s-s-s-s-s sir, just afore I come here sir, yes sir. And soyou never see'd us together sir, no sir. " This was the remarkabledialect in which Dickens wrote from Broadstairs on the 13th of July. "About Saturday sir?--Why sir, I'm a-going to _Folkestone_ a Saturdaysir!--not on accounts of the manifacktring of Bengal cheroots as thereis there but for the survayin' o' the coast sir. 'Cos you see sir, bein'here sir, and not a finishin' my work sir till to-morrow sir, I couldn'tgo afore! And if I wos to come home, and not go, and come back agin sir, wy it would be nat'rally a hulloxing of myself sir. Yes sir. Wy sir, Ib'lieve that the gent as is a goin' to 'stablish hisself sir, in theautumn, along with me round the corner sir (by Drummins's-s-s-s-s-sbank) is a comin' down to Folkestone Saturday arternoon--Leech by namesir--yes sir--another Jack sir--and if you wos to come down along withhim sir by the train as gits to Folkestone twenty minutes arter five, you'd find me a smoking a Bengal cheroot (made of clover-chaff andhorse-beans sir) on the platform. You couldn't spend your arternoonbetter sir. Dover, Sandgate, Herne Bay--they're all to be wisited sir, most probable, till such times as a 'ouse is found sir. Yes sir. Thendecide to come sir, and say you will, and do it. I shall be here tillarter post time Saturday mornin' sir. Come on then! "SLOPPY "His x mark. " [155] It stood originally thus: "'Do you recollect the date, ' said Mr. Dick, looking earnestly at me, and taking up his pen to note it down, 'when that bull got into the china warehouse and did so much mischief?'I was very much surprised by the inquiry; but remembering a song aboutsuch an occurrence that was once popular at Salem House, and thinking hemight want to quote it, replied that I believed it was on St. Patrick'sDay. 'Yes, I know, ' said Mr. Dick--'in the morning; but what year?' Icould give no information on this point. " Original MS. Of _Copperfield_. CHAPTER XIX. HAUNTED MAN AND HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 1848-1850. Friendly Plea for Mr. Macrone--Completion of Christmas Tale--The "Ghost" Story and the "Bargain"--The Tetterby Family--Moral of the Story--_Copperfield_ Sales--Letter from Russia--The Periodical taking Form--Hopes of Success--Doubts respecting it--New Design chosen--Names proposed--Appearance of First Number--Earliest Contributors--His Opinion of Mr. Sala--Child's Dream of a Star--A Fancy derived from his Childhood. IT has been seen that his fancy for his Christmas book of 1848 firstarose to him at Lausanne in the summer of 1846, and that, after writingits opening pages in the autumn of the following year, he laid it asideunder the pressure of his _Dombey_. These lines were in the letter thatclosed his 1848 Broadstairs holiday. "At last I am a mentally matooringof the Christmas book--or, as poor Macrone[156] used to write, 'booke, ''boke, ' 'buke, ' &c. " It was the first labour to which he applied himselfat his return. In London it soon came to maturity; was published duly as _The HauntedMan, or the Ghost's Bargain_; sold largely, beginning with asubscription of twenty thousand; and had a great success on the Adelphistage, to which it was rather cleverly adapted by Lemon. He had placedon its title page originally four lines from Tennyson's "Departure, " "And o'er the hills, and far away Beyond their utmost purple rim, Beyond the night, across the day, Thro' all the world IT follow'd him;" but they were less applicable to the close than to the opening of thetale, and were dropped before publication. The hero is a great chemist, a lecturer at an old foundation, a man of studious philosophic habits, haunted with recollections of the past "o'er which his melancholy sitson brood, " thinking his knowledge of the present a worthier substitute, and at last parting with that portion of himself which he thinks he cansafely cast away. The recollections are of a great wrong done him inearly life, and of all the sorrow consequent upon it; and the ghost heholds nightly conference with, is the darker presentiment of himselfembodied in those bitter recollections. This part is finely managed. Outof heaped-up images of gloomy and wintry fancies, the supernatural takesa shape which is not forced or violent; and the dialogue which is nodialogue, but a kind of dreary dreamy echo, is a piece of ghostlyimagination better than Mrs. Radcliffe. The boon desired is granted andthe bargain struck. He is not only to lose his own recollection of griefand wrong, but to destroy the like memory in all whom he approaches. Bythis means the effect is shown in humble as well as higher minds, in theworst poverty as in competence or ease, always with the same result. Theover-thinking sage loses his own affections and sympathy, sees themcrushed in others, and is brought to the level of the only creature whomhe cannot change or influence, an outcast of the streets, a boy whom themere animal appetites have turned into a small fiend. Never having hadhis mind awakened, evil is this creature's good; avarice, irreverence, and vindictiveness, are his nature; sorrow has no place in his memory;and from his brutish propensities the philosopher can take nothing away. The juxtaposition of two people whom such opposite means have put inthe same moral position is a stroke of excellent art. There are plentyof incredibilities and inconsistencies, just as in the pleasant _Cricketon the Hearth_, which one does not care about, but enjoy rather thanotherwise; and, as in that charming little book, there were minorcharacters as delightful as anything in Dickens. The Tetterby group, inwhose humble, homely, kindly, ungainly figures there is everything thatcould suggest itself to a clear eye, a piercing wit, and a loving heart, became enormous favourites. Tilly Slowboy and her little dot of a baby, charging folks with it as if it were an offensive instrument, or handingit about as if it were something to drink, were not more popular thanpoor Johnny Tetterby staggering under his Moloch of an infant, theJuggernaut that crushes all his enjoyments. The story itself consists ofnothing more than the effects of the Ghost's gift upon the variousgroups of people introduced, and the way the end is arrived at is veryspecially in Dickens's manner. What the highest exercise of theintellect had missed is found in the simplest form of the affections. The wife of the custodian of the college where the chemist is professor, in whom are all the unselfish virtues that can beautify and endear thehumblest condition, is the instrument of the change. Such sorrow as shehad suffered had made her only zealous to relieve others' sufferings:and the discontented wise man learns from her example that the world is, after all, a much happier compromise than it seems to be, and lifeeasier than wisdom is apt to think it; that grief gives joy its relish, purifying what it touches truly; and that "sweet are the uses ofadversity" when its clouds are not the shadow of dishonour. All thiscan be shown but lightly within such space, it is true; and in themachinery a good deal has to be taken for granted. But Dickens was quitejustified in turning aside from objections of that kind. "You mustsuppose, " he wrote to me (21st of November), "that the Ghost's savingclause gives him those glimpses without which it would be impossible tocarry out the idea. Of course my point is that bad and good areinextricably linked in remembrance, and that you could not choose theenjoyment of recollecting only the good. To have all the best of it youmust remember the worst also. My intention in the other point youmention is, that he should not know himself how he communicates thegift, whether by look or touch; and that it should diffuse itself in itsown way in each case. I can make this clearer by a very few lines in thesecond part. It is not only necessary to be so, for the variety of thestory, but I think it makes the thing wilder and stranger. " Criticalniceties are indeed out of place, where wildness and strangeness in themeans matter less than that there should be clearness in the drift andintention. Dickens leaves no doubt as to this. He thoroughly makes outhis fancy, that no man should so far question the mysteriousdispensations of evil in this world as to desire to lose therecollection of such injustice or misery as he may suppose it to havedone to himself. There may have been sorrow, but there was the kindnessthat assuaged it; there may have been wrong, but there was the charitythat forgave it; and with both are connected inseparably so manythoughts that soften and exalt whatever else is in the sense of memory, that what is good and pleasurable in life would cease to continue so ifthese were forgotten. The old proverb does not tell you to forget thatyou may forgive, but to forgive that you may forget. It is forgivenessof wrong, for forgetfulness of the evil that was in it; such as poor oldLear begged of Cordelia. The design for his much-thought-of new Periodical was still "dim, " as wehave seen, when the first cogitation of it at Bonchurch occupied him;but the expediency of making it clearer came soon after with a visitfrom Mr. Evans, who brought his half-year's accounts of sales, and somesmall disappointment for him in those of _Copperfield_. "The accountsare rather shy, after _Dombey_, and what you said comes true after all. I am not sorry I cannot bring myself to care much for what opinionspeople may form; and I have a strong belief, that, if any of my booksare read years hence, _Dombey_ will be remembered as among the best ofthem: but passing influences are important for the time, and as_Chuzzlewit_ with its small sale sent me up, _Dombey's_ large sale hastumbled me down. Not very much, however, in real truth. These accountsonly include the first three numbers, have of course been burdened withall the heavy expenses of number one, and ought not in reason to becomplained of. But it is clear to me that the Periodical must be setagoing in the spring; and I have already been busy, at odd half-hours, in shadowing forth a name and an idea. Evans says they have but oneopinion repeated to them of _Copperfield_, and they feel very confidentabout it. A steady twenty-five thousand, which it is now on the vergeof, will do very well. The back numbers are always going off. Read theenclosed. " It was a letter from a Russian man of letters, dated from St. Petersburgand signed "Trinarch Ivansvitch Wredenskii, " sending him a translationof _Dombey_ into Russian; and informing him that his works, which beforehad only been translated in the journals, and with certain omissions, had now been translated in their entire form by his correspondent, though even he had found an omission to be necessary in his version of_Pickwick_. He adds, with an exquisite courtesy to our national tonguewhich is yet not forgetful of the claims of his own nationality, thathis difficulties (in the Sam Weller direction and others) had arisenfrom the "impossibility of portraying faithfully the beauties of theoriginal in the Russian language, which, though the richest in Europe inits expressiveness, is far from being elaborate enough for literaturelike other civilized languages. " He had however, he assured Dickens, been unremitting in his efforts to live with his thoughts; and theexalted opinion he had formed of them was attended by only one wish, that such a writer "could but have expanded under a Russian sky!" Still, his fate was an enviable one. "For the last eleven years your name hasenjoyed a wide celebrity in Russia, and from the banks of the Neva tothe remotest parts of Siberia you are read with avidity. Your _Dombey_continues to inspire with enthusiasm the whole of the literary Russia. "Much did we delight in the good Wredenskii; and for a long time, onanything going "contrairy" in the public or private direction with him, he would tell me he had ordered his portmanteau to be packed for themore sympathizing and congenial climate of "the remotest parts ofSiberia. " The week before he left Bonchurch I again had news of the old and oftenrecurring fancy. "The old notion of the Periodical, which has beenagitating itself in my mind for so long, I really think is at lastgradually growing into form. " That was on the 24th of September; and onthe 7th of October, from Broadstairs, I had something of the form it hadbeen taking. "I do great injustice to my floating ideas (pretty speedilyand comfortably settling down into orderly arrangement) by sayinganything about the Periodical now: but my notion is a weekly journal, price either three-halfpence or two-pence, matter in part original andin part selected, and always having, if possible, a little goodpoetry. . . . Upon the selected matter, I have particular notions. One is, that it should always be _a subject_. For example, a history of Piracy;in connexion with which there is a vast deal of extraordinary, romantic, and almost unknown matter. A history of Knight-errantry, and the wildold notion of the Sangreal. A history of Savages, showing the singularrespects in which all savages are like each other; and those in whichcivilised men, under circumstances of difficulty, soonest become likesavages. A history of remarkable characters, good and bad, _in_ history;to assist the reader's judgment in his observation of men, and in hisestimates of the truth of many characters in fiction. All these things, and fifty others that I have already thought of, would be compilations;through the whole of which the general intellect and purpose of thepaper should run, and in which there would be scarcely less interestthan in the original matter. The original matter to be essays, reviews, letters, theatrical criticisms, &c, &c, as amusing as possible, but alldistinctly and boldly going to what in one's own view ought to be thespirit of the people and the time. . . . Now to bind all this together, andto get a character established as it were which any of the writers maymaintain without difficulty, I want to suppose a certain SHADOW, whichmay go into any place, by sunlight, moonlight, starlight, firelight, candlelight, and be in all homes, and all nooks and corners, and besupposed to be cognisant of everything, and go everywhere, without theleast difficulty. Which may be in the Theatre, the Palace, the House ofCommons, the Prisons, the Unions, the Churches, on the Railroad, on theSea, abroad and at home: a kind of semi-omniscient, omnipresent, intangible creature. I don't think it would do to call the paper THESHADOW: but I want something tacked to that title, to express the notionof its being a cheerful, useful, and always welcome Shadow. I want toopen the first number with this Shadow's account of himself and hisfamily. I want to have all the correspondence addressed to him. I wanthim to issue his warnings from time to time, that he is going to fall onsuch and such a subject; or to expose such and such a piece of humbug;or that he may be expected shortly in such and such a place. I want thecompiled part of the paper to express the idea of this Shadow's havingbeen in libraries, and among the books referred to. I want him to loomas a fanciful thing all over London; and to get up a general notion of'What will the Shadow say about this, I wonder? What will the Shadowsay about that? Is the Shadow here?' and so forth. Do you understand? . . . I have an enormous difficulty in expressing what I mean, in this stageof the business; but I think the importance of the idea is, that oncestated on paper, there is no difficulty in keeping it up. That itpresents an odd, unsubstantial, whimsical, new thing: a sort ofpreviously unthought-of Power going about. That it will concentrate intoone focus all that is done in the paper. That it sets up a creaturewhich isn't the Spectator, and isn't Isaac Bickerstaff, and isn'tanything of that kind: but in which people will be perfectly willing tobelieve, and which is just mysterious and quaint enough to have a sortof charm for their imagination, while it will represent common-sense andhumanity. I want to express in the title, and in the grasp of the ideato express also, that it is the Thing at everybody's elbow, and ineverybody's footsteps. At the window, by the fire, in the street, in thehouse, from infancy to old age, everyone's inseparable companion. . . . Nowdo you make anything out of this? which I let off as if I were a bladderfull of it, and you had punctured me. I have not breathed the idea toany one; but I have a lively hope that it _is_ an idea, and that out ofit the whole scheme may be hammered. " Excellent the idea doubtless, and so described in his letter that hardlyanything more characteristic survives him. But I could not make anythingout of it that had a quite feasible look. The ordinary ground ofmiscellaneous reading, selection, and compilation out of which it was tospring, seemed to me no proper soil for the imaginative produce it wasmeant to bear. As his fancies grew and gathered round it, they had givenit too much of the range and scope of his own exhaustless land ofinvention and marvel; and the very means proposed for letting in thehelp of others would only more heavily have weighted himself. Not totrouble the reader now with objections given him in detail, my judgmentwas clear against his plan; less for any doubt of the effect if itsparts could be brought to combine, than for my belief that it was not inthat view practicable; and though he did not immediately accept myreasons, he acquiesced in them ultimately. "I do not lay much stress onyour grave doubts about Periodical, but more anon. " The more anonresolved itself into conversations out of which the shape given to theproject was that which it finally took. It was to be a weekly miscellany of general literature; and its statedobjects were to be, to contribute to the entertainment and instructionof all classes of readers, and to help in the discussion of the moreimportant social questions of the time. It was to comprise short storiesby others as well as himself; matters of passing interest in theliveliest form that could be given to them; subjects suggested by booksthat might most be attracting attention; and poetry in every number ifpossible, but in any case something of romantic fancy. This was to be acardinal point. There was to be no mere utilitarian spirit; with allfamiliar things, but especially those repellent on the surface, something was to be connected that should be fanciful or kindly; and thehardest workers were to be taught that their lot is not necessarilyexcluded from the sympathies and graces of imagination. This was allfinally settled by the close of 1849, when a general announcement of theintended adventure was made. There remained only a title and anassistant editor; and I am happy now to remember that for the latterimportant duty Mr. Wills was chosen at my suggestion. He discharged hisduties with admirable patience and ability for twenty years, andDickens's later life had no more intimate friend. The title took some time and occupied many letters. One of the firstthought-of has now the curious interest of having foreshadowed, by themotto proposed to accompany it, the title of the series of _All the YearRound_ which he was led to substitute for the older series in 1859. "THEROBIN. With this motto from Goldsmith. '_The redbreast, celebrated forits affection to mankind, continues with us, the year round. _'" Thathowever was rejected. Then came: "MANKIND. This I think very good. " Itfollowed the other nevertheless. After it came: "And here a strangeidea, but with decided advantages. 'CHARLES DICKENS. A weekly journaldesigned for the instruction and entertainment of all classes ofreaders. CONDUCTED BY HIMSELF. '" Still, there was something wanting inthat also. Next day arrived: "I really think if there _be_ anythingwanting in the other name, that this is very pretty, and just suppliesit. THE HOUSEHOLD VOICE. I have thought of many others, as--THEHOUSEHOLD GUEST. THE HOUSEHOLD FACE. THE COMRADE. THE MICROSCOPE. THEHIGHWAY OF LIFE. THE LEVER. THE ROLLING YEARS. THE HOLLY TREE (with twolines from Southey for a motto). EVERYTHING, But I rather think theVOICE is it. " It was near indeed; but the following day came, "HOUSEHOLDWORDS. This is a very pretty name:" and the choice was made. The first number appeared on Saturday the 30th of March 1850, andcontained among other things the beginning of a story by a very originalwriter, Mrs. Gaskell, for whose powers he had a high admiration, andwith whom he had friendly intercourse during many years. Otheropportunities will arise for mention of those with whom this new labourbrought him into personal communication, but I may at once say that ofall the writers, before unknown, whom his journal helped to makefamiliar to a wide world of readers, he had the strongest personalinterest in Mr. Sala, and placed at once in the highest rank hiscapabilities of help in such an enterprise. [157] An illustrative traitof what I have named as its cardinal point to him will fitly close myaccount of its establishment. Its first number, still unpublished, hadnot seemed to him quite to fulfil his promise, "tenderly to cherish thelight of fancy inherent in all breasts;" and, as soon as he receivedthe proof of the second, I heard from him. "Looking over the suggestedcontents of number two at breakfast this morning" (Brighton: 14th ofMarch 1850) "I felt an uneasy sense of there being a want of somethingtender, which would apply to some universal household knowledge. Comingdown in the railroad the other night (always a wonderfully suggestiveplace to me when I am alone) I was looking at the stars, and revolving alittle idea about them. Putting now these two things together, I wrotethe enclosed little paper, straightway; and should like you to read itbefore you send it to the printers (it will not take you five minutes), and let me have a proof by return. " This was the child's "dream of astar, " which opened his second number; and, not appearing among hisreprinted pieces, may justify a word or two of description. It is of abrother and sister, constant child-companions, who used to make friendsof a star, watching it together until they knew when and where it wouldrise, and always bidding it good-night; so that when the sister dies thelonely brother still connects her with the star, which he then seesopening as a world of light, and its rays making a shining pathway fromearth to heaven; and he also sees angels waiting to receive travellersup that sparkling road, his little sister among them; and he thinks everafter that he belongs less to the earth than to the star where hissister is; and he grows up to youth and through manhood and old age, consoled still under the successive domestic bereavements that fall tohis earthly lot by renewal of that vision of his childhood; until atlast, lying on his own bed of death, he feels that he is moving as achild to his child-sister, and he thanks his heavenly father that thestar had so often opened before to receive the dear ones who awaitedhim. His sister Fanny and himself, he told me long before this paper waswritten, used to wander at night about a churchyard near their house, looking up at the stars; and her early death, of which I am now tospeak, had vividly reawakened all the childish associations which madeher memory dear to him. FOOTNOTES: [156] The mention of this name may remind me to state that I havereceived, in reference to the account in my first volume of Dickens'srepurchase of his _Sketches_ from Mr. Macrone, a letter from thesolicitor and friend of that gentleman so expressed that I could havegreatly wished to revise my narrative into nearer agreement with itswriter's wish. But farther enquiry, and an examination of the books ofMessrs. Chapman and Hall, have confirmed the statement given. Mr. Hansard is in error in supposing that "unsold impressions" of the bookswere included in the transaction (the necessary requirement being simplythat the small remainders on hand should be transferred with a view tobeing "wasted"): I know myself that it could not have included anysupposed right of Mr. Macrone to have a novel written for him, becauseupon that whole matter, and his continued unauthorised advertisements ofthe tale, I decided myself the reference against him: and Mr. Hansardmay be assured that the £2000 was paid for the copyright alone. For thesame copyright, a year before, Dickens had received £250, both the firstand second series being included in the payment; and he had already hadabout the same sum as his half share of the profits of sales. I quotethe close of Mr. Hansard's letter. "Macrone no doubt was an adventurer, but he was sanguine to the highest degree. He was a dreamer of dreams, putting no restraint on his exultant hopes by the reflection that he wasnot dealing justly towards others. But reproach has fallen upon him fromwrong quarters. He died in poverty, and his creditors received nothingfrom his estate. But that was because he had paid away all he had, andall he had derived from trust and credit, _to authors_. " This may havebeen so, but Dickens was not among the authors so benefited. The_Sketches_ repurchased for the high price I have named never afterwardsreally justified such an outlay. [157] Mr. Sala's first paper appeared in September 1851, and in the samemonth of the following year I had an allusion in a letter from Dickenswhich I shall hope to have Mr. Sala's forgiveness for printing. "Thatwas very good indeed of Sala's" (some essay he had written). "He wastwenty guineas in advance, by the bye, and I told Wills delicately tomake him a present of it. I find him a very conscientious fellow. Whenhe gets money ahead, he is not like the imbecile youth who so often dothe like in Wellington-street" (the office of _Household Words_) "andwalk off, but only works more industriously. I think he improves witheverything he does. He looks sharply at the alterations in his articles, I observe; and takes the hint next time. " CHAPTER XX. LAST YEARS IN DEVONSHIRE TERRACE. 1848-1851. Sentiment about Places--Personal Revelations--At his Sister's Sick-bed--Sister's Death--Book to be written in First Person--Visiting the Scene of a Tragedy--First sees Yarmouth--Birth of Sixth Son--Title of _Copperfield_ chosen--Difficulties of Opening--Memorable Dinner--Rogers and Benedict--Wit of Fonblanque--Procter and Macready--The Sheridans--Dinner to Halévy and Scribe--Expedition with Lord Mulgrave--The Duke at Vauxhall--Carlyle and Thackeray--Marryat's Delight with Children--Monckton Milnes and Lord Lytton--Lords Dudley, Stuart, and Nugent--Kemble, Harness, and Dyce--Mrs. Siddons and John Kemble--Mazzini and Edinburgh Friends--Artist Acquaintance--Friends from America--M. Van de Weyer--Doubtful Compliment--A Hint for London Citizens--Letter against Public Executions--An American Observer in England--Marvels of English Manners--Letter from Rockingham--Private Theatricals--A Family Scene--Death of Francis Jeffrey--Progress of _Copperfield_--A Run to Paris--Third Daughter born--At Great Malvern--Macready's Farewell--The Home at Shepherd's-bush--Death of John Dickens--Tribute by his Son--Theatrical-fund Dinner--Plea for Small Actors--Death of his Little Daughter--Advocating Sanitary Reform--Lord Shaftesbury--Realities of his Books to Dickens. EXCEPTING always the haunts and associations of his childhood, Dickenshad no particular sentiment of locality, and any special regard forhouses he had lived in was not a thing noticeable in him. But he caredmost for Devonshire-terrace, perhaps for the bit of ground attached toit; and it was with regret he suddenly discovered, at the close of1847, that he should have to resign it "next lady-day three years. I hadthought the lease two years more. " To that brief remaining time belongsome incidents of which I have still to give account; and I connect themwith the house in which he lived during the progress of what isgenerally thought his greatest book, and of what I think were hishappiest years. We had never had such intimate confidences as in the interval since hisreturn from Paris; but these have been used in my narrative of thechildhood and boyish experiences, and what remain are incidental only. Of the fragment of autobiography there also given, the origin has beentold; but the intention of leaving such a record had been in his mind, we now see, at an earlier date; and it was the very depth of ourinterest in the opening of his fragment that led to the larger design inwhich it became absorbed. "I hardly know why I write this, " was his owncomment on one of his personal revelations, "but the more thanfriendship which has grown between us seems to force it on me in mypresent mood. We shall speak of it all, you and I, Heaven grant, wiselyand wonderingly many and many a time in after years. In the meanwhile Iam more at rest for having opened all my heart and mind to you. . . . Thisday eleven years, poor dear Mary died. "[158] That was written on the seventh of May 1848, but another sadnessimpending at the time was taking his thoughts still farther back; towhen he trotted about with his little elder sister in the small gardento the house at Portsea. The faint hope for her which Elliotson hadgiven him in Paris had since completely broken down; and I was to hear, in less than two months after the letter just quoted, how nearly the endwas come. "A change took place in poor Fanny, " he wrote on the 5th ofJuly, "about the middle of the day yesterday, which took me out therelast night. Her cough suddenly ceased almost, and, strange to say, sheimmediately became aware of her hopeless state; to which she resignedherself, after an hour's unrest and struggle, with extraordinarysweetness and constancy. The irritability passed, and all hope fadedaway; though only two nights before, she had been planning for 'afterChristmas. ' She is greatly changed. I had a long interview with herto-day, alone; and when she had expressed some wishes about the funeral, and her being buried in unconsecrated ground" (Mr. Burnett's family weredissenters), "I asked her whether she had any care or anxiety in theworld. She said No, none. It was hard to die at such a time of life, butshe had no alarm whatever in the prospect of the change; felt sure weshould meet again in a better world; and although they had said shemight rally for a time, did not really wish it. She said she was quitecalm and happy, relied upon the mediation of Christ, and had no terrorat all. She had worked very hard, even when ill; but believed that wasin her nature, and neither regretted nor complained of it. Burnett hadbeen always very good to her; they had never quarrelled; she was sorryto think of his going back to such a lonely home; and was distressedabout her children, but not painfully so. She showed me how thin andworn she was; spoke about an invention she had heard of that she wouldlike to have tried, for the deformed child's back; called to myremembrance all our sister Letitia's patience and steadiness; and, though she shed tears sometimes, clearly impressed upon me that her mindwas made up, and at rest. I asked her very often, if she could everrecall anything that she could leave to my doing, to put it down, ormention it to somebody if I was not there; and she said she would, butshe firmly believed that there was nothing--nothing. Her husband beingyoung, she said, and her children infants, she could not help thinkingsometimes, that it would be very long in the course of nature beforethey were reunited; but she knew that was a mere human fancy, and couldhave no reality after she was dead. Such an affecting exhibition ofstrength and tenderness, in all that early decay, is quiteindescribable. I need not tell you how it moved me. I cannot look roundupon the dear children here, without some misgiving that this saddisease will not perish out of our blood with her; but I am sure I haveno selfishness in the thought, and God knows how small the world looksto one who comes out of such a sick-room on a bright summer day. I don'tknow why I write this before going to bed. I only know that in the verypity and grief of my heart, I feel as if it were doing something. " Afternot many weeks she died, and the little child who was her last anxietydid not long survive her. In all the latter part of the year Dickens's thoughts were turning muchto the form his next book should assume. A suggestion that he shouldwrite it in the first person, by way of change, had been thrown out byme, which he took at once very gravely; and this, with other things, though as yet not dreaming of any public use of his own personal andprivate recollections, conspired to bring about that resolve. Thedetermination once taken, with what a singular truthfulness he contrivedto blend the fact with the fiction may be shown by a small occurrence ofthis time. It has been inferred, from the vividness of theboy-impressions of Yarmouth in David's earliest experiences, that theplace must have been familiar to his own boyhood: but the truth was thatat the close of 1848 he first saw that celebrated sea-port. One of itsearlier months had been signalised by an adventure in which Leech, Lemon, and myself took part with him, when, obtaining horses fromSalisbury, we passed the whole of a March day in riding over every partof the Plain; visiting Stonehenge, and exploring Hazlitt's "hut" atWinterslow, birthplace of some of his finest essays; altogether with sobrilliant a success that now (13th of November) he proposed to "repeatthe Salisbury Plain idea in a new direction in mid-winter, to wit, Blackgang Chine in the Isle of Wight, with dark winter cliffs androaring oceans. " But mid-winter brought with it too much dreariness ofits own, to render these stormy accompaniments to it very palatable; andon the last day of the year he bethought him "it would be better to makean outburst to some old cathedral city we don't know, and what do yousay to Norwich and Stanfield-hall?" Thither accordingly the threefriends went, illness at the last disabling me; and of the result Iheard (12th of January, 1849) that Stanfield-hall, the scene of a recentfrightful tragedy, had nothing attractive unless the term might beapplied to "a murderous look that seemed to invite such a crime. Wearrived, " continued Dickens, "between the Hall and Potass farm, as thesearch was going on for the pistol in a manner so consummately stupid, that there was nothing on earth to prevent any of Rush's labourers fromaccepting five pounds from Rush junior to find the weapon and give it tohim. Norwich, a disappointment" (one pleasant face "transformeth acity, " but he was unable yet to connect it with our delightful friendElwin); "all save its place of execution, which we found fit for agigantic scoundrel's exit. But the success of the trip, for me, was tocome. Yarmouth, sir, where we went afterwards, is the strangest place inthe wide world: one hundred and forty-six miles of hill-less marshbetween it and London. More when we meet. I shall certainly try my handat it. " He made it the home of his "little Em'ly. " Everything now was taking that direction with him; and soon, to give hisown account of it, his mind was upon names "running like a high sea. "Four days after the date of the last-quoted letter ("all over happily, thank God, by four o'clock this morning") there came the birth of hiseighth child and sixth son; whom at first he meant to call by OliverGoldsmith's name, but settled afterwards into that of Henry Fielding;and to whom that early friend Ainsworth who had first made us known toeach other, welcome and pleasant companion always, was asked to begodfather. Telling me of the change in the name of the little fellow, which he had made in a kind of homage to the style of work he was now sobent on beginning, he added, "What should you think of this for a notionof a character? 'Yes, that is very true: but now, _What's his motive?_'I fancy I could make something like it into a kind of amusing and moreinnocent Pecksniff. 'Well now, yes--no doubt that was a fine thing todo! But now, stop a moment, let us see--_What's his motive?_'" Hereagain was but one of the many outward signs of fancy and fertility thataccompanied the outset of all his more important books; though, as intheir cases also, other moods of the mind incident to such beginningswere less favourable. "Deepest despondency, as usual, in commencing, besets me;" is the opening of the letter in which he speaks of what ofcourse was always one of his first anxieties, the selection of a name. In this particular instance he had been undergoing doubts and misgivingsto more than the usual degree. It was not until the 23rd of February hegot to anything like the shape of a feasible title. "I should like toknow how the enclosed (one of those I have been thinking of) strikesyou, on a first acquaintance with it. It is odd, I think, and new; butit may have A's difficulty of being 'too comic, my boy. ' I suppose Ishould have to add, though, by way of motto, 'And in short it led to thevery Mag's Diversions. _Old Saying. _' Or would it be better, there beingequal authority for either, 'And in short they all played Mag'sDiversions. _Old Saying?_' _Mag's Diversions. _ Being the personal history of MR. THOMAS MAG THE YOUNGER, Of Blunderstone House. " This was hardly satisfactory, I thought; and it soon became apparentthat he thought so too, although within the next three days I had it inthree other forms. "_Mag's Diversions_, being the Personal History, Adventures, Experience and Observation of Mr. David Mag the Younger, ofBlunderstone House. " The second omitted Adventures, and called his heroMr. David Mag the Younger, of Copperfield House. The third made nearerapproach to what the destinies were leading him to, and transformed Mr. David Mag into Mr. David Copperfield the Younger and his great-auntMargaret; retaining still as his leading title, _Mag's Diversions_. Itis singular that it should never have occurred to him, while the namewas thus strangely as by accident bringing itself together, that theinitials were but his own reversed; but he was much startled when Ipointed this out, and protested it was just in keeping with the fatesand chances which were always befalling him. "Why else, " he said, "should I so obstinately have kept to that name when once it turned up?" It was quite true that he did so, as I had curious proof following closeupon the heels of that third proposal. "I wish, " he wrote on the 26th ofFebruary, "you would look over carefully the titles now enclosed, andtell me to which you most incline. You will see that they give up _Mag_altogether, and refer exclusively to one name--that which I last sentyou. I doubt whether I could, on the whole, get a better name. "1. _The Copperfield Disclosures. _ Being the personal history, experience, and observation, of Mr. David Copperfield the Younger, of Blunderstone House. "2. _The Copperfield Records. _ Being the personal history, experience, and observation, of Mr. David Copperfield the Younger, of Copperfield Cottage. "3. _The Last Living Speech and Confession of David Copperfield Junior_, of Blunderstone Lodge, who was never executed at the Old Bailey. Being his personal history found among his papers. "4. _The Copperfield Survey of the World as it Rolled. _ Being the personal history, experience, and observation, of David Copperfield the Younger, of Blunderstone Rookery. "5. _The Last Will and Testament of Mr. David Copperfield. _ Being his personal history left as a legacy. "6. _Copperfield, Complete. _ Being the whole personal history and experience of Mr. David Copperfield of Blunderstone House, which he never meant to be published on any account. Or, the opening words of No. 6 might be _Copperfield's Entire_; and _TheCopperfield Confessions_ might open Nos. 1 and 2. Now, WHAT SAY YOU?" What I said is to be inferred from what he wrote back on the 28th. "The_Survey_ has been my favourite from the first. Kate picked it out fromthe rest, without my saying anything about it. Georgy too. You hit uponit, on the first glance. Therefore I have no doubt that it isindisputably the best title; and I will stick to it. " There was a changenevertheless. His completion of the second chapter defined to himself, more clearly than before, the character of the book; and the proprietyof rejecting everything not strictly personal from the name given to it. The words proposed, therefore, became ultimately these only: "ThePersonal History, Adventures, Experience, and Observation of DavidCopperfield the Younger, of Blunderstone Rookery, which he never meantto be published on any account. " And the letter which told me that withthis name it was finally to be launched on the first of May, told mealso (19th April) the difficulties that still beset him at the opening. "My hand is out in the matter of _Copperfield_. To-day and yesterday Ihave done nothing. Though I know what I want to do, I am lumbering onlike a stage-waggon. I can't even dine at the Temple to-day, I feel itso important to stick at it this evening, and make some head. I am quiteaground; quite a literary Benedict, as he appeared when his heelswouldn't stay upon the carpet; and the long Copperfieldian perspectivelooks snowy and thick, this fine morning. "[159] The allusion was to adinner at his house the night before; when not only Rogers had to beborne out, having fallen sick at the table, but, as we rose soon afterto quit the dining-room, Mr. Jules Benedict had quite suddenly followedthe poet's lead, and fallen prostrate on the carpet in the midst of us. Amid the general consternation there seemed a want of proper attendanceon the sick: the distinguished musician faring in this respect hardly sowell as the famous bard, by whose protracted sufferings in the library, whither he had been removed, the sanitary help available on theestablishment was still absorbed; and as Dickens had been eloquentduring dinner on the atrocities of a pauper-farming case at Tootingwhich was then exciting a fury of indignation, Fonblanque now declaredhim to be no better himself than a second Drouet, reducing his guests toa lamentable state by the food he had given them, and aggravating theirsad condition by absence of all proper nursing. The joke was well keptup by Quin and Edwin Landseer, Lord Strangford joining in with a tragicsympathy for his friend the poet; and the banquet so dolefullyinterrupted ended in uproarious mirth. For nothing really serious hadhappened. Benedict went laughing away with his wife, and I helped Rogerson with his overshoes for his usual night-walk home. "Do you know howmany waistcoats I wear?" asked the poet of me, as I was doing him thisservice. I professed my inability to guess. "Five!" he said: "and herethey are!" Upon which he opened them, in the manner of the gravediggerin _Hamlet_, and showed me every one. That dinner was in the April of 1849, and among others present were Mrs. Procter and Mrs. Macready, dear and familiar names always in his house. No swifter or surer perception than Dickens's for what was solid andbeautiful in character; he rated it higher than intellectual effort; andthe same lofty place, first in his affection and respect, would havebeen Macready's and Procter's, if the one had not been the greatest ofactors, and the other a poet as genuine as old Fletcher or Beaumont. There were present at this dinner also the American minister and Mrs. Bancroft (it was the year of that visit of Macready to America, whichended in the disastrous Forrest riots); and it had among its guests LadyGraham, the wife of Sir James Graham, than whom not even the wit andbeauty of her nieces, Mrs. Norton and Lady Dufferin, better representedthe brilliant family of the Sheridans; so many of whose members, andthese three above all, Dickens prized among his friends. The table thatday will be "full" if I add the celebrated singer Miss Catherine Hayes, and her homely good-natured Irish mother, who startled us all very muchby complimenting Mrs. Dickens on her having had for her father so clevera painter as Mr. Hogarth. Others familiar to Devonshire-terrace in these years will be indicatedif I name an earlier dinner (3rd of January), for the "christening" ofthe _Haunted Man_, when, besides Lemons, Evanses, Leeches, Bradburys, and Stanfields, there were present Tenniel, Topham, Stone, Robert Bell, and Thomas Beard. Next month (24th of March) I met at his table, Lordand Lady Lovelace; Milner Gibson, Mowbray Morris, Horace Twiss, andtheir wives; Lady Molesworth and her daughter (Mrs. Ford); JohnHardwick, Charles Babbage, and Dr. Locock. That distinguished physicianhad attended the poor girl, Miss Abercrombie, whose death by strychnineled to the exposure of Wainewright's murders; and the opinion he hadformed of her chances of recovery, the external indications of thatpoison being then but imperfectly known, was first shaken, he told me, by the gloomy and despairing cries of the old family nurse, that hermother and her uncle had died exactly so! These, it was afterwardsproved, had been among the murderer's former victims. The Lovelaceswere frequent guests after the return from Italy, Sir George Crawford, so friendly in Genoa, having married Lord Lovelace's sister; and few hada greater warmth of admiration for Dickens than Lord Byron's "Ada, " onwhom Paul Dombey's death laid a strange fascination. They were again ata dinner got up in the following year for Scribe and the composerHalévy, who had come over to bring out the _Tempest_ at HerMajesty's-theatre, then managed by Mr. Lumley, who with M. Van de Weyer, Mrs. Gore and her daughter, the Hogarths, and I think the fine Frenchcomedian, Samson, were also among those present. Earlier that year therewere gathered at his dinner-table the John Delanes, Isambard Brunels, Thomas Longmans (friends since the earliest Broadstairs days, andspecial favourites always), Lord Mulgrave, and Lord Carlisle, with allof whom his intercourse was intimate and frequent, and became especiallyso with Delane in later years. Lord Carlisle amused us that night, Iremember, by repeating what the good old Brougham had said to him of"those _Punch_ people, " expressing what was really his fixed belief. "They never get my face, and are obliged" (which, like Pope, he alwayspronounced obleeged), "to put up with my plaid trousers!" Of LordMulgrave, pleasantly associated with the first American experiences, letme add that he now went with us to several outlying places of amusementof which he wished to acquire some knowledge, and which Dickens knewbetter than any man; small theatres, saloons, and gardens in city orborough, to which the Eagle and Britannia were as palaces; and I thinkhe was of the party one famous night in the summer of 1849 (29th ofJune), when with Talfourd, Edwin Landseer, and Stanfield, we went to the_Battle of Waterloo_ at Vauxhall, and were astounded to see pass inimmediately before us, in a bright white overcoat, the great Dukehimself, Lady Douro on his arm, the little Ladies Ramsay by his side, and everybody cheering and clearing the way before him. That the oldhero enjoyed it all, there could be no doubt, and he made no secret ofhis delight in "Young Hernandez;" but the "Battle" was undeniablytedious, and it was impossible not to sympathize with the repeatedly andvery audibly expressed wish of Talfourd, that "the Prussians would comeup!" The preceding month was that of the start of _David Copperfield_, and toone more dinner (on the 12th) I may especially refer for those who werepresent at it. Carlyle and Mrs. Carlyle came, Thackeray and Rogers, Mrs. Gaskell and Kenyon, Jerrold and Hablot Browne, with Mr. And Mrs. Tagart;and it was a delight to see the enjoyment of Dickens at Carlyle'slaughing reply to questions about his health, that he was, in thelanguage of Mr. Peggotty's housekeeper, a lorn lone creature andeverything went contrairy with him. Things were not likely to go better, I thought, as I saw the great writer, --kindest as well as wisest of men, but not very patient under sentimental philosophies, --seated next thegood Mr. Tagart, who soon was heard launching at him variousmetaphysical questions in regard to heaven and such like; and the reliefwas great when Thackeray introduced, with quaint whimsicality, a storywhich he and I had heard Macready relate in talking to us about hisboyish days, of a country actor who had supported himself for six monthson his judicious treatment of the "tag" to the _Castle Spectre_. In theoriginal it stands that you are to do away with suspicion, banish vilemistrust, and, almost in the words we had just heard from the ministerto the philosopher, "Believe there is a Heaven nor Doubt that Heaven isjust!" in place of which Macready's friend, observing that the drop fellfor the most part quite coldly, substituted one night the more tellingappeal, "And give us your Applause, for _that_ is ALWAYS JUST!" whichbrought down the house with rapture. This chapter would far outrun its limits if I spoke of other as pleasantgatherings under Dickens's roof during the years which I am now moreparticularly describing; when, besides the dinners, the musicalenjoyments and dancings, as his children became able to take part inthem, were incessant. "Remember that for my Biography!" he said to megravely on twelfth-day in 1849, after telling me what he had done thenight before; and as gravely I now redeem my laughing promise that Iwould. Little Mary and her sister Kate had taken much pains to teachtheir father the polka, that he might dance it with them at theirbrother's birthday festivity (held this year on the 7th, as the 6th wasa Sunday); and in the middle of the previous night as he lay in bed, thefear had fallen on him suddenly that the step was forgotten, and thenand there, in that wintry dark cold night, he got out of bed to practiseit. Anything _more_ characteristic could certainly not be told; unless Icould have shown him dancing it afterwards, and far excelling theyoungest performer in untiring vigour and vivacity. There was no one whoapproached him on these occasions excepting only our attached friendCaptain Marryat, who had a frantic delight in dancing, especially withchildren, of whom and whose enjoyments he was as fond as it became sothoroughly good hearted a man to be. His name would have stood firstamong those I have been recalling, as he was among the first inDickens's liking; but in the autumn of 1848 he had unexpectedly passedaway. Other names however still reproach me for omission as my memorygoes back. With Marryat's on the earliest page of this volume standsthat of Monckton Milnes, familiar with Dickens over all the time itcovers, and still more prominent in Tavistock-house days when with LadyHoughton he brought fresh claims to my friend's admiration and regard. Of Bulwer Lytton's frequent presence in all his houses, and of Dickens'sadmiration for him as one of the supreme masters in his art, sounswerving and so often publicly declared, it would be needless again tospeak. Nor shall I dwell upon his interchange of hospitalities withdistinguished men in the two great professions so closely allied toliterature and its followers; Denmans, Pollocks, Campbells, and Chittys;Watsons, Southwood Smiths, Lococks, and Elliotsons. To Alfred Tennyson, through all the friendly and familiar days I am describing, he gave fullallegiance and honoured welcome. Tom Taylor was often with him; andthere was a charm for him I should find it difficult to exaggerate inLord Dudley Stuart's gentle yet noble character, his refinedintelligence and generous public life, expressed so perfectly in hischivalrous face. Incomplete indeed would be the list if I did not add toit the frank and hearty Lord Nugent, who had so much of his grandfather, Goldsmith's friend, in his lettered tastes and jovial enjoyments. Norshould I forget occasional days with dear old Charles Kemble and one orother of his daughters; with Alexander Dyce; and with Harness and hissister, or his niece and her husband, Mr. And Mrs. Archdale; madeespecially pleasant by talk about great days of the stage. It wassomething to hear Kemble on his sister's Mrs. Beverley; or to seeHarness and Dyce exultant in recollecting her Volumnia. The enchantmentof the Mrs. Beverley, her brother would delightfully illustrate byimitation of her manner of restraining Beverley's intemperance to theironly friend, "You are too busy, sir!" when she quietly came down thestage from a table at which she had seemed to be occupying herself, laidher hand softly on her husband's arm, and in a gentle half-whisper "No, not too busy; mistaken perhaps; but----" not only stayed his temper butreminded him of obligations forgotten in the heat of it. Up to where thetragic terror began, our friend told us, there was nothing but thiscomposed domestic sweetness, expressed even in the simplicity and neatarrangement of her dress, her cap with the strait band, and her hairgathered up underneath; but all changing when the passion _did_ begin;one single disordered lock escaping at the first outbreak, and, in thefinal madness, all of it streaming dishevelled down her beautiful face. Kemble made no secret of his belief that his sister had the highergenius of the two; but he spoke with rapture of "John's" Macbeth andparts of his Othello; comparing his "Farewell the tranquil mind" to therunning down of a clock, an image which he did not know that Hazlitt hadapplied to the delivery of "To-morrow and to-morrow, " in the othertragedy. In all this Harness seemed to agree; and I thought adistinction was not ill put by him, on the night of which I speak, inhis remark that the nature in Kemble's acting only supplemented hismagnificent art, whereas, though the artist was not less supreme in hissister, it was on nature she most relied, bringing up the other poweronly to the aid of it. "It was in another sense like your writing, " saidHarness to Dickens, "the commonest natural feelings made great, evenwhen not rendered more refined, by art. " Her Constance would have beenfishwify, he declared, if its wonderful truth had not overborne everyother feeling; and her Volumnia escaped being vulgar only by being soexcessively grand. But it was just what was so called "vulgarity" thatmade its passionate appeal to the vulgar in a better meaning of theword. When she first entered, Harness said, swaying and surging fromside to side with every movement of the Roman crowd itself, as it wentout and returned in confusion, she so absorbed her son into herself asshe looked at him, so swelled and amplified in her pride and glory forhim, that "the people in the pit blubbered all round, " and he could nomore help it than the rest. There are yet some other names that should have place in these ramblingrecollections, though I by no means affect to remember all. One Sundayevening Mazzini made memorable by taking us to see the school he hadestablished in Clerkenwell for the Italian organ-boys. This was afterdining with Dickens, who had been brought into personal intercourse withthe great Italian by having given money to a begging impostor who madeunauthorized use of his name. Edinburgh friends made him regular visitsin the spring time: not Jeffrey and his family alone, but sheriff Gordonand his, with whom he was not less intimate, Lord Murray and his wife, Sir William Allan and his niece, Lord Robertson with his wonderfulScotch mimicries, and Peter Fraser with his enchanting Scotch songs; ourexcellent friend Liston the surgeon, until his fatal illness came inDecember 1848, being seldom absent from those assembled to bid suchvisitors welcome. Allan's name may remind me of other artists often athis house, Eastlakes, Leslies, Friths, and Wards, besides those who havehad frequent mention, and among whom I should have included Charles aswell as Edwin Landseer, and William Boxall. Nor should I drop from thissection of his friends, than whom none were more attractive to him, suchcelebrated names in the sister arts as those of Miss Helen Faucit, anactress worthily associated with the brightest days of our friendMacready's managements, Mr. Sims Reeves, Mr. John Parry, Mr. Phelps, Mr. Webster, Mr. Harley, Mr. And Mrs. Keeley, Mr. Whitworth, and Miss Dolby. Mr. George Henry Lewes he had an old and great regard for; among othermen of letters should not be forgotten the cordial Thomas Ingoldsby, andmany-sided true-hearted Charles Knight; Mr. R. H. Horne and his wifewere frequent visitors both in London and at seaside holidays; and Ihave met at his table Mr. And Mrs. S. C. Hall. There were the DuffGordons too, the Lyells, and, very old friends of us both, the EmersonTennents; there was the good George Raymond, Mr. Frank Beard and hiswife; the Porter Smiths, valued for Macready's sake as well as theirown; Mr. And Mrs. Charles Black, near connections by marriage of GeorgeCattermole, with whom there was intimate intercourse both before andduring the residence in Italy; Mr. Thompson, brother of Mrs. Smithsonformerly named, and his wife, whose sister Frederick Dickens married;Mr. Mitton, his own early companion; and Mrs. Torrens, who had playedwith the amateurs in Canada. These are all in my memory so connectedwith Devonshire-terrace, as friends or familiar acquaintance, that theyclaim this word before leaving it; and visitors from America, I mayremark, had always a grateful reception. Of the Bancrofts mention hasbeen made, and with them should be coupled the Abbot Lawrences, Prescott, Hillard, George Curtis, and Felton's brother. Felton himselfdid not visit England until the Tavistock-house time. In 1847 there wasa delightful day with the Coldens and the Wilkses, relatives by marriageof Jeffrey; in the following year, I think at my rooms because of someaccident that closed Devonshire-terrace that day (25th of April), Dickens, Carlyle, and myself foregathered with the admirable Emerson;and M. Van de Weyer will probably remember a dinner where he took joyouspart with Dickens in running down a phrase which the learned in books, Mr. Cogswell, on a mission here for the Astor library, had startled usby denouncing as an uncouth Scotch barbarism--_open up_. You found itconstantly in Hume, he said, but hardly anywhere else; and he defied usto find it more than once through the whole of the volumes of Gibbon. Upon this, after brief wonder and doubt, we all thought it best to takepart in a general assault upon _open up_, by invention of phrases on thesame plan that should show it in exaggerated burlesque, and support Mr. Cogswell's indictment. Then came a struggle who should carry theabsurdity farthest; and the victory remained with M. Van de Weyer untilDickens surpassed even him, and "opened up" depths of almost frenziedabsurdity that would have delighted the heart of Leigh Hunt. It willintroduce the last and not least honoured name into my list of hisacquaintance and friends, if I mention his amusing little interruptionone day to Professor Owen's description of a telescope of hugedimensions built by an enterprising clergyman who had taken to the studyof the stars; and who was eager, said Owen, to see farther intoheaven--he was going to say, than Lord Rosse; if Dickens had not drilyinterposed, "than his professional studies had enabled him topenetrate. " Some incidents that belong specially to the three years that closed hisresidence in the home thus associated with not the least interestingpart of his career, will farther show what now were his occupations andways of life. In the summer of 1849 he came up from Broadstairs toattend a Mansion-house dinner, which the lord mayor of that day had beenmoved by a laudable ambition to give to "literature and art, " which hesupposed would be adequately represented by the Royal Academy, thecontributors to _Punch_, Dickens, and one or two newspaper men. On thewhole the result was not cheering; the worthy chief magistrate, nodoubt quite undesignedly, expressing too much surprise at theunaccustomed faces around him to be altogether complimentary. In general(this was the tone) we are in the habit of having princes, dukes, ministers, and what not for our guests, but what a delight, all thegreater for being unusual, to see gentlemen like you! In other words, what could possibly be pleasanter than for people satiated withgreatness to get for a while by way of change into the butler's pantry?This in substance was Dickens's account to me next day, and his reasonfor having been very careful in his acknowledgment of the toast of "theNovelists. " He was nettled not a little therefore by a jesting allusionto himself in the _Daily News_ in connection with the proceedings, andasked me to forward a remonstrance. Having a strong dislike to all suchdisplays of sensitiveness, I suppressed the letter; but it is perhapsworth printing now. Its date is Broadstairs, Wednesday 11th of July1849. "I have no other interest in, or concern with, a most facetiousarticle on last Saturday's dinner at the Mansion-house, which appearedin your paper of yesterday, and found its way here to-day, than that itmisrepresents me in what I said on the occasion. If you should not thinkit at all damaging to the wit of that satire to state what I did say, Ishall be much obliged to you. It was this. . . . That I considered thecompliment of a recognition of Literature by the citizens of London themore acceptable to us because it was unusual in that hall, and likely tobe an advantage and benefit to them in proportion as it became in futureless unusual. That, on behalf of the novelists, I accepted the tributeas an appropriate one; inasmuch as we had sometimes reason to hope thatour imaginary worlds afforded an occasional refuge to men busily engagedin the toils of life, from which they came forth none the worse to arenewal of its strivings; and certainly that the chief magistrate of thegreatest city in the world might be fitly regarded as the representativeof that class of our readers. " Of an incident towards the close of the year, though it had importantpractical results, brief mention will here suffice. We saw the Manningsexecuted on the walls of Horsemonger-lane gaol; and with the letterwhich Dickens wrote next day to the _Times_ descriptive of what we hadwitnessed on that memorable morning, there began an active agitationagainst public executions which never ceased until the salutary changewas effected which has worked so well. Shortly after this he visitedRockingham-castle, the seat of Mr. And Mrs. Watson, his Lausannefriends; and I must preface by a word or two the amusing letter in whichhe told me of this visit. It was written in character, and the characterwas that of an American visitor to England. "I knew him, Horatio;" and a very kindly honest man he was, who had cometo England authorised to make enquiry into our general agriculturalcondition, and who discharged his mission by publishing some reportsextremely creditable to his good sense and ability, expressed in a plainnervous English that reminded one of the rural writings of Cobbett. Butin an evil hour he published also a series of private letters to friendswritten from the various residences his introductions had opened to him;and these were filled with revelations as to the internal economy ofEnglish noblemen's country houses, of a highly startling description. Asfor example, how, on arrival at a house your "name is announced, andyour portmanteau immediately taken into your chamber, which the servantshows you, with every convenience. " How "you are asked by the servant atbreakfast what you will have, or you get up and help yourself. " How atdinner you don't dash at the dishes, or contend for the "fixings, " butwait till "his portion is handed by servants to every one. " How all thewines, fruit, glasses, candlesticks, lamps, and plate are "taken careof" by butlers, who have under-butlers for their "adjuncts;" how ladiesnever wear "white satin shoes or white gloves more than once;" howdinner napkins are "never left upon the table, but either thrown intoyour chair or on the floor under the table;" how no end of pains aretaken to "empty slops;" and above all what a national propensity thereis to brush a man's clothes and polish his boots, whensoever andwheresoever the clothes and boots can be seized without the man. [160]This was what Dickens good-humouredly laughs at. "Rockingham Castle: Friday, thirtieth of November, 1849. Picture toyourself, my dear F, a large old castle, approached by an ancient keep, portcullis, &c, &c, filled with company, waited on by six-and-twentyservants; the slops (and wine-glasses) continually being emptied; and myclothes (with myself in them) always being carried off to all sorts ofplaces; and you will have a faint idea of the mansion in which I am atpresent staying. I should have written to you yesterday, but for havinghad a very busy day. Among the guests is a Miss B, sister of theHonourable Miss B (of Salem, Mass. ), whom we once met at the house ofour distinguished literary countryman Colonel Landor. This lady isrenowned as an amateur actress, so last night we got up in the greathall some scenes from the _School for Scandal_; the scene with thelunatic on the wall, from the _Nicholas Nickleby_ of Major-General theHon. C. Dickens (Richmond, Va. ); some conjuring; and then finished offwith country-dances; of which we had two admirably good ones, quite newto me, though really old. Getting the words, and making thepreparations, occupied (as you may believe) the whole day; and it wasthree o'clock before I got to bed. It was an excellent entertainment, and we were all uncommonly merry. . . . I had a very polite letter from ourenterprising countryman Major Bentley[161] (of Lexington, Ky. ), which Ishall show you when I come home. We leave here this afternoon, and Ishall expect you according to appointment, at a quarter past ten A. M. To-morrow. Of all the country-houses and estates I have yet seen inEngland, I think this is by far the best. Everything undertakeneventuates in a most magnificent hospitality; and you will be pleased tohear that our celebrated fellow citizen General Boxall (Pittsburg, Penn. ) is engaged in handing down to posterity the face of the owner ofthe mansion and of his youthful son and daughter. At a future time itwill be my duty to report on the turnips, mangel-wurzel, ploughs, andlive stock; and for the present I will only say that I regard it as afortunate circumstance for the neighbouring community that thispatrimony should have fallen to my spirited and enlightened host. Everyone has profited by it, and the labouring people in especial arethoroughly well cared-for and looked after. To see all the household, headed by an enormously fat housekeeper, occupying the back benches lastnight, laughing and applauding without any restraint; and to see ablushing sleek-headed footman produce, for the watch-trick, a silverwatch of the most portentous dimensions, amidst the rapturous delight ofhis brethren and sisterhood; was a very pleasant spectacle, even to aconscientious republican like yourself or me, who cannot but contemplatethe parent country with feelings of pride in our own land, which (as waswell observed by the Honorable Elias Deeze, of Hertford, Conn. ) is trulythe land of the free. Best remembrances from Columbia's daughters. Everthine, my dear F, --C. H. " Dickens, during the too brief time thisexcellent friend was spared to him, often repeated his visits toRockingham, always a surpassing enjoyment; and in the winter of 1851 heaccomplished there, with help of the country carpenter, "a very elegantlittle theatre, " of which he constituted himself manager, and had amonghis actors a brother of the lady referred to in his letter, "a very goodcomic actor, but loose in words;" poor Augustus Stafford "more thanpassable;" and "a son of Vernon Smith's, really a capital low comedian. "It will be one more added to the many examples I have given of hisuntiring energy both in work and play, if I mention the fact that thistheatre was opened at Rockingham for their first representation onWednesday the 15th of January; that after the performance there was acountry dance which lasted far into the morning; and that on the nextevening, after a railway journey of more than 120 miles, he dined inLondon with the prime minister, Lord John Russell. A little earlier in that winter we had together taken his eldest son toEton, and a little later he had a great sorrow. "Poor dear Jeffrey!" hewrote to me on the 29th January, 1850. "I bought a _Times_ at thestation yesterday morning, and was so stunned by the announcement, thatI felt it in that wounded part of me, almost directly; and the badsymptoms (modified) returned within a few hours. I had a letter from himin extraordinary good spirits within this week or two--he was better, hesaid, than he had been for a long time--and I sent him proof-sheets ofthe number only last Wednesday. I say nothing of his wonderful abilitiesand great career, but he was a most affectionate and devoted friend tome; and though no man could wish to live and die more happily, so old inyears and yet so young in faculties and sympathies, I am very verydeeply grieved for his loss. " He was justly entitled to feel pride inbeing able so to word his tribute of sorrowing affection. Jeffrey hadcompleted with consummate success, if ever man did, the work appointedhim in this world; and few, after a life of such activities, have left amemory so unstained and pure. But other and sharper sorrows awaitedDickens. The chief occupation of the past and present year, _David Copperfield_, will have a chapter to itself, and in this may be touched but lightly. Once fairly in it, the story bore him irresistibly along; certainly withless trouble to himself in the composition, beyond that ardent sympathywith the creatures of the fancy which always made so absolutely real tohim their sufferings or sorrows; and he was probably never less harassedby interruptions or breaks in his invention. His principal hesitationoccurred in connection with the child-wife Dora, who had become a greatfavourite as he went on; and it was shortly after her fate had beendecided, in the early autumn of 1850, [162] but before she breathed herlast, that a third daughter was born to him, to whom he gave his dyinglittle heroine's name. On these and other points, without forestallingwhat waits to be said of the composition of this fine story, a fewillustrative words from his letters will properly find a place here. "_Copperfield_ half done, " he wrote of the second number on the 6th ofJune. "I feel, thank God, quite confident in the story. I have a move init ready for this month; another for next; and another for the next. " "Ithink it is necessary" (15th of November) "to decide against the specialpleader. Your reasons quite suffice. I am not sure but that the bankinghouse might do. I will consider it in a walk. " "Banking businessimpracticable" (17th of November) "on account of the confinement: whichwould stop the story, I foresee. I have taken, for the present at allevents, the proctor. I am wonderfully in harness, and nothing galls orfrets. " "_Copperfield_ done" (20th of November) "after two days' veryhard work indeed; and I think a smashing number. His first dissipation Ihope will be found worthy of attention, as a piece of grotesque truth. ""I feel a great hope" (23rd of January, 1850) "that I shall beremembered by little Em'ly, a good many years to come. " "I begin to havemy doubts of being able to join you" (20th of February), "for_Copperfield_ runs high, and must be done to-morrow. But I'll do it ifpossible, and strain every nerve. Some beautiful comic love, I hope, inthe number. " "Still undecided about Dora" (7th of May), "but MUST decideto-day. "[163] "I have been" (Tuesday, 20th of August) "very hard at workthese three days, and have still Dora to kill. But with good luck, I maydo it to-morrow. Obliged to go to Shepherd's-bush to-day, and canconsequently do little this morning. Am eschewing all sorts of thingsthat present themselves to my fancy--coming in such crowds!" "Work in avery decent state of advancement" (13th of August) "domesticitynotwithstanding. I hope I shall have a splendid number. I feel the storyto its minutest point. " "Mrs. Micawber is still" (15th of August), "Iregret to say, in statu quo. Ever yours, WILKINS MICAWBER. " The littlegirl was born the next day, the 16th, and received the name of DoraAnnie. The most part of what remained of the year was passed away fromhome. The year following did not open with favourable omen, both the child andits mother having severe illness. The former rallied however, and"little Dora is getting on bravely, thank God!" was his bulletin of theearly part of February. Soon after, it was resolved to make trial ofGreat Malvern for Mrs. Dickens; and lodgings were taken there in March, Dickens and her sister accompanying her, and the children being left inLondon. "It is a most beautiful place, " he wrote to me (15th of March). "O Heaven, to meet the Cold Waterers (as I did this morning when I wentout for a shower-bath) dashing down the hills, with severe expressionson their countenances, like men doing matches and not exactly winning!Then, a young lady in a grey polka going _up_ the hills, regardless oflegs; and meeting a young gentleman (a bad case, I should say) with alight black silk cap on under his hat, and the pimples of I don't knowhow many douches under that. Likewise an old man who ran over amilk-child, rather than stop!--with no neckcloth, on principle; and withhis mouth wide open, to catch the morning air. " This was the month, aswe have seen, when the performances for the Guild were in activepreparation, and it was also the date of the farewell dinner to ourfriend Macready on his quitting the stage. Dickens and myself came upfor it from Malvern, to which he returned the next day; and from thespirited speech in which he gave the health of the chairman at thedinner, I will add a few words for the sake of the truth expressed inthem. "There is a popular prejudice, a kind of superstition, thatauthors are not a particularly united body, and I am afraid that thismay contain half a grain or so of the veracious. But of our chairman Ihave never in my life made public mention without adding what I cannever repress, that in the path we both tread I have uniformly found himto be, from the first, the most generous of men; quick to encourage, slow to disparage, and ever anxious to assert the order of which he isso great an ornament. That we men of letters are, or have been, invariably or inseparably attached to each other, it may not be possibleto say, formerly or now; but there cannot now be, and there cannot everhave been, among the followers of literature, a man so entirely withoutthe grudging little jealousies that too often disparage its brightness, as Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton. " That was as richly merited as it ishappily said. Dickens had to return to London after the middle of March for businessconnected with a charitable Home established at Shepherd's-bush by MissCoutts, in the benevolent hope of rescuing fallen women by testing theirfitness for emigration, of which future mention will be made, and whichlargely and regularly occupied his time for several years. On thisoccasion his stay was prolonged by the illness of his father. Hishealth had been failing latterly, and graver symptoms were now spokenof. "I saw my poor father twice yesterday, " he wrote to me on the 27th, "the second time between ten and eleven at night. In the morning Ithought him not so well. At night, as well as any one in such asituation could be. " Next day he was so much better that his son wentback to Malvern, and even gave us grounds for hope that we might yethave his presence in Hertfordshire to advise on some questions connectedwith the comedy which Sir Edward Lytton had written for the Guild. Butthe end came suddenly. I returned from Knebworth to London, supposingthat some accident had detained him at Malvern; and at my house thisletter waited me. "Devonshire-terrace, Monday, thirty-first of March1851. . . . My poor father died this morning at five and twenty minutes tosix. They had sent for me to Malvern, but I passed John on the railway;for I came up with the intention of hurrying down to Bulwer Lytton'sto-day before you should have left. I arrived at eleven last night, andwas in Keppel-street at a quarter past eleven. But he did not know me, nor any one. He began to sink at about noon yesterday, and never ralliedafterwards. I remained there until he died--O so quietly. . . . I hardlyknow what to do. I am going up to Highgate to get the ground. Perhapsyou may like to go, and I should like it if you do. I will not leavehere before two o'clock. I think I must go down to Malvern again, atnight, to know what is to be done about the children's mourning; and asyou are returning to Bulwer's I should like to have gone that way, if_Bradshaw_ gave me any hope of doing it. I wish most particularly tosee you, I needn't say. I must not let myself be distracted byanything--and God knows I have left a sad sight!--from the scheme onwhich so much depends. Most part of the alterations proposed I thinkgood. " Mr. John Dickens was laid in Highgate Cemetery on the 5th ofApril; and the stone placed over him by the son who has made his name afamous one in England, bore tribute to his "zealous, useful, cheerfulspirit. " What more is to be said of him will be most becomingly said inspeaking of _David Copperfield_. While the book was in course of beingwritten, all that had been best in him came more and more vividly backto its author's memory; as time wore on, nothing else was remembered;and five years before his own death, after using in one of his lettersto me a phrase rather out of the common with him, this was added: "Ifind this looks like my poor father, whom I regard as a better man thelonger I live. " He was at this time under promise to take the chair at the GeneralTheatrical Fund on the 14th of April. Great efforts were made to relievehim from the promise; but such special importance was attached to hisbeing present, and the Fund so sorely then required help, that, nochange of day being found possible for the actors who desired to attend, he yielded to the pressure put upon him; of which the result was tothrow upon me a sad responsibility. The reader will understand why, evenat this distance of time; my allusion to it is brief. The train from Malvern brought him up only five minutes short of thehour appointed for the dinner, and we first met that day at the LondonTavern. I never heard him to greater advantage than in the speech thatfollowed. His liking for this Fund was the fact of its not confining itsbenefits to any special or exclusive body of actors, but opening themgenerously to all; and he gave a description of the kind of actor, goingdown to the infinitesimally small, not omitted from such kind help, which had a half-pathetic humour in it that makes it charming still. "Inour Fund, " he said, "the word exclusiveness is not known. We includeevery actor, whether he be Hamlet or Benedict: the ghost, the bandit, orthe court physician; or, in his one person, the whole king's army. Hemay do the light business, or the heavy, or the comic, or the eccentric. He may be the captain who courts the young lady, whose uncle stillunaccountably persists in dressing himself in a costume one hundredyears older than his time. Or he may be the young lady's brother in thewhite gloves and inexpressibles, whose duty in the family appears to beto listen to the female members of it whenever they sing, and to shakehands with everybody between all the verses. Or he may be the baron whogives the fête, and who sits uneasily on the sofa under a canopy withthe baroness while the fête is going on. Or he may be the peasant at thefête who comes on the stage to swell the drinking chorus, and who, itmay be observed, always turns his glass upside down before he begins todrink out of it. Or he may be the clown who takes away the doorstep ofthe house where the evening party is going on. Or he may be thegentleman who issues out of the house on the false alarm, and isprecipitated into the area. Or, if an actress, she may be the fairy whoresides for ever in a revolving star with an occasional visit to a boweror a palace. Or again, if an actor, he may be the armed head of thewitch's cauldron; or even that extraordinary witch, concerning whom Ihave observed in country places, that he is much less like the notionformed from the description of Hopkins than the Malcolm or Donalbain ofthe previous scenes. This society, in short, says, 'Be you what you may, be you actor or actress, be your path in your profession never so highor never so low, never so haughty or never so humble, we offer you themeans of doing good to yourselves, and of doing good to your brethren. '" Half an hour before he rose to speak I had been called out of the room. It was the servant from Devonshire-terrace to tell me his child Dora wassuddenly dead. She had not been strong from her birth; but there wasjust at this time no cause for special fear, when unexpected convulsionscame, and the frail little life passed away. My decision had to beformed at once; and I satisfied myself that it would be best to permithis part of the proceedings to close before the truth was told to him. But as he went on, after the sentences I have quoted, to speak of actorshaving to come from scenes of sickness, of suffering, aye, even of deathitself, to play their parts before us, my part was very difficult. "Yethow often is it with all of us, " he proceeded to say, and I remember tothis hour with what anguish I listened to words that had for myselfalone, in all the crowded room, their full significance: "how often isit with all of us, that in our several spheres we have to do violence toour feelings, and to hide our hearts in carrying on this fight of life, if we would bravely discharge in it our duties and responsibilities. " Inthe disclosure that followed when he left the chair, Mr. Lemon, who waspresent, assisted me; and I left this good friend with him next day, when I went myself to Malvern and brought back Mrs. Dickens and hersister. The little child lies in a grave at Highgate near that of Mr. And Mrs. John Dickens; and on the stone which covers her is now writtenalso her father's name, and those of two of her brothers. One more public discussion he took part in, before quitting London forthe rest of the summer; and what he said (it was a meeting, with LordCarlisle in the chair, in aid of Sanitary reform) very pregnantlyillustrates what was remarked by me on a former page. He declared hisbelief that neither education nor religion could do anything reallyuseful in social improvement until the way had been paved for theirministrations by cleanliness and decency. He spoke warmly of theservices of Lord Ashley in connection with ragged schools, but he putthe case of a miserable child tempted into one of those schools out ofthe noisome places in which his life was passed, and he asked what a fewhours' teaching could effect against the ever-renewed lesson of a wholeexistence. "But give him, and his, a glimpse of heaven through a littleof its light and air; give them water; help them to be clean; lightenthe heavy atmosphere in which their spirits flag, and which makes themthe callous things they are; take the body of the dead relative from theroom where the living live with it, and where such loathsome familiaritydeprives death itself of awe; and then, but not before, they will bebrought willingly to hear of Him whose thoughts were so much with thewretched, and who had compassion for all human sorrow. " He closed byproposing Lord Ashley's health as having preferred the higher ambitionof labouring for the poor to that of pursuing the career open to him inthe service of the State; and as having also had "the courage on alloccasions to face the cant which is the worst and commonest of all, thecant about the cant of philanthropy. " Lord Shaftesbury first dined withhim in the following year at Tavistock-house. Shortly after the Sanitary meeting came the first Guild performances;and then Dickens left Devonshire-terrace, never to return to it. Whatoccupied him in the interval before he took possession of his new abode, has before been told; but two letters were overlooked in describing hisprogress in the labour of the previous year, and brief extracts fromthem will naturally lead me to the subject of my next chapter. "I havebeen" (15th of September) "tremendously at work these two days; eighthours at a stretch yesterday, and six hours and a half to-day, with theHam and Steerforth chapter, which has completely knocked meover--utterly defeated me!" "I am" (21st of October) "within three pagesof the shore; and am strangely divided, as usual in such cases, betweensorrow and joy. Oh, my dear Forster, if I were to say half of what_Copperfield_ makes me feel to-night, how strangely, even to you, Ishould be turned inside out! I seem to be sending some part of myselfinto the Shadowy World. " =END OF THE SECOND VOLUME. = FOOTNOTES: [158] I take the opportunity of saying that there was an omission ofthree words in the epitaph quoted on a former page (vol. I. P. 120). Theheadstone at the grave in Kensal-green bears this inscription: "Young, beautiful, and good, God in His mercy numbered her among His angels atthe early age of seventeen. " [159] From letters of nearly the same date here is anothercharacteristic word: "Pen and ink before me! Am I not at work on_Copperfield_! Nothing else would have kept me here until half-past twoon such a day. . . . Indian news bad indeed. Sad things come of bloody war. If it were not for Elihu, I should be a peace and arbitration man. " [160] Here is really an only average specimen of the letters aspublished: "I forgot to say, if you leave your chamber twenty times aday, after using your basin, you would find it clean, and the pitcherreplenished on your return, and that you cannot take your clothes off, but they are taken away, brushed, folded, pressed, and placed in thebureau; and at the dressing-hour, before dinner, you find your candleslighted, your clothes laid out, your shoes cleaned, and everythingarranged for use; . . . The dress-clothes brushed and folded in the nicestmanner, and cold water, and hot water, and clean napkins in the greatestabundance. . . . Imagine an elegant chamber, fresh water in basins, ingoblets, in tubs, and sheets of the finest linen!" [161] From this time to his death there was always friendly intercoursewith his old publisher Mr. Bentley. [162] It may be proper to record the fact that he had made a short runto Paris, with Maclise, at the end of June, of which sufficient farthernote will have been taken if I print the subjoined passages from aletter to me dated 24th June, 1850, Hôtel Windsor, Rue de Rivoli. "Therebeing no room in the Hôtel Brighton, we are lodged (in a very goodapartment) here. The heat is absolutely frightful. I never felt anythinglike it in Italy. Sleep is next to impossible, except in the day, whenthe room is dark, and the patient exhausted. We purpose leaving here onSaturday morning and going to Rouen, whence we shall proceed either toHavre or Dieppe, and so arrange our proceedings as to be home, pleaseGod, on Tuesday evening. We are going to some of the little theatresto-night, and on Wednesday to the Français, for Rachel's lastperformance before she goes to London. There does not seem to beanything remarkable in progress, in the theatrical way. Nor do I observethat out of doors the place is much changed, except in respect of thecarriages which are certainly less numerous. I also think the Sunday iseven much more a day of business than it used to be. As we are goinginto the country with Regnier to-morrow, I write this after letter-timeand before going out to dine at the Trois Frères, that it may come toyou by to-morrow's post. The twelve hours' journey here isastounding--marvellously done, except in respect of the means ofrefreshment, which are absolutely none. Mac is very well (extremelyloose as to his waistcoat, and otherwise careless in regard of buttons)and sends his love. De Fresne proposes a dinner with all thenotabilities of Paris present, but I WON'T stand it! I really haveundergone so much fatigue from work, that I am resolved not even to seehim, but to please myself. I find, my child (as Horace Walpole wouldsay), that I have written you nothing here, but you will take the willfor the deed. " [163] The rest of the letter may be allowed to fill the corner of anote. The allusions to Rogers and Landor are by way of reply to aninvitation I had sent him. "I am extremely sorry to hear about Fox. Shall call to enquire, as I come by to the Temple. And will call on you(taking the chance of finding you) on my way to that Seat of Boredom. Iwrote my paper for _H. W. _ yesterday, and have begun _Copperfield_ thismorning. Still undecided about Dora, but MUST decide to-day. Ladifficulté d'écrire l'Anglais m'est extrêmement ennuyeuse. Ah, mon Dieu!si l'on pourrait toujours écrire cette belle langue de France! MonsieurRogere! Ah! qu'il est homme d'esprit, homme de génie, homme des lettres!Monsieur Landore! Ah qu'il parle Français--pas parfaitement comme unange--un peu (peut-être) comme un diable! Mais il est bongarçon--sérieusement, il est un de la vraie noblesse de la nature. Votretout dévoué, CHARLES. À Monsieur Monsieur Fos-tere. " * * * * * Transcriber's Notes: Obvious punctuation errors repaired. Pages 47-48, word split over two pages was mistyped. Word "yester-terday" changed to "yesterday" (Ditto yesterday; except) Footnote 116, "inim table" changed to "inimitable" (facetiousness of theinimitable) Page 310, "Nove ber" changed to "November" (21st of November) Page 311, "hem" changed to "them" (perfect joy in them) Footnote 139, "Edi burgh" changed to "Edinburgh" (Lord Cockburn. "EDINBURGH) Footnote 143, "l ght" changed to "light" (Wellbred's light ease) To retain the integrity of the original text, varied hyphenations, capitalizations, and, at times, spellings were retained. For example: Varied hyphenation and capitalization of Devonshire Terrace wasretained. Also fac-simile and facsimile. Varied spelling ofA'Beckett/A'Becket was retained. ***** Transcriber's Note: For the reader: Italic text is surrounded by _underscores_, bold text issurrounded by =equal signs= and underlined text is surrounded by~tildes~. Two breves above the letter e are indicated by [)e] in thetext. THE LIFE OF [Illustration: Signature: Charles Dickens] THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS BY JOHN FORSTER. VOL. III. 1852-1870. ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE Autograph of Charles Dickens _Fly-leaf_ Charles Dickens, æt. 56. From the last photograph taken in America, in 1868. Engraved by J. C. Armytage _Frontispiece_ Devonshire Terrace. From a drawing by Daniel Maclise, R. A. 41 Tavistock House 53 Facsimile of plan prepared for first number of _David Copperfield_ 157 Facsimile of plan prepared for first number of _Little Dorrit_ 158 The Porch at Gadshill 204 The Châlet 213 House and conservatory, from the meadow 216 The study at Gadshill 222 Facsimile from the last page of _Edwin Drood_, written on the 8th of June, 1870 468 Facsimile of a page of _Oliver Twist_, written in 1837 469 The Grave. From an original water-colour drawing, executed for this Work, by S. L. Fildes. Engraved by J. Saddler _to face_ p. 544 TABLE OF CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. 1850-1853. Pages 21-50. DAVID COPPERFIELD AND BLEAK HOUSE. ÆT. 38-41. PAGE Interest of _Copperfield_ 21 Real people in novels 22 Scott, Smollett, and Fielding 22 Complaint and atonement 23 Earlier and later methods 24 Boythorn and Skimpole 26 Yielding to temptation 27 Changes made in Skimpole 28 Relatives put into books 29 Scott and his father 29 Dickens and his father 30 No harm done 32 Micawber and Skimpole 32 Dickens and David 33 Dangers of autobiography 34 Design of David's character 35 Why books continue 36 The storm and shipwreck 37 Goethe on the insane 38 The two heroines 39 Risks not worth running 40 Devonshire Terrace 41 _Bleak House_ 43 Defects of the novel 44 Set-offs and successes 45 Value of critical judgments 46 The contact of extremes 47 Dean Ramsay on Jo 48 Town graves 49 One last friend 49 Truth of Gridley's case 50 CHAPTER II. 1853-1855. Pages 51-75. HOME INCIDENTS AND HARD TIMES. ÆT. 41-43. Titles proposed for _Bleak House_ 52 Restlessness 52 Tavistock House 53 Last child born 54 A young stage aspirant 54 Deaths of friends 55 At Boulogne 55 Publishing agreements 56 At Birmingham 56 Self-changes 57 Employments in Boulogne 59 First reading in public 60 Argument against paid readings 61 Children's theatricals 62 Mr. H. In _Tom Thumb_ 62 Dickens in Fortunio 63 Titles for a new story 65 Difficulties of weekly parts 66 Mr. Ruskin on _Hard Times_ 67 Truths enforced 68 Early experiences 69 Strike at Preston 69 Speaking at Drury Lane 70 Stanfield scenes 71 Tavistock House theatricals 71 Peter Cunningham 73 Incident of a November night 74 Degrees in misery 75 CHAPTER III. 1853. Pages 76-95. SWITZERLAND AND ITALY REVISITED. ÆT. 41. Swiss people 76 Narrow escape 77 Lausanne and Genoa 78 The Peschiere and its owner 79 On the way to Naples 80 A night on board ship 81 A Greek potentate 82 Going out to dinner 83 The old idle Frenchman 84 Changes and old friends 85 A "scattering" party 86 The puppets at Rome 87 Malaria and desolation 88 Plague-smitten places 89 Again in Venice 90 A painter among paintings 91 Liking for the Sardinians 92 Neapolitans in exile 93 Travelling police arrangements 94 Dickens and the Austrian 95 CHAPTER IV. 1853, 1854, and 1856. Pages 96-120. THREE SUMMERS AT BOULOGNE. ÆT. 41, 42, 44. Visits to France 96 First summer residence (1853) 97 Villa des Moulineaux 98 Doll's house and offices 99 Bon garçon of a landlord 100 Making the most of it 101 Among Putney market-gardeners 102 Shakespearian performance 103 Pictures at the pig-market 104 English friends 105 Change of villa (1854) 105 The Northern Camp 106 Visit of Prince Albert 107 Emperor, Prince, and Dickens 108 "Like boxing" 109 The Empress at a review 110 A French conjuror 110 Conjuring by Dickens 111 Making demons of cards 112 Conjuror's compliment and vision 114 Old residence resumed (1856) 115 Last of the Camp 116 A household war 117 State of siege 118 Death of Gilbert A'Becket 119 Leaving for England 119 CHAPTER V. 1855, 1856. Pages 121-153. RESIDENCE IN PARIS. ÆT. 43-44. Actors and dramas 122 Frédéric Lemaitre 122 Last scene in _Gambler's Life_ 123 Apartment in Champs Elysées 124 French Translation of Dickens 125 Ary Scheffer and Daniel Manin 126 English friends 126 Acting at the Français 127 Dumas' _Orestes_ 129 _Paradise Lost_ at the Ambigu 130 Profane nonsense 131 French _As You Like It_ 132 Story of a French drama 133 A delightful "Tag" 134 Auber and Queen Victoria 134 Scribe and his wife 136 At Regnier's 137 Viardot in _Orphée_ 138 Meets Georges Sand 138 Banquet at Girardin's 139 Second banquet 141 Bourse and its victims 142 Entry of troops from Crimea 143 Zouaves and their dog 144 Streets on New Year's Day 145 English and French art 146 Emperor and Edwin Landseer 147 Sitting to Ary Scheffer 148 Scheffer as to the likeness 149 A duchess murdered 150 Truth is stranger than fiction 151 Singular scenes described 152 What became of the actors 153 CHAPTER VI. 1855-1857. Pages 154-176. LITTLE DORRIT, AND A LAZY TOUR. ÆT. 43-45. Watts's Rochester charity 155 Tablet to Dickens in Cathedral 155 _Nobody's Fault_ 155 How the _Dorrit_ story grew 156 Number-Plan of _Copperfield_ 157 Number-Plan of _Dorrit_ 158 Circumlocution Office 159 Flora and Mr. F---- 160 Weak and strong points 161 A scene of boy-trials 162 Reception of the novel 163 Christmas theatricals 164 Theatre-making 165 Rush for places 166 Douglas Jerrold's death 168 Exertions and result 168 Seeing the serpents fed 169 Lazy Tour projected 170 Up Carrick Fell 170 Accident to Mr. Wilkie Collins 171 At Wigton and Allonby 172 The Yorkshire landlady 173 Doncaster in race week 174 A performance of _Money_ 175 CHAPTER VII. 1857-1858. Pages 177-201. WHAT HAPPENED AT THIS TIME. ÆT. 45-46. Disappointments and distastes 177 What we seem and are 178 Compensations of Art 179 Misgivings 180 A defect and a merit 181 Reply to a remonstrance 182 Dangerous comfort 183 One happiness missed 184 Homily on life 185 Confidences 186 Rejoinder to a reply 187 What the world cannot give 189 An old project revived 189 Shakespeare on acting 191 Hospital for sick children 192 Charities of the very poor 192 Unsolved mysteries 194 Appeal for sick children 195 Reading for Child's Hospital 195 Proposal for Paid readings 196 Question of the Plunge 198 Mr. Arthur Smith 199 Separation from Mrs. Dickens 200 What alone concerned the public 201 CHAPTER VIII. 1856-1870. Pages 202-222. GADSHILL PLACE. ÆT. 44-58. First description of it 202 The porch 204 Negotiations for purchase 204 Becomes his home 205 Gadshill a century ago 206 Past owners and tenants 207 Sinking a well 209 Gradual additions 210 Gift from Mr. Fechter 211 Dickens's writing-table 211 The châlet 213 Much coveted acquisition 214 Last improvement 215 Visits of friends 216 Dickens's Dogs 218 A Fenian mastiff 218 Linda and Mrs. Bouncer 219 Favourite walks 220 The study and chair 222 CHAPTER IX. 1858-1859. Pages 223-238. FIRST PAID READINGS. ÆT. 46-47. Various managements 223 One day's work 224 Impressions of Dublin 225 Irish audiences 226 Young Ireland and Old England 227 Railway ride to Belfast 229 Brought near his Fame 229 A knowing audience 231 Greeting in Manchester 231 Joined by his daughters 232 Strange life 233 Scotch audiences 234 When most successful in reading 235 At public meetings 236 Miss Marie Wilton as _Pippo_ 237 Ed. Landseer on Frith's portrait 238 CHAPTER X. 1859-1861. Pages 239-254. ALL THE YEAR ROUND AND THE UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLER. ÆT. 47-49. _Household Words_ discontinued 240 Earliest and latest publishers 240 Dickens and Mr. Bentley 241 In search of a title 242 A title found 243 Success of new periodical 244 Difference from the old 245 At Knebworth 246 Commercial Travellers' Schools 247 A Traveller for human interests 248 Personal references in writing 249 Birds and low company 250 Bethnal-green fowls 251 An incident of Doughty Street 252 Offers from America 253 CHAPTER XI. 1861-1863. Pages 255-274. SECOND SERIES OF READINGS. ÆT. 49-51. Daughter Kate's marriage 255 Charles Alston Collins 257 Sale of Tavistock House 257 Brother Alfred's death 258 Metropolitan readings 258 Provincial circuit 259 New subjects for readings 260 Death of Mr. Arthur Smith 261 Death of Mr. Henry Austin 262 Readings at Brighton 263 At Canterbury and Dover 264 Alarming scene 265 Impromptu reading-hall 266 Scenes in Scotland 267 At Torquay 268 Death of C. C. Felton 269 Offers for Australia 270 Writing or Reading? 271 Home arguments 272 Religious Richardson's Show 273 Exiled ex-potentate 274 CHAPTER XII. 1855-1865. Pages 275-297. HINTS FOR BOOKS WRITTEN AND UNWRITTEN. ÆT. 43-53. Book of MS. Memoranda 275 Originals of characters 277 Fancies put into books 277 Notions for _Little Dorrit_ 278 Suggestions for other books 279 Hints for last completed book 280 Fancies never used 281 Ideas not worked out 282 A touching fancy 284 Domestic subjects 284 Characters of women 285 Other female groups 286 Uncle Sam 288 Sketches of selfishness 288 Striking thoughts 290 Subjects not accomplished 290 Characters laid aside 291 Available names 293 Titles for books 293 Names for girls and boys 295 An undistinguished crowd 296 Mr. Brobity's snuff-box 297 CHAPTER XIII. 1864-1867. Pages 298-324. THIRD SERIES OF READINGS. ÆT. 52-55. Death of Thackeray 298 Mother's death 300 Death of second son 300 Interest in Mr. Fechter 301 Notes on theatres 302 Sorrowful new year 303 C. W. Dilke's death 303 Staplehurst accident 305 Illness and suffering 305 Enters on new readings 306 Last meeting with Mrs. Carlyle 308 Mrs. Carlyle's death 309 Offer for more readings 309 Grave warnings 311 In Scotland 312 Exertion and its result 313 Self-deception 314 An old malady 314 Scene at Tynemouth 316 In Dublin with the Fenians 317 Yielding to temptation 318 Pressure from America 319 At bay at last 320 Warning unheeded 321 Discussion useless 322 The case in a nutshell 323 Decision to go 324 CHAPTER XIV. 1836-1870. Pages 325-386. DICKENS AS A NOVELIST. ÆT. 24-58. See before you oversee 326 M. Taine's criticism 326 What is overlooked in it 327 A popularity explained 328 National excuses for Dickens 330 Comparison with Balzac 330 Anticipatory reply to M. Taine 332 A critic in the _Fortnightly Review_ 333 Blame and praise to be reconciled 333 A plea for objectors 334 "Hallucinative" imagination 335 Vain critical warnings 336 The critic and the criticised 336 An opinion on the Micawbers 338 Hallucinative phenomena 338 Scott writing _Bride of Lammermoor_ 339 Claim to be fairly judged 340 Dickens's leading quality 341 Dangers of Humour 342 His earlier books 343 Mastery of dialogue 344 Character-drawing 345 Realities of fiction 346 Fielding and Dickens 347 Touching of extremes 347 Why the creations of fiction live 349 Enjoyment of his own humour 350 Unpublished note of Lord Lytton 350 Exaggerations of humour 351 Temptations of all great humourists 352 A word for fanciful descriptions 353 _Tale of Two Cities_ 355 Difficulties and success 355 Specialty of treatment 356 Reply to objections 357 Care with which Dickens worked 358 An American critic 359 _Great Expectations_ 360 Pip and Magwitch 361 Another boy-child for hero 362 Unlikeness in likeness 363 Vivid descriptive writing 364 Masterly drawing of character 365 A day on the Thames 366 Homely and shrewd satire 367 Incident changed for Lytton 368 As originally written 369 Christmas Sketches 370 _Our Mutual Friend_ 370 Writing numbers in advance 373 Working slowly 374 Death of John Leech 375 A fatal anniversary 376 Effects on himself and his novel 376 A tale by Edmond About 378 First and Last 378 _Doctor Marigold_ 379 Minor stories 380 "Something from Above" 381 Purity of Dickens's writings 382 Substitute for an alleged deficiency 382 True province of humour 383 Horace Greeley and Longfellow 384 Letters from an American 385 Companions for solitude 386 CHAPTER XV. 1867. Pages 387-406. AMERICA REVISITED. NOVEMBER AND DECEMBER, 1867. ÆT. 55. Warmth of the greeting 388 Same cause as in 1842 388 Old and new friends 389 Changes since 1842 390 First Boston reading 391 Scene at New York sales 393 First New York reading 393 An action against Dickens 394 A fire at his hotel 395 Local and general politics 397 Railway arrangements 398 Police of New York 398 Mistletoe from England 399 As to newspapers 400 Nothing lasts long 401 Cities chosen for readings 401 Scene of a murder visited 402 A dinner at the murderer's 403 Illness and abstinence 404 Miseries of American travel 405 Startling prospect 406 CHAPTER XVI. 1868. Pages 407-443. AMERICA REVISITED. JANUARY TO APRIL, 1868. ÆT. 56. Speculators and public 408 An Englishman's disadvantage 408 "Freedom and independence" 408 Mountain-sneezers and eye-openers 409 The work and the gain 410 A scene at Brooklyn 411 At Philadelphia 412 "Looking up the judge" 413 Improved social ways 414 Result of thirty-four readings 415 Shadow to the sunshine 416 Readings in a church 417 Change of plan 417 Baltimore women 418 Success in Philadelphia 419 Objections to coloured people 420 With Sumner at Washington 421 President Lincoln's dream 423 Interview with President Johnson 423 Washington audiences 424 A comical dog 425 Incident before a reading 426 The child and the doll 427 North-west tour 428 Political excitement 429 Struggle for tickets 430 American female beauty 432 Sherry to "slop round" with 432 Final impression of Niagara 433 Letter to Mr. Ouvry 434 "Getting along" through water 435 Again attacked by lameness 437 Illness and exertion 437 Seeing prevents believing 439 All but used up 439 Last Boston readings 440 New York farewells 441 The receipts throughout 441 Promise at public dinner 442 The Adieu 443 CHAPTER XVII. 1868-1870. Pages 444-460. LAST READINGS. ÆT. 56-58. Health improved 444 What the readings did and undid 445 Expenses and gains in America 446 Noticeable changes in him 447 _Oliver Twist_ reading proposed 448 Objections to it 449 Death of Frederick Dickens 450 Macready at _Oliver Twist_ reading 451 Another attack of illness 452 A doctors' difference 454 At Emerson Tennent's funeral 454 The illness at Preston 455 Brought to London 456 Sir Thomas Watson consulted 456 His note of the case 457 Guarded sanction to other readings 458 Close of career as public reader 460 CHAPTER XVIII. 1869-1870. Pages 461-477. LAST BOOK. ÆT. 57-58. The agreement for _Edwin Drood_ 461 First fancy for it 462 Story as planned in his mind 463 What to be its course and end 463 Merits of the fragment 464 Comparison of early and late MSS 466 Discovery of an unpublished scene 467 Last page of _Drood_ in fac-simile 468 Page of _Oliver Twist_ in fac-simile 469 Delightful specimen of Dickens 470 Unpublished scene for _Drood_ 470-476 CHAPTER XIX. 1836-1870. Pages 478-526. PERSONAL CHARACTERISTICS. ÆT. 24-58. Dickens not a bookish man 479 Books and their critics 479 Design of present book stated 480 Dickens made to tell his own story 480 Charge of personal obtrusiveness 481 Lord Russell on Dickens's letters 481 Shallower judgments 481 Absence of self-conceit in Dickens 482 Letter to youngest son 483 As to religion and prayer 485 Letter to a clergyman in 1856 485 Letter to a layman in 1870 486 Objection to posthumous honours 487 As to patronage of literature 488 Vanity of human wishes 488 As to writers and publishers 489 Editorship of his weekly serials 490 Work for his contributors 491 Editorial troubles and pleasures 493 Letter to an author 493 Help to younger novelists 495 Adelaide Procter's poetry 495 Effect of periodical writing 496 Proposed satirical papers 497 Political opinions 498 Not the man for Finsbury 499 The Liverpool dinner in 1869 500 Reply to Lord Houghton 501 Tribute to Lord Russell 501 People governing and governed 502 Alleged offers from her Majesty 503 Silly Rigmarole 504 The Queen sees him act (1857) 505 Desires to hear him read (1858) 506 Interview at the Palace (1870) 507 What passed at the interview 507 Dickens's grateful impression 508 A hope at the close of life 509 Games in Gadshill meadow 510 Home enjoyments 512 Habits of life everywhere 513 Family dependence on him 514 Carlyle's opinion of Dickens 514 Street walks and London haunts 515 Christmas Eve and Christmas Day 517 The first attack of lameness 518 Effect upon his dogs 518 Why right things to be done 519 Silent heroisms 519 At social meetings 520 Delight in "assumption" 520 Humouring a joke 522 Unlucky hits 522 Ghost stories 524 Predominant feeling of his life 525 Sermon of the Master of Balliol 525 CHAPTER XX. 1869-1870. Pages 527-545. THE END. ÆT. 57-58. Last summer and autumn 527 Showing London to a visitor 528 His son Henry's scholarship 529 Twelve more readings 530 Medical attendance at them 531 Excitement incident to them 532 The Farewell 533 Last public appearances 535 At Royal Academy dinner 535 Eulogy of Daniel Maclise 536 Return of illness 537 Our last meeting 538 A noteworthy incident 538 Last letter received from him 539 Final days at Gadshill 539 Wednesday the 8th of June 540 Last piece of writing 540 The 8th and 9th of June 541 The general grief 542 The burial 544 Unbidden mourners 544 The grave 544 * * * * * APPENDIX. I. THE WRITINGS OF CHARLES DICKENS 547 II. THE WILL OF CHARLES DICKENS 561 III. CORRECTIONS MADE IN THE LATER EDITIONS OF THE SECOND VOLUME OF THIS WORK 566 INDEX 571 THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS. CHAPTER I. DAVID COPPERFIELD AND BLEAK HOUSE. 1850-1853. Interest of _Copperfield_--Scott, Smollett, and Fielding--Too close to the Real--Earlier and Later Methods--Dickens at Hatton-garden (1837)--Originals of Boythorn and Skimpole--Last Glimpse of Leigh Hunt (1859)--Changes made in Skimpole--Self-defence--Scott and his Father--Dickens and his Father--Sayings of John Dickens--Skimpole and Micawber--Dickens and David--Self-portraiture not attempted--The Autobiographic Form--Consistent Drawing--Design of David's Character--Tone of the Novel--The Peggottys--Miss Dartle--Mrs. Steerforth--Betsey Trotwood--A Country Undertaker--The Two Heroines--Contrast of Esther and David--Plot of the Story--Incidents and Persons interwoven--Defects of _Bleak House_--Success in Character--Value of Critical Judgments--Pathetic Touches--Dean Ramsay on _Bleak House_ and Jo--Originals of Chancery Abuses. DICKENS never stood so high in reputation as at the completion of_Copperfield_. The popularity it obtained at the outset increased to adegree not approached by any previous book excepting _Pickwick_. "Yougratify me more than I can tell you, " he wrote to Bulwer Lytton (July1850), "by what you say about _Copperfield_, because I hope myself thatsome heretofore deficient qualities are there. " If the power was notgreater than in _Chuzzlewit_, the subject had more attractiveness; therewas more variety of incident, with a freer play of character; and therewas withal a suspicion, which though general and vague had sharpenedinterest not a little, that underneath the fiction lay something of theauthor's life. How much, was not known by the world until he had passedaway. To be acquainted with English literature is to know, that, into its mostfamous prose fiction, autobiography has entered largely in disguise, andthat the characters most familiar to us in the English novel hadoriginals in actual life. Smollett never wrote a story that was not insome degree a recollection of his own adventures; and Fielding, who putsomething of his wife into all his heroines, had been as fortunate infinding, not Trulliber only, but Parson Adams himself, among his livingexperiences. To come later down, there was hardly any one ever known toScott of whom his memory had not treasured up something to give minuterreality to the people of his fancy; and we know exactly whom to look forin Dandie Dinmont and Jonathan Oldbuck, in the office of Alan Fairfordand the sick room of Crystal Croftangry. We are to observe also that itis never anything complete that is thus taken from life by a genuinewriter, but only leading traits, or such as may give greater finish;that the fine artist will embody in his portraiture of one person hisexperiences of fifty; and that this would have been Fielding's answer toTrulliber if he had objected to the pigstye, and to Adams if he hadsought to make a case of scandal out of the affair in Mrs. Slipslop'sbedroom. Such questioning befell Dickens repeatedly in the course of hiswritings, where he freely followed, as we have seen, the method thuscommon to the masters in his art; but there was an instance of allegedwrong in the course of _Copperfield_ where he felt his vindication to behardly complete, and what he did thereupon was characteristic. "I have had the queerest adventure this morning, " he wrote (28th ofDecember 1849) on the eve of his tenth number, "the receipt of theenclosed from Miss Moucher! It is serio-comic, but there is no doubt oneis wrong in being tempted to such a use of power. " Thinking a grotesquelittle oddity among his acquaintance to be safe from recognition, he haddone what Smollett did sometimes, but never Fielding, and given way, inthe first outburst of fun that had broken out around the fancy, to thetemptation of copying too closely peculiarities of figure and faceamounting in effect to deformity. He was shocked at discovering the painhe had given, and a copy is before me of the assurances by way of replywhich he at once sent to the complainant. That he was grieved andsurprised beyond measure. That he had not intended her altogether. Thatall his characters, being made up out of many people, were composite, and never individual. That the chair (for table) and other matters wereundoubtedly from her, but that other traits were not hers at all; andthat in Miss Moucher's "Ain't I volatile" his friends had quitecorrectly recognized the favourite utterance of a different person. Thathe felt nevertheless he had done wrong, and would now do anything torepair it. That he had intended to employ the character in an unpleasantway, but he would, whatever the risk or inconvenience, change it all, sothat nothing but an agreeable impression should be left. The reader willremember how this was managed, and that the thirty-second chapter wentfar to undo what the twenty-second had done. A much earlier instance is the only one known to me where a character inone of his books intended to be odious was copied wholly from a livingoriginal. The use of such material, never without danger, might havebeen justifiable here if anywhere, and he had himself a satisfaction inalways admitting the identity of Mr. Fang in _Oliver Twist_ with Mr. Laing of Hatton-garden. But the avowal of his purpose in that case, andhis mode of setting about it, mark strongly a difference of procedurefrom that which, following great examples, he adopted in his laterbooks. An allusion to a common friend in one of his letters of thepresent date--"A dreadful thought occurs to me! how brilliant in abook!"--expresses both the continued strength of his temptations and thedread he had brought himself to feel of immediately yielding to them;but he had no such misgivings in the days of _Oliver Twist_. Wanting aninsolent and harsh police-magistrate, he bethought him of an originalready to his hand in one of the London offices; and instead of pursuinghis later method of giving a personal appearance that should in somesort render difficult the identification of mental peculiarities, he wasonly eager to get in the whole man complete upon his page, figure andface as well as manners and mind. He wrote accordingly (from Doughty-street on the 3rd of June 1837) toMr. Haines, [164] a gentleman who then had general supervision over thepolice reports for the daily papers. "In my next number of _OliverTwist_ I must have a magistrate; and, casting about for a magistratewhose harshness and insolence would render him a fit subject to be_shown up_, I have as a necessary consequence stumbled upon Mr. Laing ofHatton-garden celebrity. I know the man's character perfectly well; butas it would be necessary to describe his personal appearance also, Iought to have seen him, which (fortunately or unfortunately as the casemay be) I have never done. In this dilemma it occurred to me thatperhaps I might under your auspices be smuggled into the Hatton-gardenoffice for a few moments some morning. If you can further my object Ishall be really very greatly obliged to you. " The opportunity was found;the magistrate was brought up before the novelist; and shortly after, onsome fresh outbreak of intolerable temper, the home-secretary found itan easy and popular step to remove Mr. Laing from the bench. This was a comfort to everybody, saving only the principal person; butthe instance was highly exceptional, and it rarely indeed happens thatto the individual objection natural in every such case someconsideration should not be paid. In the book that followed_Copperfield_, two characters appeared having resemblances in manner andspeech to two distinguished writers too vivid to be mistaken by theirpersonal friends. To Lawrence Boythorn, under whom Landor figured, noobjection was made; but Harold Skimpole, recognizable for Leigh Hunt, led to much remark; the difference being, that ludicrous traits wereemployed in the first to enrich without impairing an attractive personin the tale, whereas to the last was assigned a part in the plot whichno fascinating foibles or gaieties of speech could redeem from contempt. Though a want of consideration was thus shown to the friend whom thecharacter would be likely to recall to many readers, it is neverthelessvery certain that the intention of Dickens was not at first, or at anytime, an unkind one. He erred from thoughtlessness only. What led him tothe subject at all, he has himself stated. Hunt's philosophy of moneyedobligations, always, though loudly, half jocosely proclaimed, and hisostentatious wilfulness in the humouring of that or any other theme onwhich he cared for the time to expatiate, [165] had so often seemed toDickens to be whimsical and attractive that, wanting an "airy quality"for the man he invented, this of Hunt occurred to him; and "partly forthat reason, and partly, he has since often grieved to think, for thepleasure it afforded to find a delightful manner reproducing itselfunder his hand, he yielded to the temptation of too often making thecharacter speak like his old friend. " This apology was made[166] afterHunt's death, and mentioned a revision of the first sketch, so as torender it less like, at the suggestion of two other friends of Hunt. Thefriends were Procter (Barry Cornwall) and myself; the feeling havingbeen mine from the first that the likeness was too like. Procter did notimmediately think so, but a little reflection brought him to thatopinion. "You will see from the enclosed, " Dickens wrote (17th of March1852), "that Procter is much of my mind. I will nevertheless go throughthe character again in the course of the afternoon, and soften downwords here and there. " But before the day closed Procter had againwritten to him, and next morning this was the result. "I have againgone over every part of it very carefully, and I think I have made itmuch less like. I have also changed Leonard to Harold. I have no rightto give Hunt pain, and I am so bent upon not doing it that I wish youwould look at all the proof once more, and indicate any particular placein which you feel it particularly like. Whereupon I will alter thatplace. " Upon the whole the alterations were considerable, but the radical wrongremained. The pleasant sparkling airy talk, which could not be mistaken, identified with odious qualities a friend only known to the writer byattractive ones; and for this there was no excuse. Perhaps the onlyperson acquainted with the original who failed to recognize the copy, was the original himself (a common case); but good-natured friends intime told Hunt everything, and painful explanations followed, wherenothing was possible to Dickens but what amounted to a friendly evasionof the points really at issue. The time for redress had gone. I yet wellremember with what eager earnestness, on one of these occasions, hestrove to set Hunt up again in his own esteem. "Separate in your ownmind, " he said to him, "what you see of yourself from what other peopletell you that they see. As it has given you so much pain, I take it atits worst, and say I am deeply sorry, and that I feel I did wrong indoing it. I should otherwise have taken it at its best, and ridden offupon what I strongly feel to be the truth, that there is nothing in itthat _should_ have given you pain. Every one in writing must speak frompoints of his experience, and so I of mine with you: but when I havefelt it was going too close I stopped myself, and the most blottedparts of my MS. Are those in which I have been striving hard to make theimpression I was writing from, _un_like you. The diary-writing I tookfrom Haydon, not from you. I now first learn from yourself that you everset anything to music, and I could not have copied _that_ from you. Thecharacter is not you, for there are traits in it common to fiftythousand people besides, and I did not fancy you would ever recognizeit. Under similar disguises my own father and mother are in my books, and you might as well see your likeness in Micawber. " The distinction isthat the foibles of Mr. Micawber and of Mrs. Nickleby, howeverlaughable, make neither of them in speech or character less loveable;and that this is not to be said of Skimpole's. The kindly or unkindlyimpression makes all the difference where liberties are taken with afriend; and even this entirely favourable condition will not excuse thepractice to many, where near relatives are concerned. For what formerly was said of the Micawber resemblances, Dickens hasbeen sharply criticized; and in like manner it was thought objectionablein Scott that for the closing scenes of Crystal Croftangry he shouldhave found the original of his fretful patient at the death-bed of hisown father. Lockhart, who tells us this, adds with a sad significancethat he himself lived to see the curtain fall at Abbotsford upon evensuch another scene. But to no purpose will such objections still bemade. All great novelists will continue to use their experiences ofnature and fact, whencesoever derivable; and a remark made to Lockhartby Scott himself suggests their vindication. "If a man will paint fromnature, he will be most likely to interest and amuse those who are dailylooking at it. " The Micawber offence otherwise was not grave. We have seen in what wayDickens was moved or inspired by the rough lessons of his boyhood, andthe groundwork of the character was then undoubtedly laid; but therhetorical exuberance impressed itself upon him later, and from this, asit expanded and developed in a thousand amusing ways, the full-lengthfigure took its great charm. Better illustration of it could not perhapsbe given than by passages from letters of Dickens, written long beforeMicawber was thought of, in which this peculiarity of his father foundfrequent and always agreeable expression. Several such have been givenin this work from time to time, and one or two more may here be added. It is proper to preface them by saying that no one could know the elderDickens without secretly liking him the better for these flourishes ofspeech, which adapted themselves so readily to his gloom as well as tohis cheerfulness, that it was difficult not to fancy they had helped himconsiderably in both, and had rendered more tolerable to him, if alsomore possible, the shade and sunshine of his chequered life. "If youshould have an opportunity _pendente lite_, as my father wouldobserve--indeed did on some memorable ancient occasions when he informedme that the ban-dogs would shortly have him at bay"--Dickens wrote inDecember 1847. "I have a letter from my father" (May 1841) "lamentingthe fine weather, invoking congenial tempests, and informing me that itwill not be possible for him to stay more than another year inDevonshire, as he must then proceed to Paris to consolidate Augustus'sFrench. " "There has arrived, " he writes from the Peschiere in September1844, "a characteristic letter for Kate from my father. He dates itManchester, and says he has reason to believe that he will be in townwith the pheasants, on or about the first of October. He has been withFanny in the Isle of Man for nearly two months: finding there, as hegoes on to observe, troops of friends, and every description ofcontinental luxury at a cheap rate. " Describing in the same year thedeparture from Genoa of an English physician and acquaintance, he adds:"We are very sorry to lose the benefit of his advice--or, as my fatherwould say, to be deprived, to a certain extent, of the concomitantadvantages, whatever they may be, resulting from his medical skill, suchas it is, and his professional attendance, in so far as it may be soconsidered. " Thus also it delighted Dickens to remember that it was ofone of his connections his father wrote a celebrated sentence; "And Imust express my tendency to believe that his longevity is (to say theleast of it) extremely problematical:" and that it was to another, whohad been insisting somewhat obtrusively on dissenting and nonconformistsuperiorities, he addressed words which deserve to be no lesscelebrated; "The Supreme Being must be an entirely different individualfrom what I have every reason to believe him to be, if He would care inthe least for the society of your relations. " There was a laugh in theenjoyment of all this, no doubt, but with it much personal fondness; andthe feeling of the creator of Micawber as he thus humoured andremembered the foibles of his original, found its counterpart in thatof his readers for the creation itself, as its part was played out inthe story. Nobody likes Micawber less for his follies; and Dickens likedhis father more, the more he recalled his whimsical qualities. "Thelonger I live, the better man I think him, " he exclaimed afterwards. Thefact and the fancy had united whatever was most grateful to him in both. It is a tribute to the generally healthful and manly tone of the storyof _Copperfield_ that such should be the outcome of the eccentricitiesof this leading personage in it; and the superiority in this respect ofMicawber over Skimpole is one of many indications of the inferiority of_Bleak House_ to its predecessor. With leading resemblances that make itdifficult to say which character best represents the principle or noprinciple of impecuniosity, there cannot be any doubt which has theadvantage in moral and intellectual development. It is genuine humouragainst personal satire. Between the worldly circumstances of the two, there is nothing to choose; but as to everything else it is thedifference between shabbiness and greatness. Skimpole's sunny talk mightbe expected to please as much as Micawber's gorgeous speech, the designof both being to take the edge off poverty. But in the one we have norelief from attendant meanness or distress, and we drop down from theairiest fancies into sordidness and pain; whereas in the other nothingpitiful or merely selfish ever touches us. At its lowest depth of whatis worst, we never doubt that something better must turn up; and of aman who sells his bedstead that he may entertain his friend, wealtogether refuse to think nothing but badly. This is throughout thefree and cheery style of _Copperfield_. The masterpieces of Dickens'shumour are not in it; but he has nowhere given such variety of play tohis invention, and the book is unapproached among his writings for itscompleteness of effect and uniform pleasantness of tone. What has to be said hereafter of those writings generally, will properlyrestrict what is said here, as in previous instances, mainly to personalillustration. The _Copperfield_ disclosures formerly made will for everconnect the book with the author's individual story; but too much hasbeen assumed, from those revelations, of a full identity of Dickens withhis hero, and of a supposed intention that his own character as well asparts of his career should be expressed in the narrative. It is right towarn the reader as to this. He can judge for himself how far thechildish experiences are likely to have given the turn to Dickens'sgenius; whether their bitterness had so burnt into his nature, as, inthe hatred of oppression, the revolt against abuse of power, and the warwith injustice under every form displayed in his earliest books, to havereproduced itself only; and to what extent mere compassion for his ownchildhood may account for the strange fascination always exerted overhim by child-suffering and sorrow. But, many as are the resemblances inCopperfield's adventures to portions of those of Dickens, and often asreflections occur to David which no one intimate with Dickens could failto recognize as but the reproduction of his, it would be the greatestmistake to imagine anything like a complete identity of the fictitiousnovelist with the real one, beyond the Hungerford scenes; or to supposethat the youth, who then received his first harsh schooling in life, came out of it as little harmed or hardened as David did. The languageof the fiction reflects only faintly the narrative of the actual fact;and the man whose character it helped to form was expressed not lessfaintly in the impulsive impressionable youth, incapable of resistingthe leading of others, and only disciplined into self-control by thelater griefs of his entrance into manhood. Here was but another proofhow thoroughly Dickens understood his calling, and that to weave factwith fiction unskilfully would be only to make truth less true. The character of the hero of the novel finds indeed his right place inthe story he is supposed to tell, rather by unlikeness than by likenessto Dickens, even where intentional resemblance might seem to beprominent. Take autobiography as a design to show that any man's lifemay be as a mirror of existence to all men, and the individual careerbecomes altogether secondary to the variety of experiences received andrendered back in it. This particular form in imaginative literature hastoo often led to the indulgence of mental analysis, metaphysics, andsentiment, all in excess: but Dickens was carried safely over theseallurements by a healthy judgment and sleepless creative fancy; and eventhe method of his narrative is more simple here than it generally is inhis books. His imaginative growths have less luxuriance of underwood, and the crowds of external images always rising so vividly before himare more within control. Consider Copperfield thus in his proper place in the story, and sequenceas well as connection will be given to the varieties of its childishadventure. The first warm nest of love in which his vain fond mother, and her quaint kind servant, cherish him; the quick-following contrastof hard dependence and servile treatment; the escape from that prematureand dwarfed maturity by natural relapse into a more perfect childhood;the then leisurely growth of emotions and faculties into manhood; theseare component parts of a character consistently drawn. The sum of itsachievement is to be a successful cultivation of letters; and often assuch imaginary discipline has been the theme of fiction, there are notmany happier conceptions of it. The ideal and real parts of the boy'snature receive development in the proportions which contribute best tothe end desired; the readiness for impulsive attachments that had puthim into the leading of others, has underneath it a base of truthfulnesson which at last he rests in safety; the practical man is the outcome ofthe fanciful youth; and a more than equivalent for the graces of hisvisionary days, is found in the active sympathies that life has openedto him. Many experiences have come within its range, and his heart hashad room for all. Our interest in him cannot but be increased by knowinghow much he expresses of what the author had himself gone through; butDavid includes far less than this, and infinitely more. That the incidents arise easily, and to the very end connect themselvesnaturally and unobtrusively with the characters of which they are apart, is to be said perhaps more truly of this than of any other ofDickens's novels. There is a profusion of distinct and distinguishablepeople, and a prodigal wealth of detail; but unity of drift or purposeis apparent always, and the tone is uniformly right. By the course ofthe events we learn the value of self-denial and patience, quietendurance of unavoidable ills, strenuous effort against ills remediable;and everything in the fortunes of the actors warns us, to strengthen ourgenerous emotions and to guard the purities of home. It is easy thus toaccount for the supreme popularity of _Copperfield_, without theaddition that it can hardly have had a reader, man or lad, who did notdiscover that he was something of a Copperfield himself. Childhood andyouth live again for all of us in its marvellous boy-experiences. Mr. Micawber's presence must not prevent my saying that it does not take thelead of the other novels in humorous creation; but in the use of humourto bring out prominently the ludicrous in any object or incident withoutexcluding or weakening its most enchanting sentiment, it standsdecidedly first. It is the perfection of English mirth. We are apt toresent the exhibition of too much goodness, but it is here so qualifiedby oddity as to become not merely palatable but attractive; and evenpathos is heightened by what in other hands would only make it comical. That there are also faults in the book is certain, but none that areincompatible with the most masterly qualities; and a book becomeseverlasting by the fact, not that faults are not in it, but that geniusnevertheless is there. Of its method, and its author's generally, in the delineation ofcharacter, something will have to be said on a later page. The author'sown favourite people in it, I think, were the Peggotty group; andperhaps he was not far wrong. It has been their fate, as with all theleading figures of his invention, to pass their names into thelanguage, and become types; and he has nowhere given happier embodimentto that purity of homely goodness, which, by the kindly andall-reconciling influences of humour, may exalt into comeliness and evengrandeur the clumsiest forms of humanity. What has been indicated in thestyle of the book as its greatest charm is here felt most strongly. Theludicrous so helps the pathos, and the humour so uplifts and refines thesentiment, that mere rude affection and simple manliness in theseYarmouth boatmen, passed through the fires of unmerited suffering andheroic endurance, take forms half-chivalrous half-sublime. It is one ofthe cants of critical superiority to make supercilious mention of theserious passages in this great writer; but the storm and shipwreck atthe close of _Copperfield_, when the body of the seducer is flung deadupon the shore amid the ruins of the home he has wasted and by the sideof the man whose heart he has broken, the one as unconscious of what hehad failed to reach as the other of what he has perished to save, is adescription that may compare with the most impressive in the language. There are other people drawn into this catastrophe who are among thefailures of natural delineation in the book. But though Miss Dartle iscuriously unpleasant, there are some natural traits in her (whichDickens's least life-like people are never without); and it was from oneof his lady friends, very familiar to him indeed, he copied herpeculiarity of never saying anything outright, but hinting it merely, and making more of it that way. Of Mrs. Steerforth it may also be worthremembering that Thackeray had something of a fondness for her. "I knewhow it would be when I began, " says a pleasant letter all about himselfwritten immediately after she appeared in the story. "My letters to mymother are like this, but then she likes 'em--like Mrs. Steerforth:don't you like Mrs. Steerforth?" Turning to another group there is another elderly lady to be likedwithout a shadow of misgiving; abrupt, angular, extravagant, but thevery soul of magnanimity and rectitude; a character thoroughly made outin all its parts; a gnarled and knotted piece of female timber, sound tothe core; a woman Captain Shandy would have loved for her startlingoddities, and who is linked to the gentlest of her sex by perfectwomanhood. Dickens has done nothing better, for solidness and truth allround, than Betsey Trotwood. It is one of her oddities to have a foolfor a companion; but this is one of them that has also most pertinenceand wisdom. By a line thrown out in _Wilhelm Meister_, that the true wayof treating the insane was, in all respects possible, to act to them asif they were sane, Goethe anticipated what it took a century to apply tothe most terrible disorder of humanity; and what Mrs. Trotwood does forMr. Dick goes a step farther, by showing how often asylums might bedispensed with, and how large might be the number of deficientintellects manageable with patience in their own homes. Charactershardly less distinguishable for truth as well as oddity are the kind oldnurse and her husband the carrier, whose vicissitudes alike of love andof mortality are condensed into the three words since become part ofuniversal speech, _Barkis is willin'_. There is wholesome satire of muchutility in the conversion of the brutal schoolmaster of the earlierscenes into the tender Middlesex magistrate at the close. Nor is thehumour anywhere more subtle than in the country undertaker, who makes upin fullness of heart for scantness of breath, and has so little of thevampire propensity of the town undertaker in _Chuzzlewit_, that he daresnot even inquire after friends who are ill for fear of unkindlymisconstruction. The test of a master in creative fiction, according toHazlitt, is less in contrasting characters that are unlike than indistinguishing those that are like; and to many examples of the art inDickens, such as the Shepherd and Chadband, Creakle and Squeers, CharleyBates and the Dodger, the Guppys and the Wemmicks, Mr. Jaggers and Mr. Vholes, Sampson Brass and Conversation Kenge, Jack Bunsby, CaptainCuttle, and Bill Barley, the Perkers and Pells, the Dodsons and Fogs, Sarah Gamp and Betsy Prig, and a host of others, is to be added thenicety of distinction between those eminent furnishers of funerals, Mr. Mould and Messrs. Omer and Joram. All the mixed mirth and sadness of thestory are skilfully drawn into the handling of this portion of it; and, amid wooings and preparations for weddings and church-ringing bells forbaptisms, the steadily-going rat-tat of the hammer on the coffin isheard. Of the heroines who divide so equally between them the impulsive, easilyswayed, not disloyal but sorely distracted affections of the hero, thespoilt foolishness and tenderness of the loving little child-wife, Dora, is more attractive than the too unfailing wisdom and self-sacrificinggoodness of the angel-wife, Agnes. The scenes of the courtship andhousekeeping are matchless; and the glimpses of Doctors' Commons, opening those views, by Mr. Spenlow, of man's vanity of expectation andinconsistency of conduct in neglecting the sacred duty of making a will, on which he largely moralizes the day before he dies intestate, form abackground highly appropriate to David's domesticities. This was amongthe reproductions of personal experience in the book; but it was asadder knowledge that came with the conviction some years later, thatDavid's contrasts in his earliest married life between his happinessenjoyed and his happiness once anticipated, the "vague unhappy loss orwant of something" of which he so frequently complains, reflected also apersonal experience which had not been supplied in fact so successfullyas in fiction. (A closing word may perhaps be allowed, to connect withDevonshire-terrace the last book written there. On the page opposite isengraved a drawing by Maclise of the house where so many of Dickens'smasterpieces were composed, done on the first anniversary of the daywhen his daughter Kate was born. ) _Bleak House_ followed _Copperfield_, which in some respects it copiedin the autobiographical form by means of extracts from the personalrelation of its heroine. But the distinction between the narrative ofDavid and the diary of Esther, like that between Micawber and Skimpole, marks the superiority of the first to its successor. To represent astoryteller as giving the most surprising vividness to manners, motives, and characters of which we are to believe her, all the time, asartlessly unconscious, as she is also entirely ignorant of the goodqualities in herself she is naïvely revealing in the story, was adifficult enterprise, full of hazard in any case, not worth success, and certainly not successful. Ingenuity is more apparent than freshness, the invention is neither easy nor unstrained, and though the oldmarvellous power over the real is again abundantly manifest, there issome alloy of the artificial. Nor can this be said of Esther's relationwithout some general application to the book of which it forms so largea part. The novel is nevertheless, in the very important particular ofconstruction, perhaps the best thing done by Dickens. [Illustration: DEVONSHIRE TERRACE. ] In his later writings he had been assiduously cultivating this essentialof his art, and here he brought it very nearly to perfection. Of thetendency of composing a story piecemeal to induce greater concern forthe part than for the whole, he had been always conscious; but Iremember a remark also made by him to the effect that to read a story inparts had no less a tendency to prevent the reader's noticing howthoroughly a work so presented might be calculated for perusal as awhole. Look back from the last to the first page of the present novel, and not even in the highest examples of this kind of elaborate care willit be found, that event leads more closely to event, or that theseparate incidents have been planned with a more studied considerationof the bearing they are severally to have on the general result. Nothingis introduced at random, everything tends to the catastrophe, thevarious lines of the plot converge and fit to its centre, and to thelarger interest all the rest is irresistibly drawn. The heart of thestory is a Chancery suit. On this the plot hinges, and on incidentsconnected with it, trivial or important, the passion and suffering turnexclusively. Chance words, or the deeds of chance people, to appearanceirrelevant, are found everywhere influencing the course taken by a trainof incidents of which the issue is life or death, happiness or misery, to men and women perfectly unknown to them, and to whom they areunknown. Attorneys of all possible grades, law clerks of everyconceivable kind, the copyist, the law stationer, the usurer, all sortsof money lenders, suitors of every description, haunters of the Chancerycourt and their victims, are for ever moving round about the lives ofthe chief persons in the tale, and drawing them on insensibly, but verycertainly, to the issues that await them. Even the fits of the littlelaw-stationer's servant help directly in the chain of small things thatlead indirectly to Lady Dedlock's death. One strong chain of interestholds together Chesney Wold and its inmates, Bleak House and theJarndyce group, Chancery with its sorry and sordid neighbourhood. Thecharacters multiply as the tale advances, but in each the drift is thesame. "There's no great odds betwixt my noble and learned brother andmyself, " says the grotesque proprietor of the rag and bottle shop underthe wall of Lincoln's-inn, "they call me Lord Chancellor and my shopChancery, and we both of us grub on in a muddle. " _Edax rerum_ the mottoof both, but with a difference. Out of the lumber of the shop emergeslowly some fragments of evidence by which the chief actors in the storyare sensibly affected, and to which Chancery itself might have succumbedif its devouring capacities had been less complete. But by the timethere is found among the lumber the will which puts all to rights in theJarndyce suit, it is found to be too late to put anything to rights. Thecosts have swallowed up the estate, and there is an end of the matter. What in one sense is a merit however may in others be a defect, and thisbook has suffered by the very completeness with which its Chancery moralis worked out. The didactic in Dickens's earlier novels derived itsstrength from being merely incidental to interest of a higher and morepermanent kind, and not in a small degree from the playful sportivenessand fancy that lighted up its graver illustrations. Here it is ofsterner stuff, too little relieved, and all-pervading. The fog somarvellously painted in the opening chapter has hardly cleared away whenthere arises, in _Jarndyce_ v. _Jarndyce_, as bad an atmosphere tobreathe in; and thenceforward to the end, clinging round the people ofthe story as they come or go, in dreary mist or in heavy cloud, it israrely absent. Dickens has himself described his purpose to have been todwell on the romantic side of familiar things. But it is the romance ofdiscontent and misery, with a very restless dissatisfied moral, and istoo much brought about by agencies disagreeable and sordid. The Guppys, Weevles, Snagsbys, Chadbands, Krooks, and Smallweeds, even the Kenges, Vholeses, and Tulkinghorns, are much too real to be pleasant; and thenecessity becomes urgent for the reliefs and contrasts of a finerhumanity. These last are not wanting; yet it must be said that we hardlyescape, even with them, into the old freedom and freshness of theauthor's imaginative worlds, and that the too conscious unconsciousnessof Esther flings something of a shade on the radiant goodness of JohnJarndyce himself. Nevertheless there are very fine delineations in thestory. The crazed little Chancery lunatic, Miss Flite; the loud-voicedtender-souled Chancery victim, Gridley; the poor good-hearted youthRichard, broken up in life and character by the suspense of the Chancerysuit on whose success he is to "begin the world, " believing himself tobe saving money when he is stopped from squandering it, and thinkingthat having saved it he is entitled to fling it away; trooper George, with the Bagnets and their household, where the most ludicrous pointsare more forcible for the pathetic touches underlying them; the Jellybyinterior, and its philanthropic strong-minded mistress, placid andsmiling amid a household muddle outmuddling Chancery itself; the modelof deportment, Turveydrop the elder, whose relations to the youngpeople, whom he so superbly patronizes by being dependent on them foreverything, touch delightfully some subtle points of truth; theinscrutable Tulkinghorn, and the immortal Bucket; all these, andespecially the last, have been added by this book to the list of peoplemore intimately and permanently known to us than the scores of actualfamiliar acquaintance whom we see around us living and dying. But how do we know them? There are plenty to tell us that it is byvividness of external observation rather than by depth of imaginativeinsight, by tricks of manner and phrase rather than by truth ofcharacter, by manifestation outwardly rather than by what lies behind. Another opportunity will present itself for some remark on this kind ofcriticism, which has always had a special pride in the subtlety of itsdifferences from what the world may have shown itself prone to admire. "In my father's library, " wrote Landor to Southey's daughter Edith, "was the _Critical Review_ from its commencement; and it would havetaught me, if I could not even at a very early age teach myself better, that Fielding, Sterne, and Goldsmith were really worth nothing. " It is astyle that will never be without cultivators, and its frequentapplication to Dickens will be shown hereafter. But in speaking of abook in which some want of all the freshness of his genius first becameapparent, it would be wrong to omit to add that his method of handling acharacter is as strongly impressed on the better portions of it as onthe best of his writings. It is difficult to say when a peculiaritybecomes too grotesque, or an extravagance too farcical, to be within thelimits of art, for it is the truth of these as of graver things thatthey exist in the world in just the proportions and degree in whichgenius can discover them. But no man had ever so surprising a faculty asDickens of becoming himself what he was representing; and of enteringinto mental phases and processes so absolutely, in conditions of lifethe most varied, as to reproduce them completely in dialogue withoutneed of an explanatory word. (He only departed from this method once, with a result which will then be pointed out. ) In speaking on a formerpage of the impression of reality thus to a singular degree conveyed byhim, it was remarked that where characters so revealed themselves theauthor's part in them was done; and in the book under notice there isnone, not excepting those least attractive which apparently present onlyprominent or salient qualities, in which it will not be found that thecharacteristic feature embodied, or the main idea personified, containsas certainly also some human truth universally applicable. To expoundor discuss his creations, to lay them psychologically bare, to analysetheir organisms, to subject to minute demonstration their fibrous andother tissues, was not at all Dickens's way. His genius was his fellowfeeling with his race; his mere personality was never the bound or limitto his perceptions, however strongly sometimes it might colour them; henever stopped to dissect or anatomize his own work; but no man couldbetter adjust the outward and visible oddities in a delineation to itsinner and unchangeable veracities. The rough estimates we form ofcharacter, if we have any truth of perception, are on the whole correct:but men touch and interfere with one another by the contact of theirextremes, and it may very often become necessarily the main business ofa novelist to display the salient points, the sharp angles, or theprominences merely. The pathetic parts of _Bleak House_ do not live largely in remembrance, but the deaths of Richard and of Gridley, the wandering fancies of MissFlite, and the extremely touching way in which the gentleman-nature ofthe pompous old baronet, Dedlock, asserts itself under suffering, belongto a high order of writing. There is another most affecting example, taking the lead of the rest, in the poor street-sweeper Jo; which hasmade perhaps as deep an impression as anything in Dickens. "We have beenreading _Bleak House_ aloud, " the good Dean Ramsay wrote to me veryshortly before his death. "Surely it is one of his most powerful andsuccessful! What a triumph is Jo! Uncultured nature is _there_ indeed;the intimations of true heart-feeling, the glimmerings of higherfeeling, all are there; but everything still consistent and in harmony. Wonderful is the genius that can show all this, yet keep it only andreally part of the character itself, low or common as it may be, and useno morbid or fictitious colouring. To my mind, nothing in the field offiction is to be found in English literature surpassing the death ofJo!" What occurs at and after the inquest is as worth remembering. Jo'sevidence is rejected because he cannot exactly say what will be done tohim after he is dead if he should tell a lie;[167] but he manages to sayafterwards very exactly what the deceased while he lived did to him. That one cold winter night, when he was shivering in a doorway near hiscrossing, a man turned to look at him, and came back, and, havingquestioned him and found he had not a friend in the world, said, "Neither have I. Not one!" and gave him the price of a supper and anight's lodging. That the man had often spoken to him since, and askedhim if he slept of a night, and how he bore cold and hunger, or if heever wished to die; and would say in passing "I am as poor as youto-day, Jo" when he had no money, but when he had any would always givesome. "He wos wery good to me, " says the boy, wiping his eyes with hiswretched sleeve. "Wen I see him a-layin' so stritched out just now, Iwished he could have heerd me tell him so. He wos werry good to me, hewos!" The inquest over, the body is flung into a pestiferous churchyardin the next street, houses overlooking it on every side, and a reekinglittle tunnel of a court giving access to its iron gate. "With thenight, comes a slouching figure through the tunnel-court, to the outsideof the iron gate. It holds the gate with its hands, and looks in withinthe bars; stands looking in, for a little while. It then, with an oldbroom it carries, softly sweeps the step, and makes the archway clean. It does so, very busily, and trimly; looks in again, a little while; andso departs. " These are among the things in Dickens that cannot beforgotten; and if _Bleak House_ had many more faults than have beenfound in it, such salt and savour as this might freshen it for somegenerations. The first intention was to have made Jo more prominent in the story, andits earliest title was taken from the tumbling tenements in Chancery, "Tom-all-Alone's, " where he finds his wretched habitation; but this wasabandoned. On the other hand, Dickens was encouraged and strengthened inhis design of assailing Chancery abuses and delays by receiving, a fewdays after the appearance of his first number, a striking pamphlet onthe subject containing details so apposite that he took from them, without change in any material point, the memorable case related in hisfifteenth chapter. Any one who examines the tract[168] will see howexactly true is the reference to it made by Dickens in his preface. "Thecase of Gridley is in no essential altered from one of actualoccurrence, made public by a disinterested person who was professionallyacquainted with the whole of the monstrous wrong from beginning to end. "The suit, of which all particulars are given, affected a single farm, invalue not more than £1200, but all that its owner possessed in theworld, against which a bill had been filed for a £300 legacy left in thewill bequeathing the farm. In reality there was only one defendant, butin the bill, by the rule of the Court, there were seventeen; and, aftertwo years had been occupied over the seventeen answers, everything hadto begin over again because an eighteenth had been accidentally omitted. "What a mockery of justice this is, " says Mr. Challinor, "the factsspeak for themselves, and I can personally vouch for their accuracy. Thecosts already incurred in reference to this £300 legacy are not lessthan from £800 to £900, and the parties are no forwarder. Already nearfive years have passed by, and the plaintiff would be glad to give uphis chance of the legacy if he could escape from his liability to costs, while the defendants who own the little farm left by the testator, havescarce any other prospect before them than ruin. " FOOTNOTES: [164] This letter is now in the possession of S. R. Goodman Esq. OfBrighton. [165] Here are two passages taken from Hunt's writing in the _Tatler_ (acharming little paper which it was one of the first ventures of theyoung firm of Chapman and Hall to attempt to establish for Hunt in1830), to which accident had unluckily attracted Dickens'snotice:--"Supposing us to be in want of patronage, and in possession oftalent enough to make it an honour to notice us, we would much ratherhave some great and comparatively private friend, rich enough to assistus, and amiable enough to render obligation delightful, than become thepublic property of any man, or of any government. . . . If a divinity hadgiven us our choice we should have said--make us La Fontaine, who goesand lives twenty years with some rich friend, as innocent of any harm init as a child, and who writes what he thinks charming verses, sittingall day under a tree. " Such sayings will not bear to be deliberatelyread and thought over, but any kind of extravagance or oddity came fromHunt's lips with a curious fascination. There was surely never a man ofso sunny a nature, who could draw so much pleasure from common things, or to whom books were a world so real, so exhaustless, so delightful. Iwas only seventeen when I derived from him the tastes which have beenthe solace of all subsequent years, and I well remember the last time Isaw him at Hammersmith, not long before his death in 1859, when, withhis delicate, worn, but keenly intellectual face, his large luminouseyes, his thick shock of wiry grey hair, and a little cape of fadedblack silk over his shoulders, he looked like an old French abbé. He wasbuoyant and pleasant as ever; and was busy upon a vindication of Chaucerand Spenser from Cardinal Wiseman, who had attacked them for allegedsensuous and voluptuous qualities. [166] In a paper in _All the Year Round_. [167] "O! Here's the boy, gentlemen! Here he is, very muddy, veryhoarse, very ragged. Now, boy!--But stop a minute. Caution. This boymust be put through a few preliminary paces. Name, Jo. Nothing else thathe knows on. Don't know that everybody has two names. Never heerd ofsich a think. Don't know that Jo is short for a longer name. Thinks itlong enough for _him. He_ don't find no fault with it. Spell it? No. _He_ can't spell it. No father, no mother, no friends. Never been toschool. What's home? Knows a broom's a broom, and knows it's wicked totell a lie. Don't recollect who told him about the broom, or about thelie, but knows both. Can't exactly say what'll be done to him arter he'sdead if he tells a lie to the gentleman here, but believes it'll besomething wery bad to punish him, and serve him right--and so he'll tellthe truth. 'This won't do, gentlemen, ' says the coroner, with amelancholy shake of the head. . . . '_Can't exactly say_ won't do, youknow. . . . It's terrible depravity. Put the boy aside. ' Boy put aside; tothe great edification of the audience;--especially of Little Swills, theComic Vocalist. " [168] By W. Challinor Esq. Of Leek in Staffordshire, by whom it has beenobligingly sent to me, with a copy of Dickens's letter acknowledging thereceipt of it from the author on the 11th of March 1852. On the first ofthat month the first number of _Bleak House_ had appeared, but twonumbers of it were then already written. CHAPTER II. HOME INCIDENTS AND HARD TIMES. 1853-1854-1855. _Bleak House_ Sale--Proposed Titles--Restless--Tavistock House--Last Child born--Death of Friends--Liking for Boulogne--Banquet at Birmingham--Self-changes--Overdoing it--Projected Trip to Italy--First Public Readings--Argument against Paid Readings--Children's Theatricals--Small Actors--Henry Fielding Dickens--Dickens and the Czar--Titles for a New Story--"Hard Times" chosen--Difficulties of Weekly Publication--Mr. Ruskin on _Hard Times_--Exaggerated Rebuke of Exaggeration--Manufacturing Town on Strike--Dinner to Thackeray--Peter Cunningham--Incident of a November Night. _DAVID COPPERFIELD_ had been written, in Devonshire-terrace for the mostpart, between the opening of 1849 and October 1850, its publicationcovering that time; and its sale, which has since taken the lead of allhis books but _Pickwick_, never then exceeding twenty-five thousand. Butthough it remained thus steady for the time, the popularity of the bookadded largely to the sale of its successor. _Bleak House_ was begun inhis new abode of Tavistock House at the end of November 1851; wascarried on, amid the excitements of the Guild performances, through thefollowing year; was finished at Boulogne in the August of 1853; and wasdedicated to "his friends and companions in the Guild of Literature andArt. " [Illustration: TAVISTOCK HOUSE. ] In March 1852 the first number appeared, [169] and its sale wasmentioned in the same letter from Tavistock House (7th of March)which told of his troubles in the story at its outset, and of otheranxieties incident to the common lot and inseparable equally from itsjoys and sorrows, through which his life was passing at the time. "MyHighgate journey yesterday was a sad one. Sad to think how all journeystend that way. I went up to the cemetery to look for a piece of ground. In no hope of a Government bill, [170] and in a foolish dislike to leavingthe little child shut up in a vault there, I think of pitching a tentunder the sky. . . . Nothing has taken place here: but I believe, everyhour, that it must next hour. Wild ideas are upon me of going toParis--Rouen--Switzerland--somewhere--and writing the remaining two-thirdsof the next No. Aloft in some queer inn room. I have been hanging overit, and have got restless. Want a change I think. Stupid. We were at30, 000 when I last heard. . . . I am sorry to say that after all kindsof evasions, I am obliged to dine at Lansdowne House to-morrow. Butmaybe the affair will come off to-night and give me an excuse! I encloseproofs of No. 2. Browne has done Skimpole, and helped to make himsingularly unlike the great original. Look it over, and say what occursto you. . . . Don't you think Mrs. Gaskell charming? With oneill-considered thing that looks like a want of natural perception, Ithink it masterly. " His last allusion is to the story by a delightfulwriter then appearing in _Household Words_; and of the others it onlyneeds to say that the family affair which might have excused his absenceat the Lansdowne dinner did not come off until four days later. On the13th of March his last child was born; and the boy, his seventh son, bears his godfather's distinguished name, Edward Bulwer Lytton. The inability to "grind sparks out of his dull blade, " as hecharacterized his present labour at _Bleak House_, still fretting him, he struck out a scheme for Paris. "I could not get to Switzerland verywell at this time of year. The Jura would be covered with snow. And if Iwent to Geneva I don't know where I might _not_ go to. " It ended at lastin a flight to Dover; but he found time before he left, amid manyoccupations and some anxieties, for a good-natured journey to Walworthto see a youth rehearse who was supposed to have talents for the stage, and he was able to gladden Mr. Toole's friends by thinking favourably ofhis chances of success. "I remember what I once myself wanted in thatway, " he said, "and I should like to serve him. " At one of the last dinners in Tavistock House before his departure, Mr. Watson of Rockingham was present; and he was hardly settled inCamden-crescent, Dover, when he had news of the death of that excellentfriend. "Poor dear Watson! It was this day two weeks when you rode withus and he dined with us. We all remarked after he had gone how happy heseemed to have got over his election troubles, and how cheerful he was. He was full of Christmas plans for Rockingham, and was very anxious thatwe should get up a little French piece I had been telling him the plotof. He went abroad next day to join Mrs. Watson and the children atHomburg, and then go to Lausanne, where they had taken a house for amonth. He was seized at Homburg with violent internal inflammation, anddied--without much pain--in four days. . . . I was so fond of him that I amsorry you didn't know him better. I believe he was as thoroughly goodand true a man as ever lived; and I am sure I can have felt no greateraffection for him than he felt for me. When I think of that brighthouse, and his fine simple honest heart, both so open to me, the blankand loss are like a dream. " Other deaths followed. "Poor d'Orsay!" hewrote after only seven days (8th of August). "It is a tremendousconsideration that friends should fall around us in such awful numbersas we attain middle life. What a field of battle it is!" Nor had anothermonth quite passed before he lost, in Mrs. Macready, a very dear familyfriend. "Ah me! ah me!" he wrote. "This tremendous sickle certainly doescut deep into the surrounding corn, when one's own small blade hasripened. But _this_ is all a Dream, may be, and death will wake us. " Able at last to settle to his work, he stayed in Dover three months; andearly in October, sending home his family caravan, crossed to Boulogneto try it as a resort for seaside holiday. "I never saw a betterinstance of our countrymen than this place. Because it is accessible itis genteel to say it is of no character, quite English, nothingcontinental about it, and so forth. It is as quaint, picturesque, good aplace as I know; the boatmen and fishing-people quite a race apart, andsome of their villages as good as the fishing-villages on theMediterranean. The Haute Ville, with a walk all round it on theramparts, charming. The country walks, delightful. It is the bestmixture of town and country (with sea air into the bargain) I ever saw;everything cheap, everything good; and please God I shall be writing onthose said ramparts next July!" Before the year closed, the time to which his publishing arrangementswith Messrs. Bradbury and Evans were limited had expired, but at hissuggestion the fourth share in such books as he might write, which theyhad now received for eight years, was continued to them on theunderstanding that the publishers' percentage should no longer becharged in the partnership accounts, and with a power reserved tohimself to withdraw when he pleased. In the new year his first adventurewas an ovation in Birmingham, where a silver-gilt salver and a diamondring were presented to him, as well for eloquent service speciallyrendered to the Institution, as in general testimony of "varied literaryacquirements, genial philosophy, and high moral teaching. " A greatbanquet followed on Twelfth Night, made memorable by an offer[171] togive a couple of readings from his books at the following Christmas, inaid of the new Midland Institute. It might seem to have been drawn fromhim as a grateful return for the enthusiastic greeting of hisentertainers, but it was in his mind before he left London. It was hisfirst formal undertaking to read in public. His eldest son had now left Eton, and, the boy's wishes pointing at thetime to a mercantile career, he was sent to Leipzig for completion ofhis education. [172] At this date it seemed to me that the overstrain ofattempting too much, brought upon him by the necessities of his weeklyperiodical, became first apparent in Dickens. Not unfrequently acomplaint strange upon his lips fell from him. "Hypochondriacalwhisperings tell me that I am rather overworked. The spring does notseem to fly back again directly, as it always did when I put my own workaside, and had nothing else to do. Yet I have everything to keep megoing with a brave heart, Heaven knows!" Courage and hopefulness hemight well derive from the increasing sale of _Bleak House_, which hadrisen to nearly forty thousand; but he could no longer bear easily whathe carried so lightly of old, and enjoyments with work were too much forhim. "What with _Bleak House_, and _Household Words_, and _Child'sHistory_" (he dictated from week to week the papers which formed thatlittle book, and cannot be said to have quite hit the mark with it), "and Miss Coutts's Home, and the invitations to feasts and festivals, Ireally feel as if my head would split like a fired shell if I remainedhere. " He tried Brighton first, but did not find it answer, andreturned. [173] A few days of unalloyed enjoyment were afterwards givento the visit of his excellent American friend Felton; and on the 13th ofJune he was again in Boulogne, thanking heaven for escape from abreakdown. "If I had substituted anybody's knowledge of myself for myown, and lingered in London, I never could have got through. " What befell him in Boulogne will be given, with the incidents of hissecond and third summer visits to the place, on a later page. Hecompleted, by the third week of August, his novel of _Bleak House_; andit was resolved to celebrate the event by a two months' trip to Italy, in company with Mr. Wilkie Collins and Mr. Augustus Egg. The start wasto be made from Boulogne in the middle of October, when he would sendhis family home; and he described the intervening weeks as a fearful"reaction and prostration of laziness" only broken by the _Child'sHistory_. At the end of September he wrote: "I finished the little_History_ yesterday, and am trying to think of something for theChristmas number. After which I shall knock off; having had quite enoughto do, small as it would have seemed to me at any other time, since Ifinished _Bleak House_. " He added, a week before his departure: "I getletters from Genoa and Lausanne as if I were going to stay in each placeat least a month. If I were to measure my deserts by people'sremembrance of me, I should be a prodigy of intolerability. Haverecovered my Italian, which I had all but forgotten, and am one entireand perfect chrysolite of idleness. " From this trip, of which the incidents have an interest independent ofmy ordinary narrative, Dickens was home again in the middle of December1853, and kept his promise to his Birmingham friends by reading in theirTown Hall his _Christmas Carol_ on the 27th, [174] and his _Cricket onthe Hearth_ on the 29th. The enthusiasm was great, and he consented toread his _Carol_ a second time, on Friday the 30th, if seats werereserved for working men at prices within their means. The result was anaddition of between four and five hundred pounds to the funds forestablishment of the new Institute; and a prettily worked flower-basketin silver, presented to Mrs. Dickens, commemorated these first publicreadings "to nearly six thousand people, " and the design they hadgenerously helped. Other applications then followed to such extent thatlimits to compliance had to be put; and a letter of the 16th of May 1854is one of many that express both the difficulty in which he foundhimself, and his much desired expedient for solving it. "The objectionyou suggest to paid public lecturing does not strike me at all. It isworth consideration, but I do not think there is anything in it. On thecontrary, if the lecturing would have any motive power at all (like mypoor father this, in the sound!) I believe it would tend the other way. In the Colchester matter I had already received a letter from aColchester magnate; to whom I had honestly replied that I stood pledgedto Christmas readings at Bradford[175] and at Reading, and could in nokind of reason do more in the public way. " The promise to the people ofReading was for Talfourd's sake; the other was given after theBirmingham nights, when an institute in Bradford asked similar help, andoffered a fee of fifty pounds. At first this was entertained; but wasabandoned, with some reluctance, upon the argument that to becomepublicly a reader must alter without improving his position publicly asa writer, and that it was a change to be justified only when the highercalling should have failed of the old success. Thus yielding for thetime, he nevertheless soon found the question rising again with the sameimportunity; his own position to it being always that of a man assentingagainst his will that it should rest in abeyance. But nothing fartherwas resolved on yet. The readings mentioned came off as promised, in aidof public objects;[176] and besides others two years later for thefamily of a friend, he had given the like liberal help to institutes inFolkestone, Chatham, and again in Birmingham, Peterborough, Sheffield, Coventry, and Edinburgh, before the question settled itself finally inthe announcement for paid public readings issued by him in 1858. Carrying memory back to his home in the first half of 1854, there arefew things that rise more pleasantly in connection with it than thechildren's theatricals. These began with the first Twelfth Night atTavistock House, and were renewed until the principal actors ceased tobe children. The best of the performances were _Tom Thumb_ and_Fortunio_, in '54 and '55; Dickens now joining first in the revel, andMr. Mark Lemon bringing into it his own clever children and a verymountain of child-pleasing fun in himself. Dickens had become veryintimate with him, and his merry genial ways had given him unboundedpopularity with the "young 'uns, " who had no such favourite as "UncleMark. " In Fielding's burlesque he was the giantess Glumdalca, andDickens was the ghost of Gaffer Thumb; the names by which theyrespectively appeared being the Infant Phenomenon and the ModernGarrick. But the younger actors carried off the palm. There was a LordGrizzle, at whose ballad of Miss Villikins, introduced by desire, Thackeray rolled off his seat in a burst of laughter that becameabsurdly contagious. Yet even this, with hardly less fun from theNoodles, Doodles, and King Arthurs, was not so good as the pretty, fantastic, comic grace of Dollalolla, Huncamunca, and Tom. The girlswore steadily the grave airs irresistible when put on by littlechildren; and an actor not out of his fourth year, who went through thecomic songs and the tragic exploits without a wrong note or a victimunslain, represented the small helmeted hero. He was in the bills as Mr. H----, but bore in fact the name of the illustrious author whoseconception he embodied; and who certainly would have hugged him forTom's opening song, delivered in the arms of Huncamunca, if he couldhave forgiven the later master in his own craft for having composed itafresh to the air of a ditty then wildly popular at the "CoalHole. "[177] The encores were frequent, and for the most part the littlefellow responded to them; but the misplaced enthusiasm that took similarform at the heroic intensity with which he stabbed Dollalolla, herebuked by going gravely on to the close. His Fortunio, the next TwelfthNight, was not so great; yet when, as a prelude to getting the better ofthe Dragon, he adulterated his drink (Mr. Lemon played the Dragon) withsherry, the sly relish with which he watched the demoralization, by thismeans, of his formidable adversary into a helpless imbecility, wasperfect. Here Dickens played the testy old Baron, and took advantage ofthe excitement against the Czar raging in 1855 to denounce him (in asong) as no other than own cousin to the very Bear that Fortunio hadgone forth to subdue. He depicted him, in his desolation of autocracy, as the Robinson Crusoe of absolute state, who had at his court many ashow-day and many a high-day, but hadn't in all his dominions aFriday. [178] The bill, which attributed these interpolations to "theDramatic Poet of the Establishment, " deserves also mention for the funof the six large-lettered announcements which stood at the head of it, and could not have been bettered by Mr. Crummles himself. "Re-engagementof that irresistible comedian" (the performer of Lord Grizzle) "Mr. Ainger!" "Reappearance of Mr. H. Who created so powerful an impressionlast year!" "Return of Mr. Charles Dickens Junior from his Germanengagements!" "Engagement of Miss Kate, who declined the munificentoffers of the Management last season!" "Mr. Passé, Mr. Mudperiod, Mr. Measly Servile, and Mr. Wilkini Collini!" "First appearance on any stageof Mr. Plornishmaroontigoonter (who has been kept out of bed at a vastexpense). " The last performer mentioned[179] was yet at some distancefrom the third year of his age. Dickens was Mr. Passé. Gravities were mixed with these gaieties. "I wish you would look" (20thof January 1854) "at the enclosed titles for the _H. W. _ story, betweenthis and two o'clock or so, when I will call. It is my usual day, youobserve, on which I have jotted them down--Friday! It seems to me thatthere are three very good ones among them. I should like to know whetheryou hit upon the same. " On the paper enclosed was written: 1. Accordingto Cocker. 2. Prove it. 3. Stubborn Things. 4. Mr. Gradgrind's Facts. 5. The Grindstone. 6. Hard Times. 7. Two and Two are Four. 8. SomethingTangible. 9. Our Hard-headed Friend. 10. Rust and Dust. 11. SimpleArithmetic. 12. A Matter of Calculation. 13. A Mere Question of Figures. 14. The Gradgrind Philosophy. [180] The three selected by me were 2, 6, and 11; the three that were his own favourites were 6, 13, and 14; andas 6 had been chosen by both, that title was taken. It was the first story written by him for _Household Words_; and in thecourse of it the old troubles of the _Clock_ came back, with thedifference that the greater brevity of the weekly portions made iteasier to write them up to time, but much more difficult to getsufficient interest into each. "The difficulty of the space, " he wroteafter a few weeks' trial, "is CRUSHING. Nobody can have an idea of itwho has not had an experience of patient fiction-writing with someelbow-room always, and open places in perspective. In this form, withany kind of regard to the current number, there is absolutely no suchthing. " He went on, however; and, of the two designs he started with, accomplished one very perfectly and the other at least partially. Hemore than doubled the circulation of his journal; and he wrote a storywhich, though not among his best, contains things as characteristic asany he has written. I may not go as far as Mr. Ruskin in giving it ahigh place; but to anything falling from that writer, however one maydiffer from it, great respect is due, and every word here said ofDickens's intention is in the most strict sense just. [181] "Theessential value and truth of Dickens's writings, " he says, "have beenunwisely lost sight of by many thoughtful persons, merely because hepresents his truth with some colour of caricature. Unwisely, becauseDickens's caricature, though often gross, is never mistaken. Allowingfor his manner of telling them, the things he tells us are always true. I wish that he could think it right to limit his brilliant exaggerationto works written only for public amusement; and when he takes up asubject of high national importance, such as that which he handled in_Hard Times_, that he would use severer and more accurate analysis. Theusefulness of that work (to my mind, in several respects, the greatesthe has written) is with many persons seriously diminished, because Mr. Bounderby is a dramatic monster, instead of a characteristic example ofa worldly master; and Stephen Blackpool a dramatic perfection, insteadof a characteristic example of an honest workman. But let us not losethe use of Dickens's wit and insight, because he chooses to speak in acircle of stage fire. He is entirely right in his main drift and purposein every book he has written; and all of them, but especially _HardTimes_, should be studied with close and earnest care by personsinterested in social questions. They will find much that is partial, and, because partial, apparently unjust; but if they examine all theevidence on the other side, which Dickens seems to overlook, it willappear, after all their trouble, that his view was the finally rightone, grossly and sharply told. "[182] The best points in it, out of thecircle of stage fire (an expression of wider application to this partof Dickens's life than its inventor supposed it to be), were thesketches of the riding-circus people and the Bounderby household; but itis a wise hint of Mr. Ruskin's that there may be, in the drift of astory, truths of sufficient importance to set against defects ofworkmanship; and here they challenged wide attention. You cannot trainany one properly, unless you cultivate the fancy, and allow fair scopeto the affections. You cannot govern men on a principle of averages; andto buy in the cheapest and sell in the dearest market is not the _summumbonum_ of life. You cannot treat the working man fairly unless, indealing with his wrongs and his delusions, you take equally into accountthe simplicity and tenacity of his nature, arising partly from limitedknowledge, but more from honesty and singleness of intention. Fictioncannot prove a case, but it can express forcibly a righteous sentiment;and this is here done unsparingly upon matters of universal concern. The book was finished at Boulogne in the middle of July, [183] and isinscribed to Carlyle. An American admirer accounted for the vivacity of the circus-scenes bydeclaring that Dickens had "arranged with the master of Astley's Circusto spend many hours behind the scenes with the riders and among thehorses;" a thing just as likely as that he went into training as astroller to qualify for Mr. Crummles in _Nickleby_. Such successesbelonged to the experiences of his youth; he had nothing to add to whathis marvellous observation had made familiar from almost childish days;and the glimpses we get of them in the _Sketches by Boz_ are in thesepoints as perfect as anything his later experience could supply. Therewas one thing nevertheless which the choice of his subject made himanxious to verify while _Hard Times_ was in hand; and this was a strikein a manufacturing town. He went to Preston to see one at the end ofJanuary, and was somewhat disappointed. "I am afraid I shall not be ableto get much here. Except the crowds at the street-corners reading theplacards pro and con; and the cold absence of smoke from themill-chimneys; there is very little in the streets to make the townremarkable. I am told that the people 'sit at home and mope. ' Thedelegates with the money from the neighbouring places come in to-day toreport the amounts they bring; and to-morrow the people are paid. When Ihave seen both these ceremonies, I shall return. It is a nasty place (Ithought it was a model town); and I am in the Bull Hotel, before whichsome time ago the people assembled supposing the masters to be here, andon demanding to have them out were remonstrated with by the landlady inperson. I saw the account in an Italian paper, in which it was statedthat 'the populace then environed the Palazzo Bull, until the padrona ofthe Palazzo heroically appeared at one of the upper windows andaddressed them!' One can hardly conceive anything less likely to berepresented to an Italian mind by this description, than the old, grubby, smoky, mean, intensely formal red brick house with a narrowgateway and a dingy yard, to which it applies. At the theatre last nightI saw _Hamlet_, and should have done better to 'sit at home and mope'like the idle workmen. In the last scene, Laertes on being asked how itwas with him replied (verbatim) 'Why, like a woodcock--on account of mytreachery. '" (29th Jan. ) The home incidents of the summer and autumn of 1855 may be mentionedbriefly. It was a year of much unsettled discontent with him, and uponreturn from a short trip to Paris with Mr. Wilkie Collins, he flunghimself rather hotly into agitation with the administrativereformers, [184] and spoke at one of the great meetings in Drury-laneTheatre. In the following month (April) he took occasion, even from thechair of the General Theatrical Fund, to give renewed expression topolitical dissatisfactions. [185] In the summer he threw open to manyfriends his Tavistock House Theatre, having secured for its "lessee andmanager Mr. Crummles;" for its poet Mr. Wilkie Collins, in an "entirelynew and original domestic melodrama;" and for its scene-painter "Mr. Stanfield, R. A. "[186] _The Lighthouse_, by Mr. Wilkie Collins, was thenproduced, its actors being Mr. Crummles the manager (Dickens in otherwords), the Author of the play, Mr. Lemon and Mr. Egg, and the manager'ssister-in-law and eldest daughter. It was followed by the Guild farce of_Mr. Nightingale's Diary_, in which besides the performers named, andDickens in his old personation part, the manager's youngest daughter andMr. Frank Stone assisted. The success was wonderful; and in the threedelighted audiences who crowded to what the bills described as "thesmallest theatre in the world, " were not a few of the notabilities ofLondon. Mr. Carlyle compared Dickens's wild picturesqueness in the oldlighthouse keeper to the famous figure in Nicholas Poussin'sbacchanalian dance in the National Gallery; and at one of the joyoussuppers that followed on each night of the play, Lord Campbell told thecompany that he had much rather have written _Pickwick_ than be ChiefJustice of England and a peer of parliament. [187] Then came the beginning of _Nobody's Fault_, as _Little Dorrit_continued to be called by him up to the eve of its publication; a flightto Folkestone to help his sluggish fancy; and his return to London inOctober to preside at a dinner to Thackeray on his going to lecture inAmerica. It was a muster of more than sixty admiring entertainers, andDickens's speech gave happy expression to the spirit that animated all, telling Thackeray not alone how much his friendship was prized by thosepresent, and how proud they were of his genius, but offering him in thename of the tens of thousands absent who had never touched his hand orseen his face, life-long thanks for the treasures of mirth, wit, andwisdom within the yellow-covered numbers of _Pendennis_ and _VanityFair_. Peter Cunningham, one of the sons of Allan, was secretary to thebanquet; and for many pleasures given to the subject of this memoir, whohad a hearty regard for him, should have a few words to his memory. His presence was always welcome to Dickens, and indeed to all who knewhim, for his relish of social life was great, and something of his keenenjoyment could not but be shared by his company. His geniality wouldhave carried with it a pleasurable glow even if it had stood alone, andit was invigorated by very considerable acquirements. He had someknowledge of the works of eminent authors and artists; and he had aneager interest in their lives and haunts, which he had made the subjectof minute and novel enquiry. This store of knowledge gave substance tohis talk, yet never interrupted his buoyancy and pleasantry, becauseonly introduced when called for, and not made matter of parade ordisplay. But the happy combination of qualities that rendered him afavourite companion, and won him many friends, proved in the endinjurious to himself. He had done much while young in certain lines ofinvestigation which he had made almost his own, and there was everypromise that, in the department of biographical and literary research, he would have produced much weightier works with advancing years. Thishowever was not to be. The fascinations of good fellowship encroachedmore and more upon literary pursuits, until he nearly abandoned hisformer favourite studies, and sacrificed all the deeper purposes of hislife to the present temptation of a festive hour. Then his health gaveway, and he became lost to friends as well as to literature. But theimpression of the bright and amiable intercourse of his better timesurvived, and his old associates never ceased to think of PeterCunningham with regret and kindness. Dickens went to Paris early in October, and at its close was broughtagain to London by the sudden death of a friend, much deplored byhimself, and still more so by a distinguished lady who had his loyalservice at all times. An incident before his return to France is worthbrief relation. He had sallied out for one of his night walks, full ofthoughts of his story, one wintery rainy evening (the 8th of November), and "pulled himself up, " outside the door of Whitechapel Workhouse, at astrange sight which arrested him there. Against the dreary enclosure ofthe house were leaning, in the midst of the downpouring rain and storm, what seemed to be seven heaps of rags: "dumb, wet, silent horrors" hedescribed them, "sphinxes set up against that dead wall, and no onelikely to be at the pains of solving them until the General Overthrow. "He sent in his card to the Master. Against him there was no ground ofcomplaint; he gave prompt personal attention; but the casual ward wasfull, and there was no help. The rag-heaps were all girls, and Dickensgave each a shilling. One girl, "twenty or so, " had been without food aday and night. "Look at me, " she said, as she clutched the shilling, andwithout thanks shuffled off. So with the rest. There was not a single"thank you. " A crowd meanwhile, only less poor than these objects ofmisery, had gathered round the scene; but though they saw the sevenshillings given away they asked for no relief to themselves, theyrecognized in their sad wild way the other greater wretchedness, andmade room in silence for Dickens to walk on. Not more tolerant of the way in which laws meant to be most humane aretoo often administered in England, he left in a day or two to resume his_Little Dorrit_ in Paris. But before his life there is described, somesketches from his holiday trip to Italy with Mr. Wilkie Collins and Mr. Augustus Egg, and from his three summer visits to Boulogne, claim tothemselves two intervening chapters. FOOTNOTES: [169] I subjoin the dozen titles successively proposed for _BleakHouse_. 1. "Tom-all-Alone's. The Ruined House;" 2. "Tom-all-Alone's. TheSolitary House that was always shut up;" 3. "Bleak House Academy;" 4. "The East Wind;" 5. "Tom-all-Alone's. The Ruined [House, Building, Factory, Mill] that got into Chancery and never got out;" 6. "Tom-all-Alone's. The Solitary House where the Grass grew;" 7. "Tom-all-Alone's. The Solitary House that was always shut up and neverLighted;" 8. "Tom-all-Alone's. The Ruined Mill, that got into Chanceryand never got out;" 9. "Tom-all-Alone's. The Solitary House where theWind howled;" 10. "Tom-all-Alone's. The Ruined House that got intoChancery and never got out;" 11. "Bleak House and the East Wind. Howthey both got into Chancery and never got out;" 12. "Bleak House. " [170] He was greatly interested in the movement for closing town andcity graves (see the close of the 11th chapter of _Bleak House_), andproviding places of burial under State supervision. [171] The promise was formally conveyed next morning in a letter to onewho took the lead then and since in all good work for Birmingham, Mr. Arthur Ryland. The reading would, he said in this letter (7th of Jan. 1853), "take about two hours, with a pause of ten minutes half waythrough. There would be some novelty in the thing, as I have never doneit in public, though I have in private, and (if I may say so) with agreat effect on the hearers. " [172] Baron Tauchnitz, describing to me his long and uninterruptedfriendly intercourse with Dickens, has this remark: "I give also apassage from one of his letters written at the time when he sent his sonCharles, through my mediation, to Leipzig. He says in it what he desiresfor his son. 'I want him to have all interest in, and to acquire aknowledge of, the life around him, and to be treated like a gentlemanthough pampered in nothing. By punctuality in all things, great orsmall, I set great store. '" [173] From one of his letters while there I take a passage ofobservation full of character. "Great excitement here about a wretchedwoman who has murdered her child. Apropos of which I observed a curiousthing last night. The newspaper offices (local journals) had placardslike this outside: CHILD MURDER IN BRIGHTON. INQUEST. COMMITTAL OF THE MURDERESS. I saw so many common people stand profoundly staring at these lines forhalf-an-hour together--and even go back to stare again--that I feelquite certain they had not the power of thinking about the thing at allconnectedly or continuously, without having something about it beforetheir sense of sight. Having got that, they were considering the case, wondering how the devil they had come into that power. I saw one man ina smock frock lose the said power the moment he turned away, and bringhis hob-nails back again. " [174] The reading occupied nearly three hours: double the time devotedto it in the later years. [175] "After correspondence with all parts of England, and every kind ofrefusal and evasion on my part, I am now obliged to decide thisquestion--whether I shall read two nights at Bradford for a hundredpounds. If I do, I may take as many hundred pounds as I choose. " 27th ofJan. 1854. [176] On the 28th of Dec. 1854 he wrote from Bradford: "The hall isenormous, and they expect to seat 3700 people to-night! Notwithstandingwhich, it seems to me a tolerably easy place--except that the width ofthe platform is so very great to the eye at first. " From Folkestone, onhis way to Paris, he wrote in the autumn of 1855: "16th of Sept. I amgoing to read for them here, on the 5th of next month, and have answeredin the last fortnight thirty applications to do the like all overEngland, Ireland, and Scotland. Fancy my having to come from Paris inDecember, to do this, at Peterborough, Birmingham, and Sheffield--oldpromises. " Again: 23rd of Sept. "I am going to read here, next Fridayweek. There are (as there are everywhere) a Literary Institution and aWorking Men's Institution, which have not the slightest sympathy orconnexion. The stalls are five shillings, but I have made them fix theworking men's admission at threepence, and I hope it may bring themtogether. The event comes off in a carpenter's shop, as the biggestplace that can be got. " In 1857, at Paxton's request, he read his_Carol_ at Coventry for the Institute. [177] My name it is Tom Thumb, Small my size, Small my size, My name it is Tom Thumb, Small my size. Yet though I am so small, I have killed the giants tall; And now I'm paid for all, Small my size, Small my size, And now I'm paid for all, Small my size. [178] This finds mention, I observe, in a pleasant description of "Mr. Dickens's Amateur Theatricals, " which appeared in _Macmillan's Magazine_two years ago, by one who had been a member of the Juvenile Company. Iquote a passage, recommending the whole paper as very agreeably written, with some shrewd criticism. "Mr. Planché had in one portion of theextravaganza put into the mouth of one of the characters for the momenta few lines of burlesque upon Macbeth, and we remember Mr. Dickens'sunsuccessful attempts to teach the performer how to imitate Macready, whom he (the performer) had never seen! And after the performance, whenwe were restored to our evening-party costumes, and the school-room wascleared for dancing, still a stray 'property' or two had escaped thevigilant eye of the property-man, for Douglas Jerrold had picked up thehorse's head (Fortunio's faithful steed _Comrade_), and was holding itup before the greatest living animal painter, who had been one of theaudience, with 'Looks as if it knew _you_, Edwin!'" [179] He went with the rest to Boulogne in the summer, and an anecdotetransmitted in one of his father's letters will show that he maintainedthe reputation as a comedian which his early debut had awakened. "ORIGINAL ANECDOTE OF THE PLORNISHGHENTER. This distinguished wit, beingat Boulogne with his family, made a close acquaintance with hislandlord, whose name was M. Beaucourt--the only French word with whichhe was at that time acquainted. It happened that one day he was leftunusually long in a bathing-machine when the tide was making, accompanied by his two young brothers and little English nurse, withoutbeing drawn to land. The little nurse, being frightened, cried 'M'soo!M'soo!' The two young brothers being frightened, cried 'Ici! Ici!'. Ourwit, at once perceiving that his English was of no use to him under theforeign circumstances, immediately fell to bawling 'Beau-court!' whichhe continued to shout at the utmost pitch of his voice and with greatgravity, until rescued. --_New Boulogne Jest Book_, page 578. " [180] To show the pains he took in such matters I will give other titlesalso thought of for this tale. 1. Fact; 2. Hard-headed Gradgrind; 3. Hard Heads and Soft Hearts; 4. Heads and Tales; 5. Black and White. [181] It is well to remember, too, what he wrote about the story toCharles Knight. It had no design, he said, to damage the really usefultruths of Political Economy, but was wholly directed against "those whosee figures and averages, and nothing else; who would take the averageof cold in the Crimea during twelve months as a reason for clothing asoldier in nankeen on a night when he would be frozen to death in fur;and who would comfort the labourer in travelling twelve miles a day toand from his work, by telling him that the average distance of oneinhabited place from another, on the whole area of England, is not morethan four miles. " [182] It is curious that with as strong a view in the oppositedirection, and with an equally mistaken exaltation, above the writer'sordinary level, of a book which on the whole was undoubtedly below it, Mr. Taine speaks of _Hard Times_ as that one of Dickens's romances whichis a summary of all the rest: exalting instinct above reason, and theintuitions of the heart above practical knowledge; attacking alleducation based on statistic figures and facts; heaping sorrow andridicule on the practical mercantile people; fighting against the pride, hardness, and selfishness of the merchant and noble; cursing themanufacturing towns for imprisoning bodies in smoke and mud, and soulsin falsehood and factitiousness;--while it contrasts, with that satireof social oppression, lofty eulogy of the oppressed; and searches outpoor workmen, jugglers, foundlings, and circus people, for types of goodsense, sweetness of disposition, generosity, delicacy, and courage, toperpetual confusion of the pretended knowledge, pretended happiness, pretended virtue, of the rich and powerful who trample upon them! Thisis a fair specimen of the exaggerations with which exaggeration isrebuked, in Mr. Taine's and much similar criticism. [183] Here is a note at the close. "Tavistock House. Look at that!Boulogne, of course. Friday, 14th of July, 1854. I am three parts mad, and the fourth delirious, with perpetual rushing at _Hard Times_. I havedone what I hope is a good thing with Stephen, taking his story as awhole; and hope to be over in town with the end of the book on Wednesdaynight. . . . I have been looking forward through so many weeks and sides ofpaper to this Stephen business, that now--as usual--it being over, Ifeel as if nothing in the world, in the way of intense and violentrushing hither and thither, could quite restore my balance. " [184] "I have hope of Mr. Morley--whom one cannot see without knowing tobe a straightforward, earnest man. Travers, too, I think a man of theAnti-corn-law-league order. I also think Higgins will materially helpthem. Generally I quite agree with you that they hardly know what to beat; but it is an immensely difficult subject to start, and they musthave every allowance. At any rate, it is not by leaving them alone andgiving them no help, that they can be urged on to success. " 29th ofMarch 1855. [185] "The Government hit took immensely, but I'm afraid to look at thereport, these things are so ill done. It came into my head as I waswalking about at Hampstead yesterday. . . . On coming away I told B. Wemust have a toastmaster in future less given to constant drinking whilethe speeches are going on. B. Replied 'Yes sir, you are quite right sir, he has no head whatever sir, look at him now sir'--Toastmaster wasweakly contemplating the coats and hats--'do you not find it difficultto keep your hands off him sir, he ought to have his head knockedagainst the wall sir, --and he should sir, I assure you sir, if he wasnot in too debased a condition to be aware of it sir. '" April 3rd 1855. [186] For the scene of the Eddystone Lighthouse at this little play, afterwards placed in a frame in the hall at Gadshill, a thousand guineaswas given at the Dickens sale. It occupied the great painter only one ortwo mornings, and Dickens will tell how it originated. Walking onHampstead Heath to think over his Theatrical Fund speech, he met Mr. Lemon, and they went together to Stanfield. "He has been very ill, andhe told us that large pictures are too much for him, and he must confinehimself to small ones. But I would not have this, I declared he mustpaint bigger ones than ever, and what would he think of beginning uponan act-drop for a proposed vast theatre at Tavistock House? He laughedand caught at this, we cheered him up very much, and he said he wasquite a man again. " April 1855. [187] Sitting at Nisi Prius not long before, the Chief Justice, with thesame eccentric liking for literature, had committed what was called atthe time a breach of judicial decorum. (Such indecorums were lessuncommon in the great days of the Bench. ) "The name, " he said, "of theillustrious Charles Dickens has been called on the jury, but he has notanswered. If his great Chancery suit had been still going on, Icertainly would have excused him, but, as that is over, he might havedone us the honour of attending here, that he might have seen how wewent on at common law. " CHAPTER III. SWITZERLAND AND ITALY REVISITED. 1853. Swiss People--Narrow Escape--Berne--Lausanne--An Old Friend--Genoa--Peschiere revisited--On the Way to Naples--Scene on Board Steamship--A Jaunt to Pisa--A Greek War-ship--At Naples--At Rome--Time's Changes--At the Opera--A "Scattering" Party--Performance of Puppets--Malaria--Desolation--At Bolsena--At Venice--Habits of Gondoliers--Uses of Travel--Tintoretto--At Turin--Liking for the Sardinians--Austrian Police--Police Arrangements--Dickens and the Austrian--An Old Dislike. THE first news of the three travellers was from Chamounix, on the 20thof October; and in it there was little made of the fatigue, and much ofthe enjoyment, of their Swiss travel. Great attention and cleanliness atthe inns, very small windows and very bleak passages, doors opening towintery blasts, overhanging eaves and external galleries, plenty ofmilk, honey, cows, and goats, much singing towards sunset on mountainsides, mountains almost too solemn to look at--that was the picture ofit, with the country everywhere in one of its finest aspects, as winterbegan to close in. They had started from Geneva the previous morning atfour, and in their day's travel Dickens had again noticed what he spokeof formerly, the ill-favoured look of the people in the valleys owingto their hard and stern climate. "All the women were like used-up men, and all the men like a sort of fagged dogs. But the good, genuine, grateful Swiss recognition of the commonest kind word--not too oftenthrown to them by our countrymen--made them quite radiant. I walked thegreater part of the way, which was like going up the Monument. " On theday the letter was written they had been up to the Mer de Glace, findingit not so beautiful in colour as in summer, but grander in itsdesolation; the green ice, like the greater part of the ascent, beingcovered with snow. "We were alarmingly near to a very dismal accident. We were a train of four mules and two guides, going along an immenseheight like a chimney-piece, with sheer precipice below, when there camerolling from above, with fearful velocity, a block of stone about thesize of one of the fountains in Trafalgar-square, which Egg, the last ofthe party, had preceded by not a yard, when it swept over the ledge, breaking away a tree, and rolled and tumbled down into the valley. Ithad been loosened by the heavy rains, or by some wood-cutters afterwardsreported to be above. " The only place new to Dickens was Berne: "asurprisingly picturesque old Swiss town, with a view of the Alps fromthe outside of it singularly beautiful in the morning light. " Everythingelse was familiar to him: though at that winter season, when the innswere shutting up, and all who could afford it were off to Geneva, mostthings in the valley struck him with a new aspect. From such of his oldfriends as he found at Lausanne, where a day or two's rest was taken, hehad the gladdest of greetings; "and the wonderful manner in which theyturned out in the wettest morning ever beheld for a Godspeed down theLake was really quite pathetic. " He had found time to see again the deaf, dumb, and blind youth at Mr. Haldimand's Institution who had aroused so deep an interest in him sevenyears before, but, in his brief present visit, the old associationswould not reawaken. "Tremendous efforts were made by Hertzel to impresshim with an idea of me, and the associations belonging to me; but itseemed in my eyes quite a failure, and I much doubt if he had the leastperception of his old acquaintance. According to his custom, he went onmuttering strange eager sounds like Town and Down and Mown, but nothingmore. I left ten francs to be spent in cigars for my old friend. If Ihad taken one with me, I think I could, more successfully than hismaster, have established my identity. " The child similarly afflicted, the little girl whom he saw at the same old time, had been after sometrial discharged as an idiot. Before October closed, the travellers had reached Genoa, having beenthirty-one consecutive hours on the road from Milan. They arrived insomewhat damaged condition, and took up their lodging in the top roomsof the Croce di Malta, "overlooking the port and sea pleasantly andairily enough, but it was no joke to get so high, and the apartment israther vast and faded. " The warmth of personal greeting that hereawaited Dickens was given no less to the friends who accompanied him, and though the reader may not share in such private confidences as wouldshow the sensation created by his reappearance, and the jovial hoursthat were passed among old associates, he will perhaps be interested toknow how far the intervening years had changed the aspect of things andplaces made pleasantly familiar to us in his former letters. He wrote tohis sister-in-law that the old walks were pretty much the same as everexcept that there had been building behind the Peschiere up the SanBartolomeo hill, and the whole town towards San Pietro d'Arena had beenquite changed. The Bisagno looked just the same, stony just then, havingvery little water in it; the vicoli were fragrant with the same oldflavour of "very rotten cheese kept in very hot blankets;" andeverywhere he saw the mezzaro as of yore. The Jesuits' College in theStrada Nuova was become, under the changed government, the Hôtel deVille, and a splendid caffè with a terrace-garden had arisen between itand Palaviccini's old palace. "Pal himself has gone to the dogs. "Another new and handsome caffè had been built in the Piazza CarloFelice, between the old one of the Bei Arti and the Strada Carlo Felice;and the Teatro Diurno had now stone galleries and seats, like an ancientamphitheatre. "The beastly gate and guardhouse in the Albaro road arestill in their dear old beastly state; and the whole of that road isjust as it was. The man without legs is still in the Strada Nuova; butthe beggars in general are all cleared off, and our old one-arm'dBelisario made a sudden evaporation a year or two ago. I am going to thePeschiere to-day. " To myself he described his former favourite abode asconverted into a girls' college; all the paintings of gods and goddessescanvassed over, and the gardens gone to ruin; "but O! what a wonderfulplace!" He observed an extraordinary increase everywhere else, since hewas last in the splendid city, of "life, growth, and enterprise;" and hedeclared his old conviction to be confirmed that for picturesque beautyand character there was nothing in Italy, Venice excepted, "nearbrilliant old Genoa. " The voyage thence to Naples, written from the latter place, is toocapital a description to be lost. The steamer in which they embarked was"the new express English ship, " but they found her to be already morethan full of passengers from Marseilles (among them an old friend, SirEmerson Tennent, with his family), and everything in confusion. Therewere no places at the captain's table, dinner had to be taken on deck, no berth or sleeping accommodation was available, and heavy first-classfares had to be paid. Thus they made their way to Leghorn, where worseawaited them. The authorities proved to be not favourable to the "crack"English-officered vessel (she had just been started for the India mail);and her papers not being examined in time, it was too late to steam awayagain that day, and she had to lie all night long off the lighthouse. "The scene on board beggars description. Ladies on the tables; gentlemenunder the tables; bed-room appliances not usually beheld in publicairing themselves in positions where soup-tureens had been latelydeveloping themselves; and ladies and gentlemen lying indiscriminatelyon the open deck, arranged like spoons on a sideboard. No mattresses, noblankets, nothing. Towards midnight attempts were made, by means ofawning and flags, to make this latter scene remotely approach anAustralian encampment; and we three (Collins, Egg, and self) laytogether on the bare planks covered with our coats. We were allgradually dozing off, when a perfectly tropical rain fell, and in amoment drowned the whole ship. The rest of the night we passed upon thestairs, with an immense jumble of men and women. When anybody came upfor any purpose we all fell down, and when anybody came down we all fellup again. Still, the good-humour in the English part of the passengerswas quite extraordinary. . . . There were excellent officers aboard, and, in the morning, the first mate lent me his cabin to wash in--which Iafterwards lent to Egg and Collins. Then we, the Emerson Tennents, thecaptain, the doctor, and the second officer, went off on a jaunttogether to Pisa, as the ship was to lie all day at Leghorn. The captainwas a capital fellow, but I led him, facetiously, such a life the wholeday, that I got most things altered at night. Emerson Tennent's son, with the greatest amiability, insisted on turning out of his state-roomfor me, and I got a good bed there. The store-room down by the hold wasopened for Collins and Egg; and they slept with the moist sugar, thecheese in cut, the spices, the cruets, the apples and pears, in aperfect chandler's shop--in company with what a friend of ours wouldcall a hold gent, who had been so horribly wet through over night thathis condition frightened the authorities; a cat; and the steward, whodozed in an arm-chair, and all-night-long fell head foremost, once everyfive minutes, on Egg, who slept on the counter or dresser. Last night, Ihad the steward's own cabin, opening on deck, all to myself. It had beenpreviously occupied by some desolate lady who went ashore at CivitaVecchia. There was little or no sea, thank Heaven, all the trip; butthe rain was heavier than any I have ever seen, and the lightning veryconstant and vivid. We were, with the crew, some 200 people--providedwith boats, at the utmost stretch, for one hundred perhaps. I could nothelp thinking what would happen if we met with any accident: the crewbeing chiefly Maltese, and evidently fellows who would cut off alone inthe largest boat, on the least alarm; the speed very high; and therunning, thro' all the narrow rocky channels. Thank God, however, herewe are. " A whimsical postscript closed the amusing narrative. "We towed fromCivita Vecchia the entire Greek navy, I believe; consisting of a littlebrig of war with no guns, fitted as a steamer, but disabled by havingburnt the bottoms of her boilers out, in her first run. She was just bigenough to carry the captain and a crew of six or so: but the captain wasso covered with buttons and gold that there never would have been roomfor him on board to put those valuables away, if he hadn't wornthem--which he consequently did, all night. Whenever anything was wantedto be done, as slackening the tow-rope or anything of that sort, ourofficers roared at this miserable potentate, in violent English, througha speaking trumpet; of which he couldn't have understood a word in themost favourable circumstances. So he did all the wrong things first, andthe right thing always last. The absence of any knowledge of anythingbut English on the part of the officers and stewards was mostridiculous. I met an Italian gentleman on the cabin steps yesterdaymorning, vainly endeavouring to explain that he wanted a cup of tea forhis sick wife. And when we were coming out of the harbour at Genoa, andit was necessary to order away that boat of music you remember, thechief officer (called 'aft' for the purpose, as 'knowing something ofItalian') delivered himself in this explicit and clear Italian to theprincipal performer--'Now Signora, if you don't sheer off you'll be rundown, so you had better trice up that guitar of yours and put about. '" At Naples some days were passed very merrily; going up Vesuvius and intothe buried cities, with Layard who had joined them, and with theTennents. Here a small adventure befell Dickens specially, in itselfextremely unimportant; but told by him with delightful humour in aletter to his sister-in-law. The old idle Frenchman, to whom all thingsare possible, with his snuff-box and dusty umbrella, and all thedelicate and kindly observation, would have enchanted Leigh Hunt, andmade his way to the heart of Charles Lamb. After mentioning Mr. Lowther, then English chargé d'affaires in Naples, as a very agreeable fellow whohad been at the Rockingham play, he alludes to a meeting at his house. "We had an exceedingly pleasant dinner of eight, preparatory to which Iwas near having the ridiculous adventure of not being able to find thehouse and coming back dinnerless. I went in an open carriage from thehotel in all state, and the coachman to my surprise pulled up at the endof the Chiaja. 'Behold the house, ' says he, 'of Il Signor Larthoor!'--atthe same time pointing with his whip into the seventh heaven where theearly stars were shining. 'But the Signor Larthorr, ' says I, 'lives atPausilippo. ' 'It is true, ' says the coachman (still pointing to theevening star), 'but he lives high up the Salita Sant' Antonio where nocarriage ever yet ascended, and that is the house' (evening star asaforesaid), 'and one must go on foot. Behold the Salita Sant' Antonio!'I went up it, a mile and a half I should think, I got into the strangestplaces among the wildest Neapolitans; kitchens, washing-places, archways, stables, vineyards; was baited by dogs, and answered, inprofoundly unintelligible language, from behind lonely locked doors incracked female voices, quaking with fear; but could hear of no suchEnglishman, nor any Englishman. Bye and bye, I came upon a polenta-shopin the clouds, where an old Frenchman with an umbrella like a fadedtropical leaf (it had not rained in Naples for six weeks) was staring atnothing at all, with a snuff-box in his hand. To him I appealed, concerning the Signor Larthoor. 'Sir, ' said he, with the sweetestpoliteness, 'can you speak French?' 'Sir, ' said I, 'a little. ' 'Sir, 'said he, 'I presume the Signer Loothere'--you will observe that hechanged the name according to the custom of his country--'is anEnglishman?' I admitted that he was the victim of circumstances and hadthat misfortune. 'Sir, ' said he, 'one word more. _Has_ he a servant witha wooden leg?' 'Great heaven, sir, ' said I, 'how do I know? I shouldthink not, but it is possible. ' 'It is always, ' said the Frenchman, 'possible. Almost all the things of the world are always possible. ''Sir, ' said I--you may imagine my condition and dismal sense of my ownabsurdity, by this time--'that is true. ' He then took an immense pinchof snuff wiped the dust off his umbrella, led me to an arch commandinga wonderful view of the Bay of Naples, and pointed deep into the earthfrom which I had mounted. 'Below there, near the lamp, one finds anEnglishman with a servant with a wooden leg. It is always possible thathe is the Signor Loothore. ' I had been asked at six o'clock, and it wasnow getting on for seven. I went back in a state of perspiration andmisery not to be described, and without the faintest hope of finding thespot. But as I was going farther down to the lamp, I saw the strangeststaircase up a dark corner, with a man in a white waistcoat (evidentlyhired) standing on the top of it fuming. I dashed in at a venture, foundit was the house, made the most of the whole story, and achieved muchpopularity. The best of it was that as nobody ever did find the place, Lowther had put a servant at the bottom of the Salita to wait 'for anEnglish gentleman;' but the servant (as he presently pleaded), deceivedby the moustache, had allowed the English gentleman to passunchallenged. " From Naples they went to Rome, where they found Lockhart, "fearfullyweak and broken, yet hopeful of himself too" (he died the followingyear); smoked and drank punch with David Roberts, then painting everydaywith Louis Haghe in St. Peter's; and took the old walks. The Coliseum, Appian Way, and Streets of Tombs, seemed desolate and grand as ever; butgenerally, Dickens adds, "I discovered the Roman antiquities to be_smaller_ than my imagination in nine years had made them. The ElectricTelegraph now goes like a sunbeam through the cruel old heart of theColiseum--a suggestive thing to think about, I fancied. The Pantheon Ithought even nobler than of yore. " The amusements were of course anattraction; and nothing at the Opera amused the party of three Englishmore, than another party of four Americans who sat behind them in thepit. "All the seats are numbered arm-chairs, and you buy your number atthe pay-place, and go to it with the easiest direction on the ticketitself. We were early, and the four places of the Americans were on thenext row behind us--all together. After looking about them for sometime, and seeing the greater part of the seats empty (because theaudience generally wait in a caffè which is part of the theatre), one ofthem said 'Waal I dunno--I expect we aint no call to set so nigh to oneanother neither--will you scatter Kernel, will you scatter sir?--' Uponthis the Kernel 'scattered' some twenty benches off; and theydistributed themselves (for no earthly reason apparently but to get ridof one another) all over the pit. As soon as the overture began, in camethe audience in a mass. Then the people who had got the numbers intowhich they had 'scattered, ' had to get them out; and as they understoodnothing that was said to them, and could make no reply but 'A-mericani, 'you may imagine the number of cocked hats it took to dislodge them. Atlast they were all got back into their right places, except one. Aboutan hour afterwards when Moses (_Moses in Egypt_ was the opera) wasinvoking the darkness, and there was a dead silence all over the house, unwonted sounds of disturbance broke out from a distant corner of thepit, and here and there a beard got up to look. 'What is it neow sir?'said one of the Americans to another;--'some person seems to be gettingalong, again streeem. ' 'Waal sir' he replied 'I dunno. But I xpect 'tisthe Kernel sir, a holdin on. ' So it was. The Kernel was ignominiouslyescorted back to his right place, not in the least disconcerted, and inperfectly good spirits and temper. " The opera was excellently done, andthe price of the stalls one and threepence English. At Milan, on theother hand, the Scala was fallen from its old estate, dirty, gloomy, dull, and the performance execrable. Another theatre of the smallest pretension Dickens sought out withavidity in Rome, and eagerly enjoyed. He had heard it said in his oldtime in Genoa that the finest Marionetti were here; and now, after greatdifficulty, he discovered the company in a sort of stable attached to adecayed palace. "It was a wet night, and there was no audience but aparty of French officers and ourselves. We all sat together. I never sawanything more amazing than the performance--altogether only an hourlong, but managed by as many as ten people, for we saw them all gobehind, at the ringing of a bell. The saving of a young lady by a goodfairy from the machinations of an enchanter, coupled with the comicbusiness of her servant Pulcinella (the Roman Punch) formed the plot ofthe first piece. A scolding old peasant woman, who always leaned forwardto scold and put her hands in the pockets of her apron, was incrediblynatural. Pulcinella, so airy, so merry, so life-like, so graceful, hewas irresistible. To see him carrying an umbrella over his mistress'shead in a storm, talking to a prodigious giant whom he met in theforest, and going to bed with a pony, were things never to be forgotten. And so delicate are the hands of the people who move them, that everypuppet was an Italian, and did exactly what an Italian does. If hepointed at any object, if he saluted anybody, if he laughed, if hecried, he did it as never Englishman did it since Britain first atHeaven's command arose--arose--arose, &c. There was a ballet afterwards, on the same scale, and we really came away quite enchanted with thedelicate drollery of the thing. French officers more than ditto. " Of the great enemy to the health of the now capital of the kingdom ofItaly, Dickens remarked in the same letter. "I have been led into somecurious speculations by the existence and progress of the Malaria aboutRome. Isn't it very extraordinary to think of its encroaching andencroaching on the Eternal City as if it were commissioned to swallow itup. This year it has been extremely bad, and has long outstayed itsusual time. Rome has been very unhealthy, and is not free now. Fewpeople care to be out at the bad times of sunset and sunrise, and thestreets are like a desert at night. There is a church, a very little wayoutside the walls, destroyed by fire some 16 or 18 years ago, and nowrestored and re-created at an enormous expense. It stands in awilderness. For any human creature who goes near it, or can sleep nearit, after nightfall, it might as well be at the bottom of the uppermostcataract of the Nile. Along the whole extent of the Pontine Marshes(which we came across the other day), no creature in Adam's likenesslives, except the sallow people at the lonely posting-stations. I walkout from the Coliseum through the Street of Tombs to the ruins of theold Appian Way--pass no human being, and see no human habitation butruined houses from which the people have fled, and where it is Death tosleep: these houses being three miles outside a gate of Rome at itsfarthest extent. Leaving Rome by the opposite side, we travel for manymany hours over the dreary Campagna, shunned and avoided by all but thewretched shepherds. Thirteen hours' good posting brings us to Bolsena (Islept there once before), on the margin of a stagnant lake whence theworkpeople fly as the sun goes down--where it is a risk to go; wherefrom a distance we saw a mist hang on the place; where, in theinconceivably wretched inn, no window can be opened; where our dinnerwas a pale ghost of a fish with an oily omelette, and we slept in greatmouldering rooms tainted with ruined arches and heaps of dung--andcoming from which we saw no colour in the cheek of man, woman, or childfor another twenty miles. Imagine this phantom knocking at the gates ofRome; passing them; creeping along the streets; haunting the aisles andpillars of the churches; year by year more encroaching, and moreimpossible of avoidance. " From Rome they posted to Florence, reaching it in three days and a half, on the morning of the 20th of November; having then been out six weeks, with only three days' rain; and in another week they were at Venice. "The fine weather has accompanied us here, " Dickens wrote on the 28th ofNovember, "the place of all others where it is necessary, and the cityhas been a blaze of sunlight and blue sky (with an extremely clear coldair) ever since we have been in it. If you could see it at this momentyou would never forget it. We live in the same house that I lived innine years ago, and have the same sitting-room--close to the Bridge ofSighs and the Palace of the Doges. The room is at the corner of thehouse, and there is a narrow street of water running round the side: sothat we have the Grand Canal before the two front windows, and this wildlittle street at the corner window: into which, too, our three bedroomslook. We established a gondola as soon as we arrived, and we slide outof the hall on to the water twenty times a day. The gondoliers havequeer old customs that belong to their class, and some are sufficientlydisconcerting. . . . It is a point of honour with them, while they areengaged, to be always at your disposal. Hence it is no use telling themthey may go home for an hour or two--for they won't go. They rollthemselves in shaggy capuccins, great coats with hoods, and lie down onthe stone or marble pavement until they are wanted again. So that when Icome in or go out, on foot--which can be done from this house for somemiles, over little bridges and by narrow ways--I usually walk over theprincipal of my vassals, whose custom it is to snore immediately acrossthe doorway. Conceive the oddity of the most familiar things in thisplace, from one instance: Last night we go downstairs at half-pasteight, step into the gondola, slide away on the black water, ripple andplash swiftly along for a mile or two, land at a broad flight of steps, and instantly walk into the most brilliant and beautiful theatreconceivable--all silver and blue, and precious little fringes made ofglittering prisms of glass. There we sit until half-past eleven, comeout again (gondolier asleep outside the box-door), and in a moment areon the black silent water, floating away as if there were no drybuilding in the world. It stops, and in a moment we are out again, uponthe broad solid Piazza of St. Mark, brilliantly lighted with gas, verylike the Palais Royal at Paris, only far more handsome, and shining withno end of caffès. The two old pillars and the enormous bell-tower are asgruff and solid against the exquisite starlight as if they were athousand miles from the sea or any undermining water: and the front ofthe cathedral, overlaid with golden mosaics and beautiful colours, islike a thousand rainbows even in the night. " His formerly expressed notions as to art and pictures in Italy receivedconfirmation at this visit. "I am more than ever confirmed in myconviction that one of the great uses of travelling is to encourage aman to think for himself, to be bold enough always to declare withoutoffence that he _does_ think for himself, and to overcome the villainousmeanness of professing what other people have professed when he knows(if he has capacity to originate an opinion) that his profession isuntrue. The intolerable nonsense against which genteel taste andsubserviency are afraid to rise, in connection with art, is astounding. Egg's honest amazement and consternation when he saw some of the mosttrumpeted things was what the Americans call 'a caution. ' In the verysame hour and minute there were scores of people falling intoconventional raptures with that very poor Apollo, and passing over themost beautiful little figures and heads in the whole Vatican becausethey were not expressly set up to be worshipped. So in this place. Thereare pictures by Tintoretto in Venice, more delightful and masterly thanit is possible sufficiently to express. His Assembly of the Blest I dobelieve to be, take it all in all, the most wonderful and charmingpicture ever painted. Your guide-book writer, representing the generalswarming of humbugs, rather patronizes Tintoretto as a man of some sortof merit; and (bound to follow Eustace, Forsyth, and all the rest ofthem) directs you, on pain of being broke for want of gentility inappreciation, to go into ecstacies with things that have neitherimagination, nature, proportion, possibility, nor anything else in them. You immediately obey, and tell your son to obey. He tells his son, andhe tells his, and so the world gets at three-fourths of its frauds andmiseries. " The last place visited was Turin, where the travellers arrived on the5th of December, finding it, with a brightly shining sun, intensely coldand freezing hard. "There are double windows to all the rooms, but theAlpine air comes down and numbs my feet as I write (in a cap and shawl)within six feet of the fire. " There was yet something better than thisto report of that bracing Alpine air. To Dickens's remarks on theSardinian race, and to what he says of the exile of the noblestItalians, the momentous events of the few following years gave strikingcomment; nor could better proof be afforded of the judgment he broughtto the observation of what passed before him. The letter had in allrespects much interest and attractiveness. "This is a remarkablyagreeable place. A beautiful town, prosperous, thriving, growingprodigiously, as Genoa is; crowded with busy inhabitants; full of noblestreets and squares. The Alps, now covered deep with snow, are closeupon it, and here and there seem almost ready to tumble into the houses. The contrast this part of Italy presents to the rest, is amazing. Beautifully made railroads, admirably managed; cheerful, active people;spirit, energy, life, progress. In Milan, in every street, the noblepalace of some exile is a barrack, and dirty soldiers are lolling out ofthe magnificent windows--it seems as if the whole place were beinggradually absorbed into soldiers. In Naples, something like a hundredthousand troops. 'I knew, ' I said to a certain Neapolitan Marchese therewhom I had known before, and who came to see me the night after Iarrived, 'I knew a very remarkable gentleman when I was last here; whohad never been out of his own country, but was perfectly acquainted withEnglish literature, and had taught himself to speak English in thatwonderful manner that no one could have known him for a foreigner; I amvery anxious to see him again, but I forget his name. '--He named him, and his face fell directly. 'Dead?' said I. --'In exile. '--'O dear me!'said I, 'I had looked forward to seeing him again, more than any one Iwas acquainted with in the country!'--'What would you have!' says theMarchese in a low-voice. 'He was a remarkable man--full of knowledge, full of spirit, full of generosity. Where should he be but in exile!Where could he be!' We said not another word about it, but I shallalways remember the short dialogue. " On the other hand there were incidents of the Austrian occupation as towhich Dickens thought the ordinary style of comment unfair; and hisclosing remark on their police is well worth preserving. "I am stronglyinclined to think that our countrymen are to blame in the matter of theAustrian vexations to travellers that have been complained of. Theirmanner is so very bad, they are so extraordinarily suspicious, sodetermined to be done by everybody, and give so much offence. Now, theAustrian police are very strict, but they really know how to dobusiness, and they do it. And if you treat them like gentlemen, theywill always respond. When we first crossed the Austrian frontier, andwere ushered into the police office, I took off my hat. The officerimmediately took off his, and was as polite--still doing his duty, without any compromise--as it was possible to be. When we came toVenice, the arrangements were very strict, but were so business-likethat the smallest possible amount of inconvenience consistent withstrictness ensued. Here is the scene. A soldier has come into therailway carriage (a saloon on the American plan) some miles off, hastouched his hat, and asked for my passport. I have given it. Soldier hastouched his hat again, and retired as from the presence of superiorofficer. Alighted from carriage, we pass into a place like abanking-house, lighted up with gas. Nobody bullies us or drives usthere, but we must go, because the road ends there. Several soldierlyclerks. One very sharp chief. My passport is brought out of an innerroom, certified to be en règle. Very sharp chief takes it, looks at it(it is rather longer, now, than _Hamlet_), calls out--'Signor CarloDickens!' 'Here I am sir. ' 'Do you intend remaining long in Venice sir?''Probably four days sir!' 'Italian is known to you sir. You have beenin Venice before?' 'Once before sir. ' 'Perhaps you remained longer thensir?' 'No indeed; I merely came to see, and went as I came. ' 'Truly sir?Do I infer that you are going by Trieste?' 'No. I am going to Parma, andTurin, and by Paris home. ' 'A cold journey sir, I hope it may be apleasant one. ' 'Thank you. '--He gives me one very sharp look all over, and wishes me a very happy night. I wish _him_ a very happy night andit's done. The thing being done at all, could not be better done, ormore politely--though I dare say if I had been sucking a gentish caneall the time, or talking in English to my compatriots, it might notunnaturally have been different. At Turin and at Genoa there are no suchstoppages at all; but in any other part of Italy, give me an Austrian inpreference to a native functionary. At Naples it is done in a beggarly, shambling, bungling, tardy, vulgar way; but I am strengthened in my oldimpression that Naples is one of the most odious places on the face ofthe earth. The general degradation oppresses me like foul air. " CHAPTER IV. THREE SUMMERS AT BOULOGNE. 1853, 1854, and 1856. Boulogne--Visits to France--His First Residence--Fishermen's Quarter--Villa des Moulineaux--M. Beaucourt--Tenant and Landlord--French Prices--Beaucourt's Visit to England--Preparations for the Fair--English Friends--Northern Camp--Visit of Prince Albert--Grand Review--Beaucourt's Excitement--Emperor, Prince, and Dickens--Jack-Tars--Legerdemain in Perfection--Conjuring by Dickens--Making Demons of Cards--Old Residence resumed--Last of the Camp--A Household War--Feline Foes--State of Siege--Preparing for Christmas--Gilbert A'Becket. DICKENS was in Boulogne, in 1853, from the middle of June to the end ofSeptember, and for the next three months, as we have seen, was inSwitzerland and Italy. In the following year he went again to Boulognein June, and stayed, after finishing _Hard Times_, until far intoOctober. In February of 1855 he was for a fortnight in Paris with Mr. Wilkie Collins; not taking up his more prolonged residence there untilthe winter. From November 1855 to the end of April 1856 he made theFrench capital his home, working at _Little Dorrit_ during all thosemonths. Then, after a month's interval in Dover and London, he took uphis third summer residence in Boulogne, whither his younger children hadgone direct from Paris; and stayed until September, finishing _LittleDorrit_ in London in the spring of 1857. Of the first of these visits, a few lively notes of humour and characterout of his letters will tell the story sufficiently. The second andthird had points of more attractiveness. Those were the years of theFrench-English alliance, of the great exposition of English paintings, of the return of the troops from the Crimea, and of the visit of thePrince Consort to the Emperor; such interest as Dickens took in theseseveral matters appearing in his letters with the usual vividness, andthe story of his continental life coming out with amusing distinctnessin the successive pictures they paint with so much warmth and colour. Another chapter will be given to Paris. This deals only with Boulogne. For his first summer residence, in June 1853, he had taken a house onthe high ground near the Calais road; an odd French place with thestrangest little rooms and halls, but standing in the midst of a largegarden, with wood and waterfall, a conservatory opening on a great bankof roses, and paths and gates on one side to the ramparts, on the otherto the sea. Above all there was a capital proprietor and landlord, bywhom the cost of keeping up gardens and wood (which he called a forest)was defrayed, while he gave his tenant the whole range of both and allthe flowers for nothing, sold him the garden produce as it was wanted, and kept a cow on the estate to supply the family milk. "If this werebut 300 miles farther off, " wrote Dickens, "how the English would raveabout it! I do assure you that there are picturesque people, and town, and country, about this place, that quite fill up the eye and fancy. Asto the fishing people (whose dress can have changed neither in colournor in form for many many years), and their quarter of the towncobweb-hung with great brown nets across the narrow up-hill streets, they are as good as Naples, every bit. " His description both of houseand landlord, of which I tested the exactness when I visited him, was inthe old pleasant vein; requiring no connection with himself to give itinterest, but, by the charm and ease with which everything picturesqueor characteristic was disclosed, placed in the domain of art. "O the rain here yesterday!" (26th of June. ) "A great sea-fog rollingin, a strong wind blowing, and the rain coming down in torrents all daylong. . . . This house is on a great hill-side, backed up by woods of youngtrees. It faces the Haute Ville with the ramparts and the unfinishedcathedral--which capital object is exactly opposite the windows. On theslope in front, going steep down to the right, all Boulogne is piled andjumbled about in a very picturesque manner. The view is charming--closedin at last by the tops of swelling hills; and the door is within tenminutes of the post-office, and within quarter of an hour of the sea. The garden is made in terraces up the hill-side, like an Italian garden;the top walks being in the before-mentioned woods. The best part of itbegins at the level of the house, and goes up at the back, a couple ofhundred feet perhaps. There are at present thousands of roses all aboutthe house, and no end of other flowers. There are five greatsummer-houses, and (I think) fifteen fountains--not one of which(according to the invariable French custom) ever plays. The house is adoll's house of many rooms. It is one story high, with eight and thirtysteps up and down--tribune wise--to the front door: the noblest Frenchdemonstration I have ever seen I think. It is a double house; and asthere are only four windows and a pigeon-hole to be beheld in front, youwould suppose it to contain about four rooms. Being built on thehill-side, the top story of the house at the back--there are two storiesthere--opens on the level of another garden. On the ground floor thereis a very pretty hall, almost all glass; a little dining-room opening ona beautiful conservatory, which is also looked into through a greattransparent glass in a mirror-frame over the chimney-piece, just as inPaxton's room at Chatsworth; a spare bed-room, two little drawing-roomsopening into one another, the family bed-rooms, a bath-room, a glasscorridor, an open yard, and a kind of kitchen with a machinery of stovesand boilers. Above, there are eight tiny bed-rooms all opening on onegreat room in the roof, originally intended for a billiard-room. In thebasement there is an admirable kitchen with every conceivable requisitein it, a noble cellar, first-rate man's room and pantry; coach-house, stable, coal-store and wood-store; and in the garden is a pavilion, containing an excellent spare bed-room on the ground floor. Thegetting-up of these places, the looking-glasses, clocks, little stoves, all manner of fittings, must be seen to be appreciated. The conservatoryis full of choice flowers and perfectly beautiful. " Then came the charm of the letter, his description of his landlord, lightly sketched by him in print as M. Loyal-Devasseur, but here filledin with the most attractive touches his loving hand could give. "But thelandlord--M. Beaucourt--is wonderful. Everybody here has two surnames (Icannot conceive why), and M. Beaucourt, as he is always called, is byrights M. Beaucourt-Mutuel. He is a portly jolly fellow with a fine openface; lives on the hill behind, just outside the top of the garden; andwas a linen draper in the town, where he still has a shop, but issupposed to have mortgaged his business and to be in difficulties--allalong of this place, which he has planted with his own hands; which hecultivates all day; and which he never on any consideration speaks ofbut as 'the Property. ' He is extraordinarily popular in Boulogne (thepeople in the shops invariably brightening up at the mention of hisname, and congratulating us on being his tenants), and really seems todeserve it. He is such a liberal fellow that I can't bear to ask him foranything, since he instantly supplies it whatever it is. The things hehas done in respect of unreasonable bedsteads and washing-stands, Iblush to think of. I observed the other day in one of the sidegardens--there are gardens at each side of the house too--a place whereI thought the Comic Countryman" (a name he was giving just then to hisyoungest boy) "must infallibly trip over, and make a little descent of adozen feet. So I said, 'M. Beaucourt'--who instantly pulled off his capand stood bareheaded--'there are some spare pieces of wood lying by thecow-house, if you would have the kindness to have one laid across here Ithink it would be safer. ' 'Ah, mon dieu sir, ' said M. Beaucourt, 'itmust be iron. This is not a portion of the property where you would liketo see wood. ' 'But iron is so expensive, ' said I, 'and it really is notworth while----' 'Sir, pardon me a thousand times, ' said M. Beaucourt, 'it shall be iron. Assuredly and perfectly it shall be iron. ' 'Then M. Beaucourt, ' said I, 'I shall be glad to pay a moiety of the cost. ''Sir, ' said M. Beaucourt, 'Never!' Then to change the subject, he slidedfrom his firmness and gravity into a graceful conversational tone, andsaid, 'In the moonlight last night, the flowers on the propertyappeared, O Heaven, to be _bathing themselves in the sky_. You like theproperty?' 'M. Beaucourt, ' said I, 'I am enchanted with it; I am morethan satisfied with everything. ' 'And I sir, ' said M. Beaucourt, layinghis cap upon his breast, and kissing his hand--'I equally!' Yesterdaytwo blacksmiths came for a day's work, and put up a good solid handsomebit of iron-railing, morticed into the stone parapet. . . . If theextraordinary things in the house defy description, the amazingphenomena in the gardens never could have been dreamed of by anybody buta Frenchman bent upon one idea. Besides a portrait of the house in thedining-room, there is a plan of the property in the hall. It looks aboutthe size of Ireland; and to every one of the extraordinary objects, there is a reference with some portentous name. There are fifty-one suchreferences, including the Cottage of Tom Thumb, the Bridge ofAusterlitz, the Bridge of Jena, the Hermitage, the Bower of the OldGuard, the Labyrinth (I have no idea which is which); and there isguidance to every room in the house, as if it were a place on thatstupendous scale that without such a clue you must infallibly lose yourway, and perhaps perish of starvation between bedroom and bedroom. "[188] On the 3rd of July there came a fresh trait of the good fellow of alandlord. "Fancy what Beaucourt told me last night. When he 'conceivedthe inspiration' of planting the property ten years ago, he went over toEngland to buy the trees, took a small cottage in the market-gardens atPutney, lived there three months, held a symposium every night attendedby the principal gardeners of Fulham, Putney, Kew, and Hammersmith(which he calls Hamsterdam), and wound up with a supper at which themarket-gardeners rose, clinked their glasses, and exclaimed with oneaccord (I quote him exactly) VIVE BEAUCOURT! He was a captain in theNational Guard, and Cavaignac his general. Brave Capitaine Beaucourt!said Cavaignac, you must receive a decoration. My General, saidBeaucourt, No! It is enough for me that I have done my duty. I go to laythe first stone of a house upon a Property I have--that house shall bemy decoration. (Regard that house!)" Addition to the picture came in aletter of the 24th of July: with a droll glimpse of Shakespeare at thetheatre, and of the Saturday's pig-market. "I may mention that the great Beaucourt daily changes the orthography ofthis place. He has now fixed it, by having painted up outside the gardengate, 'Entrée particulière de la Villa des Moulineaux. ' On another gatea little higher up, he has had painted 'Entrée des Ecuries de la Villades Moulineaux. ' On another gate a little lower down (applicable to oneof the innumerable buildings in the garden), 'Entrée du Tom Pouce. ' Onthe highest gate of the lot, leading to his own house, 'Entrée duChâteau Napoléonienne. ' All of which inscriptions you will behold inblack and white when you come. I see little of him now, as, all thingsbeing 'bien arrangées, ' he is delicate of appearing. His wife has beenmaking a trip in the country during the last three weeks, but (as hementioned to me with his hat in his hand) it was necessary that heshould remain here, to be continually at the disposition of the tenantof the Property. (The better to do this, he has had roaring dinnerparties of fifteen daily; and the old woman who milks the cows has beenfainting up the hill under vast burdens of champagne. ) "We went to the theatre last night, to see the _Midsummer Night'sDream_--of the Opera Comique. It is a beautiful little theatre now, witha very good company; and the nonsense of the piece was done with a sensequite confounding in that connexion. Willy Am Shay Kes Peer; SirzhonFoll Stayffe; Lor Lattimeer; and that celebrated Maid of Honour to QueenElizabeth, Meees Oleeveeir--were the principal characters. "Outside the old town, an army of workmen are (and have been for a weekor so, already) employed upon an immense building which I supposed mightbe a Fort, or a Monastery, or a Barrack, or other something designed tolast for ages. I find it is for the annual fair, which begins on thefifth of August and lasts a fortnight. Almost every Sunday we have afête, where there is dancing in the open air, and where immense men withprodigious beards revolve on little wooden horses like Italian irons, inwhat we islanders call a roundabout, by the hour together. But reallythe good humour and cheerfulness are very delightful. Among the othersights of the place, there is a pig-market every Saturday, perfectlyinsupportable in its absurdity. An excited French peasant, male orfemale, with a determined young pig, is the most amazing spectacle. Isaw a little Drama enacted yesterday week, the drollery of which wasperfect. _Dram. Pers. _ 1. A pretty young woman with short petticoats andtrim blue stockings, riding a donkey with two baskets and a pig in each. 2. An ancient farmer in a blouse, driving four pigs, his four in hand, with an enormous whip--and being drawn against walls and into smokingshops by any one of the four. 3. A cart, with an old pig (manacled)looking out of it, and terrifying six hundred and fifty young pigs inthe market by his terrific grunts. 4. Collector of Octroi in an immensecocked hat, with a stream of young pigs running, night and day, betweenhis military boots and rendering accounts impossible. 5. Inimitable, confronted by a radiation of elderly pigs, fastened each by one leg to abunch of stakes in the ground. 6. John Edmund Reade, poet, expressingeternal devotion to and admiration of Landor, unconscious of approachingpig recently escaped from barrow. 7. Priests, peasants, soldiers, &c. &c. " He had meanwhile gathered friendly faces round him. Frank Stone wentover with his family to a house taken for him on the St. Omer road byDickens, who was joined in the chateau by Mr. And Mrs. Leech and Mr. Wilkie Collins. "Leech says that when he stepped from the boat aftertheir stormy passage, he was received by the congregated spectators witha distinct round of applause as by far the most intensely andunutterably miserable looking object that had yet appeared. The laughterwas tumultuous, and he wishes his friends to know that altogether hemade an immense hit. " So passed the summer months: excursions with thesefriends to Amiens and Beauvais relieving the work upon his novel, andthe trip to Italy, already described, following on its completion. In June, 1854, M. Beaucourt had again received his famous tenant, but inanother cottage or chateau (to him convertible terms) on the muchcherished property, placed on the very summit of the hill with a privateroad leading out to the Column, a really pretty place, rooms larger thanin the other house, a noble sea view, everywhere nice prospects, goodgarden, and plenty of sloping turf. [189] It was called the Villa duCamp de Droite, and here Dickens stayed, as I have intimated, until theeve of his winter residence in Paris. The formation of the Northern Camp at Boulogne began the week after hehad finished _Hard Times_, and he watched its progress, as it increasedand extended itself along the cliffs towards Calais, with the liveliestamusement. At first he was startled by the suddenness with whichsoldiers overran the roads, became billeted in every house, made thebridges red with their trowsers, and "sprang upon the pier likefantastic mustard and cress when boats were expected, many of them neverhaving seen the sea before. " But the good behaviour of the men had areconciling effect, and their ingenuity delighted him. The quicknesswith which they raised whole streets of mud-huts, less picturesque thanthe tents, [190] but (like most unpicturesque things) more comfortable, was like an Arabian Nights' tale. "Each little street holds 144 men, andevery corner-door has the number of the street upon it as soon as it isput up; and the postmen can fall to work as easily as in the Rue deRivoli at Paris. " His patience was again a little tried when he foundbaggage-wagons ploughing up his favourite walks, and trumpeters in twosand threes teaching newly-recruited trumpeters in all the sylvan places, and making the echoes hideous. But this had its amusement too. "I metto-day a weazen sun-burnt youth from the south with such an immenseregimental shako on, that he looked like a sort of lucifer match-box, evidently blowing his life rapidly out, under the auspices of twomagnificent creatures all hair and lungs, of such breadth across theshoulders that I couldn't see their breast-buttons when I stood in frontof them. " The interest culminated as the visit of the Prince Consort approachedwith its attendant glories of illuminations and reviews. Beaucourt'sexcitement became intense. The Villa du Camp de Droite was to be a blazeof triumph on the night of the arrival; Dickens, who had carried overwith him the meteor flag of England and set it streaming over a haystackin his field, [191] now hoisted the French colours over the British Jackin honour of the national alliance; the Emperor was to subside to thestation of a general officer, so that all the rejoicings should be inhonour of the Prince; and there was to be a review in the open countrynear Wimereux, when "at one stage of the maneuvres (I am too excited tospell the word but you know what I mean)" the whole hundred thousand menin the camp of the North were to be placed before the Prince's eyes, toshow him what a division of the French army might be. "I believeeverything I hear, " said Dickens. It was the state of mind of Hood'scountry gentleman after the fire at the Houses of Parliament. "Beaucourt, as one of the town council, receives summonses to turn outand debate about something, or receive somebody, every five minutes. Whenever I look out of window, or go to the door, I see an immense blackobject at Beaucourt's porch like a boat set up on end in the air with apair of white trowsers below it. This is the cocked hat of an officialHuissier, newly arrived with a summons, whose head is thrown back as heis in the act of drinking Beaucourt's wine. " The day came at last, andall Boulogne turned out for its holiday; "but I" Dickens wrote, "had bythis cooled down a little, and, reserving myself for the illuminations, I abandoned the great men and set off upon my usual country walk. See myreward. Coming home by the Calais road, covered with dust, I suddenlyfind myself face to face with Albert and Napoleon, jogging along in thepleasantest way, a little in front, talking extremely loud about theview, and attended by a brilliant staff of some sixty or seventyhorsemen, with a couple of our royal grooms with their red coats ridingoddly enough in the midst of the magnates. I took off my wide-awakewithout stopping to stare, whereupon the Emperor pulled off his cockedhat; and Albert (seeing, I suppose, that it was an Englishman) pulledoff his. Then we went our several ways. The Emperor is broader acrossthe chest than in the old times when we used to see him so often atGore-house, and stoops more in the shoulders. Indeed his carriagethereabouts is like Fonblanque's. "[192] The town he described as "onegreat flag" for the rest of the visit; and to the success of theilluminations he contributed largely himself by leading off splendidlywith a hundred and twenty wax candles blazing in his seventeen frontwindows, and visible from that great height over all the place. "On thefirst eruption Beaucourt _danced and screamed_ on the grass before thedoor; and when he was more composed, set off with Madame Beaucourt tolook at the house from every possible quarter, and, he said, collect thesuffrages of his compatriots. " Their suffrages seem to have gone, however, mainly in another direction. "It was wonderful, " Dickens wrote, "to behold about the streets thesmall French soldiers of the line seizing our Guards by the hand andembracing them. It was wonderful, too, to behold the English sailors inthe town, shaking hands with everybody and generally patronizingeverything. When the people could not get hold of either a soldier or asailor, they rejoiced in the royal grooms, and embraced _them_. I don'tthink the Boulogne people were surprised by anything so much, as by thethree cheers the crew of the yacht gave when the Emperor went aboard tolunch. The prodigious volume of them, and the precision, and thecircumstance that no man was left straggling on his own account eitherbefore or afterwards, seemed to strike the general mind with amazement. Beaucourt said it was _like boxing_. " That was written on the 10th ofSeptember; but in a very few days Dickens was unwillingly convincedthat whatever the friendly disposition to England might be, the war withRussia was decidedly unpopular. He was present when the false report ofthe taking of Sebastopol reached the Emperor and Empress. "I was at theReview" (8th of October) "yesterday week, very near the Emperor andEmpress, when the taking of Sebastopol was announced. It was amagnificent show on a magnificent day; and if any circumstance couldmake it special, the arrival of the telegraphic despatch would be theculminating point one might suppose. It quite disturbed and mortified meto find how faintly, feebly, miserably, the men responded to the call ofthe officers to cheer, as each regiment passed by. Fifty excitedEnglishmen would make a greater sign and sound than a thousand of thesemen do. . . . The Empress was very pretty, and her slight figure satcapitally on her grey horse. When the Emperor gave her the despatch toread, she flushed and fired up in a very pleasant way, and kissed itwith as natural an impulse as one could desire to see. " On the night of that day Dickens went up to see a play acted at a caféat the camp, and found himself one of an audience composed wholly ofofficers and men, with only four ladies among them, officers' wives. Thesteady, working, sensible faces all about him told their own story; "andas to kindness and consideration towards the poor actors, it was realbenevolence. " Another attraction at the camp was a conjuror, who hadbeen called to exhibit twice before the imperial party, and whom Dickensalways afterwards referred to as the most consummate master oflegerdemain he had seen. Nor was he a mean authority as to this, beinghimself, with his tools at hand, a capital conjuror;[193] but theFrenchman scorned help, stood among the company without any sort ofapparatus, and, by the mere force of sleight of hand and an astonishingmemory, performed feats having no likeness to anything Dickens had everseen done, and totally inexplicable to his most vigilant reflection. "Sofar as I know, a perfectly original genius, and that puts any sort ofknowledge of legerdemain, such as I supposed that I possessed, at utterdefiance. " The account he gave dealt with two exploits only, the easiestto describe, and, not being with cards, not the most remarkable; for hewould also say of this Frenchman that he transformed cards into verydemons. He never saw a human hand touch them in the same way, fling themabout so amazingly, or change them in his, one's own, or another's hand, with a skill so impossible to follow. "You are to observe that he was _with the company_, not in the leastremoved from them; and that we occupied the front row. He brought insome writing paper with him when he entered, and a black-lead pencil;and he wrote some words on half-sheets of paper. One of thesehalf-sheets he folded into two, and gave to Catherine to hold. Madame, he says aloud, will you think of any class of objects? I have doneso. --Of what class, Madame? Animals. --Will you think of a particularanimal, Madame? I have done so. --Of what animal? The Lion. --Will youthink of another class of objects, Madame? I have done so. --Of whatclass? Flowers. --The particular flower? The Rose. --Will you open thepaper you hold in your hand? She opened it, and there was neatly andplainly written in pencil--_The Lion. _ _The Rose. _ Nothing whatever hadled up to these words, and they were the most distant conceivable fromCatherine's thoughts when she entered the room. He had several commonschool-slates about a foot square. He took one of these to afield-officer from the camp, decoré and what not, who sat about six fromus, with a grave saturnine friend next him. My General, says he, willyou write a name on this slate, after your friend has done so? Don'tshow it to me. The friend wrote a name, and the General wrote a name. The conjuror took the slate rapidly from the officer, threw it violentlydown on the ground with its written side to the floor, and asked theofficer to put his foot upon it and keep it there: which he did. Theconjuror considered for about a minute, looking devilish hard at theGeneral. --My General, says he, your friend wrote Dagobert, upon theslate under your foot. The friend admits it. --And you, my General, wroteNicholas. General admits it, and everybody laughs and applauds. --MyGeneral, will you excuse me, if I change that name into a nameexpressive of the power of a great nation, which, in happy alliancewith the gallantry and spirit of France will shake that name to itscentre? Certainly I will excuse it. --My General, take up the slate andread. General reads: DAGOBERT, VICTORIA. The first in his friend'swriting; the second in a new hand. I never saw anything in the leastlike this; or at all approaching to the absolute certainty, thefamiliarity, quickness, absence of all machinery, and actualface-to-face, hand-to-hand fairness between the conjuror and theaudience, with which it was done. I have not the slightest idea of thesecret. --One more. He was blinded with several table napkins, and then agreat cloth was bodily thrown over them and his head too, so that hisvoice sounded as if he were under a bed. Perhaps half a dozen dates werewritten on a slate. He takes the slate in his hand, and throws itviolently down on the floor as before, remains silent a minute, seems tobecome agitated, and bursts out thus: 'What is this I see? A great city, but of narrow streets and old-fashioned houses, many of which are ofwood, resolving itself into ruins! How is it falling into ruins? Hark! Ihear the crackling of a great conflagration, and, looking up, I behold avast cloud of flame and smoke. The ground is covered with hot cinderstoo, and people are flying into the fields and endeavouring to savetheir goods. This great fire, this great wind, this roaring noise! Thisis the great fire of London, and the first date upon the slate must beone, six, six, six--the year in which it happened!' And so on with allthe other dates. There! Now, if you will take a cab and impart thesemysteries to Rogers, I shall be very glad to have his opinion of them. "Rogers had taxed our credulity with some wonderful clairvoyantexperiences of his own in Paris to which here was a parallel at last! When leaving Paris for his third visit to Boulogne, at the beginning ofJune 1856, he had not written a word of the ninth number of his newbook, and did not expect for another month to "see land from the runningsea of _Little Dorrit_. " He had resumed the house he first occupied, thecottage or villa "des Moulineaux, " and after dawdling about his gardenfor a few days with surprising industry in a French farmer garb of blueblouse, leathern belt, and military cap, which he had mounted as "theonly one for complete comfort, " he wrote to me that he was getting "Nowto work again--to work! The story lies before me, I hope, strong andclear. Not to be easily told; but nothing of that sort IS to be easilydone that _I_ know of. " At work it became his habit to sit late, andthen, putting off his usual walk until night, to lie down among theroses reading until after tea ("middle-aged Love in a blouse and belt"), when he went down to the pier. "The said pier at evening is a phase ofthe place we never see, and which I hardly knew. But I never did beholdsuch specimens of the youth of my country, male and female, as pervadethat place. They are really, in their vulgarity and insolence, quitedisheartening. One is so fearfully ashamed of them, and they contrast sovery unfavourably with the natives. " Mr. Wilkie Collins was again hiscompanion in the summer weeks, and the presence of Jerrold for thegreater part of the time added much to his enjoyment. The last of the camp was now at hand. It had only a battalion of men init, and a few days would see them out. At first there was horribleweather, "storms of wind, rushes of rain, heavy squalls, cold airs, seafogs, banging shutters, flapping doors, and beaten down rose-trees bythe hundred; but then came a delightful week among the corn fields andbean fields, and afterwards the end. It looks very singular and verymiserable. The soil being sand, and the grass having been trodden awaythese two years, the wind from the sea carries the sand into the chinksand ledges of all the doors and windows, and chokes them;--just as ifthey belonged to Arab huts in the desert. A number of thenon-commissioned officers made turf-couches outside their huts, andthere were turf orchestras for the bands to play in; all of which arefast getting sanded over in a most Egyptian manner. The Fair is on, under the walls of the haute ville over the way. At one popular show, the Malakhoff is taken every half-hour between 4 and 11. Bouncingexplosions announce every triumph of the French arms (the English havenothing to do with it); and in the intervals a man outside blows arailway whistle--straight into the dining-room. Do you know that theFrench soldiers call the English medal 'The Salvage Medal'--meaning thatthey got it for saving the English army? I don't suppose there are athousand people in all France who believe that we did anything but getrescued by the French. And I am confident that the no-result of ourprecious Chelsea enquiry has wonderfully strengthened this conviction. Nobody at home has yet any adequate idea, I am deplorably sure, of whatthe Barnacles and the Circumlocution Office have done for us. Butwhenever we get into war again, the people will begin to find out. " His own household had got into a small war already, of which thecommander-in-chief was his man-servant "French, " the bulk of the forcesengaged being his children, and the invaders two cats. Business broughthim to London on the hostilities breaking out, and on his return after afew days the story of the war was told. "Dick, " it should be said, was acanary very dear both to Dickens and his eldest daughter, who had sotamed to her loving hand its wild little heart that it was become themost docile of companions. [194] "The only thing new in this garden isthat war is raging against two particularly tigerish and fearful cats(from the mill, I suppose), which are always glaring in dark corners, after our wonderful little Dick. Keeping the house open at all points, it is impossible to shut them out, and they hide themselves in the mostterrific manner: hanging themselves up behind draperies, like bats, andtumbling out in the dead of night with frightful caterwaulings. Hereupon, French borrows Beaucourt's gun, loads the same to the muzzle, discharges it twice in vain and throws himself over with the recoil, exactly like a clown. But at last (while I was in town) he aims at themore amiable cat of the two, and shoots that animal dead. Insufferablyelated by this victory, he is now engaged from morning to night inhiding behind bushes to get aim at the other. He does nothing elsewhatever. All the boys encourage him and watch for the enemy--on whoseappearance they give an alarm which immediately serves as a warning tothe creature, who runs away. They are at this moment (ready dressed forchurch) all lying on their stomachs in various parts of the garden. Horrible whistles give notice to the gun what point it is to approach. Iam afraid to go out, lest I should be shot. Mr. Plornish says hisprayers at night in a whisper, lest the cat should overhear him and takeoffence. The tradesmen cry out as they come up the avenue, 'Me voici!C'est moi--boulanger--ne tirez pas, Monsieur Franche!' It is like livingin a state of siege; and the wonderful manner in which the cat preservesthe character of being the only person not much put out by the intensityof this monomania, is most ridiculous. " (6th of July. ) . . . "About fourpounds of powder and half a ton of shot have been (13th of July) firedoff at the cat (and the public in general) during the week. The finestthing is that immediately after I have heard the noble sportsman blazingaway at her in the garden in front, I look out of my room door into thedrawing-room, and am pretty sure to see her coming in after the birds, in the calmest manner, by the back window. Intelligence has been broughtto me from a source on which I can rely, that French has newly conceivedthe atrocious project of tempting her into the coach-house by meat andkindness, and there, from an elevated portmanteau, blowing her head off. This I mean sternly to interdict, and to do so to-day as a work ofpiety. " Besides the graver work which Mr. Wilkie Collins and himself were busywith, in these months, and by which _Household Words_ mainly was toprofit, some lighter matters occupied the leisure of both. There wereto be, at Christmas, theatricals again at Tavistock House; in which thechildren, with the help of their father and other friends, were tofollow up the success of the _Lighthouse_ by again acquitting themselvesas grown-up actors; and Mr. Collins was busy preparing for them a newdrama to be called _The Frozen Deep_, while Dickens was sketching afarce for Mr. Lemon to fill in. But this pleasant employment had suddenand sad interruption. An epidemic broke out in the town, affecting the children of severalfamilies known to Dickens, among them that of his friend Mr. GilbertA'Becket; who, upon arriving from Paris, and finding a favourite littleson stricken dangerously, sank himself under an illness from which hehad been suffering, and died two days after the boy. "He had for threedays shown symptoms of rallying, and we had some hope of his recovery;but he sank and died, and never even knew that the child had gone beforehim. A sad, sad story. " Dickens meanwhile had sent his own children homewith his wife, and the rest soon followed. Poor M. Beaucourt wasinconsolable. "The desolation of the place is wretched. When Mamey andKatey went, Beaucourt came in and wept. He really is almostbroken-hearted about it. He had planted all manner of flowers for nextmonth, and has thrown down the spade and left off weeding the garden, sothat it looks something like a dreary bird-cage with all manner ofgrasses and chickweeds sticking through the bars and lying in the sand. 'Such a loss too, ' he says, 'for Monsieur Dickens!' Then he looks in atthe kitchen window (which seems to be his only relief), and sighshimself up the hill home. "[195] The interval of residence in Paris between these two last visits toBoulogne is now to be described. FOOTNOTES: [188] Prices are reported in one of the letters; and, considering whatthey have been since, the touch of disappointment hinted at may raise asmile. "Provisions are scarcely as cheap as I expected, though verydifferent from London: besides which, a pound weight here, is a poundand a quarter English. So that meat at 7_d. _ a pound, is actually afourth less. A capital dish of asparagus costs us about fivepence; afowl, one and threepence; a duck, a few halfpence more; a dish of fish, about a shilling. The very best wine at tenpence that I ever drank--Iused to get it very good for the same money in Genoa, but not so good. The common people very engaging and obliging. " [189] Besides the old friends before named, Thackeray and his familywere here in the early weeks, living "in a melancholy but very goodchateau on the Paris road, where their landlord (a Baron) has suppliedthem, T. Tells me, with one milk-jug as the entire crockery of theestablishment. " Our friend soon tired of this, going off to Spa, and onhis return, after ascending the hill to smoke a farewell cigar withDickens, left for London and Scotland in October. [190] Another of his letters questioned even the picturesqueness alittle, for he discovered that on a sunny day the white tents, seen froma distance, looked exactly like an immense washing establishment withall the linen put out to dry. [191] "Whence it can be seen for miles and miles, to the glory ofEngland and the joy of Beaucourt. " [192] The picture had changed drearily in less than a year and a half, when (17th of Feb. 1856) Dickens thus wrote from Paris. "I supposemortal man out of bed never looked so ill and worn as the Emperor doesjust now. He passed close by me on horseback, as I was coming in at thedoor on Friday, and I never saw so haggard a face. Some English salutedhim, and he lifted his hand to his hat as slowly, painfully, andlaboriously, as if his arm were made of lead. I think he _must_ be inpain. " [193] I permit myself to quote from the bill of one of hisentertainments in the old merry days at Bonchurch (ii. 425-434), ofcourse drawn up by himself, whom it describes as "The UnparalleledNecromancer RHIA RHAMA RHOOS, educated cabalistically in the OrangeGroves of Salamanca and the Ocean Caves of Alum Bay, " some of whoseproposed wonders it thus prefigures: THE LEAPING CARD WONDER. Two Cards being drawn from the Pack by two of the company, and placed, with the Pack, in the Necromancer's box, will leap forth at the command of any lady of not less than eight, or more than eighty, years of age. *** _This wonder is the result of nine years' seclusion in the mines of Russia. _ THE PYRAMID WONDER. A shilling being lent to the Necromancer by any gentleman of not less than twelve months, or more than one hundred years, of age, and carefully marked by the said gentleman, will disappear from within a brazen box at the word of command, and pass through the hearts of an infinity of boxes, which will afterwards build themselves into pyramids and sink into a small mahogany box, at the Necromancer's bidding. *** _Five thousand guineas were paid for the acquisition of this wonder, to a Chinese Mandarin, who died of grief immediately after parting with the secret. _ THE CONFLAGRATION WONDER. A Card being drawn from the Pack by any lady, not under a direct and positive promise of marriage, will be immediately named by the Necromancer, destroyed by fire, and reproduced from its own ashes. *** _An annuity of one thousand pounds has been offered to the Necromancer by the Directors of the Sun Fire Office for the secret of this wonder--and refused!!!_ THE LOAF OF BREAD WONDER. The watch of any truly prepossessing lady, of any age, single or married, being locked by the Necromancer in a strong box, will fly at the word of command from within that box into the heart of an ordinary half-quartern loaf, whence it shall be cut out in the presence of the whole company, whose cries of astonishment will be audible at a distance of some miles. *** _Ten years in the Plains of Tartary were devoted to the study of this wonder. _ THE TRAVELLING DOLL WONDER. The travelling doll is composed of solid wood throughout, but, by putting on a travelling dress of the simplest construction, becomes invisible, performs enormous journeys in half a minute, and passes from visibility to invisibility with an expedition so astonishing that no eye can follow its transformations. *** _The Necromancer's attendant usually faints on beholding this wonder, and is only to be revived by the administration of brandy and water. _ THE PUDDING WONDER. The company having agreed among themselves to offer to the Necromancer, by way of loan, the hat of any gentleman whose head has arrived at maturity of size, the Necromancer, without removing that hat for an instant from before the eyes of the delighted company, will light a fire in it, make a plum pudding in his magic saucepan, boil it over the said fire, produce it in two minutes, thoroughly done, cut it, and dispense it in portions to the whole company, for their consumption then and there; returning the hat at last, wholly uninjured by fire, to its lawful owner. *** _The extreme liberality of this wonder awakening the jealousy of the beneficent Austrian Government, when exhibited in Milan, the Necromancer had the honour to be seized, and confined for five years in the fortress of that city. _ [194] Dick died at Gadshill in 1866, in the sixteenth year of his age, and was honoured with a small tomb and epitaph. [195] I cannot take leave of M. Beaucourt without saying that I amnecessarily silent as to the most touching traits recorded of him byDickens, because they refer to the generosity shown by him to an Englishfamily in occupation of another of his houses, in connection with whomhis losses must have been considerable, but for whom he had nothing buthelp and sympathy. Replying to some questions about them, put by Dickensone day, he had only enlarged on their sacrifices and self-denials. "Ahthat family, unfortunate! 'And you, Monsieur Beaucourt, ' I said to him, 'you are unfortunate too, God knows!' Upon which he said in thepleasantest way in the world, Ah, Monsieur Dickens, thank you, don'tspeak of it!--And backed himself down the avenue with his cap in hishand, as if he were going to back himself straight into the eveningstar, without the ceremony of dying first. I never did see such agentle, kind heart. " CHAPTER V. RESIDENCE IN PARIS. 1855-1856. Actors and Dramas--Criticism of Frédéric Lemaitre--Increase of Celebrity--French Translation of Dickens--Conventionalities of the Théâtre Français--_Paradise Lost_ at the Ambigu--Profane Nonsense--French _As You Like It_--Story of a French Drama--Auber and Queen Victoria--Robinson Crusoe--A Compliment and its Result--Madame Scribe--Ristori--Viardot in Orphée--Madame Dudevant at the Viardots--Banquet at Girardin's--National and Personal Compliment--Second Banquet--The Bourse and its Victims--Entry of Troops from Crimea--Paris illuminated--Streets on New Year's Day--Results of Imperial Improvement--English and French Art--French and English Nature--Sitting to Ary Scheffer--A Reading in Scheffer's Studio--Scheffer's Opinion of the Likeness--A Duchess murdered--A Chance Encounter, and what came of it. IN Paris Dickens's life was passed among artists, and in the exercise ofhis own art. His associates were writers, painters, actors, ormusicians, and when he wanted relief from any strain of work he found itat the theatre. The years since his last residence in the great city hadmade him better known, and the increased attentions pleased him. He hadto help in preparing for a translation of his books into French; andthis, with continued labour at the story he had in hand, occupied him aslong as he remained. It will be all best told by extracts from hisletters; in which the people he met, the theatres he visited, and theincidents, public or private, that seemed to him worthy of mention, reappear with the old force and liveliness. Nor is anything better worth preserving from them than choice bits ofdescription of an actor or a drama, for this perishable enjoyment hasonly so much as may survive out of such recollections to witness foritself to another generation; and an unusually high place may bechallenged for the subtlety and delicacy of what is said in theseletters of things theatrical, when the writer was especially attractedby a performer or a play. Frédéric Lemaitre has never had a highertribute than Dickens paid to him during his few days' earlier stay atParis in the spring. "Incomparably the finest acting I ever saw, I saw last night at theAmbigu. They have revived that old piece, once immensely popular inLondon under the name of _Thirty Years of a Gambler's Life_. OldLemaitre plays his famous character, [196] and never did I see anything, in art, so exaltedly horrible and awful. In the earlier acts he was sowell made up, and so light and active, that he really lookedsufficiently young. But in the last two, when he had grown old andmiserable, he did the finest things, I really believe, that are withinthe power of acting. Two or three times, a great cry of horror went allround the house. When he met, in the inn yard, the traveller whom hemurders, and first saw his money, the manner in which the crime cameinto his head--and eyes--was as truthful as it was terrific. Thistraveller, being a good fellow, gives him wine. You should see the dimremembrance of his better days that comes over him as he takes theglass, and in a strange dazed way makes as if he were going to touch theother man's, or do some airy thing with it; and then stops and flingsthe contents down his hot throat, as if he were pouring it into alime-kiln. But this was nothing to what follows after he has done themurder, and comes home, with a basket of provisions, a ragged pocketfull of money, and a badly-washed bloody right hand--which his littlegirl finds out. After the child asked him if he had hurt his hand, hisgoing aside, turning himself round, and looking over all his clothes forspots, was so inexpressibly dreadful that it really scared one. Hecalled for wine, and the sickness that came upon him when he saw thecolour, was one of the things that brought out the curious cry I havespoken of, from the audience. Then he fell into a sort of bloody mist, and went on to the end groping about, with no mind for anything, exceptmaking his fortune by staking this money, and a faint dull kind of lovefor the child. It is quite impossible to satisfy one's-self by sayingenough of such a magnificent performance. I have never seen him comenear its finest points, in anything else. He said two things in a waythat alone would put him far apart from all other actors. One to hiswife, when he has exultingly shewn her the money and she has asked himhow he got it--'I found it'--and the other to his old companion andtempter, when he charged him with having killed that traveller, and hesuddenly went headlong mad and took him by the throat and howled out, 'It wasn't I who murdered him--it was Misery!' And such a dress; such aface; and, above all, such an extraordinary guilty wicked thing as hemade of a knotted branch of a tree which was his walking-stick, from themoment when the idea of the murder came into his head! I could writepages about him. It is an impression quite ineffaceable. He gothalf-boastful of that walking-staff to himself, and half-afraid of it;and didn't know whether to be grimly pleased that it had the jagged end, or to hate it and be horrified at it. He sat at a little table in theinn-yard, drinking with the traveller; and this horrible stick gotbetween them like the Devil, while he counted on his fingers the uses hecould put the money to. " That was at the close of February. In October, Dickens's longerresidence began. He betook himself with his family, after twounsuccessful attempts in the new region of the Rue Balzac and Rue LordByron, to an apartment in the Avenue des Champs Elysées. Over him was anEnglish bachelor with an establishment consisting of an English groomand five English horses. "The concierge and his wife told us that hisname was _Six_, which drove me nearly mad until we discovered it to be_Sykes_. " The situation was a good one, very cheerful for himself andwith amusement for his children. It was a quarter of a mile aboveFranconi's on the other side of the way, and within a door or two of theJardin d'Hiver. The Exposition was just below; the Barrière de l'Etoilefrom a quarter to half a mile below; and all Paris, including Emperorand Empress coming from and returning to St. Cloud, thronged past thewindows in open carriages or on horseback, all day long. Now it was hefound himself more of a celebrity than when he had wintered in the citynine years before;[197] the feuilleton of the _Moniteur_ was filleddaily with a translation of _Chuzzlewit_; and he had soon to considerthe proposal I have named, to publish in French his collected novels andtales. [198] Before he had been a week in his new abode, Ary Scheffer, "a frank and noble fellow, " had made his acquaintance; introduced him toseveral distinguished Frenchmen; and expressed the wish to paint him. ToScheffer was also due an advantage obtained for my friend's two littledaughters of which they may always keep the memory with pride. "Mameyand Katey are learning Italian, and their master is Manin of Venetianfame, the best and the noblest of those unhappy gentlemen. He came herewith a wife and a beloved daughter, and they are both dead. Scheffermade him known to me, and has been, I understand, wonderfully generousand good to him. " Nor may I omit to state the enjoyment afforded him, not only by the presence in Paris during the winter of Mr. WilkieCollins and of Mr. And Mrs. White of Bonchurch, but by the many friendsfrom England whom the Art Exposition brought over. Sir AlexanderCockburn was one of these; Edwin Landseer, Charles Robert Leslie, andWilliam Boxall, were others. Macready left his retreat at Sherborne tomake him a visit of several days. Thackeray went to and fro all thetime between London and his mother's house, also in the Champs Elysées, where his daughters were. And Paris for the time was the home of RobertLytton, who belonged to the Embassy, of the Sartorises, of theBrownings, and of others whom Dickens liked and cared for. At the first play he went to, the performance was stopped while the newsof the last Crimean engagement, just issued in a supplement to the_Moniteur_, was read from the stage. "It made not the faintest effectupon the audience; and even the hired claqueurs, who had been absurdlyloud during the piece, seemed to consider the war not at all withintheir contract, and were as stagnant as ditch-water. The theatre wasfull. It is quite impossible to see such apathy, and suppose the war tobe popular, whatever may be asserted to the contrary. " The day before, he had met the Emperor and the King of Sardinia in the streets, "and, asusual, no man touching his hat, and very very few so much as lookinground. " The success of a most agreeable little piece by our old friend Regniertook him next to the Français, where Plessy's acting enchanted him. "Ofcourse the interest of it turns upon a flawed piece of living china(_that_ seems to be positively essential), but, as in most of thesecases, if you will accept the position in which you find the people, youhave nothing more to bother your morality about. " The theatre in the RueRichelieu, however, was not generally his favourite resort. He used totalk of it whimsically as a kind of tomb, where you went, as the Easternpeople did in the stories, to think of your unsuccessful loves and deadrelations. "There is a dreary classicality at that establishmentcalculated to freeze the marrow. Between ourselves, even one's bestfriends there are at times very aggravating. One tires of seeing a man, through any number of acts, remembering everything by patting hisforehead with the flat of his hand, jerking out sentences by shakinghimself, and piling them up in pyramids over his head with his rightforefinger. And they have a generic small comedy-piece, where you seetwo sofas and three little tables, to which a man enters with his haton, to talk to another man--and in respect of which you know exactlywhen he will get up from one sofa to sit on the other, and take his hatoff one table to put it upon the other--which strikes one quite asludicrously as a good farce. [199]. . . There seems to be a good piece atthe Vaudeville, on the idea of the _Town and Country Mouse_. It is toorespectable and inoffensive for me to-night, but I hope to see it beforeI leave . . . I have a horrible idea of making friends with Franconi, andsauntering when I am at work into their sawdust green-room. " At a theatre of a yet heavier school than the Français he had a drearierexperience. "On Wednesday we went to the Odéon to see a new piece, infour acts and in verse, called _Michel Cervantes_. I suppose such aninfernal dose of ditch water never was concocted. But there were certainpassages, describing the suppression of public opinion in Madrid, whichwere received with a shout of savage application to France that made onestare again! And once more, here again, at every pause, steady, compact, regular as military drums, the Ça Ira!" On another night, even at thePorte St. Martin, drawn there doubtless by the attraction of repulsion, he supped full with the horrors of classicality at a performance of_Orestes_ versified by Alexandre Dumas. "Nothing have I ever seen soweighty and so ridiculous. If I had not already learnt to tremble at thesight of classic drapery on the human form, I should have plumbed theutmost depths of terrified boredom in this achievement. The chorus isnot preserved otherwise than that bits of it are taken out forcharacters to speak. It is really so bad as to be almost good. Some ofthe Frenchified classical anguish struck me as so unspeakably ridiculousthat it puts me on the broad grin as I write. " At the same theatre, in the early spring, he had a somewhat livelierentertainment. "I was at the Porte St. Martin last night, where there isa rather good melodrama called _Sang Melé_, in which one of thecharacters is an English Lord--Lord William Falkland--who is calledthroughout the piece Milor Williams Fack Lorn, and is a hundred timesdescribed by others and described by himself as Williams. He isadmirably played; but two English travelling ladies are beyondexpression ridiculous, and there is something positively vicious intheir utter want of truth. One 'set, ' where the action of a whole act issupposed to take place in the great wooden verandah of a Swiss hoteloverhanging a mountain ravine, is the best piece of stage carpentering Ihave seen in France. Next week we are to have at the Ambigu _ParadiseLost_, with the murder of Abel, and the Deluge. The wildest rumours areafloat as to the un-dressing of our first parents. " Anticipation faroutdoes a reality of this kind; and at the fever-pitch to which rumoursraised it here, Dickens might vainly have attempted to get admission onthe first night, if Mr. Webster, the English manager and comedian, hadnot obtained a ticket for him. He went with Mr. Wilkie Collins. "We wererung in (out of the café below the Ambigu) at 8, and the play was overat half-past 1; the waits between the acts being very much longer thanthe acts themselves. The house was crammed to excess in every part, andthe galleries awful with Blouses, who again, during the whole of thewaits, beat with the regularity of military drums the revolutionary tuneof famous memory--Ça Ira! The play is a compound of _Paradise Lost_ andByron's _Cain_; and some of the controversies between the archangel andthe devil, when the celestial power argues with the infernal inconversational French, as 'Eh bien! Satan, crois-tu donc que notreSeigneur t'aurait exposé aux tourments que t'endures à présent, sansavoir prévu, ' &c. &c. Are very ridiculous. All the supernaturalpersonages are alarmingly natural (as theatre nature goes), and walkabout in the stupidest way. Which has occasioned Collins and myself toinstitute a perquisition whether the French ever have shown any kind ofidea of the supernatural; and to decide this rather in the negative. Thepeople are very well dressed, and Eve very modestly. All Paris and theprovinces had been ransacked for a woman who had brown hair that wouldfall to the calves of her legs--and she was found at last at the Odéon. There was nothing attractive until the 4th act, when there was a prettygood scene of the children of Cain dancing in, and desecrating, atemple, while Abel and his family were hammering hard at the Ark, outside; in all the pauses of the revel. The Deluge in the fifth act wasup to about the mark of a drowning scene at the Adelphi; but it had onenew feature. When the rain ceased, and the ark drove in on the greatexpanse of water, then lying waveless as the mists cleared and the sunbroke out, numbers of bodies drifted up and down. These were all realmen and boys, each separate, on a new kind of horizontal sloat. Theylooked horrible and real. Altogether, a merely dull business; but I daresay it will go for a long while. " A piece of honest farce is a relief from these profane absurdities. "Anuncommonly droll piece with an original comic idea in it has been incourse of representation here. It is called _Les Cheveux de ma Femme_. Aman who is dotingly fond of his wife, and who wishes to know whether sheloved anybody else before they were married, cuts off a lock of her hairby stealth, and takes it to a great mesmeriser, who submits it to aclairvoyante who never was wrong. It is discovered that the owner ofthis hair has been up to the most frightful dissipations, insomuch thatthe clairvoyante can't mention half of them. The distracted husband goeshome to reproach his wife, and she then reveals that she wears a wig, and takes it off. " The last piece he went to see before leaving Paris was a French versionof _As You Like It_; but he found two acts of it to be more than enough. "In _Comme il vous Plaira_ nobody had anything to do but to sit down asoften as possible on as many stones and trunks of trees as possible. When I had seen Jacques seat himself on 17 roots of trees, and 25 greystones, which was at the end of the second act, I came away. " Only onemore sketch taken in a theatre, and perhaps the best, I will give fromthese letters. It simply tells us what is necessary to understand aparticular "tag" to a play, but it is related so prettily that the thingit celebrates could not have a nicer effect than is produced by thisaccount of it. The play in question, _Mémoires du Diable_, and anotherpiece of enchanting interest, the _Médecin des Enfants_, [200] were hisfavourites among all he saw at this time. "As I have no news, I may aswell tell you about the tag that I thought so pretty to the _Mémoiresdu Diable_; in which piece by the way, there is a most admirable part, most admirably played, in which a man says merely 'Yes' or 'No' allthrough the piece, until the last scene. A certain M. Robin has got holdof the papers of a deceased lawyer, concerning a certain estate whichhas been swindled away from its rightful owner, a Baron's widow, intoother hands. They disclose so much roguery that he binds them up into avolume lettered 'Mémoires du Diable. ' The knowledge he derives fromthese papers not only enables him to unmask the hypocrites all throughthe piece (in an excellent manner), but induces him to propose to theBaroness that if he restores to her her estate and good name--for evenher marriage to the deceased Baron is denied--she shall give him herdaughter in marriage. The daughter herself, on hearing the offer, accepts it; and a part of the plot is, her going to a masked ball, towhich he goes as the Devil, to see how she likes him (when she finds, ofcourse, that she likes him very much). The country people about theChâteau in dispute, suppose him to be really the Devil, because of hisstrange knowledge, and his strange comings and goings; and he, beingwith this girl in one of its old rooms, in the beginning of the 3rd act, shews her a little coffer on the table with a bell in it. 'Theysuppose, ' he tells her, 'that whenever this bell is rung, I appear andobey the summons. Very ignorant, isn't it? But, if you ever want meparticularly--very particularly--ring the little bell and try. ' The plotproceeds to its development. The wrong-doers are exposed; the missingdocument, proving the marriage, is found; everything is finished; theyare all on the stage; and M. Robin hands the paper to the Baroness. 'Youare reinstated in your rights, Madame; you are happy; I will not holdyou to a compact made when you didn't know me; I release you and yourfair daughter; the pleasure of doing what I have done, is my sufficientreward; I kiss your hand and take my leave. Farewell!' He backs himselfcourteously out; the piece seems concluded, everybody wonders, the girl(little Mdlle. Luther) stands amazed; when she suddenly remembers thelittle bell. In the prettiest way possible, she runs to the coffer onthe table, takes out the little bell, rings it, and he comes rushingback and folds her to his heart. I never saw a prettier thing in mylife. It made me laugh in that most delightful of ways, with the tearsin my eyes; so that I can never forget it, and must go and see itagain. " But great as was the pleasure thus derived from the theatre, he was, inthe matter of social intercourse, even more indebted to distinguishedmen connected with it by authorship or acting. At Scribe's he wasentertained frequently; and "very handsome and pleasant" was his accountof the dinners, as of all the belongings, of the prolific dramatist--acharming place in Paris, a fine estate in the country, capital carriage, handsome pair of horses, "all made, as he says, by his pen. " One of theguests the first evening was Auber, "a stolid little elderly man, ratherpetulant in manner, " who told Dickens he had once lived "at StockNoonton" (Stoke Newington) to study English, but had forgotten it all. "Louis Philippe had invited him to meet the Queen of England, and whenL. P. Presented him, the Queen said, 'We are such old acquaintancesthrough M. Auber's works, that an introduction is quite unnecessary. '"They met again a few nights later, with the author of the _History ofthe Girondins_, at the hospitable table of M. Pichot, to whom Lamartinehad expressed a strong desire again to meet Dickens as "un des grandsamis de son imagination. " "He continues to be precisely as we formerlyknew him, both in appearance and manner; highly prepossessing, and witha sort of calm passion about him, very taking indeed. We talked of DeFoe[201] and Richardson, and of that wonderful genius for the minutestdetails in a narrative, which has given them so much fame in France. Ifound him frank and unaffected, and full of curious knowledge of theFrench common people. He informed the company at dinner that he hadrarely met a foreigner who spoke French so easily as your inimitablecorrespondent, whereat your correspondent blushed modestly, and almostimmediately afterwards so nearly choked himself with the bone of a fowl(which is still in his throat), that he sat in torture for ten minuteswith a strong apprehension that he was going to make the good Pichotfamous by dying like the little Hunchback at his table. Scribe and hiswife were of the party, but had to go away at the ice-time because itwas the first representation at the Opéra Comique of a new opera byAuber and himself, of which very great expectations have been formed. Itwas very curious to see him--the author of 400 pieces--getting nervousas the time approached, and pulling out his watch every minute. At lasthe dashed out as if he were going into what a friend of mine calls aplunge-bath. Whereat she rose and followed. She is the mostextraordinary woman I ever beheld; for her eldest son must be thirty, and she has the figure of five-and-twenty, and is strikingly handsome. So graceful too, that her manner of rising, curtseying, laughing, andgoing out after him, was pleasanter than the pleasantest thing I haveever seen done on the stage. " The opera Dickens himself saw a weeklater, and wrote of it as "most charming. Delightful music, an excellentstory, immense stage tact, capital scenic arrangements, and the mostdelightful little prima donna ever seen or heard, in the person of MarieCabel. It is called _Manon Lescaut_--from the old romance--and ischarming throughout. She sings a laughing song in it which is receivedwith madness, and which is the only real laughing song that ever waswritten. Auber told me that when it was first rehearsed, it made agreat effect upon the orchestra; and that he could not have had a bettercompliment upon its freshness than the musical director paid him, incoming and clapping him on the shoulder with 'Bravo, jeune homme! Celapromet bien!'" At dinner at Regnier's he met M. Legouvet, in whose tragedy Rachel, after its acceptance, had refused to act Medea; a caprice which had lednot only to her condemnation in costs of so much a night until she didact it, but to a quasi rivalry against her by Ristori, who was now onher way to Paris to play it in Italian. To this performance Dickens andMacready subsequently went together, and pronounced it to be hopelesslybad. "In the day entertainments, and little melodrama theatres, ofItaly, I have seen the same thing fifty times, only not at once soconventional and so exaggerated. The papers have all been in fitsrespecting the sublimity of the performance, and the genuineness of theapplause--particularly of the bouquets; which were thrown on at the mostpreposterous times in the midst of agonizing scenes, so that thecharacters had to pick their way among them, and a certain stoutgentleman who played King Creon was obliged to keep a wary eye, allnight, on the proscenium boxes, and dodge them as they came down. NowScribe, who dined here next day (and who follows on the Ristori side, being offended, as everybody has been, by the insolence of Rachel), could not resist the temptation of telling us, that, going round at theend of the first act to offer his congratulations, he met all thebouquets coming back in men's arms to be thrown on again in the secondact. . . . By the bye, I see a fine actor lost in Scribe. In all hispieces he has everything done in his own way; and on that same night hewas showing what Rachel did not do, and wouldn't do, in the last sceneof Adrienne Lecouvreur, with extraordinary force and intensity. " At the house of another great artist, Madame Viardot, [202] the sister ofMalibran, Dickens dined to meet Georges Sands, that lady havingappointed the day and hour for the interesting festival, which came offduly on the 10th of January. "I suppose it to be impossible to imagineanybody more unlike my preconceptions than the illustrious Sand. Justthe kind of woman in appearance whom you might suppose to be the Queen'smonthly nurse. Chubby, matronly, swarthy, black-eyed. Nothing of theblue-stocking about her, except a little final way of settling all youropinions with hers, which I take to have been acquired in the countrywhere she lives, and in the domination of a small circle. A singularlyordinary woman in appearance and manner. The dinner was very good andremarkably unpretending. Ourselves, Madame and her son, the Scheffers, the Sartorises, and some Lady somebody (from the Crimea last) who wore aspecies of paletot, and smoked. The Viardots have a house away in thenew part of Paris, which looks exactly as if they had moved into it lastweek and were going away next. Notwithstanding which, they have lived init eight years. The opera the very last thing on earth you wouldassociate with the family. Piano not even opened. Her husband is anextremely good fellow, and she is as natural as it is possible to be. " Dickens was hardly the man to take fair measure of Madame Dudevant inmeeting her thus. He was not familiar with her writings, and had no veryspecial liking for such of them as he knew. But no disappointment, nothing but amazement, awaited him at a dinner that followed soon after. Emile de Girardin gave a banquet in his honour. His description of it, which he declares to be strictly prosaic, sounds a little Oriental, butnot inappropriately so. "No man unacquainted with my determination neverto embellish or fancify such accounts, could believe in the descriptionI shall let off when we meet of dining at Emile Girardin's--of the threegorgeous drawing rooms with ten thousand wax candles in golden sconces, terminating in a dining-room of unprecedented magnificence with twoenormous transparent plate-glass doors in it, looking (across anante-chamber full of clean plates) straight into the kitchen, with thecooks in their white paper caps dishing the dinner. From his seat in themidst of the table, the host (like a Giant in a Fairy story) beholds thekitchen, and the snow-white tables, and the profound order and silencethere prevailing. Forth from the plate-glass doors issues theBanquet--the most wonderful feast ever tasted by mortal: at the presentprice of Truffles, that article alone costing (for eight people) atleast five pounds. On the table are ground glass jugs of peculiarconstruction, laden with the finest growth of Champagne and the coolestice. With the third course is issued Port Wine (previously unheard of ina good state on this continent), which would fetch two guineas a bottleat any sale. The dinner done, Oriental flowers in vases of golden cobwebare placed upon the board. With the ice is issued Brandy, buried for 100years. To that succeeds Coffee, brought by the brother of one of theconvives from the remotest East, in exchange for an equal quantity ofCalifornia gold dust. The company being returned to thedrawing-room--tables roll in by unseen agency, laden with Cigarettesfrom the Hareem of the Sultan, and with cool drinks in which the flavourof the Lemon arrived yesterday from Algeria, struggles voluptuously withthe delicate Orange arrived this morning from Lisbon. That period past, and the guests reposing on Divans worked with many-coloured blossoms, big table rolls in, heavy with massive furniture of silver, andbreathing incense in the form of a little present of Tea direct fromChina--table and all, I believe; but cannot swear to it, and am resolvedto be prosaic. All this time the host perpetually repeats 'Ce petitdîner-ci n'est que pour faire la connaissance de Monsieur Dickens; il necompte pas; ce n'est rien. ' And even now I have forgotten to set downhalf of it--in particular the item of a far larger plum pudding thanever was seen in England at Christmas time, served with a celestialsauce in colour like the orange blossom, and in substance like theblossom powdered and bathed in dew, and called in the carte (carte in agold frame like a little fish-slice to be handed about) 'Hommage àl'illustre écrivain d'Angleterre. ' That illustrious man staggered out atthe last drawing-room door, speechless with wonder, finally; and even atthat moment his host, holding to his lips a chalice set with preciousstones and containing nectar distilled from the air that blew over thefields of beans in bloom for fifteen summers, remarked 'Le dîner quenous avons eu, mon cher, n'est rien--il ne compte pas--il a ététout-à-fait en famille--il faut dîner (en vérité, dîner) bientôt. Auplaisir! Au revoir! Au dîner!'" The second dinner came, wonderful as the first; among the company wereRegnier, Jules Sandeau, and the new Director of the Français; and hishost again played Lucullus in the same style, with success even moreconsummate. The only absolutely new incident however was that "Afterdinner he asked me if I would come into another room and smoke a cigar?and on my saying Yes, coolly opened a drawer, containing about 5000inestimable cigars in prodigious bundles--just as the Captain of theRobbers in _Ali Baba_ might have gone to a corner of the cave for balesof brocade. A little man dined who was blacking shoes 8 years ago, andis now enormously rich--the richest man in Paris--having ascended withrapidity up the usual ladder of the Bourse. By merely observing thatperhaps he might come down again, I clouded so many faces as to renderit very clear to me that _everybody present_ was at the same game forsome stake or other!" He returned to that subject in a letter a few dayslater. "If you were to see the steps of the Bourse at about 4 in theafternoon, and the crowd of blouses and patches among the speculatorsthere assembled, all howling and haggard with speculation, you wouldstand aghast at the consideration of what must be going on. Conciergesand people like that perpetually blow their brains out, or fly into theSeine, 'à cause des pertes sur la Bourse. ' I hardly ever take up aFrench paper without lighting on such a paragraph. On the other hand, thoroughbred horses without end, and red velvet carriages with white kidharness on jet black horses, go by here all day long; and thepedestrians who turn to look at them, laugh, and say 'C'est la Bourse!'Such crashes must be staved off every week as have not been seen sinceLaw's time. " Another picture connects itself with this, and throws light on thespeculation thus raging. The French loans connected with the war, somuch puffed and praised in England at the time for the supposed spiritin which they were taken up, had in fact only ministered to thecommonest and lowest gambling; and the war had never in the least beenpopular. "Emile Girardin, " wrote Dickens on the 23rd of March, "was hereyesterday, and he says that Peace is to be formally announced at Paristo-morrow amid general apathy. " But the French are never whollyapathetic to their own exploits; and a display with a touch ofexcitement in it had been witnessed a couple of months before on theentry of the troops from the Crimea, [203] when the Zouaves, as theymarched past, pleased Dickens most. "A remarkable body of men, " hewrote, "wild, dangerous, and picturesque. Close-cropped head, red skullcap, Greek jacket, full red petticoat trowsers trimmed with yellow, andhigh white gaiters--the most sensible things for the purpose I know, andcoming into use in the line. A man with such things on his legs isalways free there, and ready for a muddy march; and might flounderthrough roads two feet deep in mud, and, simply by changing his gaiters(he has another pair in his haversack), be clean and comfortable andwholesome again, directly. Plenty of beard and moustache, and themusket carried reverse-wise with the stock over the shoulder, make upthe sunburnt Zouave. He strides like Bobadil, smoking as he goes; andwhen he laughs (they were under my window for half-an-hour or so), plunges backward in the wildest way, as if he were going to throw asommersault. They have a black dog belonging to the regiment, and, whenthey now marched along with their medals, this dog marched after the onenon-commissioned officer he invariably follows with a profoundconviction that he was decorated. I couldn't see whether he had a medal, his hair being long; but he was perfectly up to what had befallen hisregiment; and I never saw anything so capital as his way of regardingthe public. Whatever the regiment does, he is always in his place; andit was impossible to mistake the air of modest triumph which was nowupon him. A small dog corporeally, but of a great mind. "[204] On thatnight there was an illumination in honour of the army, when the "wholeof Paris, bye streets and lanes and all sorts of out of the way places, was most brilliantly illuminated. It looked in the dark like Venice andGenoa rolled into one, and split up through the middle by the Corso atRome in the carnival time. The French people certainly do know how tohonour their own countrymen, in a most marvellous way. " It was thefestival time of the New Year, and Dickens was fairly lost in a mysteryof amazement at where the money could come from that everybody wasspending on the étrennes they were giving to everybody else. All thefamous shops on the Boulevards had been blockaded for more than a week. "There is now a line of wooden stalls, three miles long, on each side ofthat immense thoroughfare; and wherever a retiring house or two admitsof a double line, there it is. All sorts of objects from shoes andsabots, through porcelain and crystal, up to live fowls and rabbitswhich are played for at a sort of dwarf skittles (to their immensedisturbance, as the ball rolls under them and shakes them off theirshelves and perches whenever it is delivered by a vigorous hand), are onsale in this great Fair. And what you may get in the way of ornament fortwo-pence, is astounding. " Unhappily there came dark and rainy weather, and one of the improvements of the Empire ended, as so many others did, in slush and misery. [205] Some sketches connected with the Art Exposition in the winter of 1855, and with the fulfilment of Ary Scheffer's design to paint the portraitof Dickens, may close these Paris pictures. He did not think thatEnglish art showed to advantage beside the French. It seemed to himsmall, shrunken, insignificant, "niggling. " He thought the generalabsence of ideas horribly apparent; "and even when one comes toMulready, and sees two old men talking over a much-too-prominenttable-cloth, and reads the French explanation of their proceedings, 'Ladiscussion sur les principes de Docteur Whiston, ' one is dissatisfied. Somehow or other they don't tell. Even Leslie's Sancho wants go, andStanny is too much like a set-scene. It is of no use disguising the factthat what we know to be wanting in the men is wanting in theirworks--character, fire, purpose, and the power of using the vehicle andthe model as mere means to an end. There is a horrible respectabilityabout most of the best of them--a little, finite, systematic routine inthem, strangely expressive to me of the state of England itself. As amere fact, Frith, Ward, and Egg, come out the best in such pictures asare here, and attract to the greatest extent. The first, in the picturefrom the Good-natured Man; the second, in the Royal Family in theTemple; the third, in the Peter the Great first seeing Catherine--whichI always thought a good picture, and in which foreigners evidentlydescry a sudden dramatic touch that pleases them. There are no end ofbad pictures among the French, but, Lord! the goodness also!--thefearlessness of them; the bold drawing; the dashing conception; thepassion and action in them![206] The Belgian department is full ofmerit. It has the best landscape in it, the best portrait, and the bestscene of homely life, to be found in the building. Don't think it a partof my despondency about public affairs, and my fear that our nationalglory is on the decline, when I say that mere form and conventionalitiesusurp, in English art, as in English government and social relations, the place of living force and truth. I tried to resist the impressionyesterday, and went to the English gallery first, and praised andadmired with great diligence; but it was of no use. I could not makeanything better of it than what I tell you. Of course this is betweenourselves. Friendship is better than criticism, and I shall steadilyhold my tongue. Discussion is worse than useless when you cannot agreeabout what you are going to discuss. " French nature is all wrong, saidthe English artists whom Dickens talked to; but surely not because it isFrench, was his reply. The English point of view is not the only one totake men and women from. The French pictures are "theatrical, " was therejoinder. But the French themselves are a demonstrative andgesticulating people, was Dickens's retort; and what thus is rendered bytheir artists is the truth through an immense part of the world. "Inever saw anything so strange. They seem to me to have got a fixed ideathat there is no natural manner but the English manner (in itself soexceptional that it is a thing apart, in all countries); and that unlessa Frenchman--represented as going to the guillotine for example--is ascalm as Clapham, or as respectable as Richmond-hill, he cannot beright. " To the sittings at Ary Scheffer's some troubles as well as manypleasures were incident, and both had mention in his letters. "You mayfaintly imagine what I have suffered from sitting to Scheffer every daysince I came back. He is a most noble fellow, and I have the greatestpleasure in his society, and have made all sorts of acquaintances at hishouse; but I can scarcely express how uneasy and unsettled it makes meto have to sit, sit, sit, with _Little Dorrit_ on my mind, and theChristmas business too--though that is now happily dismissed. On Mondayafternoon, _and all day on Wednesday_, I am going to sit again. And thecrowning feature is, that I do not discern the slightest resemblance, either in his portrait or his brother's! They both peg away at me at thesame time. " The sittings were varied by a special entertainment, whenScheffer received some sixty people in his "long atelier"--"including alot of French who _say_ (but I don't believe it) that they knowEnglish"--to whom Dickens, by special entreaty, read his _Cricket onthe Hearth_. That was at the close of November. January came, and the end of thesittings was supposed to be at hand. "The nightmare portrait is nearlydone; and Scheffer promises that an interminable sitting next Saturday, beginning at 10 o'clock in the morning, shall finish it. It is a finespirited head, painted at his very best, and with a very easy andnatural appearance in it. But it does not look to me at all like, nordoes it strike me that if I saw it in a gallery I should suppose myselfto be the original. It is always possible that I don't know my own face. It is going to be engraved here, in two sizes and ways--the mere headand the whole thing. " A fortnight later, the interminable sitting came. "Imagine me if you please with No. 5 on my head and hands, sitting toScheffer yesterday four hours! At this stage of a story, no one canconceive how it distresses me. " Still this was not the last. March hadcome before the portrait was done. "Scheffer finished yesterday; andCollins, who has a good eye for pictures, says that there is no manliving who could do the painting about the eyes. As a work of art I seein it spirit combined with perfect ease, and yet I don't see myself. SoI come to the conclusion that I never _do_ see myself. I shall be verycurious to know the effect of it upon you. " March had then begun; and atits close Dickens, who had meanwhile been in England, thus wrote: "Ihave not seen Scheffer since I came back, but he told Catherine a fewdays ago that he was not satisfied with the likeness after all, andthought he must do more to it. My own impression of it, you remember?"In these few words he anticipated the impression made upon myself. I wasnot satisfied with it. The picture had much merit, but not as aportrait. From its very resemblance in the eyes and mouth one derivedthe sense of a general unlikeness. But the work of the artist's brother, Henri Scheffer, painted from the same sittings, was in all ways greatlyinferior. Before Dickens left Paris in May he had sent over two descriptions thatthe reader most anxious to follow him to a new scene would perhaps besorry to lose. A Duchess was murdered in the Champs Elysées. "The murderover the way (the third or fourth event of that nature in the ChampsElysées since we have been here) seems to disclose the strangest stateof things. The Duchess who is murdered lived alone in a great housewhich was always shut up, and passed her time entirely in the dark. In alittle lodge outside lived a coachman (the murderer), and there had beena long succession of coachmen who had been unable to stay there, andupon whom, whenever they asked for their wages, she plunged out with animmense knife, by way of an immediate settlement. The coachman never hadanything to do, for the coach hadn't been driven out for years; neitherwould she ever allow the horses to be taken out for exercise. Betweenthe lodge and the house, is a miserable bit of garden, all overgrownwith long rank grass, weeds, and nettles; and in this, the horses usedto be taken out to swim--in a dead green vegetable sea, up to theirhaunches. On the day of the murder, there was a great crowd, of course;and in the midst of it up comes the Duke her husband (from whom she wasseparated), and rings at the gate. The police open the grate. 'C'estvrai donc, ' says the Duke, 'que Madame la Duchesse n'est plus?'--'C'esttrop vrai, Monseigneur. '--'Tant mieux, ' says the Duke, and walks offdeliberately, to the great satisfaction of the assemblage. " The second description relates an occurrence in England of only threeyears previous date, belonging to that wildly improbable class ofrealities which Dickens always held, with Fielding, to be (properly)closed to fiction. Only, he would add, critics should not be so eager toassume that what had never happened to themselves could not, by anyhuman possibility, ever be supposed to have happened to anybody else. "B. Was with me the other day, and, among other things that he told me, described an extraordinary adventure in his life, at a place not athousand miles from my 'property' at Gadshill, three years ago. He livedat the tavern and was sketching one day when an open carriage came bywith a gentleman and lady in it. He was sitting in the same placeworking at the same sketch, next day, when it came by again. So, anotherday, when the gentleman got out and introduced himself. Fond of art;lived at the great house yonder, which perhaps he knew; was an Oxfordman and a Devonshire squire, but not resident on his estate, fordomestic reasons; would be glad to see him to dinner to-morrow. He went, and found among other things a very fine library. 'At your disposition, 'said the Squire, to whom he had now described himself and his pursuits. 'Use it for your writing and drawing. Nobody else uses it. ' He stayed inthe house _six months_. The lady was a mistress, aged five-and-twenty, and very beautiful, drinking her life away. The Squire was drunken, andutterly depraved and wicked; but an excellent scholar, an admirablelinguist, and a great theologian. Two other mad visitors stayed the sixmonths. One, a man well known in Paris here, who goes about the worldwith a crimson silk stocking in his breast pocket, containing atooth-brush and an immense quantity of ready money. The other, a collegechum of the Squire's, now ruined; with an insatiate thirst for drink;who constantly got up in the middle of the night, crept down to thedining-room, and emptied all the decanters. . . . B. Stayed on in theplace, under a sort of devilish fascination to discover what might comeof it. . . . Tea or coffee never seen in the house, and very seldom water. Beer, champagne, and brandy, were the three drinkables. Breakfast: legof mutton, champagne, beer, and brandy. Lunch: shoulder of mutton, champagne, beer, and brandy. Dinner: every conceivable dish (Squire'sincome, £7, 000 a-year), champagne, beer, and brandy. The Squire hadmarried a woman of the town from whom he was now separated, but by whomhe had a daughter. The mother, to spite the father, had bred thedaughter in every conceivable vice. Daughter, then 13, came from schoolonce a month. Intensely coarse in talk, and always drunk. As they droveabout the country in two open carriages, the drunken mistress would beperpetually tumbling out of one, and the drunken daughter perpetuallytumbling out of the other. At last the drunken mistress drank herstomach away, and began to die on the sofa. Got worse and worse, and wasalways raving about Somebody's where she had once been a lodger, andperpetually shrieking that she would cut somebody else's heart out. Atlast she died on the sofa, and, after the funeral, the party broke up. Afew months ago, B. Met the man with the crimson silk stocking atBrighton, who told him that the Squire was dead 'of a broken heart';that the chum was dead of delirium tremens; and that the daughter washeiress to the fortune. He told me all this, which I fully believe to betrue, without any embellishment--just in the off-hand way in which Ihave told it to you. " Dickens left Paris at the end of April, and, after the summer inBoulogne which has been described, passed the winter in London, givingto his theatrical enterprise nearly all the time that _Little Dorrit_did not claim from him. His book was finished in the following spring;was inscribed to Clarkson Stanfield; and now claims to have somethingsaid about it. FOOTNOTES: [196] Twenty-one years before this date, in this same part, Lemaitre hadmade a deep impression in London; and now, eighteen years later, he isappearing in one of the revivals of Victor Hugo in Paris (1873. ) [197] "It is surprising what a change nine years have made in mynotoriety here. So many of the rising French generation now read English(and _Chuzzlewit_ is now being translated daily in the _Moniteur_), thatI can't go into a shop and give my card without being acknowledged inthe pleasantest way possible. A curiosity-dealer brought home somelittle knick-knacks I had bought, the other night, and knew all about mybooks from beginning to end of 'em. There is much of the personalfriendliness in my readers, here, that is so delightful at home; and Ihave been greatly surprised and pleased by the unexpected discovery. " Tothis I may add a line from one of his letters six years later. "I see mybooks in French at every railway station great and small. "--13th of Oct. 1862. [198] "I forget whether" (6th of Jan. 1856) "I have already told youthat I have received a proposal from a responsible bookselling househere, for a complete edition, authorized by myself, of a Frenchtranslation of all my books. The terms involve questions of space andamount of matter; but I should say, at a rough calculation, that I shallget about £300 by it--perhaps £50 more. " "I have arranged" (30th ofJan. ) "with the French bookselling house to receive, by monthly paymentsof £40, the sum of £440 for the right to translate all my books: thatis, what they call my Romances, and what I call my Stories. This doesnot include the Christmas Books, _American Notes_, _Pictures fromItaly_, or the _Sketches_; but they are to have the right to translatethem for extra payments if they choose. In consideration of this ventureas to the unprotected property, I cede them the right of translating allfuture Romances at a thousand francs (£40) each. Considering that I getso much for what is otherwise worth nothing, and get my books before soclever and important a people, I think this is not a bad move?" Thefirst friend with whom he advised about it, I should mention, was thefamous Leipzig publisher, M. Tauchnitz, in whose judgment, as well as inhis honour and good faith, he had implicit reliance, and who thought theoffer fair. On the 17th of April he wrote: "On Monday I am going to dinewith all my translators at Hachette's, the bookseller who has made thebargain for the complete edition, and who began this week to pay hismonthly £40 for a year. I don't mean to go out any more. Please toimagine me in the midst of my French dressers. " He wrote an address forthe Edition in which he praised the liberality of his publishers andexpressed his pride in being so presented to the French people whom hesincerely loved and honoured. Another word may be added. "It is ratherappropriate that the French translation edition will pay my rent for thewhole year, and travelling charges to boot. "--24th of Feb. 1856. [199] He wrote a short and very comical account of one of these stockperformances at the Français in which he brought out into strong reliefall their conventionalities and formal habits, their regular surprisessurprising nobody, and their mysterious disclosures of immense secretsknown to everybody beforehand, which he meant for _Household Words_; butit occurred to him that it might give pain to Regnier, and he destroyedit. [200] Before he saw this he wrote: "That piece you spoke of (the_Médecin des Enfants_) is one of the very best melodramas I have everread. Situations, admirable. I will send it to you by Landseer. I amvery curious indeed to go and see it; and it is an instance to me of thepowerful emotions from which art is shut out in England by theconventionalities. " After seeing it he writes: "The low cry ofexcitement and expectation that goes round the house when any one of thegreat situations is felt to be coming is very remarkable indeed. Isuppose there has not been so great a success of the genuine and worthykind (for the authors have really taken the French dramatic bull by thehorns, and put the adulterous wife in the right position), for manyyears. When you come over and see it, you will say you never sawanything so admirably done. There is one actor, Bignon (M. Delormel), who has a good deal of Macready in him; sometimes looks very like him;and who seems to me the perfection of manly good sense. " 17th of April1856. [201] I subjoin from another of these French letters of later date aremark on _Robinson Crusoe_. "You remember my saying to you some timeago how curious I thought it that _Robinson Crusoe_ should be the onlyinstance of an universally popular book that could make no one laugh andcould make no one cry. I have been reading it again just now, in thecourse of my numerous refreshings at those English wells, and I willventure to say that there is not in literature a more surprisinginstance of an utter want of tenderness and sentiment, than the death ofFriday. It is as heartless as _Gil Blas_, in a very different and farmore serious way. But the second part altogether will not bear enquiry. In the second part of _Don Quixote_ are some of the finest things. Butthe second part of _Robinson Crusoe_ is perfectly contemptible, in theglaring defect that it exhibits the man who was 30 years on that desertisland with no visible effect made on his character by that experience. De Foe's women too--Robinson Crusoe's wife for instance--are terribledull commonplace fellows without breeches; and I have no doubt he was aprecious dry and disagreeable article himself--I mean De Foe: notRobinson. Poor dear Goldsmith (I remember as I write) derived the sameimpression. " [202] When in Paris six years later Dickens saw this fine singer in anopera by Gluck, and the reader will not be sorry to have his descriptionof it. "Last night I saw Madame Viardot do Gluck's Orphée. It is a mostextraordinary performance--pathetic in the highest degree, and full ofquite sublime acting. Though it is unapproachably fine from first tolast, the beginning of it, at the tomb of Eurydice, is a thing that Icannot remember at this moment of writing, without emotion. It is thefinest presentation of grief that I can imagine. And when she hasreceived hope from the Gods, and encouragement to go into the otherworld and seek Eurydice, Viardot's manner of taking the relinquishedlyre from the tomb and becoming radiant again, is most noble. Also sherecognizes Eurydice's touch, when at length the hand is put in hers frombehind, like a most transcendant genius. And when, yielding toEurydice's entreaties she has turned round and slain her with a look, her despair over the body is grand in the extreme. It is worth a journeyto Paris to see, for there is no such Art to be otherwise looked upon. Her husband stumbled over me by mere chance, and took me to herdressing-room. Nothing could have happened better as a genuine homage tothe performance, for I was disfigured with crying. "--30th of November1862. [203] Here is another picture of Regiments in the Streets of which thedate is the 30th of January. "It was cold this afternoon, as bright asItaly, and these Elysian Fields crowded with carriages, riders, and footpassengers. All the fountains were playing, all the Heavens shining. Just as I went out at 4 o'clock, several regiments that had passed outat the Barrière in the morning to exercise in the country, came marchingback, in the straggling French manner, which is far more picturesque andreal than anything you can imagine in that way. Alternately great stormsof drums played, and then the most delicious and skilful bands, 'Trovatore' music, 'Barber of Seville' music, all sorts of music withwell-marked melody and time. All bloused Paris (led by the Inimitable, and a poor cripple who works himself up and down all day in a bigwheeled car) went at quick march down the avenue, in a sort of hilariousdance. If the colours with the golden eagle on the top had only beenunfurled, we should have followed them anywhere, in any cause--much asthe children follow Punches in the better cause of Comedy. Napoleon onthe top of the Column seemed up to the whole thing, I thought. " [204] Apropos of this, I may mention that the little shaggy whiteterrier who came with him from America, so long a favourite in hishousehold, had died of old age a few weeks before (5th of Oct. 1855) inBoulogne. [205] "We have wet weather here--and dark too for these latitudes--andoceans of mud. Although numbers of men are perpetually scooping andsweeping it away in this thoroughfare, it accumulates under the windowsso fast, and in such sludgy masses, that to get across the road is toget half over one's shoes in the first outset of a walk. " . . . "It isdifficult, " he added (20th of Jan. ) "to picture the change made in thisplace by the removal of the paving stones (too ready for barricades), and macadamization. It suits neither the climate nor the soil. We areagain in a sea of mud. One cannot cross the road of the Champs Elyséeshere, without being half over one's boots. " A few more days brought awelcome change. "Three days ago the weather changed here in an hour, andwe have had bright weather and hard frost ever since. All the muddisappeared with marvellous rapidity, and the sky became Italian. Takingadvantage of such a happy change, I started off yesterday morning (forexercise and meditation) on a scheme I have taken into my head, to walkround the walls of Paris. It is a very odd walk, and will make a gooddescription. Yesterday I turned to the right when I got outside theBarrière de l'Etoile, walked round the wall till I came to the river, and then entered Paris beyond the site of the Bastille. To-day I mean toturn to the left when I get outside the Barrière, and see what comes ofthat. " [206] This was much the tone of Edwin Landseer also, whose praise ofHorace Vernet was nothing short of rapture; and how well I remember thehumour of his description of the Emperor on the day when the prizes weregiven, and, as his old friend the great painter came up, the comicalexpression in his face that said plainly "What a devilish odd thing thisis altogether, isn't it?" composing itself to gravity as he took Edwinby the hand, and said in cordial English "I am very glad to see you. " Hestood, Landseer told us, in a recess so arranged as to produce a clearecho of every word he said, and this had a startling effect. In theevening of that day Dickens, Landseer, Boxall, Leslie "and three others"dined together in the Palais Royal. CHAPTER VI. LITTLE DORRIT, AND A LAZY TOUR. 1855-1857. Little Dorrit--A Proposed Opening--How the Story grew--Sale of the Book--Circumlocution Office--Flora and her Surroundings--Weak Points in the Book--Remains of Marshalsea visited--Reception of the Novel--Christmas Theatricals--Theatre-making--At Gadshill--Last Meeting of Jerrold and Dickens--Proposed Memorial Tribute--At the Zoological Gardens--Lazy Tour projected--Visit to Cumberland--Accident to Wilkie Collins--At Allonby--At Doncaster--Racing Prophecy--A Performance of _Money_. BETWEEN _Hard Times_ and _Little Dorrit_, Dickens's principal literarywork had been the contribution to _Household Words_ of two tales forChristmas (1854 and 1855) which his readings afterwards made widelypopular, the Story of Richard Doubledick, [207] and Boots at theHolly-Tree Inn. In the latter was related, with a charming naturalnessand spirit, the elopement, to get married at Gretna Green, of two littlechildren of the mature respective ages of eight and seven. At Christmas1855 came out the first number of _Little Dorrit_, and in April 1857 thelast. The book took its origin from the notion he had of a leading man for astory who should bring about all the mischief in it, lay it all onProvidence, and say at every fresh calamity, "Well it's a mercy, however, nobody was to blame you know!" The title first chosen, out ofmany suggested, was _Nobody's Fault_; and four numbers had been written, of which the first was on the eve of appearance, before this waschanged. When about to fall to work he excused himself from anengagement he should have kept because "the story is breaking out allround me, and I am going off down the railroad to humour it. " Thehumouring was a little difficult, however; and such indications of adroop in his invention as presented themselves in portions of _BleakHouse_, were noticeable again. "As to the story I am in the secondnumber, and last night and this morning had half a mind to begin again, and work in what I have done, afterwards. " It had occurred to him, that, by making the fellow-travellers at once known to each other, as theopening of the story stands, he had missed an effect. "It struck me thatit would be a new thing to show people coming together, in a chance way, as fellow-travellers, and being in the same place, ignorant of oneanother, as happens in life; and to connect them afterwards, and to makethe waiting for that connection a part of the interest. " The change wasnot made; but the mention of it was one of several intimations to me ofthe altered conditions under which he was writing, and that the old, unstinted, irrepressible flow of fancy had received temporary check. Inthis view I have found it very interesting to compare the originalnotes, which as usual he prepared for each number of the tale, and whichwith the rest are in my possession, with those of _Chuzzlewit_ or_Copperfield_; observing in the former the labour and pains, and in thelatter the lightness and confidence of handling. [208] "I am just nowgetting to work on number three: sometimes enthusiastic, more often dullenough. There is an enormous outlay in the Father of the Marshalseachapter, in the way of getting a great lot of matter into a small space. I am not quite resolved, but I have a great idea of overwhelming thatfamily with wealth. Their condition would be very curious. I can makeDorrit very strong in the story, I hope. " The Marshalsea part of thetale undoubtedly was excellent, and there was masterly treatment ofcharacter in the contrasts of the brothers Dorrit; but of the familygenerally it may be said that its least important members had most ofhis genius in them. The younger of the brothers, the scapegrace son, and"Fanny dear, " are perfectly real people in what makes them unattractive;but what is meant for attractiveness in the heroine becomes oftentiresome by want of reality. [Illustration] [Illustration] The first number appeared in December 1855, and on the 2nd there wasan exultant note. "_Little Dorrit_ has beaten even _Bleak House_ out ofthe field. It is a most tremendous start, and I am overjoyed at it;" towhich he added, writing from Paris on the 6th of the month following, "You know that they had sold 35, 000 of number two on new year's day. " Hewas still in Paris on the day of the appearance of that portion of thetale by which it will always be most vividly remembered, and thus wroteon the 30th of January 1856: "I have a grim pleasure upon me to-night inthinking that the Circumlocution Office sees the light, and in wonderingwhat effect it will make. But my head really stings with the visions ofthe book, and I am going, as we French say, to disembarrass it byplunging out into some of the strange places I glide into of nights inthese latitudes. " The Circumlocution heroes led to the Society scenes, the Hampton-court dowager-sketches, and Mr. Gowan; all parts of onesatire levelled against prevailing political and social vices. Aim hadbeen taken, in the course of it, at some living originals, disguisedsufficiently from recognition to enable him to make his thrust moresure; but there was one exception self-revealed. "I had the generalidea, " he wrote while engaged on the sixth number, "of the Societybusiness before the Sadleir affair, but I shaped Mr. Merdle himself outof that precious rascality. Society, the Circumlocution Office, and Mr. Gowan, are of course three parts of one idea and design. Mr. Merdle'scomplaint, which you will find in the end to be fraud and forgery, cameinto my mind as the last drop in the silver cream-jug onHampstead-heath. I shall beg, when you have read the present number, toenquire whether you consider 'Bar' an instance, in reference to K F, ofa suggested likeness in not many touches!" The likeness no one couldmistake; and, though that particular Bar has since been moved into ahigher and happier sphere, Westminster-hall is in no danger of losing"the insinuating Jury-droop, and persuasive double-eyeglass, " by whichthis keen observer could express a type of character in half a dozenwords. Of the other portions of the book that had a strong personal interestfor him I have spoken on a former page, and I will now only add anallusion of his own. "There are some things in Flora in number seventhat seem to me to be extraordinarily droll, with something serious atthe bottom of them after all. Ah, well! was there _not_ something veryserious in it once? I am glad to think of being in the country with thelong summer mornings as I approach number ten, where I have finallyresolved to make Dorrit rich. It should be a very fine point in thestory. . . . Nothing in Flora made me laugh so much as the confusion ofideas between gout flying upwards, and its soaring with Mr. F---- toanother sphere. " He had himself no inconsiderable enjoyment also of Mr. F. 's aunt; and in the old rascal of a patriarch, the smooth-surfacedCasby, and other surroundings of poor Flora, there was fun enough tofloat an argosy of second-rates, assuming such to have formed the stapleof the tale. It would be far from fair to say they did. The defect inthe book was less the absence of excellent character or keenobservation, than the want of ease and coherence among the figures ofthe story, and of a central interest in the plan of it. The agenciesthat bring about its catastrophe, too, are less agreeable even than in_Bleak House_; and, most unlike that well-constructed story, some of themost deeply considered things that occur in it have really little to dowith the tale itself. The surface-painting of both Miss Wade andTattycoram, to take an instance, is anything but attractive, yet thereis under it a rare force of likeness in the unlikeness between the twowhich has much subtlety of intention; and they must both have had, aswell as Mr. Gowan himself, a striking effect in the novel, if they hadbeen made to contribute in a more essential way to its interest ordevelopment. The failure nevertheless had not been for want of care andstudy, as well of his own design as of models by masters in his art. Ahappier hint of apology, for example, could hardly be given forFielding's introduction of such an episode as the Man of the Hillbetween the youth and manhood of Blifil and Tom Jones, than is suggestedby what Dickens wrote of the least interesting part of _Little Dorrit_. In the mere form, Fielding of course was only following the lead ofCervantes and Le Sage; but Dickens rightly judged his purpose also tohave been, to supply a kind of connection between the episode and thestory. "I don't see the practicability of making the History of aSelf-Tormentor, with which I took great pains, a written narrative. ButI do see the possibility" (he saw the other practicability before thenumber was published) "of making it a chapter by itself, which mightenable me to dispense with the necessity of the turned commas. Do youthink that would be better? I have no doubt that a great part ofFielding's reason for the introduced story, and Smollett's also, was, that it is sometimes really impossible to present, in a full book, theidea it contains (which yet it may be on all accounts desirable topresent), without supposing the reader to be possessed of almost as muchromantic allowance as would put him on a level with the writer. In MissWade I had an idea, which I thought a new one, of making the introducedstory so fit into surroundings impossible of separation from the mainstory, as to make the blood of the book circulate through both. But Ican only suppose, from what you say, that I have not exactly succeededin this. " Shortly after the date of his letter he was in London on businessconnected with the purchase of Gadshill Place, and he went over to theBorough to see what traces were left of the prison of which his firstimpression was taken in his boyhood, which had played so important apart in this latest novel, and every brick and stone of which he hadbeen able to rebuild in his book by the mere vividness of his marvellousmemory. "Went to the Borough yesterday morning before going to Gadshill, to see if I could find any ruins of the Marshalsea. Found a great partof the original building--now 'Marshalsea Place. ' Found the rooms thathave been in my mind's eye in the story. Found, nursing a very big boy, a very small boy, who, seeing me standing on the Marshalsea pavement, looking about, told me how it all used to be. God knows how he learnedit (for he was a world too young to know anything about it), but he wasright enough. . . . There is a room there--still standing, to myamazement--that I think of taking! It is the room through which theever-memorable signers of Captain Porter's petition filed off in myboyhood. The spikes are gone, and the wall is lowered, and anybody cango out now who likes to go, and is not bedridden; and I said to the boy'Who lives there?' and he said, 'Jack Pithick. ' 'Who is Jack Pithick?' Iasked him. And he said, 'Joe Pithick's uncle. '" Mention was made of this visit in the preface that appeared with thelast number; and all it is necessary to add of the completed book willbe, that, though in the humour and satire of its finer parts notunworthy of him, and though it had the clear design, worthy of him in anespecial degree, of contrasting, both in private and in public life, andin poverty equally as in wealth, duty done and duty not done, it made nomaterial addition to his reputation. His public, however, showed nofalling-off in its enormous numbers; and what is said in one of hisletters, noticeable for this touch of character, illustrates his anxietyto avoid any set-off from the disquiet that critical discourtesies mightgive. "I was ludicrously foiled here the other night in a resolution Ihave kept for twenty years not to know of any attack upon myself, bystumbling, before I could pick myself up, on a short extract in the_Globe_ from _Blackwood's Magazine_, informing me that _Little Dorrit_is 'Twaddle. ' I was sufficiently put out by it to be angry with myselffor being such a fool, and then pleased with myself for having so longbeen constant to a good resolution. " There was a scene that made itselfpart of history not four months after his death, which, if he could havelived to hear of it, might have more than consoled him. It was themeeting of Bismarck and Jules Favre under the walls of Paris. ThePrussian was waiting to open fire on the city; the Frenchman was engagedin the arduous task of showing the wisdom of not doing it; and "welearn, " say the papers of the day, "that while the two eminent statesmenwere trying to find a basis of negotiation, Von Moltke was seated in acorner reading _Little Dorrit_. " Who will doubt that the chapter on HOWNOT TO DO IT was then absorbing the old soldier's attention? * * * * * Preparations for the private play had gone on incessantly up toChristmas, and, in turning the school-room into a theatre, sawing andhammering worthy of Babel continued for weeks. The priceless help ofStanfield had again been secured, and I remember finding him one day atTavistock House in the act of upsetting some elaborate arrangements byDickens, with a proscenium before him made up of chairs, and the sceneryplanned out with walking-sticks. But Dickens's art in a matter of thiskind was to know how to take advice; and no suggestion came to him thathe was not ready to act upon, if it presented the remotest likelihood. In one of his great difficulties of obtaining more space, for audienceas well as actors, he was told that Mr. Cooke of Astley's was a man ofmuch resource in that way; and to Mr. Cooke he applied, with thefollowing result. "One of the finest things" (18th of October 1856) "Ihave ever seen in my life of that kind was the arrival of my friend Mr. Cooke one morning this week, in an open phaeton drawn by two whiteponies with black spots all over them (evidently stencilled), who camein at the gate with a little jolt and a rattle, exactly as they comeinto the Ring when they draw anything, and went round and round thecentre bed of the front court, apparently looking for the clown. Amultitude of boys who felt them to be no common ponies rushed up in abreathless state--twined themselves like ivy about the railings--andwere only deterred from storming the enclosure by the glare of theInimitable's eye. Some of these boys had evidently followed fromAstley's. I grieve to add that my friend, being taken to the point ofdifficulty, had no sort of suggestion in him; no gleam of an idea; andmight just as well have been the popular minister from the Tabernacle inTottenham Court Road. All he could say was--answering me, posed in thegarden, precisely as if I were the clown asking him a riddle atnight--that two of their stable tents would be home in November, andthat they were '20 foot square, ' and I was heartily welcome to 'em. Also, he said, 'You might have half a dozen of my trapezes, or mymiddle-distance-tables, but they're all 6 foot and all too low sir. 'Since then, I have arranged to do it in my own way, and with my owncarpenter. You will be surprised by the look of the place. It is no morelike the school-room than it is like the sign of the Salutation Inn atAmbleside in Westmoreland. The sounds in the house remind me, as to thepresent time, of Chatham Dockyard--as to a remote epoch, of the buildingof Noah's ark. Joiners are never out of the house, and the carpenterappears to be unsettled (or settled) for life. " Of course time did not mend matters, and as Christmas approached thehouse was in a state of siege. "All day long, a labourer heats size overthe fire in a great crucible. We eat it, drink it, breathe it, and smellit. Seventy paint-pots (which came in a van) adorn the stage; andthereon may be beheld, Stanny, and three Dansons (from the SurreyZoological Gardens), all painting at once!! Meanwhile, Telbin, in asecluded bower in Brewer-street, Golden-square, plies _his_ part of thelittle undertaking. " How worthily it turned out in the end, theexcellence of the performances and the delight of the audiences, becameknown to all London; and the pressure for admittance at last took theform of a tragi-comedy, composed of ludicrous makeshifts and gloomydisappointments, with which even Dickens's resources could not deal. "Myaudience is now 93, " he wrote one day in despair, "and at least 10 willneither hear nor see. " There was nothing for it but to increase thenumber of nights; and it was not until the 20th of January he described"the workmen smashing the last atoms of the theatre. " His book was finished soon after at Gadshill Place, to be presentlydescribed, which he had purchased the previous year, and takenpossession of in February; subscribing himself, in the letter announcingthe fact, as "the Kentish Freeholder on his native heath, his nameProtection. "[209] The new abode occupied him in various ways in theearly part of the summer; and Hans Andersen the Dane had just arrivedupon a visit to him there, when Douglas Jerrold's unexpected deathbefell. It was a shock to every one, and an especial grief to Dickens. Jerrold's wit, and the bright shrewd intellect that had so manytriumphs, need no celebration from me; but the keenest of satirists wasone of the kindliest of men, and Dickens had a fondness for Jerrold asgenuine as his admiration for him. "I chance to know a good deal aboutthe poor fellow's illness, for I was with him on the last day he wasout. It was ten days ago, when we dined at a dinner given by Russell atGreenwich. He was complaining much when we met, said he had been sickthree days, and attributed it to the inhaling of white paint from hisstudy window. I did not think much of it at the moment, as we were verysocial; but while we walked through Leicester-square he suddenly fellinto a white, hot, sick perspiration, and had to lean against therailings. Then, at my urgent request, he was to let me put him in a caband send him home; but he rallied a little after that, and, on ourmeeting Russell, determined to come with us. We three went down bysteamboat that we might see the great ship, and then got an open fly androde about Blackheath: poor Jerrold mightily enjoying the air, andconstantly saying that it set him up. He was rather quiet at dinner--satnext Delane--but was very humorous and good, and in spirits, though hetook hardly anything. We parted with references to coming down here"(Gadshill) "and I never saw him again. Next morning he was taken veryill when he tried to get up. On the Wednesday and Thursday he was verybad, but rallied on the Friday, and was quite confident of getting well. On the Sunday he was very ill again, and on the Monday forenoon died;'at peace with all the world' he said, and asking to be remembered tofriends. He had become indistinct and insensible, until for but a fewminutes at the end. I knew nothing about it, except that he had been illand was better, until, going up by railway yesterday morning, I heard aman in the carriage, unfolding his newspaper, say to another 'DouglasJerrold is dead. ' I immediately went up there, and then to Whitefriars. . . I propose that there shall be a night at a theatre when the actors(with old Cooke) shall play the _Rent Day_ and _Black-ey'd Susan_;another night elsewhere, with a lecture from Thackeray; a day reading byme; a night reading by me; a lecture by Russell; and a subscriptionperformance of the _Frozen Deep_, as at Tavistock House. I don't mean todo it beggingly; but merely to announce the whole series, the day afterthe funeral, 'In memory of the late Mr. Douglas Jerrold, ' or some suchphrase. I have got hold of Arthur Smith as the best man of business Iknow, and go to work with him to-morrow morning--inquiries being made inthe meantime as to the likeliest places to be had for these variouspurposes. My confident hope is that we shall get close upon two thousandpounds. " The friendly enterprise was carried to the close with a vigour, promptitude, and success, that well corresponded with this opening. Inaddition to the performances named, there were others in the countryalso organized by Dickens, in which he took active personal part; andthe result did not fall short of his expectations. The sum was investedultimately for our friend's unmarried daughter, who still receives theincome from myself, the last surviving trustee. So passed the greater part of the summer, [210] and when the countryperformances were over at the end of August I had this intimation. "Ihave arranged with Collins that he and I will start next Monday on aten or twelve days' expedition to out-of-the-way places, to do (in innsand coast-corners) a little tour in search of an article and inavoidance of railroads. I must get a good name for it, and I propose itin five articles, one for the beginning of every number in the Octoberpart. " Next day: "Our decision is for a foray upon the fells ofCumberland; I having discovered in the books some promising moors andbleak places thereabout. " Into the lake-country they went accordingly;and The Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices, contributed to _HouseholdWords_, was a narrative of the trip. But his letters had descriptivetouches, and some whimsical personal experiences, not in the publishedaccount. Looking over the _Beauties of England and Wales_ before he left London, his ambition was fired by mention of Carrick Fell, "a gloomy oldmountain 1500 feet high, " which he secretly resolved to go up. "We camestraight to it yesterday" (9th of September). "Nobody goes up. Guideshave forgotten it. Master of a little inn, excellent north-countryman, volunteered. Went up, in a tremendous rain. C. D. Beat Mr. Porter (nameof landlord) in half a mile. Mr. P. Done up in no time. Threenevertheless went on. Mr. P. Again leading; C. D. And C. " (Mr. WilkieCollins) "following. Rain terrific, black mists, darkness of night. Mr. P. Agitated. C. D. Confident. C. (a long way down in perspective)submissive. All wet through. No poles. Not so much as a walking-stick inthe party. Reach the summit, at about one in the day. Dead darkness asof night. Mr. P. (excellent fellow to the last) uneasy. C. D. Producescompass from pocket. Mr. P. Reassured. Farm-house where dog-cart wasleft, N. N. W. Mr. P. Complimentary. Descent commenced. C. D. Withcompass triumphant, until compass, with the heat and wet of C. D. 'spocket, breaks. Mr. P. (who never had a compass), inconsolable, confesses he has not been on Carrick Fell for twenty years, and he don'tknow the way down. Darker and darker. Nobody discernible, two yards off, by the other two. Mr. P. Makes suggestions, but no way. It becomes clearto C. D. And to C. That Mr. P. Is going round and round the mountain, and never coming down. Mr. P. Sits on angular granite, and says he is'just fairly doon. ' C. D. Revives Mr. P. With laughter, the onlyrestorative in the company. Mr. P. Again complimentary. Descent triedonce more. Mr. P. Worse and worse. Council of war. Proposals from C. D. To go 'slap down. ' Seconded by C. Mr. P. Objects, on account ofprecipice called The Black Arches, and terror of the country-side. Morewandering. Mr. P. Terror-stricken, but game. Watercourse, thundering androaring, reached. C. D. Suggests that it must run to the river, and hadbest be followed, subject to all gymnastic hazards. Mr. P. Opposes, butgives in. Watercourse followed accordingly. Leaps, splashes, andtumbles, for two hours. C. Lost. C. D. Whoops. Cries for assistance frombehind. C. D. Returns. C. With horribly sprained ankle, lying inrivulet!" All the danger was over when Dickens sent his description; but great hadbeen the trouble in binding up the sufferer's ankle and getting himpainfully on, shoving, shouldering, carrying alternately, till terrafirma was reached. "We got down at last in the wildest place, preposterously out of the course; and, propping up C. Against stones, sent Mr. P. To the other side of Cumberland for dog-cart, so got back tohis inn, and changed. Shoe or stocking on the bad foot, out of thequestion. Foot tumbled up in a flannel waistcoat. C. D. Carrying C. Melo-dramatically (Wardour to the life!)[211] everywhere; into and outof carriages; up and down stairs; to bed; every step. And so to Wigton, got doctor, and here we are!! A pretty business, we flatter ourselves!" Wigton, Dickens described as a place of little houses all inhalf-mourning, yellow stone or white stone and black, with the wonderfulpeculiarity that though it had no population, no business, and nostreets to speak of, it had five linendrapers within range of theirsingle window, one linendraper's next door, and five more linendrapersround the corner. "I ordered a night light in my bed-room. A queerlittle old woman brought me one of the common Child's night lights, and, seeming to think that I looked at it with interest, said, 'It's joost avara keeyourious thing, sir, and joost new coom oop. It'll burn awthoors a' end, and no gootther, nor no waste, nor ony sike a thing, ifyou can creedit what I say, seein' the airticle. '" In these primitivequarters there befell a difficulty about letters, which Dickens solvedin a fashion especially his own. "The day after Carrick there was a messabout our letters, through our not going to a place called Mayport. So, while the landlord was planning how to get them (they were only twelvemiles off), I walked off, to his great astonishment, and brought themover. " The night after leaving Wigton they were at the Ship-hotel inAllonby. Allonby his letters presented as a small untidy outlandish place; roughstone houses in half mourning, a few coarse yellow-stone lodging houseswith black roofs (bills in all the windows), five bathing-machines, fivegirls in straw hats, five men in straw hats (wishing they had not come);very much what Broadstairs would have been if it had been born Irish, and had not inherited a cliff. "But this is a capital little homely inn, looking out upon the sea; with the coast of Scotland, mountainous andromantic, over against the windows; and though I can just stand uprightin my bedroom, we are really well lodged. It is a clean nice place in arough wild country, and we have a very obliging and comfortablelandlady. " He had found indeed, in the latter, an acquaintance of olddate. "The landlady at the little inn at Allonby, lived at Greta-Bridgein Yorkshire when I went down there before _Nickleby_; and was smuggledinto the room to see me, after I was secretly found out. She is animmensely fat woman now. 'But I could tuck my arm round her waist then, Mr. Dickens, ' the landlord said when she told me the story as I wasgoing to bed the night before last. 'And can't you do it now?' I said. 'You insensible dog! Look at me! Here's a picture!' Accordingly I gotround as much of her as I could; and this gallant action was the mostsuccessful I have ever performed, on the whole. " On their way home the friends were at Doncaster, and this was Dickens'sfirst experience of the St. Leger and its saturnalia. His companion hadby this time so far recovered as to be able, doubled-up, to walk with athick stick; in which condition, "being exactly like the gouty admiralin a comedy I have given him that name. " The impressions received fromthe race-week were not favourable. It was noise and turmoil all daylong, and a gathering of vagabonds from all parts of the racing earth. Every bad face that had ever caught wickedness from an innocent horsehad its representative in the streets; and as Dickens, like Gulliverlooking down upon his fellow-men after coming from the horse-country, looked down into Doncaster High-street from his inn-window, he seemed tosee everywhere a then notorious personage who had just poisoned hisbetting-companion. "Everywhere I see the late Mr. Palmer with hisbetting-book in his hand. Mr. Palmer sits next me at the theatre; Mr. Palmer goes before me down the street; Mr. Palmer follows me into thechemist's shop where I go to buy rose water after breakfast, and says tothe chemist 'Give us soom sal volatile or soom damned thing o' thatsoort, in wather--my head's bad!' And I look at the back of his bad headrepeated in long, long lines on the race course, and in the bettingstand and outside the betting rooms in the town, and I vow to God that Ican see nothing in it but cruelty, covetousness, calculation, insensibility, and low wickedness. " Even a half-appalling kind of luck was not absent from my friend'sexperiences at the race course, when, what he called a "wonderful, paralysing, coincidence" befell him. He bought the card; facetiouslywrote down three names for the winners of the three chief races (neverin his life having heard or thought of any of the horses, except thatthe winner of the Derby, who proved to be nowhere, had been mentioned tohim); "and, if you can believe it without your hair standing on end, those three races were won, one after another, by those three horses!!!"That was the St. Leger-day, of which he also thought it noticeable, that, though the losses were enormous, nobody had won, for there wasnothing but grinding of teeth and blaspheming of ill-luck. Nor hadmatters mended on the Cup-day, after which celebration "a groaningphantom" lay in the doorway of his bed-room and howled all night. Thelandlord came up in the morning to apologise, "and said it was agentleman who had lost £1500 or £2000; and he had drunk a dealafterwards; and then they put him to bed, and then he--took the 'orrors, and got up, and yelled till morning. "[212] Dickens might well believe, as he declared at the end of his letter, that if a boy with any good inhim, but with a dawning propensity to sporting and betting, were butbrought to the Doncaster races soon enough, it would cure him. FOOTNOTES: [207] The framework for this sketch was a graphic description, also doneby Dickens, of the celebrated Charity at Rochester founded in thesixteenth century by Richard Watts, "for six poor travellers, who, notbeing Rogues or Proctors, may receive gratis for one night, lodging, entertainment, and fourpence each. " A quaint monument to Watts is themost prominent object on the wall of the south-west transept of thecathedral, and underneath it is now placed a brass thus inscribed:"CHARLES DICKENS. Born at Portsmouth, seventh of February 1812. Died atGadshill Place by Rochester, ninth of June 1870. Buried in WestminsterAbbey. To connect his memory with the scenes in which his earliest andhis latest years were passed, and with the associations of RochesterCathedral and its neighbourhood which extended over all his life, thisTablet, with the sanction of the Dean and Chapter, is placed by hisExecutors. " [208] So curious a contrast, taking _Copperfield_ for the purpose, Ihave thought worth giving in fac-simile; and can assure the reader thatthe examples taken express very fairly the general character of theNotes to the two books respectively. [209] In the same letter was an illustration of the ruling passion indeath, which, even in so undignified a subject, might have interestedPope. "You remember little Wieland who did grotesque demons so well. Didyou ever hear how he died? He lay very still in bed with the life fadingout of him--suddenly sprung out of it, threw what is professionallycalled a flip-flap, and fell dead on the floor. " [210] One of its incidents made such an impression on him that it willbe worth while to preserve his description of it. "I have been (by mereaccident) seeing the serpents fed to-day, with the live birds, rabbits, and guinea pigs--a sight so very horrible that I cannot get rid of theimpression, and am, at this present, imagining serpents coming up thelegs of the table, with their infernal flat heads, and their tongueslike the Devil's tail (evidently taken from that model, in the magiclanterns and other such popular representations), elongated for dinner. I saw one small serpent, whose father was asleep, go up to a guinea pig(white and yellow, and with a gentle eye--every hair upon him erect withhorror); corkscrew himself on the tip of his tail; open a mouth whichcouldn't have swallowed the guinea pig's nose; dilate a throat whichwouldn't have made him a stocking; and show him what his father meant todo with him when he came out of that ill-looking Hookah into which hehad resolved himself. The guinea pig backed against the side of thecage--said 'I know it, I know it!'--and his eye glared and his coatturned wiry, as he made the remark. Five small sparrows crouchingtogether in a little trench at the back of the cage, peeped over thebrim of it, all the time; and when they saw the guinea pig give it up, and the young serpent go away looking at him over about two yards and aquarter of shoulder, struggled which should get into the innermost angleand be seized last. Everyone of them then hid his eyes in another'sbreast, and then they all shook together like dry leaves--as I daresaythey may be doing now, for old Hookah was as dull as laudanum. . . . Pleaseto imagine two small serpents, one beginning on the tail of a whitemouse, and one on the head, and each pulling his own way, and the mousevery much alive all the time, with the middle of him madly writhing. " [211] There was a situation in the _Frozen Deep_ where Richard Wardour, played by Dickens, had thus to carry about Frank Aldersley in the personof Wilkie Collins. [212] The mention of a performance of Lord Lytton's _Money_ at thetheatre will supply the farce to this tragedy. "I have rarely seenanything finer than Lord Glossmore, a chorus-singer in bluchers, drabtrowsers, and a brown sack; and Dudley Smooth, in somebody else's wig, hindside before. Stout also, in anything he could lay hold of. Thewaiter at the club had an immense moustache, white trowsers, and astriped jacket; and he brought everybody who came in, a vinegar-cruet. The man who read the will began thus: 'I so-and-so, being of unsoundmind but firm in body . . . ' In spite of all this, however, the realcharacter, humour, wit, and good writing of the comedy, made themselvesapparent; and the applause was loud and repeated, and really seemedgenuine. Its capital things were not lost altogether. It was succeededby a Jockey Dance by five ladies, who put their whips in their mouthsand worked imaginary winners up to the float--an immense success. " CHAPTER VII. WHAT HAPPENED AT THIS TIME. 1857-1858. Disappointments and Distastes--Compensations of Art--Misgivings--Restlessness and Impatience--Reply to a Remonstrance--Visions of Places to write Books in--Fruitless Aspirations--What lay behind--Sorrowful Convictions--No Desire for Immunity from Blame--Counteracting Influences weakened--Old Project revived--Disadvantages of Public Reading--Speech for Children's Hospital--Unsolved Mysteries--Hospital described--Appeal for Sick Children--Reasons for and against Paid Readings--A Proposal from Mr. Beale--Question of the Plunge--Mr. Arthur Smith--Change in Home--Unwise Printed Statement--A "Violated Letter. " AN unsettled feeling greatly in excess of what was usual with Dickens, more or less observable since his first residence at Boulogne, became atthis time almost habitual, and the satisfactions which home should havesupplied, and which indeed were essential requirements of his nature, hehad failed to find in his home. He had not the alternative that underthis disappointment some can discover in what is called society. It didnot suit him, and he set no store by it. No man was better fitted toadorn any circle he entered, but beyond that of friends and equals herarely passed. He would take as much pains to keep out of the houses ofthe great as others take to get into them. Not always wisely, it may beadmitted. Mere contempt for toadyism and flunkeyism was not at all timesthe prevailing motive with him which he supposed it to be. Beneath hishorror of those vices of Englishmen in his own rank of life, there was astill stronger resentment at the social inequalities that engender them, of which he was not so conscious and to which he owned less freely. Notthe less it served secretly to justify what he might otherwise have hadno mind to. To say he was not a gentleman would be as true as to say hewas not a writer; but if any one should assert his occasional preferencefor what was even beneath his level over that which was above it, thiswould be difficult of disproof. It was among those defects oftemperament for which his early trials and his early successes wereaccountable in perhaps equal measure. He was sensitive in a passionatedegree to praise and blame, which yet he made it for the most part apoint of pride to assume indifference to; the inequalities of rank whichhe secretly resented took more galling as well as glaring prominencefrom the contrast of the necessities he had gone through with the famethat had come to him; and when the forces he most affected to despiseassumed the form of barriers he could not easily overleap, he was led toappear frequently intolerant (for he very seldom was really so) inopinions and language. His early sufferings brought with them thehealing powers of energy, will, and persistence, and taught him theinexpressible value of a determined resolve to live down difficulties;but the habit, in small as in great things, of renunciation andself-sacrifice, they did not teach; and, by his sudden leap into aworld-wide popularity and influence, he became master of everything thatmight seem to be attainable in life, before he had mastered what a manmust undergo to be equal to its hardest trials. Nothing of all this has yet presented itself to notice, except inoccasional forms of restlessness and desire of change of place, whichwere themselves, when his books were in progress, so incident as well tothe active requirements of his fancy as to call, thus far, for no otherexplanation. Up to the date of the completion of _Copperfield_ he hadfelt himself to be in possession of an all-sufficient resource. Againstwhatever might befall he had a set-off in his imaginative creations, acompensation derived from his art that never failed him, because therehe was supreme. It was the world he could bend to his will, and makesubserve to all his desires. He had otherwise, underneath his exteriorof a singular precision, method, and strictly orderly arrangement in allthings, and notwithstanding a temperament to which home and homeinterests were really a necessity, something in common with those eager, impetuous, somewhat overbearing natures, that rush at existence withoutheeding the cost of it, and are not more ready to accept and make themost of its enjoyments than to be easily and quickly overthrown by itsburdens. [213] But the world he had called into being had thus far bornehim safely through these perils. He had his own creations always by hisside. They were living, speaking companions. With them only he waseverywhere thoroughly identified. He laughed and wept with them; was asmuch elated by their fun as cast down by their grief; and brought to theconsideration of them a belief in their reality as well as in theinfluences they were meant to exercise, which in every circumstancesustained him. It was during the composition of _Little Dorrit_ that I think he firstfelt a certain strain upon his invention which brought with it othermisgivings. In a modified form this was present during the latterportions of _Bleak House_, of which not a few of the defects might betraced to the acting excitements amid which it was written; but thesucceeding book made it plainer to him; and it is remarkable that in theinterval between them he resorted for the first and only time in hislife to a practice, which he abandoned at the close of his next and laststory published in the twenty-number form, of putting down written"Memoranda" of suggestions for characters or incidents by way ofresource to him in his writing. Never before had his teeming fancyseemed to want such help; the need being less to contribute to itsfullness than to check its overflowing; but it is another proof that hehad been secretly bringing before himself, at least, the possibilitythat what had ever been his great support might some day desert him. Itwas strange that he should have had such doubt, and he would hardly haveconfessed it openly; but apart from that wonderful world of his books, the range of his thoughts was not always proportioned to the width andlargeness of his nature. His ordinary circle of activity, whether inlikings or thinkings, was full of such surprising animation, that onewas apt to believe it more comprehensive than it really was; and againand again, when a wide horizon might seem to be ahead of him, he wouldpull up suddenly and stop short, as though nothing lay beyond. For thetime, though each had its term and change, he was very much a man of oneidea, each having its turn of absolute predominance; and this was one ofthe secrets of the thoroughness with which everything he took in handwas done. As to the matter of his writings, the actual truth was thathis creative genius never really failed him. Not a few of his inventionsof character and humour, up to the very close of his life, hisMarigolds, Lirripers, Gargerys, Pips, Sapseas and many others, were asfresh and fine as in his greatest day. He had however lost the free andfertile method of the earlier time. He could no longer fill awide-spread canvas with the same facility and certainty as of old; andhe had frequently a quite unfounded apprehension of some possiblebreak-down, of which the end might be at any moment beginning. Therecame accordingly, from time to time, intervals of unusual impatience andrestlessness, strange to me in connection with his home; his oldpursuits were too often laid aside for other excitements andoccupations; he joined a public political agitation, set on foot byadministrative reformers; he got up various quasi-public privatetheatricals, in which he took the leading place; and though it was butpart of his always generous devotion in any friendly duty to organizethe series of performances on his friend Jerrold's death, yet theeagerness with which he flung himself into them, so arranging them as toassume an amount of labour in acting and travelling that might haveappalled an experienced comedian, and carrying them on week after weekunceasingly in London and the provinces, expressed but the craving whichstill had possession of him to get by some means at some change thatshould make existence easier. What was highest in his nature had ceasedfor the time to be highest in his life, and he had put himself at themercy of lower accidents and conditions. The mere effect of thestrolling wandering ways into which this acting led him could not beother than unfavourable. But remonstrance as yet was unavailing. To one very earnestly made in the early autumn of 1857, in whichopportunity was taken to compare his recent rush up Carrick Fell to hisrush into other difficulties, here was the reply. "Too late to say, putthe curb on, and don't rush at hills--the wrong man to say it to. I havenow no relief but in action. I am become incapable of rest. I am quiteconfident I should rust, break, and die, if I spared myself. Much betterto die, doing. What I am in that way, nature made me first, and my wayof life has of late, alas! confirmed. I must accept the drawback--sinceit is one--with the powers I have; and I must hold upon the tenureprescribed to me. " Something of the same sad feeling, it is right tosay, had been expressed from time to time, in connection also with homedissatisfactions and misgivings, through the three years preceding; butI attributed it to other causes, and gave little attention to it. Duringhis absences abroad for the greater part of 1854, '55, and '56, whilethe elder of his children were growing out of childhood, and his bookswere less easy to him than in his earlier manhood, evidences presentedthemselves in his letters of the old "unhappy loss or want of something"to which he had given a pervading prominence in _Copperfield_. In thefirst of those years he made express allusion to the kind of experiencewhich had been one of his descriptions in that favourite book, and, mentioning the drawbacks of his present life, had first identified itwith his own: "the so happy and yet so unhappy existence which seeks itsrealities in unrealities, and finds its dangerous comfort in a perpetualescape from the disappointment of heart around it. " Later in the same year he thus wrote from Boulogne: "I have had dreadfulthoughts of getting away somewhere altogether by myself. If I could havemanaged it, I think possibly I might have gone to the Pyreennees (youknow what I mean that word for, so I won't re-write it) for six months!I have put the idea into the perspective of six months, but have notabandoned it. I have visions of living for half a year or so, in allsorts of inaccessible places, and opening a new book therein. A floatingidea of going up above the snow-line in Switzerland, and living in someastonishing convent, hovers about me. If _Household Words_ could be gotinto a good train, in short, I don't know in what strange place, or atwhat remote elevation above the level of the sea, I might fall to worknext. _Restlessness_, you will say. Whatever it is, it is always drivingme, and I cannot help it. I have rested nine or ten weeks, and sometimesfeel as if it had been a year--though I had the strangest nervousmiseries before I stopped. If I couldn't walk fast and far, I shouldjust explode and perish. " Again, four months later he wrote: "You willhear of me in Paris, probably next Sunday, and I _may_ go on toBordeaux. Have general ideas of emigrating in the summer to themountain-ground between France and Spain. Am altogether in a dishevelledstate of mind--motes of new books in the dirty air, miseries of oldergrowth threatening to close upon me. Why is it, that as with poor David, a sense comes always crushing on me now, when I fall into low spirits, as of one happiness I have missed in life, and one friend and companionI have never made?" Early in 1856 (20th of January) the notion revisited him of writing abook in solitude. "Again I am beset by my former notions of a bookwhereof the whole story shall be on the top of the Great St. Bernard. AsI accept and reject ideas for _Little Dorrit_, it perpetually comes backto me. Two or three years hence, perhaps you'll find me living with theMonks and the Dogs a whole winter--among the blinding snows that fallabout that monastery. I have a serious idea that I shall do it, if Ilive. " He was at this date in Paris; and during the visit to him ofMacready in the following April, the self-revelations were resumed. Thegreat actor was then living in retirement at Sherborne, to which he hadgone on quitting the stage; and Dickens gave favourable report of hisenjoyment of the change to his little holiday at Paris. Then, afterrecurring to his own old notion of having some slight idea of going tosettle in Australia, only he could not do it until he should havefinished _Little Dorrit_, he went on to say that perhaps Macready, if hecould get into harness again, would not be the worse for some suchtroubles as were worrying himself. "It fills me with pity to think ofhim away in that lonely Sherborne place. I have always felt of myselfthat I must, please God, die in harness, but I have never felt it morestrongly than in looking at, and thinking of, him. However strange it isto be never at rest, and never satisfied, and ever trying aftersomething that is never reached, and to be always laden with plot andplan and care and worry, how clear it is that it must be, and that oneis driven by an irresistible might until the journey is worked out! Itis much better to go on and fret, than to stop and fret. As torepose--for some men there's no such thing in this life. The foregoinghas the appearance of a small sermon; but it is so often in my head inthese days that it cannot help coming out. The old days--the old days!Shall I ever, I wonder, get the frame of mind back as it used to bethen? Something of it perhaps--but never quite as it used to be. I findthat the skeleton in my domestic closet is becoming a pretty big one. " It would be unjust and uncandid not to admit that these and othersimilar passages in the letters that extended over the years while helived abroad, had served in some degree as a preparation for what cameafter his return to England in the following year. It came with a greatshock nevertheless; because it told plainly what before had never beenavowed, but only hinted at more or less obscurely. The opening referenceis to the reply which had been made to a previous expression of his wishfor some confidences as in the old time. I give only what is strictlynecessary to account for what followed, and even this with deepreluctance. "Your letter of yesterday was so kind and hearty, andsounded so gently the many chords we have touched together, that Icannot leave it unanswered, though I have not much (to any purpose) tosay. My reference to 'confidences' was merely to the relief of saying aword of what has long been pent up in my mind. Poor Catherine and I arenot made for each other, and there is no help for it. It is not onlythat she makes me uneasy and unhappy, but that I make her so too--andmuch more so. She is exactly what you know, in the way of being amiableand complying; but we are strangely ill-assorted for the bond there isbetween us. God knows she would have been a thousand times happier ifshe had married another kind of man, and that her avoidance of thisdestiny would have been at least equally good for us both. I am oftencut to the heart by thinking what a pity it is, for her own sake, that Iever fell in her way; and if I were sick or disabled to-morrow, I knowhow sorry she would be, and how deeply grieved myself, to think how wehad lost each other. But exactly the same incompatibility would arise, the moment I was well again; and nothing on earth could make herunderstand me, or suit us to each other. Her temperament will not gowith mine. It mattered not so much when we had only ourselves toconsider, but reasons have been growing since which make it all buthopeless that we should even try to struggle on. What is now befallingme I have seen steadily coming, ever since the days you remember whenMary was born; and I know too well that you cannot, and no one can, helpme. Why I have even written I hardly know; but it is a miserable sort ofcomfort that you should be clearly aware how matters stand. The meremention of the fact, without any complaint or blame of any sort, is arelief to my present state of spirits--and I can get this only from you, because I can speak of it to no one else. " In the same tone was hisrejoinder to my reply. "To the most part of what you say--Amen! You arenot so tolerant as perhaps you might be of the wayward and unsettledfeeling which is part (I suppose) of the tenure on which one holds animaginative life, and which I have, as you ought to know well, oftenonly kept down by riding over it like a dragoon--but let that go by. Imake no maudlin complaint. I agree with you as to the very possibleincidents, even not less bearable than mine, that might and must oftenoccur to the married condition when it is entered into very young. I amalways deeply sensible of the wonderful exercise I have of life and itshighest sensations, and have said to myself for years, and have honestlyand truly felt, This is the drawback to such a career, and is not to becomplained of. I say it and feel it now as strongly as ever I did; and, as I told you in my last, I do not with that view put all this forward. But the years have not made it easier to bear for either of us; and, forher sake as well as mine, the wish will force itself upon me thatsomething might be done. I know too well it is impossible. There is thefact, and that is all one can say. Nor are you to suppose that Idisguise from myself what might be urged on the other side. I claim noimmunity from blame. There is plenty of fault on my side, I dare say, inthe way of a thousand uncertainties, caprices, and difficulties ofdisposition; but only one thing will alter all that, and that is, theend which alters everything. " It will not seem to most people that there was anything here which inhappier circumstances might not have been susceptible of considerateadjustment; but all the circumstances were unfavourable, and themoderate middle course which the admissions in that letter might wiselyhave prompted and wholly justified, was unfortunately not taken. Comparewhat before was said of his temperament, with what is there said byhimself of its defects, and the explanation will not be difficult. Everycounteracting influence against the one idea which now predominated overhim had been so weakened as to be almost powerless. His elder childrenwere no longer children; his books had lost for the time the importancethey formerly had over every other consideration in his life; and he hadnot in himself the resource that such a man, judging him from thesurface, might be expected to have had. Not his genius only, but hiswhole nature, was too exclusively made up of sympathy for, and with, thereal in its most intense form, to be sufficiently provided againstfailure in the realities around him. There was for him no "city of themind" against outward ills, for inner consolation and shelter. It was inand from the actual he still stretched forward to find the freedom andsatisfactions of an ideal, and by his very attempts to escape the worldhe was driven back into the thick of it. But what he would have soughtthere, it supplies to none; and to get the infinite out of anything sofinite, has broken many a stout heart. At the close of that last letter from Gadshill (5th of September) wasthis question--"What do you think of my paying for this place, byreviving that old idea of some Readings from my books. I am verystrongly tempted. Think of it. " The reasons against it had great force, and took, in my judgment, greater from the time at which it was againproposed. The old ground of opposition remained. It was a substitutionof lower for higher aims; a change to commonplace from more elevatedpursuits; and it had so much of the character of a public exhibition formoney as to raise, in the question of respect for his calling as awriter, a question also of respect for himself as a gentleman. Thisopinion, now strongly reiterated, was referred ultimately to twodistinguished ladies of his acquaintance, who decided against it. [214]Yet not without such momentary misgiving in the direction of "thestage, " as pointed strongly to the danger, which, by those who took theopposite view, was most of all thought incident to the particular timeof the proposal. It might be a wild exaggeration to fear that he was indanger of being led to adopt the stage as a calling, but he wascertainly about to place himself within reach of not a few of itsdrawbacks and disadvantages. To the full extent he perhaps did nothimself know, how much his eager present wish to become a public readerwas but the outcome of the restless domestic discontents of the lastfour years; and that to indulge it, and the unsettled habits inseparablefrom it, was to abandon every hope of resettling his disordered home. There is nothing, in its application to so divine a genius asShakespeare, more affecting than his expressed dislike to a profession, which, in the jealous self-watchfulness of his noble nature, he fearedmight hurt his mind. [215] The long subsequent line of actors admirablein private as in public life, and all the gentle and generousassociations of the histrionic art, have not weakened the testimony ofits greatest name against its less favourable influences; against thelaxity of habits it may encourage; and its public manners, bred ofpublic means, not always compatible with home felicities and duties. But, freely open as Dickens was to counsel in regard of his books, hewas, for reasons formerly stated, [216] less accessible to it on pointsof personal conduct; and when he had neither self-distrust norself-denial to hold him back, he would push persistently forward towhatever object he had in view. An occurrence of the time hastened the decision in this case. Anenterprise had been set on foot for establishment of a hospital for sickchildren;[217] a large old-fashioned mansion in Great Ormond-street, with spacious garden, had been fitted up with more than thirty beds;during the four or five years of its existence, outdoor and indoorrelief had been afforded by it to nearly fifty thousand children, ofwhom thirty thousand were under five years of age; but, want of fundshaving threatened to arrest the merciful work, it was resolved to try apublic dinner by way of charitable appeal, and for president the happychoice was made of one who had enchanted everybody with the joys andsorrows of little children. Dickens threw himself into the service heartand soul. There was a simple pathos in his address from the chair quitestartling in its effect at such a meeting; and he probably never movedany audience so much as by the strong personal feeling with which hereferred to the sacrifices made for the Hospital by the very poorthemselves: from whom a subscription of fifty pounds, contributed insingle pennies, had come to the treasurer during almost every year ithad been open. The whole speech, indeed, is the best of the kind spokenby him; and two little pictures from it, one of the misery he hadwitnessed, the other of the remedy he had found, should not be absentfrom the picture of his own life. "Some years ago, being in Scotland, I went with one of the most humanemembers of the most humane of professions, on a morning tour among someof the worst lodged inhabitants of the old town of Edinburgh. In thecloses and wynds of that picturesque place (I am sorry to remind youwhat fast friends picturesqueness and typhus often are), we saw morepoverty and sickness in an hour than many people would believe in, in alife. Our way lay from one to another of the most wretched dwellings, reeking with horrible odours; shut out from the sky and from the air, mere pits and dens. In a room in one of these places, where there was anempty porridge-pot on the cold hearth, a ragged woman and some raggedchildren crouching on the bare ground near it, --and, I remember as Ispeak, where the very light, refracted from a high damp-stained walloutside, came in trembling, as if the fever which had shaken everythingelse had shaken even it, --there lay, in an old egg-box which the motherhad begged from a shop, a little, feeble, wan, sick child. With hislittle wasted face, and his little hot worn hands folded over hisbreast, and his little bright attentive eyes, I can see him now, as Ihave seen him for several years, looking steadily at us. There he lay inhis small frail box, which was not at all a bad emblem of the small bodyfrom which he was slowly parting--there he lay, quite quiet, quitepatient, saying never a word. He seldom cried, the mother said; heseldom complained; 'he lay there, seemin' to woonder what it was a'aboot. ' God knows, I thought, as I stood looking at him, he had hisreasons for wondering. . . . Many a poor child, sick and neglected, I haveseen since that time in London; many have I also seen mostaffectionately tended, in unwholesome houses and hard circumstanceswhere recovery was impossible: but at all such times I have seen mylittle drooping friend in his egg-box, and he has always addressed hisdumb wonder to me what it meant, and why, in the name of a gracious God, such things should be! . . . But, ladies and gentlemen, " Dickens added, "such things need NOT be, and will not be, if this company, which is adrop of the life-blood of the great compassionate public heart, willonly accept the means of rescue and prevention which it is mine tooffer. Within a quarter of a mile of this place where I speak, stands aonce courtly old house, where blooming children were born, and grew upto be men and women, and married, and brought their own bloomingchildren back to patter up the old oak staircase which stood but theother day, and to wonder at the old oak carvings on the chimney-pieces. In the airy wards into which the old state drawing-rooms and familybedchambers of that house are now converted, are lodged such smallpatients that the attendant nurses look like reclaimed giantesses, andthe kind medical practitioner like an amiable Christian ogre. Groupedabout the little low tables in the centre of the rooms, are such tinyconvalescents that they seem to be playing at having been ill. On thedoll's beds are such diminutive creatures that each poor sufferer issupplied with its tray of toys: and, looking round, you may see how thelittle tired flushed cheek has toppled over half the brute creation onits way into the ark; or how one little dimpled arm has mowed down (asI saw myself) the whole tin soldiery of Europe. On the walls of theserooms are graceful, pleasant, bright, childish pictures. At the beds'heads, hang representations of the figure which is the universalembodiment of all mercy and compassion, the figure of Him who was once achild Himself, and a poor one. But alas! reckoning up the number of bedsthat are there, the visitor to this Child's Hospital will find himselfperforce obliged to stop at very little over thirty; and will learn, with sorrow and surprise, that even that small number, so forlornly, somiserably diminutive compared with this vast London, cannot possibly bemaintained unless the Hospital be made better known. I limit myself tosaying better known, because I will not believe that in a Christiancommunity of fathers and mothers, and brothers and sisters, it can fail, being better known, to be well and richly-endowed. " It was a brave andtrue prediction. The Child's Hospital has never since known want. Thatnight alone added greatly more than three thousand pounds to its funds, and Dickens put the crown to his good work by reading on its behalf, shortly afterwards, his _Christmas Carol_; when the sum realized, andthe urgent demand that followed for a repetition of the pleasure givenby the reading, bore down farther opposition to the project of hisengaging publicly in such readings for himself. The Child's Hospital night was the 9th of February, its Reading wasappointed for the 15th of April, and, nearly a month before, renewedefforts at remonstrance had been made. "Your view of the readingmatter, " Dickens replied, "I still think is unconsciously taken fromyour own particular point. You don't seem to me to get out of yourselfin considering it. A word more upon it. You are not to think I have madeup my mind. If I had, why should I not say so? I find very greatdifficulty in doing so because of what you urge, because I know thequestion to be a balance of doubts, and because I most honestly feel inmy innermost heart, in this matter (as in all others for years andyears), the honour of the calling by which I have always stood mostconscientiously. But do you quite consider that the public exhibition ofoneself takes place equally, whosoever may get the money? And have youany idea that at this moment--this very time--half the public at leastsupposes me to be paid? My dear F, out of the twenty or five-and-twentyletters a week that I get about Readings, twenty will ask at what price, or on what terms, it can be done. The only exceptions, in truth, arewhen the correspondent is a clergyman, or a banker, or the member forthe place in question. Why, at this very time half Scotland believesthat I am paid for going to Edinburgh!--Here is Greenock writes to me, and asks could it be done for a hundred pounds? There is Aberdeenwrites, and states the capacity of its hall, and says, though far lessprofitable than the very large hall in Edinburgh, is it not enough tocome on for? W. Answers such letters continually. (--At this place, enter Beale. He called here yesterday morning, and then wrote to ask ifI would see him to-day. I replied 'Yes, ' so here he came in. With longpreface called to know whether it was possible to arrange anything inthe way of Readings for this autumn--say, six months. Large capital atcommand. Could produce partners, in such an enterprise, also with largecapital. Represented such. Returns would be enormous. Would I name asum? a minimum sum that I required to have, in any case? Would I look atit as a Fortune, and in no other point of view? I shook my head, andsaid, my tongue was tied on the subject for the present; I might be morecommunicative at another time. Exit Beale in confusion anddisappointment. )--You will be happy to hear that at one on Friday, theLord Provost, Dean of Guild, Magistrates, and Council of the ancientcity of Edinburgh will wait (in procession) on their brother freeman, atthe Music Hall, to give him hospitable welcome. Their brother freemanhas been cursing their stars and his own, ever since the receipt ofsolemn notification to this effect. " But very grateful, when it came, was the enthusiasm of the greeting, and welcome the gift of the silverwassail-bowl which followed the reading of the _Carol_. "I had noopportunity of asking any one's advice in Edinburgh, " he wrote on hisreturn. "The crowd was too enormous, and the excitement in it much toogreat. But my determination is all but taken. I must do _something_, orI shall wear my heart away. I can see no better thing to do that is halfso hopeful in itself, or half so well suited to my restless state. " What is pointed at in those last words had been taken as a ground ofobjection, and thus he turned it into an argument the other way. Duringall these months many sorrowful misunderstandings had continued in hishome, and the relief sought from the misery had but the effect of makingdesperate any hope of a better understanding. "It becomes necessary, "he wrote at the end of March, "with a view to the arrangements thatwould have to be begun next month if I decided on the Readings, toconsider and settle the question of the Plunge. Quite dismiss from yourmind any reference whatever to present circumstances at home. Nothingcan put _them_ right, until we are all dead and buried and risen. It isnot, with me, a matter of will, or trial, or sufferance, or good humour, or making the best of it, or making the worst of it, any longer. It isall despairingly over. Have no lingering hope of, or for, me in thisassociation. A dismal failure has to be borne, and there an end. Willyou then try to think of this reading project (as I do) apart from allpersonal likings and dislikings, and solely with a view to its effect onthat peculiar relation (personally affectionate, and like no otherman's) which subsists between me and the public? I want your mostcareful consideration. If you would like, when you have gone over it inyour mind, to discuss the matter with me and Arthur Smith (who wouldmanage the whole of the business, which I should never touch); we willmake an appointment. But I ought to add that Arthur Smith plainly says, 'Of the immense return in money, I have no doubt. Of the Dash into thenew position, however, I am not so good a judge. ' I enclose you a roughnote[218] of my project, as it stands in my mind. " Mr. Arthur Smith, a man possessed of many qualities that justified theconfidence Dickens placed in him, might not have been a good judge ofthe "Dash" into the new position, but no man knew better everydisadvantage incident to it, or was less likely to be disconcerted byany. His exact fitness to manage the scheme successfully, made him anunsafe counsellor respecting it. Within a week from this time thereading for the Charity was to be given. "They have let, " Dickens wroteon the 9th of April, "five hundred stalls for the Hospital night; andas people come every day for more, and it is out of the question to makemore, they cannot be restrained at St. Martin's Hall from taking downnames for other readings. " This closed the attempt at further objection. Exactly a fortnight after the reading for the children's hospital, onThursday the 29th April, came the first public reading for his ownbenefit; and before the next month was over, this launch into a new lifehad been followed by a change in his old home. Thenceforward he and hiswife lived apart. The eldest son went with his mother, Dickens at oncegiving effect to her expressed wish in this respect; and the otherchildren remained with himself, their intercourse with Mrs. Dickensbeing left entirely to themselves. It was thus far an arrangement of astrictly private nature, and no decent person could have had excuse forregarding it in any other light, if public attention had not beenunexpectedly invited to it by a printed statement in _Household Words_. Dickens was stung into this by some miserable gossip at which inordinary circumstances no man would more determinedly have been silent;but he had now publicly to show himself, at stated times, as a publicentertainer, and this, with his name even so aspersed, he found to beimpossible. All he would concede to my strenuous resistance against sucha publication, was an offer to suppress it, if, upon reference to theopinion of a certain distinguished man (still living), that opinionshould prove to be in agreement with mine. Unhappily it fell in with hisown, and the publication went on. It was followed by another statement, a letter subscribed with his name, which got into print without hissanction; nothing publicly being known of it (I was not among those whohad read it privately) until it appeared in the _New York Tribune_. Ithad been addressed and given to Mr. Arthur Smith as an authority forcorrection of false rumours and scandals, and Mr. Smith had given a copyof it, with like intention, to the _Tribune_ correspondent in London. Its writer referred to it always afterwards as his "violated letter. " The course taken by the author of this book at the time of theseoccurrences, will not be departed from here. Such illustration of gravedefects in Dickens's character as the passage in his life affords, Ihave not shrunk from placing side by side with such excuses in regard toit as he had unquestionable right to claim should be put forward also. How far what remained of his story took tone or colour from it, andespecially from the altered career on which at the same time he entered, will thus be sufficiently explained; and with anything else the publichave nothing to do. FOOTNOTES: [213] Anything more completely opposed to the Micawber type could hardlybe conceived, and yet there were moments (really and truly only moments)when the fancy would arise that if the conditions of his life had beenreversed, something of a vagabond existence (using the word inGoldsmith's meaning) might have supervened. It would have been anunspeakable misery to him, but it might have come nevertheless. Thequestion of hereditary transmission had a curious attraction for him, and considerations connected with it were frequently present to hismind. Of a youth who had fallen into a father's weaknesses without thepossibility of having himself observed them for imitation, he thus wroteon one occasion: "It suggests the strangest consideration as to which ofour own failings we are really responsible, and as to which of them wecannot quite reasonably hold ourselves to be so. What A. Evidentlyderived from his father cannot in his case be derived from associationand observation, but must be in the very principles of his individualityas a living creature. " [214] "You may as well know" (20th of March 1858) "that I went on" (Idesignate the ladies by A and B respectively) "and propounded the matterto A, without any preparation. Result. --'I am surprised, and I shouldhave been surprised if I had seen it in the newspaper without previousconfidence from you. But nothing more. N--no. Certainly not. Nothingmore. I don't see that there is anything derogatory in it, even now whenyou ask me that question. I think upon the whole that most people wouldbe glad you should have the money, rather than other people. It might bemisunderstood here and there, at first; but I think the thing would verysoon express itself, and that your own power of making it express itselfwould be very great. ' As she wished me to ask B, who was in anotherroom, I did so. She was for a moment tremendously disconcerted, '_underthe impression that it was to lead to the stage_' (!!). Then, withoutknowing anything of A's opinion, closely followed it. That absurdassociation had never entered my head or yours; but it might enter someother heads for all that. Take these two opinions for whatever they areworth. A (being very much interested and very anxious to help to a rightconclusion) proposed to ask a few people of various degrees who knowwhat the Readings are, what _they_ think--not compromising me, butsuggesting the project afar-off, as an idea in somebody else's mind. Ithanked her, and said 'Yes, ' of course. " [215 Oh! for my sake do you with Fortune chide The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide Than public means which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand; And almost thence my nature is subdu'd To what it works in, like the dyer's hand. . . Pity me, then, and wish I were renew'd. . . Sonnet cxi. And in the preceding Sonnet cx. Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there, And made myself a motley to the view, Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear. . . [216] Vol. I. Pp. 72-3. I repeat from that passage one or two sentences, though it is hardly fair to give them without the modifications thataccompany them. "A too great confidence in himself, a sense thateverything was possible to the will that would make it so, laidoccasionally upon him self-imposed burdens greater than might be borneby any one with safety. In that direction there was in him, at suchtimes, something even hard and aggressive; in his determinations asomething that had almost the tone of fierceness; something in hisnature that made his resolves insuperable, however hasty the opinions onwhich they had been formed. " [217] The Board of Health returns, showing that out of every annualthousand of deaths in London, the immense proportion of four hundredwere those of children under four years old, had established thenecessity for such a scheme. Of course the stress of this mortality fellon the children of the poor, "dragged up rather than brought up, " asCharles Lamb expressed it, and perishing unhelped by the way. [218] Here is the rough note: in which the reader will be interested toobserve the limits originally placed to the proposal. The first Readingswere to comprise only the _Carol_, and for others a new story was to bewritten. He had not yet the full confidence in his power or versatilityas an actor which subsequent experience gave him. "I propose to announcein a short and plain advertisement (what is quite true) that I cannot somuch as answer the numerous applications that are made to me to read, and that compliance with ever so few of them is, in any reason, impossible. That I have therefore resolved upon a course of readings ofthe _Christmas Carol_ both in town and country, and that those in Londonwill take place at St. Martin's Hall on certain evenings. Those eveningswill be either four or six Thursdays, in May and the beginning ofJune. . . . I propose an Autumn Tour, for the country, extending throughAugust, September, and October. It would comprise the Eastern Counties, the West, Lancashire, Yorkshire, and Scotland. I should read from 35 to40 times in this tour, at the least. At each place where there was agreat success, I would myself announce that I should come back, on theturn of Christmas, to read a new Christmas story written for thatpurpose. This story I should first read a certain number of times inLondon. I have the strongest belief that by April in next year, a verylarge sum of money indeed would be gained by these means. Ireland wouldbe still untouched, and I conceive America alone (if I could resolve togo there) to be worth Ten Thousand Pounds. In all these proceedings, theBusiness would be wholly detached from me, and I should never appear init. I would have an office, belonging to the Readings and to nothingelse, opened in London; I would have the advertisements emanating fromit, and also signed by some one belonging to it; and they should alwaysmention me as a third person--just as the Child's Hospital, forinstance, in addressing the public, mentions me. " CHAPTER VIII. GADSHILL PLACE. 1856-1870. First Description of Gadshill Place--Negociations for Purchase--Becomes his Home in 1859--Gadshill a Century Ago--Antecedents of Dickens's House--Exterior and Porch--Gradual Additions--Later Changes--Swiss Châlet presented by Mr. Fechter--Dickens's Writing-table--Making Gadshill his Home--Planting Trees--New Conservatory--Course of Daily Life--Dickens's Dogs--A Dog with a Taste--Favourite Walks--Cooling Churchyard. "I WAS better pleased with Gadshill Place last Saturday, " he wrote to mefrom Paris on the 13th of February 1856, "on going down there, even thanI had prepared myself to be. The country, against every disadvantage ofseason, is beautiful; and the house is so old fashioned, cheerful, andcomfortable, that it is really pleasant to look at. The good old Rectornow there, has lived in it six and twenty years, so I have not the heartto turn him out. He is to remain till Lady-Day next year, when I shallgo in, please God; make my alterations; furnish the house; and keep itfor myself that summer. " Returning to England through the Kentishcountry with Mr. Wilkie Collins in July, other advantages occurred tohim. "A railroad opened from Rochester to Maidstone, which connectsGadshill at once with the whole sea coast, is certainly an addition tothe place, and an enhancement of its value. Bye and bye we shall havethe London, Chatham and Dover, too; and that will bring it within anhour of Canterbury and an hour and a half of Dover. I am glad to hearof your having been in the neighbourhood. There is no healthier (marshesavoided), and none in my eyes more beautiful. One of these days I shallshow you some places up the Medway with which you will be charmed. " [Illustration: THE PORCH AT GADSHILL. ] The association with his youthful fancy that first made the placeattractive to him has been told; and it was with wonder he had heard oneday, from his friend and fellow worker at _Household Words_, Mr. W. H. Wills, that not only was the house for sale to which he had so oftenlooked wistfully, but that the lady chiefly interested as its owner hadbeen long known and much esteemed by himself. Such curious chances ledDickens to his saying about the smallness of the world; but the closerelation often found thus existing between things and persons far apart, suggests not so much the smallness of the world as the possibleimportance of the least things done in it, and is better explained bythe grander teaching of Carlyle, that causes and effects, connectingevery man and thing with every other, extend through all space and time. It was at the close of 1855 the negociation for its purchase began. "They wouldn't, " he wrote (25th of November), "take £1700 for theGadshill property, but 'finally' wanted £1800. I have finally offered£1750. It will require an expenditure of about £300 more before yielding£100 a year. " The usual discovery of course awaited him that this firstestimate would have to be increased threefold. "The changes absolutelynecessary" (9th of February 1856) "will take a thousand pounds; whichsum I am always resolving to squeeze out of this, grind out of that, andwring out of the other; this, that, and the other generally all threedeclining to come up to the scratch for the purpose. " "This day, "[219]he wrote on the 14th of March, "I have paid the purchase money forGadshill Place. After drawing the cheque (£1790) I turned round to giveit to Wills, and said, 'Now isn't it an extraordinary thing--look at theDay--Friday! I have been nearly drawing it half a dozen times when thelawyers have not been ready, and here it comes round upon a Friday as amatter of course. '" He had no thought at this time of reserving theplace wholly for himself, or of making it his own residence except atintervals of summer. He looked upon it as an investment only. "You willhardly know Gadshill again, " he wrote in January 1858, "I am improvingit so much--yet I have no interest in the place. " But continuedownership brought increased liking; he took more and more interest inhis own improvements, which were just the kind of occasional occupationand resource his life most wanted in its next seven or eight years; andany farther idea of letting it he soon abandoned altogether. It onlyonce passed out of his possession thus, for four months in 1859; in thefollowing year, on the sale of Tavistock House, he transferred to it hisbooks and pictures and choicer furniture; and thenceforward, varied onlyby houses taken from time to time for the London season, he made it hispermanent family abode. Now and then, even during those years, he wouldtalk of selling it; and on his last return from America, when he hadsent the last of his sons out into the world, he really might have soldit if he could then have found a house in London suitable to him, andsuch as he could purchase. But in this he failed; secretly to his ownsatisfaction, as I believe; and thereupon, in that last autumn of hislife, he projected and carried out his most costly addition to Gadshill. Already of course more money had been spent upon it than his firstintention in buying it would have justified. He had so enlarged theaccommodation, improved the grounds and offices, and added to the land, that, taking also into account this final outlay, the reserved priceplaced upon the whole after his death more than quadrupled what he hadgiven in 1856 for the house, shrubbery, and twenty years' lease of ameadow field. It was then purchased, and is now inhabited, by his eldestson. Its position has been described, and one of the last-century-historiesof Rochester quaintly mentions the principal interest of the locality. "Near the twenty-seventh stone from London is Gadshill, supposed to havebeen the scene of the robbery mentioned by Shakespeare in his play ofHenry IV; there being reason to think also that it was Sir JohnFalstaff, of truly comic memory, who under the name of Oldcastleinhabited Cooling Castle of which the ruins are in the neighbourhood. Asmall distance to the left appears on an eminence the Hermitage the seatof the late Sir Francis Head, Bart;[220] and close to the road, on asmall ascent, is a neat building lately erected by Mr. Day. Indescending Strood-hill is a fine prospect of Strood, Rochester, andChatham, which three towns form a continued street extending above twomiles in length. " It had been supposed[221] that "the neat buildinglately erected by Mr. Day" was that which the great novelist madefamous; but Gadshill Place had no existence until eight years after thedate of the history. The good rector who so long lived in it told me, in1859, that it had been built eighty years before by a then well-knowncharacter in those parts, one Stevens, father-in-law of Henslow theCambridge professor of botany. Stevens, who could only with muchdifficulty manage to write his name, had begun life as ostler at an inn;had become husband to the landlord's widow; then a brewer; and finally, as he subscribed himself on one occasion, "mare" of Rochester. Afterwards the house was inhabited by Mr. Lynn (from some of the membersof whose family Dickens made his purchase); and, before the Rev. Mr. Hindle became its tenant, it was inhabited by a Macaroni parson namedTownshend, whose horses the Prince Regent bought, throwing into thebargain a box of much desired cigars. Altogether the place had notableassociations even apart from those which have connected it with themasterpieces of English humour. "THIS HOUSE, GADSHILL PLACE, stands onthe summit of Shakespeare's Gadshill, ever memorable for its associationwith Sir John Falstaff in his noble fancy. _But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill! there arepilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding toLondon with fat purses: I have vizards for you all; you have horses foryourselves. _" Illuminated by Mr. Owen Jones, and placed in a frame onthe first-floor landing, these words were the greeting of the new tenantto his visitors. It was his first act of ownership. All his improvements, it should perhaps be remarked, were notexclusively matters of choice; and to illustrate by his letters whatbefell at the beginning of his changes, will show what attended them tothe close. His earliest difficulty was very grave. There was only onespring of water for gentlefolk and villagers, and from some of thehouses or cottages it was two miles away. "We are still" (6th of July)"boring for water here, at the rate of two pounds per day for wages. Themen seem to like it very much, and to be perfectly comfortable. " Anotherof his earliest experiences (5th of September) was thus expressed:"Hop-picking is going on, and people sleep in the garden, and breathe inat the keyhole of the house door. I have been amazed, before this year, by the number of miserable lean wretches, hardly able to crawl, who gohop-picking. I find it is a superstition that the dust of the newlypicked hop, falling freshly into the throat, is a cure for consumption. So the poor creatures drag themselves along the roads, and sleep underwet hedges, and get cured soon and finally. " Towards the close of thesame month (24th of September) he wrote: "Here are six men perpetuallygoing up and down the well (I know that somebody will be killed), in thecourse of fitting a pump; which is quite a railway terminus--it is soiron, and so big. The process is much more like putting Oxford-streetendwise, and laying gas along it, than anything else. By the time it isfinished, the cost of this water will be something absolutely frightful. But of course it proportionately increases the value of the property, and that's my only comfort. . . . The horse has gone lame from a sprain, the big dog has run a tenpenny nail into one of his hind feet, the boltshave all flown out of the basket-carriage, and the gardener says all thefruit trees want replacing with new ones. " Another note came in threedays. "I have discovered that the seven miles between Maidstone andRochester is one of the most beautiful walks in England. Five men havebeen looking attentively at the pump for a week, and (I should hope) maybegin to fit it in the course of October. " . . . With even such varying fortune he effected other changes. [222] Theexterior remained to the last much as it was when he used as a boy tosee it first; a plain, old-fashioned, two-story, brick-built countryhouse, with a bell-turret on the roof, and over the front door a quaintneat wooden porch with pillars and seats. But, among his additions andalterations, was a new drawing-room built out from the smaller existingone, both being thrown together ultimately; two good bedrooms built ona third floor at the back; and such rearrangement of the ground flooras, besides its handsome drawing-room, and its dining-room which he hungwith pictures, transformed its bedroom into a study which he lined withbooks and sometimes wrote in, and changed its breakfast-parlour into aretreat fitted up for smokers into which he put a small billiard-table. These several rooms opened from a hall having in it a series of Hogarthprints, until, after the artist's death, Stanfield's noble scenes wereplaced there, when the Hogarths were moved to his bedroom; and in thishall, during his last absence in America, a parquet floor was laid down. Nor did he omit such changes as might increase the comfort of hisservants. He built entirely new offices and stables, and replaced a veryold coach-house by a capital servants' hall, transforming the loft aboveinto a commodious school-room or study for his boys. He made at the sametime an excellent croquet-ground out of a waste piece of orchard. Belonging to the house, but unfortunately placed on the other side ofthe high road, was a shrubbery, well wooded though in desolatecondition, in which stood two magnificent cedars; and having obtained, in 1859, the consent of the local authorities for the necessaryunderground work, Dickens constructed a passage beneath the road[223]from his front lawn; and in the shrubbery thus rendered accessible, andwhich he then laid out very prettily, he placed afterwards a Swisschâlet[224] presented to him by Mr. Fechter, which arrived from Paris inninety-four pieces fitting like the joints of a puzzle, but which provedto be somewhat costly in setting on its legs by means of a foundation ofbrickwork. Once up, however, it was a great resource in the summermonths, and much of Dickens's work was done there. "I have put fivemirrors in the châlet where I write, "[225] he told an American friend, "and they reflect and refract, in all kinds of ways, the leaves that arequivering at the windows, and the great fields of waving corn, and thesail-dotted river. My room is up among the branches of the trees; andthe birds and the butterflies fly in and out, and the green branchesshoot in at the open windows, and the lights and shadows of the cloudscome and go with the rest of the company. The scent of the flowers, andindeed of everything that is growing for miles and miles, is mostdelicious. " He used to make great boast, too, not only of his crowds ofsinging birds all day, but of his nightingales at night. [Illustration: THE CHÂLET. ] One or two more extracts from letters having reference to these changesmay show something of the interest to him with which Gadshill thus grewunder his hands. A sun-dial on his back-lawn had a bit of historicinterest about it. "One of the balustrades of the destroyed oldRochester Bridge, " he wrote to his daughter in June 1859, "has been(very nicely) presented to me by the contractors for the works, and hasbeen duly stone-masoned and set up on the lawn behind the house. I haveordered a sun-dial for the top of it, and it will be a very good objectindeed. " "When you come down here next month, " he wrote to me, "we havean idea that we shall show you rather a neat house. What terrificadventures have been in action; how many overladen vans were knocked upat Gravesend, and had to be dragged out of Chalk-turnpike in the dead ofthe night by the whole equine power of this establishment; shall berevealed at another time. " That was in the autumn of 1860, when, on thesale of his London house, its contents were transferred to his countryhome. "I shall have an alteration or two to show you at Gadshill thatgreatly improve the little property; and when I get the workmen out thistime, I think I'll leave off. " October 1861 had now come, when the newbedrooms were built; but in the same month of 1863 he announced histransformation of the old coach-house. "I shall have a small newimprovement to show you at Gads, which I think you will accept as thecrowning ingenuity of the inimitable. " But of course it was not overyet. "My small work and planting, " he wrote in the spring of 1866, "really, truly, and positively the last, are nearly at an end in theseregions, and the result will await summer inspection. " No, nor even yet. He afterwards obtained, by exchange of some land with the trustees ofWatts's Charity, the much coveted meadow at the back of the house ofwhich heretofore he had the lease only; and he was then able to plant anumber of young limes and chestnuts and other quick-growing trees. Hehad already planted a row of limes in front. He had no idea, he wouldsay, of planting only for the benefit of posterity, but would put intothe ground what he might himself enjoy the sight and shade of. He putthem in two or three clumps in the meadow, and in a belt all round. Still there were "more last words, " for the limit was only to be set byhis last year of life. On abandoning his notion, after the AmericanReadings, of exchanging Gadshill for London, a new staircase was put upfrom the hall; a parquet floor laid on the first landing; and aconservatory built, opening into both drawing-room and dining-room, "glass and iron, " as he described it, "brilliant but expensive, withfoundations as of an ancient Roman work of horrible solidity. " This lastaddition had long been an object of desire with him; though he wouldhardly even now have given himself the indulgence but for the goldenshower from America. He saw it first in a completed state on the Sundaybefore his death, when his younger daughter was on a visit to him. "Well, Katey, " he said to her, "now you see POSITIVELY the lastimprovement at Gadshill;" and every one laughed at the joke againsthimself. The success of the new conservatory was unquestionable. It wasthe remark of all around him that he was certainly, from this last ofhis improvements, drawing more enjoyment than from any of itspredecessors, when the scene for ever closed. [Illustration: HOUSE AND CONSERVATORY: FROM THE MEADOW. ] Of the course of his daily life in the country there is not much to besaid. Perhaps there was never a man who changed places so much andhabits so little. He was always methodical and regular; and passed hislife from day to day, divided for the most part between working andwalking, the same wherever he was. The only exception was when specialor infrequent visitors were with him. When such friends as Longfellowand his daughters, or Charles Eliot Norton and his wife, came, or whenMr. Fields brought his wife and Professor Lowell's daughter, or when hereceived other Americans to whom he owed special courtesy, he wouldcompress into infinitely few days an enormous amount of sight seeing andcountry enjoyment, castles, cathedrals, and fortified lines, lunches andpicnics among cherry orchards and hop-gardens, excursions to Canterburyor Maidstone and their beautiful neighbourhoods, Druid-stone and BlueBell Hill. "All the neighbouring country that could be shown in so shorta time, " he wrote of the Longfellow visit, "they saw. I turned out acouple of postilions in the old red jackets of the old red royal Doverroad for our ride, and it was like a holiday ride in England fifty yearsago. " For Lord Lytton he did the same, for the Emerson Tennents, for Mr. Layard and Mr. Helps, for Lady Molesworth and the Higginses (JacobOmnium), and such other less frequent visitors. Excepting on such particular occasions however, and not always eventhen, his mornings were reserved wholly to himself; and he wouldgenerally preface his morning work (such was his love of order ineverything around him) by seeing that all was in its place in theseveral rooms, visiting also the dogs, stables, and kitchen garden, andclosing, unless the weather was very bad indeed, with a turn or tworound the meadow before settling to his desk. His dogs were a greatenjoyment to him;[226] and, with his high road traversed as frequentlyas any in England by tramps and wayfarers of a singularly undesirabledescription, they were also a necessity. There were always two, of themastiff kind, but latterly the number increased. His own favourite wasTurk, a noble animal, full of affection and intelligence, whose death bya railway-accident, shortly after the Staplehurst catastrophe, causedhim great grief. Turk's sole companion up to that date was Linda, puppyof a great St. Bernard brought over by Mr. Albert Smith, and grown intoa superbly beautiful creature. After Turk there was an interval of anIrish dog, Sultan, given by Mr. Percy Fitzgerald; a cross between a St. Bernard and a bloodhound, built and coloured like a lioness and ofsplendid proportions, but of such indomitably aggressive propensities, that, after breaking his kennel-chain and nearly devouring a lucklesslittle sister of one of the servants, he had to be killed. Dickensalways protested that Sultan was a Fenian, for that no dog, not asecretly sworn member of that body, would ever have made such a point, muzzled as he was, of rushing at and bearing down with fury anything inscarlet with the remotest resemblance to a British uniform. Sultan'ssuccessor was Don, presented by Mr. Frederic Lehmann, a grandNewfoundland brought over very young, who with Linda became parent to acouple of Newfoundlands, that were still gambolling about their master, huge, though hardly out of puppydom, when they lost him. He had given toone of them the name of Bumble, from having observed, as he describedit, "a peculiarly pompous and overbearing manner he had of appearing tomount guard over the yard when he was an absolute infant. " Bumble wasoften in scrapes. Describing to Mr. Fields a drought in the summer of1868, when their poor supply of ponds and surface wells had becomewaterless, he wrote: "I do not let the great dogs swim in the canal, because the people have to drink of it. But when they get into theMedway, it is hard to get them out again. The other day Bumble (the son, Newfoundland dog) got into difficulties among some floating timber, andbecame frightened. Don (the father) was standing by me, shaking off thewet and looking on carelessly, when all of a sudden he perceivedsomething amiss, and went in with a bound and brought Bumble out by theear. The scientific way in which he towed him along was charming. " Thedescription of his own reception, on his reappearance after America, byBumble and his brother, by the big and beautiful Linda, and by hisdaughter Mary's handsome little Pomeranian, may be added from hisletters to the same correspondent. "The two Newfoundland dogs coming tomeet me, with the usual carriage and the usual driver, and beholding mecoming in my usual dress out at the usual door, it struck me that theirrecollection of my having been absent for any unusual time was at oncecancelled. They behaved (they are both young dogs) exactly in theirusual manner; coming behind the basket phaeton as we trotted along, andlifting their heads to have their ears pulled, a special attention whichthey receive from no one else. But when I drove into the stable-yard, Linda (the St. Bernard) was greatly excited; weeping profusely, andthrowing herself on her back that she might caress my foot with hergreat fore-paws. Mary's little dog too, Mrs. Bouncer, barked in thegreatest agitation on being called down and asked by Mary, 'Who isthis?' and tore round and round me like the dog in the Faust outlines. "The father and mother and their two sons, four formidable-lookingcompanions, were with him generally in his later walks. Round Cobham, skirting the park and village and passing the LeatherBottle famous in the page of _Pickwick_, was a favourite walk withDickens. By Rochester and the Medway, to the Chatham Lines, was another. He would turn out of Rochester High-street through The Vines (where someold buildings, from one of which called Restoration-house he tookSatis-house for _Great Expectations_, had a curious attraction for him), would pass round by Fort Pitt, and coming back by Frindsbury would bringhimself by some cross fields again into the high road. Or, taking theother side, he would walk through the marshes to Gravesend, return byChalk church, and stop always to have greeting with a comical old monkwho for some incomprehensible reason sits carved in stone, cross-leggedwith a jovial pot, over the porch of that sacred edifice. To anotherdrearier churchyard, itself forming part of the marshes beyond theMedway, he often took friends to show them the dozen small tombstones ofvarious sizes adapted to the respective ages of a dozen small childrenof one family which he made part of his story of _Great Expectations_, though, with the reserves always necessary in copying nature not tooverstep her modesty by copying too closely, he makes the number thatappalled little Pip not more than half the reality. About the whole ofthis Cooling churchyard, indeed, and the neighbouring castle ruins, there was a weird strangeness that made it one of his attractive walksin the late year or winter, when from Higham he could get to it acrosscountry over the stubble fields; and, for a shorter summer walk, he wasnot less fond of going round the village of Shorne, and sitting on a hotafternoon in its pretty shaded churchyard. But on the whole, thoughMaidstone had also much that attracted him to its neighbourhood, theCobham neighbourhood was certainly that which he had greatest pleasurein; and he would have taken oftener than he did the walk through Cobhampark and woods, which was the last he enjoyed before life suddenlyclosed upon him, but that here he did not like his dogs to follow. [Illustration: THE STUDY AT GADSHILL. ] Don now has his home there with Lord Darnley, and Linda lies under oneof the cedars at Gadshill. FOOTNOTES: [219] On New Year's Day he had written from Paris. "When in LondonCoutts's advised me not to sell out the money for Gadshill Place (thetitle of my estate sir, my place down in Kent) until the conveyance wassettled and ready. " [220] Two houses now stand on what was Sir Francis Head's estate, theGreat and Little Hermitage, occupied respectively by Mr. Malleson andMr. Hulkes, who became intimate with Dickens. Perry of the _MorningChronicle_, whose town house was in that court out of Tavistock-squareof which Tavistock House formed part, had occupied the Great Hermitagepreviously. [221] By the obliging correspondent who sent me this _History ofRochester_, 8vo. (Rochester, 1772), p. 302. [222] "As to the carpenters, " he wrote to his daughter in September1860, "they are absolutely maddening. They are always at work yet neverseem to do anything, L. Was down on Friday, and said (with his eye fixedon Maidstone and rubbing his hands to conciliate his moody employer)that 'he didn't think there would be very much left to do after Saturdaythe 29th. ' I didn't throw him out of window. " [223] A passage in his paper on Tramps embodies very amusinglyexperience recorded in his letters of this brick-work tunnel and thesinking of the well; but I can only borrow one sentence. "The current ofmy uncommercial pursuits caused me only last summer to want a littlebody of workmen for a certain spell of work in a pleasant part of thecountry; and I was at one time honoured with the attendance of as manyas seven-and-twenty, who were looking at six. " Bits of wonderfulobservation are in that paper. [224] This was at the beginning of 1865. "The châlet, " he wrote to me onthe 7th of January, "is going on excellently, though the ornamental partis more slowly put together than the substantial. It will really be avery pretty thing; and in the summer (supposing it not to be blown awayin the spring), the upper room will make a charming study. It is muchhigher than we supposed. " [225] As surely, however, as he did any work there, so surely hisindispensable little accompaniments of work (ii. 226) were carried alongwith him; and of these I will quote what was written shortly after hisdeath by his son-in-law, Mr. Charles Collins, to illustrate a verytouching sketch by Mr. Fildes of his writing-desk and vacant chair. "Ranged in front of, and round about him, were always a variety ofobjects for his eye to rest on in the intervals of actual writing, andany one of which he would have instantly missed had it been removed. There was a French bronze group representing a duel with swords, foughtby a couple of very fat toads, one of them (characterised by thatparticular buoyancy which belongs to corpulence) in the act of making aprodigious lunge forward, which the other receives in the very middle ofhis digestive apparatus, and under the influence of which it seemslikely that he will satisfy the wounded honour of his opponent bypromptly expiring. There was another bronze figure which always stoodnear the toads, also of French manufacture, and also full of comicsuggestion. It was a statuette of a dog-fancier, such a one as you usedto see on the bridges or quays of Paris, with a profusion of little dogsstuck under his arms and into his pockets, and everywhere where littledogs could possibly be insinuated, all for sale, and all, as even acasual glance at the vendor's exterior would convince the mostunsuspicious person, with some screw loose in their physicalconstitutions or moral natures, to be discovered immediately afterpurchase. There was the long gilt leaf with the rabbit sitting erectupon its haunches, the huge paper-knife often held in his hand duringhis public readings, and the little fresh green cup ornamented with theleaves and blossoms of the cowslip, in which a few fresh flowers werealways placed every morning--for Dickens invariably worked with flowerson his writing-table. There was also the register of the day of the weekand of the month, which stood always before him; and when the room inthe châlet in which he wrote his last paragraph was opened, some timeafter his death, the first thing to be noticed by those who entered wasthis register, set at 'Wednesday, June 8'--the day of his seizure. " Itremains to this day as it was found. [226] Dickens's interest in dogs (as in the habits and ways of allanimals) was inexhaustible, and he welcomed with delight any new trait. The subjoined, told him by a lady friend, was a great acquisition. "Imust close" (14th of May 1867) "with an odd story of a Newfoundland dog. An immense black good-humoured Newfoundland dog. He came from Oxford andhad lived all his life at a brewery. Instructions were given with himthat if he were let out every morning alone, he would immediately findout the river; regularly take a swim; and gravely come home again. Thishe did with the greatest punctuality, but after a little while wasobserved to smell of beer. She was so sure that he smelt of beer thatshe resolved to watch him. Accordingly, he was seen to come back fromhis swim, round the usual corner, and to go up a flight of steps into abeer-shop. Being instantly followed, the beer-shop-keeper is seen totake down a pot (pewter pot), and is heard to say: 'Well, old chap! Comefor your beer as usual, have you?' Upon which he draws a pint and putsit down, and the dog drinks it. Being required to explain how this comesto pass, the man says, 'Yes ma'am. I know he's your dog ma'am, but Ididn't when he first come. He looked in ma'am--as a Brickmakermight--and then he come in--as a Brickmaker might--and he wagged histail at the pots, and he giv' a sniff round, and conveyed to me as hewas used to beer. So I draw'd him a drop, and he drunk it up. Nextmorning he come agen by the clock and I drawed him a pint, and eversince he has took his pint reglar. '" CHAPTER IX. FIRST PAID READINGS. 1858-1859. First Series--Exeter Audience--Impressions of Dublin--Irish Car-driver--Young Ireland and Old England--Reception in Belfast--At Harrogate--At York--At Manchester--Continued Successes--Scene at Edinburgh--At Dundee--At Aberdeen and Perth--At Glasgow--Glasgow Audience--Subjects of First Readings--First Library Edition of his Books--At Coventry--Frith's Portrait of Dickens. DICKENS gave his paid public Readings successively, with not longintervals, at four several dates; in 1858-9, in 1861-63, in 1866-67, andin 1868-70; the first series under Mr. Arthur Smith's management, thesecond under Mr. Headland's, and the third and fourth, in America aswell as before and after it, under that of Mr. George Dolby, who, excepting in America, acted for the Messrs. Chappell. The references inthe present chapter are to the first series only. It began with sixteen nights at St. Martin's Hall, the first on the 29thof April, the last on the 22nd of July, 1858; and there was afterwards aprovincial tour of 87 readings, beginning at Clifton on the 2nd ofAugust, ending at Brighton on the 13th of November, and taking inIreland and Scotland as well as the principal English cities: to whichwere added, in London, three Christmas readings, three in January, withtwo in the following month; and, in the provinces in the month ofOctober, fourteen, beginning at Ipswich and Norwich, taking in Cambridgeand Oxford, and closing with Birmingham and Cheltenham. The series hadcomprised altogether 125 Readings when it ended on the 27th of October, 1859; and without the touches of character and interest afforded by hisletters written while thus employed, the picture of the man would not becomplete. Here was one day's work at the opening which will show something of thefatigue they involved even at their outset. "On Friday we came fromShrewsbury to Chester; saw all right for the evening; and then went toLiverpool. Came back from Liverpool and read at Chester. Left Chester at11 at night, after the reading, and went to London. Got to TavistockHouse at 5 A. M. On Saturday, left it at a quarter past 10 that morning, and came down here" (Gadshill: 15th of August 1858). The "greatest personal affection and respect" had greeted himeverywhere. Nothing could have been "more strongly marked or warmlyexpressed;" and the readings had "gone" quite wonderfully. What in thisrespect had most impressed him, at the outset of his adventures, wasExeter. "I think they were the finest audience I ever read to; I don'tthink I ever read in some respects so well; and I never beheld anythinglike the personal affection which they poured out upon me at the end. Ishall always look back upon it with pleasure. " He often lost his voicein these early days, having still to acquire the art of husbanding it;and in the trial to recover it would again waste its power. "I think Isang half the Irish melodies to myself as I walked about, to test it. " An audience of two thousand three hundred people (the largest he hadhad) greeted him at Liverpool on his way to Dublin, and, besides thetickets sold, more than two hundred pounds in money was taken at thedoors. This taxed his business staff a little. "They turned awayhundreds, sold all the books, rolled on the ground of my room knee-deepin checks, and made a perfect pantomime of the whole thing. " (20th ofAugust. ) He had to repeat the reading thrice. [227] It was the first time he had seen Ireland, and Dublin greatly surprisedhim by appearing to be so much larger and more populous than he hadsupposed. He found it to have altogether an unexpectedly thriving look, being pretty nigh as big, he first thought, as Paris; of which someplaces in it, such as the quays on the river, reminded him. Half thefirst day he was there, he took to explore it; walking till tired, andthen taking a car. "Power, dressed for the character of Teddy the Tiler, drove me: in a suit of patches, and with his hat unbrushed for twentyyears. Wonderfully pleasant, light, intelligent, and careless. "[228] Thenumber of common people he saw in his drive, "also riding about in carsas hard as they could split, " brought to his recollection a more distantscene, and but for the dresses he could have thought himself on theToledo at Naples. In respect of the number of his audience, and their reception of him, Dublin was one of his marked successes. He came to have some doubt oftheir capacity of receiving the pathetic, but of their quickness as tothe humorous there could be no question, any more than of theirheartiness. He got on wonderfully well with the Dublin people. [229] TheBoots at Morrison's expressed the general feeling in a patriotic pointof view. "He was waiting for me at the hotel door last night. 'Whaatsart of a hoose sur?' he asked me. 'Capital. ' 'The Lard be praised furthe 'onor 'o Dooblin!'" Within the hotel, on getting up next morning, hehad a dialogue with a smaller resident, landlord's son he supposed, alittle boy of the ripe age of six, which he presented, in his letter tohis sister-in-law, as a colloquy between Old England and Young Irelandinadequately reported for want of the "imitation" it required for itsfull effect. "I am sitting on the sofa, writing, and find him sittingbeside me. "_Old England. _ Halloa old chap. "_Young Ireland. _ Hal--loo! "_Old England_ (in his delightful way). What a nice old fellow you are. I am very fond of little boys. "_Young Ireland. _ Air yes? Ye'r right. "_Old England. _ What do you learn, old fellow? "_Young Ireland_ (very intent on Old England, and always childish exceptin his brogue). I lairn wureds of three sillibils--and wureds of twosillibils--and wureds of one sillibil. "_Old England_ (cheerfully). Get out, you humbug! You learn only wordsof one syllable. "_Young Ireland_ (laughs heartily). You may say that it is mostly wuredsof one sillibil. "_Old England. _ Can you write? "_Young Ireland, _ Not yet. Things comes by deegrays. "_Old England. _ Can you cipher? "_Young Ireland_ (very quickly). Whaat's that? "_Old England. _ Can you make figures? "_Young Ireland. _ I can make a nought, which is not asy, being roond. "_Old England. _ I say, old boy! Wasn't it you I saw on Sunday morning inthe Hall, in a soldier's cap? You know!--In a soldier's cap? "_Young Ireland_ (cogitating deeply). Was it a very good cap? "_Old England. _ Yes. "_Young Ireland. _ Did it fit ankommon? "_Old England. _ Yes. "_Young Ireland. _ Dat was me!" The last night in Dublin was an extraordinary scene. "You can hardlyimagine it. All the way from the hotel to the Rotunda (a mile), I had tocontend against the stream of people who were turned away. When I gotthere, they had broken the glass in the pay-boxes, and were offering £5freely for a stall. Half of my platform had to be taken down, and peopleheaped in among the ruins. You never saw such a scene. "[230] But hewould not return after his other Irish engagements. "I have positivelysaid No. The work is too hard. It is not like doing it in one easy room, and always the same room. With a different place every night, and adifferent audience with its own peculiarity every night, it is atremendous strain. . . . I seem to be always either in a railway carriageor reading, or going to bed; and I get so knocked up whenever I have aminute to remember it, that then I go to bed as a matter of course. " Belfast he liked quite as much as Dublin in another way. "A fine placewith a rough people; everything looking prosperous; the railway ridefrom Dublin quite amazing in the order, neatness, and cleanness of allyou see; every cottage looking as if it had been whitewashed the daybefore; and many with charming gardens, prettily kept with brightflowers. " The success, too, was quite as great. "Enormous audiences. Weturn away half the town. [231] I think them a better audience on thewhole than Dublin; and the personal affection is something overwhelming. I wish you and the dear girls" (he is writing to his sister-in-law)"could have seen the people look at me in the street; or heard them askme, as I hurried to the hotel after the reading last night, to 'do methe honor to shake hands Misther Dickens and God bless you sir; notounly for the light you've been to me this night, but for the lightyou've been in mee house sir (and God love your face!) this many ayear!'"[232] He had never seen men "go in to cry so undisguisedly, " asthey did at the Belfast _Dombey_ reading; and as to the _Boots_ and_Mrs. Gamp_ "it was just one roar with me and them. For they made melaugh so, that sometimes I _could not_ compose my face to go on. " Hisgreatest trial in this way however was a little later atHarrogate--"the queerest place, with the strangest people in it, leadingthe oddest lives of dancing, newspaper-reading, and tablesd'hôte"--where he noticed, at the same reading, embodiments respectivelyof the tears and laughter to which he has moved his fellow creatures solargely. "There was one gentleman at the _Little Dombey_ yesterdaymorning" (he is still writing to his sister-in-law) "who exhibited--orrather concealed--the profoundest grief. After crying a good dealwithout hiding it, he covered his face with both his hands, and laid itdown on the back of the seat before him, and really shook with emotion. He was not in mourning, but I supposed him to have lost some child inold time. . . . There was a remarkably good fellow too, of thirty or so, who found something so very ludicrous in Toots that he _could not_compose himself at all, but laughed until he sat wiping his eyes withhis handkerchief; and whenever he felt Toots coming again, he began tolaugh and wipe his eyes afresh; and when Toots came once more, he gave akind of cry, as if it were too much for him. It was uncommonly droll, and made me laugh heartily. " At Harrogate he read twice on one day (a Saturday), and had to engage aspecial engine to take him back that night to York, which, havingreached at one o'clock in the morning, he had to leave, because ofSunday restrictions on travel, the same morning at half-past four, toenable him to fulfil a Monday's reading at Scarborough. Such fatiguesbecame matters of course; but their effect, not noted at the time, wasgrave. "At York I had a most magnificent audience, and might havefilled the place for a week. . . . I think the audience possessed of abetter knowledge of character than any I have seen. But I recollectDoctor Belcombe to have told me long ago that they first found outCharles Mathews's father, and to the last understood him (he used tosay) better than any other people. . . . The let is enormous for nextSaturday at Manchester, stalls alone four hundred! I shall soon be ableto send you the list of places to the 15th of November, the end. I shallbe, O most heartily glad, when that time comes! But I must say that theintelligence and warmth of the audiences are an immense sustainment, andone that always sets me up. Sometimes before I go down to read(especially when it is in the day), I am so oppressed by having to do itthat I feel perfectly unequal to the task. But the people lift me out ofthis directly; and I find that I have quite forgotten everything butthem and the book, in a quarter of an hour. " The reception that awaited him at Manchester had very special warmth init, occasioned by an adverse tone taken in the comment of one of theManchester daily papers on the letter which by a breach of confidencehad been then recently printed. "My violated letter" Dickens alwayscalled it. "When I came to Manchester on Saturday I found seven hundredstalls taken! When I went into the room at night 2500 people had paid, and more were being turned away from every door. The welcome they gaveme was astounding in its affectionate recognition of the late trouble, and fairly for once unmanned me. I never saw such a sight or heard sucha sound. When they had thoroughly done it, they settled down to enjoythemselves; and certainly did enjoy themselves most heartily to the lastminute. " Nor, for the rest of his English tour, in any of the towns thatremained, had he reason to complain of any want of hearty greeting. AtSheffield great crowds came in excess of the places. At Leeds the halloverflowed in half an hour. At Hull the vast concourse had to beaddressed by Mr. Smith on the gallery stairs, and additional Readingshad to be given, day and night, "for the people out of town and for thepeople in town. " The net profit to himself, thus far, had been upwards of three hundredpounds a week;[233] but this was nothing to the success in Scotland, where his profit in a week, with all expenses paid, was five hundredpounds. The pleasure was enhanced, too, by the presence of his twodaughters, who had joined him over the Border. At first the look ofEdinburgh was not promising. "We began with, for us, a poor room. . . . But the effect of that reading (it was the _Chimes_) was immense; and onthe next night, for _Little Dombey_, we had a full room. It is ourgreatest triumph everywhere. Next night (_Poor Traveller_, _Boots_, and_Gamp_) we turned away hundreds upon hundreds of people; and last night, for the _Carol_, in spite of advertisements in the morning that thetickets were gone, the people had to be got in through such a crowd asrendered it a work of the utmost difficulty to keep an alley into theroom. They were seated about me on the platform, put into the doorway ofthe waiting-room, squeezed into every conceivable place, and a multitudeturned away once more. I think I am better pleased with what was done inEdinburgh than with what has been done anywhere, almost. It was socompletely taken by storm, and carried in spite of itself. Mary andKatey have been infinitely pleased and interested with Edinburgh. We arejust going to sit down to dinner and therefore I cut my missive short. Travelling, dinner, reading, and everything else, come crowding togetherinto this strange life. " Then came Dundee: "An odd place, " he wrote, "like Wapping with highrugged hills behind it. We had the strangest journey here--bits of sea, and bits of railroad, alternately; which carried my mind back totravelling in America. The room is an immense new one, belonging to LordKinnaird, and Lord Panmure, and some others of that sort. It lookssomething between the Crystal-palace and Westminster-hall (I can'timagine who wants it in this place), and has never been tried yet forspeaking in. Quite disinterestedly of course, I hope it will succeed. "The people he thought, in respect of taste and intelligence, below anyother of his Scotch audiences; but they woke up surprisingly, and therest of his Caledonian tour was a succession of triumphs. "At Aberdeenwe were crammed to the street, twice in one day. At Perth (where Ithought when I arrived, there literally could be nobody to come) thegentlefolk came posting in from thirty miles round, and the whole towncame besides, and filled an immense hall. They were as full ofperception, fire, and enthusiasm as any people I have seen. At Glasgow, where I read three evenings and one morning, we took the prodigiouslylarge sum of six hundred pounds! And this at the Manchester prices, which are lower than St. Martin's Hall. As to the effect--I wish youcould have seen them after Lilian died in the _Chimes_, or when Scroogewoke in the _Carol_ and talked to the boy outside the window. And at theend of _Dombey_ yesterday afternoon, in the cold light of day, they allgot up, after a short pause, gentle and simple, and thundered and wavedtheir hats with such astonishing heartiness and fondness that, for thefirst time in all my public career, they took me completely off my legs, and I saw the whole eighteen hundred of them reel to one side as if ashock from without had shaken the hall. Notwithstanding which, I mustconfess to you, I am very anxious to get to the end of my Readings, andto be at home again, and able to sit down and think in my own study. There has been only one thing quite without alloy. The dear girls haveenjoyed themselves immensely, and their trip with me has been a greatsuccess. " The subjects of his readings during this first circuit were the _Carol_, the _Chimes_, the _Trial in Pickwick_, the chapters containing _PaulDombey_, _Boots at the Holly Tree Inn_, the _Poor Traveller_ (CaptainDoubledick), and _Mrs. Gamp_: to which he continued to restrict himselfthrough the supplementary nights that closed in the autumn of 1859. [234]Of these the most successful in their uniform effect upon his audienceswere undoubtedly the _Carol_, the _Pickwick_ scene, _Mrs. Gamp_, and the_Dombey_--the quickness, variety, and completeness of his assumption ofcharacter, having greatest scope in these. Here, I think, more than inthe pathos or graver level passages, his strength lay; but this isentitled to no weight other than as an individual opinion, and hisaudiences gave him many reasons for thinking differently. [235] The incidents of the period covered by this chapter that had any generalinterest in them, claim to be mentioned briefly. At the close of 1857 hepresided at the fourth anniversary of the Warehousemen and Clerks'Schools, describing and discriminating, with keenest wit and kindliestfun, the sort of schools he liked and he disliked. To the spring andsummer of 1858 belongs the first collection of his writings into asuccinct library form, each of the larger novels occupying two volumes. In March he paid warm public tribute to Thackeray (who had been inducedto take the chair at the General Theatrical Fund) as one for whosegenius he entertained the warmest admiration, who did honour toliterature, and in whom literature was honoured. In May he presided atthe Artists' Benevolent Fund dinner, and made striking appeal for thatexcellent charity. In July he took earnest part in the opening effortson behalf of the Royal Dramatic College, which he supplemented later bya speech for the establishment of schools for actors' children; in whichhe took occasion to declare his belief that there were no institutionsin England so socially liberal as its public schools, and that there wasnowhere in the country so complete an absence of servility to mere rank, position, or riches. "A boy, there, is always what his abilities or hispersonal qualities make him. We may differ about the curriculum andother matters, but of the frank, free, manly, independent spiritpreserved in our public schools, I apprehend there can be no kind ofquestion. " In December[236] he was entertained at a public dinner inCoventry on the occasion of receiving, by way of thanks for helprendered to their Institute, a gold repeater of special construction bythe watchmakers of the town; as to which he kept faithfully his pledgeto the givers, that it should be thenceforward the inseparable companionof his workings and wanderings, and reckon off the future labours of hisdays until he should have done with the measurement of time. Within aday from this celebration, he presided at the Institutional Associationof Lancashire and Cheshire in Manchester Free Trade Hall; gave prizes tocandidates from a hundred and fourteen local mechanics' institutesaffiliated to the Association; described in his most attractive languagethe gallant toiling fellows by whom the prizes had been won; and endedwith the monition he never failed to couple with his eulogies ofKnowledge, that it should follow the teaching of the Saviour, and notsatisfy the understanding merely. "Knowledge has a very limited powerwhen it informs the head only; but when it informs the heart as well, it has a power over life and death, the body and the soul, and dominatesthe universe. " This too was the year when Mr. Frith completed Dickens's portrait, andit appeared upon the walls of the Academy in the following spring. "Iwish, " said Edwin Landseer as he stood before it, "he looked less eagerand busy, and not so much out of himself, or beyond himself. I shouldlike to catch him asleep and quiet now and then. " There is something inthe objection, and he also would be envious at times of what he toosurely knew could never be his lot. On the other hand who wouldwillingly have lost the fruits of an activity on the whole so healthyand beneficent? FOOTNOTES: [227] This was the _Carol_ and _Pickwick_. "We are reduced sometimes, "he adds, "to a ludicrous state of distress by the quantity of silver wehave to carry about. Arthur Smith is always accompanied by an immenseblack leather-bag full. " Mr. Smith had an illness a couple of dayslater, and Dickens whimsically describes his rapid recovery ondiscovering the state of their balances. "He is now sitting opposite tome on a bag of £40 of silver. It must be dreadfully hard. " [228] A letter to his eldest daughter (23rd of Aug. ) makes humorousaddition. "The man who drove our jaunting car yesterday hadn't a piecein his coat as big as a penny roll, and had had his hat on (apparentlywithout brushing it) ever since he was grown-up. But he was remarkablyintelligent and agreeable, with something to say about everything. Forinstance, when I asked him what a certain building was, he didn't say'Courts of Law' and nothing else, but 'Av yer plase Sir, its the foorCoorts o' looyers, where Misther O'Connell stood his trial wunst, asye'll remimbir sir, afore I till ye ov it. ' When we got into thePhoenix Park, he looked round him as if it were his own, and said'THAT'S a Park sir, av ye plase!' I complimented it, and he said'Gintlemen tills me as they iv bin, sir, over Europe and never see aPark aqualling ov it. Yander's the Vice-regal Lodge, sir; in thim twocorners lives the two Sicretaries, wishing I was thim sir. There's airhere sir, av yer plase! There's scenery here sir! There's mountains thimsir! Yer coonsider it a Park sir? It is that sir!'" [229] The Irish girls outdid the American (i. 385) in one particular. Hewrote to his sister-in-law: "Every night, by the bye, since I have beenin Ireland, the ladies have beguiled John out of the bouquet from mycoat; and yesterday morning, as I had showered the leaves from mygeranium in reading _Little Dombey_, they mounted the platform after Iwas gone, and picked them all up as a keepsake. " A few days earlier hehad written to the same correspondent: "The papers are full of remarksupon my white tie, and describe it as being of enormous size, which is awonderful delusion; because, as you very well know, it is a small tie. Generally, I am happy to report, the Emerald press is in favour of myappearance, and likes my eyes. But one gentleman comes out with a letterat Cork, wherein he says that although only 46, I look like an old man. " [230] "They had offered frantic prices for stalls. Eleven bank-noteswere thrust into a paybox at one time for eleven stalls. Our men wereflattened against walls and squeezed against beams. Ladies stood allnight with their chins against my platform. Other ladies sat all nightupon my steps. We turned away people enough to make immense houses for aweek. " Letter to his eldest daughter. [231] "Shillings get into stalls, and half-crowns get into shillings, and stalls get nowhere, and there is immense confusion. " Letter to hisdaughter. [232] "I was brought very near to what I sometimes dream may be myFame, " he says in a letter of later date to myself from York, "when alady whose face I had never seen stopped me yesterday in the street, andsaid to me, _Mr. Dickens, will you let me touch the hand that has filledmy house with many friends_. " October 1858. [233] "That is no doubt immense, our expenses being necessarily large, and the travelling party being always five. " Another source of profitwas the sale of the copies of the several Readings prepared by himself. "Our people alone sell eight, ten, and twelve dozen a night. " A laterletter says: "The men with the reading books were sold out, for aboutthe twentieth time, at Manchester. Eleven dozen of the _Poor Traveller_, _Boots_, and _Gamp_ being sold in about ten minutes, they had no moreleft; and Manchester became green with the little tracts, in everybookshop, outside every omnibus, and passing along every street. Thesale of them, apart from us, must be very great. " "Did I tell you, " hewrites in another letter, "that the agents for our tickets who are alsobooksellers, say very generally that the readings decidedly increase thesale of the books they are taken from? We were first told of this by aMr. Parke, a wealthy old gentleman in a very large way at Wolverhampton, who did all the business for love, and would not take a farthing. Sincethen, we have constantly come upon it; and M'Glashin and Gill at Dublinwere very strong about it indeed. " [234] The last of them were given immediately after his completion ofthe _Tale of Two Cities_: "I am a little tired; but as little, Isuspect, as any man could be with the work of the last four days, andperhaps the change of work was better than subsiding into rest and rust. The Norwich people were a noble audience. There, and at Ipswich andBury, we had the demonstrativeness of the great working-towns, and amuch finer perception. "--14th of October 1859. [235] Two pleasing little volumes may here be named as devoted tospecial descriptions of the several Readings; by his friend Mr. CharlesKent in England (_Charles Dickens as a Reader_), and by Miss Kate Fieldin America (_Pen Photographs_). [236] Let me subjoin his own note of a less important incident of thatmonth which will show his quick and sure eye for any bit of acting outof the common. The lady has since justified its closing prediction. Describing an early dinner with Chauncy Townshend, he adds (17th ofDecember 1858): "I escaped at half-past seven, and went to the StrandTheatre: having taken a stall beforehand, for it is always crammed. Ireally wish you would go, between this and next Thursday, to see the_Maid and the Magpie_ burlesque there. There is the strangest thing init that ever I have seen on the stage. The boy, Pippo, by Miss Wilton. While it is astonishingly impudent (must be, or it couldn't be done atall), it is so stupendously like a boy, and unlike a woman, that it isperfectly free from offence. I never have seen such a thing. PriscillaHorton, as a boy, not to be thought of beside it. She does an imitationof the dancing of the Christy Minstrels--wonderfully clever--which, inthe audacity of its thorough-going, is surprising. A thing that you _cannot_ imagine a woman's doing at all; and yet the manner, the appearance, the levity, impulse, and spirits of it, are so exactly like a boy thatyou cannot think of anything like her sex in association with it. Itbegins at 8, and is over by a quarter-past 9. I never have seen such acurious thing, and the girl's talent is unchallengeable. I call her thecleverest girl I have ever seen on the stage in my time, and the mostsingularly original. " CHAPTER X. ALL THE YEAR ROUND AND THE UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLER. 1859-1861. _All the Year Round_ started--_Household Words_ discontinued--Differences with Mr. Bentley--In Search of a Name for New Periodical--Opening a Story--Success of New Periodical--At Knebworth with Bulwer Lytton--Sale of Christmas Numbers--Commercial Travellers' Schools--Personal References--Remedy for Sleeplessness--"Tramp" Experiences--Reduced Bantams--Bethnal-green Fowls--The Goldfinch and his Friend--Offers from America--Visit of Mr. Fields. IN the interval before the close of the first circuit of readings, painful personal disputes arising out of the occurrences of the previousyear were settled by the discontinuance of _Household Words_, and theestablishment in its place of _All the Year Round_. The disputes turnedupon matters of feeling exclusively, and involved no charge on eitherside that would render any detailed reference here other than gravelyout of place. The question into which the difference ultimately resolveditself was that of the respective rights of the parties as proprietorsof _Household Words_; and this, upon a bill filed in Chancery, wassettled by a winding-up order, under which the property was sold. It wasbought by Dickens, who, even before the sale, exactly fulfilling aprevious announcement of the proposed discontinuance of the existingperiodical and establishment of another in its place, precisely similarbut under a different title, had started _All the Year Round_. It was tobe regretted perhaps that he should have thought it necessary to move atall, but he moved strictly within his rights. To the publishers first associated with his great success in literature, Messrs. Chapman and Hall, he now returned for the issue of the remainderof his books; of which he always in future reserved the copyrights, making each the subject of such arrangement as for the time might seemto him desirable. In this he was met by no difficulty; and indeed itwill be only proper to add, that, in any points affecting his relationswith those concerned in the production of his books, though hisresentments were easily and quickly roused, they were never verylasting. The only fair rule therefore was, in a memoir of his life, toconfine the mention of such things to what was strictly necessary toexplain its narrative. This accordingly has been done; and, in theseveral disagreements it has been necessary to advert to, I cannotcharge myself with having in a single instance overstepped the rule. Objection has been made to my revival of the early differences with Mr. Bentley. But silence respecting them was incompatible with whatabsolutely required to be said, if the picture of Dickens in his mostinteresting time, at the outset of his career in letters, was not to beomitted altogether; and, suppressing everything of mere temper thatgathered round the dispute, use was made of those letters onlycontaining the young writer's urgent appeal to be absolved, rightly orwrongly, from engagements he had too precipitately entered into. Wrongly, some might say, because the law was undoubtedly on Mr. Bentley's side; but all subsequent reflection has confirmed the view Iwas led strongly to take at the time, that in the facts there had cometo be involved what the law could not afford to overlook, and that thesale of brain-work can never be adjusted by agreement with the sameexactness and certainty as that of ordinary goods and chattels. Quittingthe subject once for all with this remark, it is not less incumbent onme to say that there was no stage of the dispute in which Mr. Bentley, holding as strongly the other view, might not think it to havesufficient justification; and certainly in later years there was noabsence of friendly feeling on the part of Dickens to his old publisher. This already has been mentioned; and on the occasion of Hans Andersen'srecent visit to Gadshill, Mr. Bentley was invited to meet the celebratedDane. Nor should I omit to say, that, in the year to which thisnarrative has now arrived, his prompt compliance with an intercessionmade to him for a common friend pleased Dickens greatly. At the opening of 1859, bent upon such a successor to _Household Words_as should carry on the associations connected with its name, Dickens wasdeep in search of a title to give expression to them. "My determinationto settle the title arises out of my knowledge that I shall never beable to do anything for the work until it has a fixed name; also out ofmy observation that the same odd feeling affects everybody else. " He hadproposed to himself a title that, as in _Household Words_, might becapable of illustration by a line from Shakespeare; and alighting uponthat wherein poor Henry the Sixth is fain to solace his captivity by thefancy, that, like birds encaged he might soothe himself for loss ofliberty "at last by notes of household harmony, " he for the time forgotthat this might hardly be accepted as a happy comment on the occurrencesout of which the supposed necessity had arisen of replacing the old by anew household friend. "Don't you think, " he wrote on the 24th ofJanuary, "this is a good name and quotation? I have been quite delightedto get hold of it for our title. "HOUSEHOLD HARMONY. "'At last by notes of Household Harmony. '--_Shakespeare. _" He was at first reluctant even to admit the objection when stated tohim. "I am afraid we must not be too particular about the possibility ofpersonal references and applications: otherwise it is manifest that Inever can write another book. I could not invent a story of any sort, itis quite plain, incapable of being twisted into some such nonsensicalshape. It would be wholly impossible to turn one through half a dozenchapters. " Of course he yielded, nevertheless; and much considerationfollowed over sundry other titles submitted. Reviving none of thoseformerly rejected, here were a few of these now rejected in their turn. THE HEARTH. THE FORGE. THE CRUCIBLE. THE ANVIL OF THE TIME. CHARLESDICKENS'S OWN. SEASONABLE LEAVES. EVERGREEN LEAVES. HOME. HOME-MUSIC. CHANGE. TIME AND TIDE. TWOPENCE. ENGLISH BELLS. WEEKLY BELLS. THEROCKET. GOOD HUMOUR. Still the great want was the line adaptable fromShakespeare, which at last exultingly he sent on the 28th of January. "I am dining early, before reading, and write literally with my mouthfull. But I have just hit upon a name that I think really an admirableone--especially with the quotation _before_ it, in the place where ourpresent _H. W. _ quotation stands. "'The story of our lives, from year to year. '--_Shakespeare. _" "ALL THE YEAR ROUND. "A weekly journal conducted by Charles Dickens. " With the same resolution and energy other things necessary to theadventure were as promptly done. "I have taken the new office, " he wrotefrom Tavistock House on the 21st of February; "have got workmen in; haveordered the paper; settled with the printer; and am getting an immensesystem of advertising ready. Blow to be struck on the 12th of March. . . . Meantime I cannot please myself with the opening of my story" (the _Taleof Two Cities_, which _All the Year Round_ was to start with), "andcannot in the least settle at it or take to it. . . . I wish you would comeand look at what I flatter myself is a rather ingenious account to whichI have turned the Stanfield scenery here. " He had placed the_Lighthouse_ scene in a single frame; had divided the scene of the_Frozen Deep_ into two subjects, a British man-of-war and an Arctic sea, which he had also framed; and the school-room that had been the theatrewas now hung with sea-pieces by a great painter of the sea. To believethem to have been but the amusement of a few mornings was difficultindeed. Seen from the due distance there was nothing wanting to the mostmasterly and elaborate art. The first number of _All the Year Round_ appeared on the 30th of April, and the result of the first quarter's accounts of the sale will telleverything that needs to be said of a success that went on withoutintermission to the close. "A word before I go back to Gadshill, " hewrote from Tavistock House in July, "which I know you will be glad toreceive. So well has _All the Year Round_ gone that it was yesterdayable to repay me, with five per cent. Interest, all the money I advancedfor its establishment (paper, print &c. All paid, down to the lastnumber), and yet to leave a good £500 balance at the banker's!" Besidethe opening of his _Tale of Two Cities_ its first number had containedanother piece of his writing, the "Poor Man and his Beer;" as to whichan interesting note has been sent me. The Rev. T. B. Lawes, ofRothamsted, St. Alban's, had been associated upon a sanitary commissionwith Mr. Henry Austin, Dickens's brother-in-law and counsellor in regardto all such matters in his own houses, or in the houses of the poor; andthis connection led to Dickens's knowledge of a club that Mr. Lawes hadestablished at Rothamsted, which he became eager to recommend as anexample to other country neighbourhoods. The club had been set onfoot[237] to enable the agricultural labourers of the parish to havetheir beer and pipes independent of the public-house; and thedescription of it, says Mr. Lawes, "was the occupation of a drivebetween this place (Rothamsted) and London, 25 miles, Mr. Dickensrefusing the offer of a bed, and saying that he could arrange his ideason the journey. In the course of our conversation I mentioned that thelabourers were very jealous of the small tradesmen, blacksmiths andothers, holding allotment-gardens; but that the latter did so indirectlyby paying higher rents to the labourers for a share. This circumstanceis not forgotten in the verses on the Blacksmith in the same number, composed by Mr. Dickens and repeated to me while he was walking about, and which close the mention of his gains with allusion to "A share (concealed) in the poor man's field, Which adds to the poor man's store. " The periodical thus established was in all respects, save one, soexactly the counterpart of what it replaced, that a mention of thispoint of difference is the only description of it called for. Besideshis own three-volume stories of _The Tale of Two Cities_ and _GreatExpectations_, Dickens admitted into it other stories of the same lengthby writers of character and name, of which the authorship was avowed. Itpublished tales of varied merit and success by Mr. Edmund Yates, Mr. Percy Fitzgerald, and Mr. Charles Lever. Mr. Wilkie Collins contributedto it his _Woman in White_, _No Name_, and _Moonstone_, the first ofwhich had a pre-eminent success; Mr. Reade his _Hard Cash_; and LordLytton his _Strange Story_. Conferring about the latter Dickens passed aweek at Knebworth, accompanied by his daughter and sister-in-law, in thesummer of 1861, as soon as he had closed _Great Expectations_; and theremet Mr. Arthur Helps, with whom and Lord Orford he visited theso-called "Hermit" near Stevenage, whom he described as Mr. Mopes in_Tom Tiddler's Ground_. With his great brother-artist he thoroughlyenjoyed himself, as he invariably did; and reported him as "in betterhealth and spirits than I have seen him in, in all these years, --alittle weird occasionally regarding magic and spirits, but always fairand frank under opposition. He was brilliantly talkative, anecdotical, and droll; looked young and well; laughed heartily; and enjoyed withgreat zest some games we played. In his artist-character and talk, hewas full of interest and matter, saying the subtlest and finestthings--but that he never fails in. I enjoyed myself immensely, as weall did. "[238] In _All the Year Round_, as in its predecessor, the tales for Christmaswere of course continued, but with a surprisingly increased popularity;and Dickens never had such sale for any of his writings as for hisChristmas pieces in the later periodical. It had reached, before hedied, to nearly three hundred thousand. The first was called the_Haunted House_, and had a small mention of a true occurrence in hisboyhood which is not included in the bitter record on a former page. "Iwas taken home, and there was debt at home as well as death, and we hada sale there. My own little bed was so superciliously looked upon by apower unknown to me hazily called The Trade, that a brass coal-scuttle, a roasting jack, and a bird cage were obliged to be put into it to makea lot of it, and then it went for a song. So I heard mentioned, and Iwondered what song, and thought what a dismal song it must have been tosing!" The other subjects will have mention in another chapter. His tales were not his only important work in _All the Year Round_. Thedetached papers written by him there had a character and completenessderived from their plan, and from the personal tone, as well as frequentindividual confessions, by which their interest is enhanced, and whichwill always make them specially attractive. Their title expressed apersonal liking. Of all the societies, charitable or self-assisting, which his tact and eloquence in the "chair" so often helped, none hadinterested him by the character of its service to its members, and theperfection of its management, so much as that of the CommercialTravellers. His, admiration of their schools introduced him to one whothen acted as their treasurer, and whom, of all the men he had known, Ithink he rated highest for the union of business qualities in anincomparable measure to a nature comprehensive enough to deal withmasses of men, however differing in creed or opinion, humanely andjustly. He never afterwards wanted support for any good work that he didnot think first of Mr. George Moore, [239] and appeal was never made tohim in vain. "Integrity, enterprise, public spirit, and benevolence, " hetold the Commercial Travellers on one occasion, "had their synonym inMr. Moore's name;" and it was another form of the same liking when hetook to himself the character and title of a Traveller _Un_commercial. "I am both a town traveller and a country traveller, and am always onthe road. Figuratively speaking, I travel for the great house ofHuman-interest Brothers, and have rather a large connection in the fancygoods way. Literally speaking, I am always wandering here and there frommy rooms in Covent-garden, London: now about the city streets; now aboutthe country by-roads: seeing many little things, and some great things, which, because they interest me, I think may interest others. " In a fewwords that was the plan and drift of the papers which he began in 1860, and continued to write from time to time until the last autumn of hislife. Many of them, such as "Travelling Abroad, " "City Churches, ""Dullborough, " "Nurses' Stories, " and "Birthday Celebrations, " havesupplied traits, chiefly of his younger days, to portions of thismemoir; and parts of his later life receive illustration from others, such as "Tramps, " "Night Walks, " "Shy Neighbourhoods, " "The ItalianPrisoner, " and "Chatham Dockyard. " Indeed hardly any is without itspersonal interest or illustration. One may learn from them, among otherthings, what kind of treatment he resorted to for the disorder ofsleeplessness from which he had often suffered amid his late anxieties. Experimenting upon it in bed, he found to be too slow and doubtful aprocess for him; but he very soon defeated his enemy by the briskertreatment, of getting up directly after lying down, going out, andcoming home tired at sunrise. "My last special feat was turning out ofbed at two, after a hard day pedestrian and otherwise, and walkingthirty miles into the country to breakfast. " One description he did notgive in his paper, but I recollect his saying that he had seldom seenanything so striking as the way in which the wonders of an equinoctialdawn (it was the 15th of October 1857) presented themselves during thatwalk. He had never before happened to see night so completely at oddswith morning, "which was which. " Another experience of his nightramblings used to be given in vivid sketches of the restlessness of agreat city, and the manner in which _it_ also tumbles and tosses beforeit can get to sleep. Nor should anyone curious about his habits and waysomit to accompany him with his Tramps into Gadshill lanes; or to followhim into his Shy Neighbourhoods of the Hackney-road, Waterloo-road, Spitalfields, or Bethnal-green. For delightful observation both ofcountry and town, for the wit that finds analogies between remote andfamiliar things, and for humorous personal sketches and experience, these are perfect of their kind. "I have my eye upon a piece of Kentish road, bordered on either side bya wood, and having on one hand, between the road-dust and the trees, askirting patch of grass. Wild flowers grow in abundance on this spot, and it lies high and airy, with a distant river stealing steadily awayto the ocean, like a man's life. To gain the mile-stone here, which themoss, primroses, violets, blue-bells, and wild roses, would soon renderillegible but for peering travellers pushing them aside with theirsticks, you must come up a steep hill, come which way you may. So, allthe tramps with carts or caravans--the Gipsy-tramp, the Show-tramp, theCheap Jack--find it impossible to resist the temptations of the place;and all turn the horse loose when they come to it, and boil the pot. Bless the place, I love the ashes of the vagabond fires that havescorched its grass!" It was there he found Dr. Marigold, and Chops theDwarf, and the White-haired Lady with the pink eyes eating meat-pie withthe Giant. So, too, in his Shy Neighbourhoods, when he relates hisexperiences of the bad company that birds are fond of, and of the effectupon domestic fowls of living in low districts, his method of handlingthe subject has all the charm of a discovery. "That anything born of anegg and invested with wings should have got to the pass that it hopscontentedly down a ladder into a cellar, and calls _that_ going home, isa circumstance so amazing as to leave one nothing more in thisconnexion to wonder at. " One of his illustrations is a reduced Bantamfamily in the Hackney-road deriving their sole enjoyment from crowdingtogether in a pawnbroker's side-entry; but seeming as if only newly comedown in the world, and always in a feeble flutter of fear that they maybe found out. He contrasts them with others. "I know a low fellow, originally of a good family from Dorking, who takes his wholeestablishment of wives, in single file, in at the door of the JugDepartment of a disorderly tavern near the Haymarket, manoeuvres themamong the company's legs, emerges with them at the Bottle Entrance, andso passes his life: seldom, in the season, going to bed before two inthe morning. . . . But, the family I am best acquainted with, reside in thedensest part of Bethnal-green. Their abstraction from the objects amongwhich they live, or rather their conviction that those objects have allcome into existence in express subservience to fowls, has so enchantedme, that I have made them the subject of many journeys at divers hours. After careful observation of the two lords and the ten ladies of whomthis family consists, I have come to the conclusion that their opinionsare represented by the leading lord and leading lady: the latter, as Ijudge, an aged personage, afflicted with a paucity of feather andvisibility of quill that gives her the appearance of a bundle of officepens. When a railway goods-van that would crush an elephant comes roundthe corner, tearing over these fowls, they emerge unharmed from underthe horses, perfectly satisfied that the whole rush was a passingproperty in the air, which may have left something to eat behind it. They look upon old shoes, wrecks of kettles and saucepans, andfragments of bonnets, as a kind of meteoric discharge, for fowls to peckat. . . . Gaslight comes quite as natural to them as any other light; and Ihave more than a suspicion that, in the minds of the two lords, theearly public-house at the corner has superseded the sun. They alwaysbegin to crow when the public-house shutters begin to be taken down, andthey salute the Potboy, the instant he appears to perform that duty, asif he were Phoebes in person. " For the truth of the personal adventurein the same essay, which he tells in proof of a propensity to badcompany in more refined members of the feathered race, I am myself in aposition to vouch. Walking by a dirty court in Spitalfields one day, thequick little busy intelligence of a goldfinch, drawing water for himselfin his cage, so attracted him that he bought the bird, which had otheraccomplishments; but not one of them would the little creature show offin his new abode in Doughty-street, and he drew no water but by stealthor under the cloak of night. "After an interval of futile and at lengthhopeless expectation, the merchant who had educated him was appealed to. The merchant was a bow-legged character, with a flat and cushiony nose, like the last new strawberry. He wore a fur cap, and shorts, and was ofthe velveteen race, velveteeny. He sent word that he would 'look round. 'He looked round, appeared in the doorway of the room, and slightlycocked up his evil eye at the goldfinch. Instantly a raging thirst besetthat bird; and when it was appeased, he still drew several unnecessarybuckets of water, leaping about his perch and sharpening his bill withirrepressible satisfaction. " The Uncommercial Traveller papers, his two serial stories, and hisChristmas tales, were all the contributions of any importance made byDickens to _All the Year Round_; but he reprinted in it, on thecompletion of his first story, a short tale called "Hunted Down, "written for a newspaper in America called the _New York Ledger_. Itssubject had been taken from the life of a notorious criminal alreadynamed, and its principal claim to notice was the price paid for it. Fora story not longer than half of one of the numbers of _Chuzzlewit_ or_Copperfield_, he had received a thousand pounds. [240] It was one of theindications of the eager desire which his entry on the career of apublic reader had aroused in America to induce him again to visit thatcontinent; and at the very time he had this magnificent offer from theNew York journal, Mr. Fields of Boston, who was then on a visit toEurope, was pressing him so much to go that his resolution was almostshaken. "I am now, " he wrote to me from Gadshill on the 9th of July1859, "getting the _Tale of Two Cities_ into that state that IF I shoulddecide to go to America late in September, I could turn to, at any time, and write on with great vigour. Mr. Fields has been down here for a day, and with the strongest intensity urges that there is no drawback, nocommercial excitement or crisis, no political agitation; and that sofavourable an opportunity, in all respects, might not occur again foryears and years. I should be one of the most unhappy of men if I wereto go, and yet I cannot help being much stirred and influenced by thegolden prospect held before me. " He yielded nevertheless to other persuasion, and for that time the visitwas not to be. In six months more the Civil War began, and America wasclosed to any such enterprise for nearly five years. FOOTNOTES: [237] It is pleasant to have to state that it was still flourishing whenI received Mr. Lawes's letter, on the 18th of December 1871. [238] From the same letter, dated 1st of July 1861, I take what follows. "Poor Lord Campbell's seems to me as easy and good a death as one coulddesire. There must be a sweep of these men very soon, and one feels asif it must fall out like the breaking of an arch--one stone goes from aprominent place, and then the rest begin to drop. So, one looks, notwithout satisfaction (in our sadness) at lives so rounded and complete, towards Brougham, and Lyndhurst, and Pollock" . . . Yet, of Dickens's owndeath, Pollock lived to write to me as the death of "one of the mostdistinguished and honoured men England has ever produced; in whose lossevery man among us feels that he has lost a friend and an instructor. "Temple-Hatton, 10th of June 1870. [239] If space were available here, his letters would supply many proofsof his interest in Mr. George Moore's admirable projects; but I can onlymake exception for his characteristic allusion to an incident thattickled his fancy very much at the time. "I hope" (20th of Aug. 1863)"you have been as much amused as I am by the account of the Bishop ofCarlisle at (my very particular friend's) Mr. George Moore's schools? Itstrikes me as the funniest piece of weakness I ever saw, his addressingthose unfortunate children concerning Colenso. I cannot get over theridiculous image I have erected in my mind, of the shovel-hat and apronholding forth, at that safe distance, to that safe audience. There isnothing so extravagant in Rabelais, or so satirically humorous in Swiftor Voltaire. " [240] Eight years later he wrote "Holiday Romance" for a Child'sMagazine published by Mr. Fields, and "George Silverman'sExplanation"--of the same length, and for the same price. There are noother such instances, I suppose, in the history of literature. CHAPTER XI. SECOND SERIES OF READINGS. 1861-1863. Daughter Kate's Marriage--Wedding Party--Sale of Tavistock House--Brother Alfred's Death--Metropolitan Readings--Proposed Provincial Readings--Good of doing Nothing--New Subjects for Readings--Mr. Arthur Smith's Death--Eldest Son's Marriage--Audience at Brighton--Audiences at Canterbury and Dover--Alarming Scene at Newcastle--Impromptu Reading Hall at Berwick-on-Tweed--In Scotland--At Torquay--At Liverpool--Metropolitan Success--Offer from Australia--Writing or Reading not always possible--Arguments for and against going to Australia--Readings in Paris--A Religious Richardson's Show--Exiled Ex-potentate. AT the end of the first year of residence at Gadshill it was the remarkof Dickens that nothing had gratified him so much as the confidence withwhich his poorer neighbours treated him. He had tested generally theirworth and good conduct, and they had been encouraged in illness ortrouble to resort to him for help. There was pleasant indication of thefeeling thus awakened, when, in the summer of 1860, his younger daughterKate was married to Charles Alston Collins, brother of the novelist, andyounger son of the painter and academician, who might have found, ifspared to witness that summer-morning scene, subjects not unworthy ofhis delightful pencil in many a rustic group near Gadshill. All thevillagers had turned out in honour of Dickens, and the carriages couldhardly get to and from the little church for the succession of triumphalarches they had to pass through. It was quite unexpected by him; andwhen the feu de joie of the blacksmith in the lane, whose enthusiasm hadsmuggled a couple of small cannon into his forge, exploded upon him atthe return, I doubt if the shyest of men was ever so taken aback at anovation. To name the principal persons present that day will indicate the facesthat (with addition of Miss Mary Boyle, Miss Marguerite Power, Mr. Fechter, Mr. Charles Kent, Mr. Edmund Yates, Mr. Percy Fitzgerald, andmembers of the family of Mr. Frank Stone, whose sudden death[241] in thepreceding year had been a great grief to Dickens) were most familiar atGadshill in these later years. Mr. Frederic Lehmann was there with hiswife, whose sister, Miss Chambers, was one of the bridesmaids; Mr. AndMrs. Wills were there, and Dickens's old fast friend Mr. Thomas Beard;the two nearest country neighbours with whom the family had become veryintimate, Mr. Hulkes and Mr. Malleson, with their wives, joined theparty; among the others were Henry Chorley, Chauncy Townshend, andWilkie Collins; and, for friend special to the occasion, the bridegroomhad brought his old fellow-student in art, Mr. Holman Hunt. Mr. CharlesCollins had himself been bred as a painter, for success in which line hehad some rare gifts; but inclination and capacity led him also toliterature, and, after much indecision between the two callings, he tookfinally to letters. His contributions to _All the Year Round_ were amongthe most charming of its detached papers, and two stories publishedindependently showed strength of wing for higher flights. But his healthbroke down, and his taste was too fastidious for his failing power. Itis possible however that he may live by two small books of description, the _New Sentimental Journey_ and the _Cruize on Wheels_, which have inthem unusual delicacy and refinement of humour; and if those volumesshould make any readers in another generation curious about the writer, they will learn, if correct reply is given to their inquiries, that noman disappointed so many reasonable hopes with so little fault orfailure of his own, that his difficulty always was to please himself, and that an inferior mind would have been more successful in both thearts he followed. He died in 1873 in his forty-fifth year; and untilthen it was not known, even by those nearest to him, how great must havebeen the suffering which he had borne, through many trying years, withuncomplaining patience. His daughter's marriage was the chief event that had crossed the eventenor of Dickens's life since his first paid readings closed; and it wasfollowed by the sale of Tavistock House, with the resolve to make hisfuture home at Gadshill. In the brief interval (29th of July) he wroteto me of his brother Alfred's death. "I was telegraphed for toManchester on Friday night. Arrived there at a quarter past ten, but hehad been dead three hours, poor fellow! He is to be buried at Highgateon Wednesday. I brought the poor young widow back with me yesterday. "All that this death involved, [242] the troubles of his change of home, and some difficulties in working out his story, gave him more thansufficient occupation till the following spring; and as the time arrivedfor the new Readings, the change was a not unwelcome one. The first portion of this second series was planned by Mr. Arthur Smith, but he only superintended the six readings in London which opened it. These were the first at St. James's Hall (St. Martin's Hall having beenburnt since the last readings there) and were given in March and April1861. "We are all well here and flourishing, " he wrote to me fromGadshill on the 28th of April. "On the 18th I finished the readings as Ipurposed. We had between seventy and eighty pounds _in the stalls_, which, at four shillings apiece, is something quite unprecedented inthese times. . . . The result of the six was, that, after paying a largestaff of men and all other charges, and Arthur Smith's ten per cent. Onthe receipts, and replacing everything destroyed in the fire at St. Martin's Hall (including all our tickets, country-baggage, cheque-boxes, books, and a quantity of gas-fittings and what not), I got upwards of£500. A very great result. We certainly might have gone on through theseason, but I am heartily glad to be concentrated on my story. " It had been part of his plan that the Provincial Readings should notbegin until a certain interval after the close of his story of _GreatExpectations_. They were delayed accordingly until the 28th of October, from which date, when they opened at Norwich, they went on with theChristmas intervals to be presently named to the 30th of January 1862, when they closed at Chester. Kept within England and Scotland, they tookin the border town of Berwick, and, besides the Scotch cities, comprisedthe contrasts and varieties of Norwich and Lancaster, Bury St. Edmundsand Cheltenham, Carlisle and Hastings, Plymouth and Birmingham, Canterbury and Torquay, Preston and Ipswich, Manchester and Brighton, Colchester and Dover, Newcastle and Chester. They were followed by tenreadings at the St. James's Hall, between the 13th of March and the 27thof June 1862; and by four at Paris in January 1863, given at the Embassyin aid of the British Charitable Fund. The second series had thus in thenumber of the readings nearly equalled the first, when it closed atLondon in June 1863 with thirteen readings in the Hanover Square Rooms;and it is exclusively the subject of such illustrations or references asthis chapter will supply. On _Great Expectations_ closing in June 1861, Bulwer Lytton, atDickens's earnest wish, took his place in _All the Year Round_ with the"Strange Story;" and he then indulged himself in idleness for a littlewhile. "The subsidence of those distressing pains in my face the momentI had done my work, made me resolve to do nothing in that way for sometime if I could help it. "[243] But his "doing nothing" was seldom morethan a figure of speech, and what it meant in this case was soon told. "Every day for two or three hours, I practise my new readings, and(except in my office work) do nothing else. With great pains I have madea continuous narrative out of _Copperfield_, that I think will rewardthe exertion it is likely to cost me. Unless I am much mistaken, it willbe very valuable in London. I have also done _Nicholas Nickleby_ at theYorkshire school, and hope I have got something droll out of Squeers, John Browdie, & Co. Also, the Bastille prisoner from the _Tale of TwoCities_. Also, the Dwarf from one of our Christmas numbers. " Only thefirst two were added to the list for the present circuit. It was in the midst of these active preparations that painful newsreached him. An illness under which Mr. Arthur Smith had been some timesuffering took unexpectedly a dangerous turn, and there came to be butsmall chance of his recovery. A distressing interview on the 28th ofSeptember gave Dickens little hope. "And yet his wakings and wanderingsso perpetually turn on his arrangements for the Readings, and he is sodesperately unwilling to relinquish the idea of 'going on with thebusiness' to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow, that I had not theheart to press him for the papers. He told me that he believed he had byhim '70 or 80 letters unanswered. ' You may imagine how anxious it makesme, and at what a deadstop I stand. " Another week passed, and with itthe time fixed at the places where his work was to have opened; but hecould not bring himself to act as if all hope had gone. "With a sick manwho has been so zealous and faithful, I feel bound to be very tender andpatient. When I told him the other day about my having engagedHeadland--'to do all the personally bustling and fatiguing part of yourwork, ' I said--he nodded his heavy head with great satisfaction, andfaintly got out of himself the words, 'Of course I pay him, and notyou. '" The poor fellow died in October; and on the day after attendingthe funeral, [244] Dickens heard of the death of his brother-in-law andfriend, Mr. Henry Austin, whose abilities and character he respected asmuch as he liked the man. He lost much in losing the judicious and safecounsel which had guided him on many public questions in which he tooklively interest, and it was with a heavy heart he set out at last uponhis second circuit. "With what difficulty I get myself back to thereadings after all this loss and trouble, or with what unwillingness Iwork myself up to the mark of looking them in the face, I can hardlysay. As for poor Arthur Smith at this time, it is as if my right armwere gone. It is only just now that I am able to open one of the books, and screw the text out of myself in a flat dull way. Enclosed is thelist of what I have to do. You will see that I have left ten days inNovember for the Christmas number, and also a good Christmas margin forour meeting at Gadshill. I shall be very glad to have the money that Iexpect to get; but it will be earned. " That November interval was alsothe date of the marriage of his eldest son to the daughter of Mr. Evans, so long, in connection with Mr. Bradbury, his publisher and printer. The start of the readings at Norwich was not good, so many changes ofvexation having been incident to the opening announcements as to leavesome doubt of their fulfilment. But the second night, when trial wasmade of the _Nickleby_ scenes, "we had a splendid hall, and I think_Nickleby_ will top all the readings. Somehow it seems to have got init, by accident, exactly the qualities best suited to the purpose; andit went last night, not only with roars, but with a general hilarity andpleasure that I have never seen surpassed. "[245] From this night onward, the success was uninterrupted, and here was his report to me fromBrighton on the 8th of November. "We turned away half Dover and halfHastings and half Colchester; and, if you can believe such a thing, Imay tell you that in round numbers we find 1000 stalls already takenhere in Brighton! I left Colchester in a heavy snow-storm. To-day it isso warm here that I can hardly bear the fire, and am writing with thewindow open down to the ground. Last night I had a most charmingaudience for _Copperfield_, with a delicacy of perception that reallymade the work delightful. It is very pretty to see the girls and womengenerally, in the matter of Dora; and everywhere I have found thatpeculiar personal relation between my audience and myself on which Icounted most when I entered on this enterprise. _Nickleby_ continues togo in the wildest manner. " A storm was at this time sweeping round the coast, and while at Dover hehad written of it to his sister-in-law (7th of November): "The badweather has not in the least touched us, and the storm was mostmagnificent at Dover. All the great side of the Lord Warden next thesea had to be emptied, the break of the waves was so prodigious, and thenoise so utterly confounding. The sea came in like a great sky ofimmense clouds, for ever breaking suddenly into furious rain; all kindsof wreck were washed in; among other things, a very pretty brass-boundchest being thrown about like a feather. . . . The unhappy Ostend packet, unable to get in or go back, beat about the Channel all Tuesday night, and until noon yesterday; when I saw her come in, with five men at thewheel, a picture of misery inconceivable. . . . The effect of the readingsat Hastings and Dover really seems to have outdone the best usualimpression; and at Dover they wouldn't go, but sat applauding like mad. The most delicate audience I have seen in any provincial place, isCanterbury" ("an intelligent and delightful response in them, " he wroteto his daughter, "like the touch of a beautiful instrument"); "but theaudience with the greatest sense of humour certainly is Dover. Thepeople in the stalls set the example of laughing, in the most curiouslyunreserved way; and they laughed with such really cordial enjoyment, when Squeers read the boys' letters, that the contagion extended to me. For, one couldn't hear them without laughing too. . . . So, I am thankfulto say, all goes well, and the recompense for the trouble is in everyway Great. " From the opposite quarter of Berwick-on-Tweed he wrote again in themidst of storm. But first his mention of Newcastle, which he had alsotaken on his way to Edinburgh, reading two nights there, should begiven. "At Newcastle, against the very heavy expenses, I made more thana hundred guineas profit. A finer audience there is not in England, andI suppose them to be a specially earnest people; for, while they canlaugh till they shake the roof, they have a very unusual sympathy withwhat is pathetic or passionate. An extraordinary thing occurred on thesecond night. The room was tremendously crowded and my gas-apparatusfell down. There was a terrible wave among the people for an instant, and God knows what destruction of life a rush to the stairs would havecaused. Fortunately a lady in the front of the stalls ran out towardsme, exactly in a place where I knew that the whole hall could see her. So I addressed her, laughing, and half-asked and half-ordered her to sitdown again; and, in a moment, it was all over. But the men in attendancehad such a fearful sense of what might have happened (besides the realdanger of Fire) that they positively shook the boards I stood on, withtheir trembling, when they came up to put things right. I am proud torecord that the gas-man's sentiment, as delivered afterwards, was, 'Themore you want of the master, the more you'll find in him. ' With whichcomplimentary homage, and with the wind blowing so that I can hardlyhear myself write, I conclude. "[246] It was still blowing, in shape of a gale from the sea, when, an hourbefore the reading, he wrote from the King's Arms at Berwick-on-Tweed. "As odd and out of the way a place to be at, it appears to me, as everwas seen! And such a ridiculous room designed for me to read in! Animmense Corn Exchange, made of glass and iron, round, dome-topp'd, lofty, utterly absurd for any such purpose, and full of thunderingechoes; with a little lofty crow's nest of a stone gallery, breast high, deep in the wall, into which it was designed to put----_me_! I instantlystruck, of course; and said I would either read in a room attached tothis house (a very snug one, capable of holding 500 people), or not atall. Terrified local agents glowered, but fell prostrate, and my mentook the primitive accommodation in hand. Ever since, I am alarmed toadd, the people (who besought the honour of the visit) have been comingin numbers quite irreconcileable with the appearance of the place, andwhat is to be the end I do not know. It was poor Arthur Smith'sprinciple that a town on the way paid the expenses of a longthrough-journey, and therefore I came. " The Reading paid more thanthose expenses. Enthusiastic greeting awaited him in Edinburgh. "We had in the hallexactly double what we had on the first night last time. The success of_Copperfield_ was perfectly unexampled. Four great rounds of applausewith a burst of cheering at the end, and every point taken in the finestmanner. " But this was nothing to what befell on the second night, when, by some mistake of the local agents, the tickets issued were out ofproportion to the space available. Writing from Glasgow next day (3rd ofDecember) he described the scene. "Such a pouring of hundreds into aplace already full to the throat, such indescribable confusion, such arending and tearing of dresses, and yet such a scene of good humour onthe whole, I never saw the faintest approach to. While I addressed thecrowd in the room, G addressed the crowd in the street. Fifty franticmen got up in all parts of the hall and addressed me all at once. Otherfrantic men made speeches to the walls. The whole B family were borne inon the top of a wave, and landed with their faces against the front ofthe platform. I read with the platform crammed with people. I got themto lie down upon it, and it was like some impossible tableau or giganticpic-nic--one pretty girl in full dress, lying on her side all night, holding on to one of the legs of my table! It was the most extraordinarysight. And yet, from the moment I began to the moment of my leaving off, they never missed a point, and they ended with a burst of cheers. . . . Theexpenditure of lungs and spirits was (as you may suppose) rather great;and to sleep well was out of the question. I am therefore rather faggedto-day; and as the hall in which I read to-night is a large one, I mustmake my letter a short one. . . . My people were torn to ribbons lastnight. They have not a hat among them--and scarcely a coat. " He camehome for his Christmas rest by way of Manchester, and thus spoke of thereading there on the 14th of December. "_Copperfield_ in the Free TradeHall last Saturday was really a grand scene. " He was in southern latitudes after Christmas, and on the 8th of Januarywrote from Torquay: "We are now in the region of small rooms, andtherefore this trip will not be as profitable as the long one. I imaginethe room here to be very small. Exeter I know, and that is small too. Iam very much used up on the whole, for I cannot bear this moist warmclimate. It would kill me very soon. And I have now got to the point oftaking so much out of myself with _Copperfield_ that I might as well doRichard Wardour. . . . This is a very pretty place--a compound of Hastings, Tunbridge Wells, and little bits of the hills about Naples; but I metfour respirators as I came up from the station, and three pale curateswithout them who seemed in a bad way. " They had been not bad omens, however. The success was good, at both Torquay and Exeter; and he closedthe month, and this series of the country readings, at the great townsof Liverpool and Chester. "The beautiful St. George's Hall crowded toexcess last night" (28th of January 1862) "and numbers turned away. Brilliant to see when lighted up, and for a reading simply perfect. Youremember that a Liverpool audience is usually dull; but they put me onmy mettle last night, for I never saw such an audience--no, not even inEdinburgh! The agents (alone, and of course without any reference toready money at the doors) had taken for the two readings two hundredpounds. " But as the end approached the fatigues had told severely onhim. He described himself sleeping horribly, and with head dazed andworn by gas and heat. Rest, before he could resume at the St. James'sHall in March, was become an absolute necessity. Two brief extracts from letters of the dates respectively of the 8th ofApril[247] and the 28th of June will sufficiently describe the Londonreadings. "The money returns have been quite astounding. Think of £190 anight! The effect of _Copperfield_ exceeds all the expectations whichits success in the country led me to form. It seems to take peopleentirely by surprise. If this is not new to you, I have not a word ofnews. The rain that raineth every day seems to have washed news away orgot it under water. " That was in April. In June he wrote: "I finished myreadings on Friday night to an enormous hall--nearly £200. The successhas been throughout complete. It seems almost suicidal to leave offwith the town so full, but I don't like to depart from my public pledge. A man from Australia is in London ready to pay £10, 000 for eight monthsthere. If----" It was an If that troubled him for some time, and led toagitating discussion. The civil war having closed America, an increasemade upon the just-named offer tempted him to Australia. He tried tofamiliarize himself with the fancy that he should thus also get newmaterial for observation, and he went so far as to plan an UncommercialTraveller Upside Down. [248] It is however very doubtful if such ascheme would have been entertained for a moment, but for the unwonteddifficulties of invention that were now found to beset a twenty-numberstory. Such a story had lately been in his mind, and he had just chosenthe title for it (_Our Mutual Friend_); but still he halted andhesitated sorely. "If it was not, " (he wrote on the 5th of October 1862)"for the hope of a gain that would make me more independent of theworst, I could not look the travel and absence and exertion in the face. I know perfectly well beforehand how unspeakably wretched I should be. But these renewed and larger offers tempt me. I can force myself to goaboard a ship, and I can force myself to do at that reading-desk what Ihave done a hundred times; but whether, with all this unsettledfluctuating distress in my mind, I could force an original book out ofit, is another question. " On the 22nd, still striving hard to findreasons to cope with the all but irresistible arguments against any suchadventure, which indeed, with everything that then surrounded him, wouldhave been little short of madness, he thus stated his experience of histwo circuits of public reading. "Remember that at home here the thinghas never missed fire, but invariably does more the second time than itdid the first; and also that I have got so used to it, and have workedso hard at it, as to get out of it more than I ever thought was in itfor that purpose. I think all the probabilities for such a country asAustralia are immense. " The terrible difficulty was that the homeargument struck both ways. "If I were to go it would be a penance and amisery, and I dread the thought more than I can possibly express. Thedomestic life of the Readings is all but intolerable to me when I amaway for a few weeks at a time merely, and what would it be----. " On theother hand it was also a thought of home, far beyond the mere personalloss or gain of it, that made him willing still to risk even so muchmisery and penance; and he had a fancy that it might be possible to takehis eldest daughter with him. "It is useless and needless for me to saywhat the conflict in my own mind is. How painfully unwilling I am to go, and yet how painfully sensible that perhaps I ought to go--with all thehands upon my skirts that I cannot fail to feel and see there, wheneverI look round. It is a struggle of no common sort, as you will suppose, you who know the circumstances of the struggler. " It closed at once whenhe clearly saw that to take any of his family with him, and makesatisfactory arrangement for the rest during such an absence, would beimpossible. By this time also he began to find his way to the new story, and better hopes and spirits had returned. In January 1863 he had taken his daughter and his sister-in-law toParis, and he read twice at the Embassy in behalf of the BritishCharitable Fund, the success being such that he consented to read twiceagain. [249] He passed his birthday of that year (the 7th of thefollowing month) at Arras. "You will remember me to-day, I know. Thanksfor it. An odd birthday, but I am as little out of heart as you wouldhave me be--floored now and then, but coming up again at the call ofTime. I wanted to see this town, birthplace of our amiable Sea Green"(Robespierre); "and I find a Grande Place so very remarkable andpicturesque that it is astonishing how people miss it. Here too I found, in a bye-country place just near, a Fair going on, with a ReligiousRichardson's in it--THÉATRE RELIGIEUX--'donnant six fois par jour, l'histoire de la Croix en tableaux vivants, depuis la naissance de notreSeigneur jusqu'à son sepulture. Aussi l'immolation d'Isaac, par son pèreAbraham. ' It was just before nightfall when I came upon it; and one ofthe three wise men was up to his eyes in lamp oil, hanging themoderators. A woman in blue and fleshings (whether an angel or Joseph'swife I don't know) was addressing the crowd through an enormousspeaking-trumpet; and a very small boy with a property lamb (I leave youto judge who _he_ was) was standing on his head on a barrel-organ. "Returning to England by Boulogne in the same year, as he stepped intothe Folkestone boat he encountered a friend, Mr. Charles Manby (for, inrecording a trait of character so pleasing and honourable, it is notnecessary that I should suppress the name), also passing over toEngland. "Taking leave of Manby was a shabby man of whom I had someremembrance, but whom I could not get into his place in my mind. Noticing when we stood out of the harbour that he was on the brink ofthe pier, waving his hat in a desolate manner, I said to Manby, 'SurelyI know that man. '--'I should think you did, ' said he: 'Hudson!' He isliving--just living--at Paris, and Manby had brought him on. He said toManby at parting, 'I shall not have a good dinner again, till you comeback. ' I asked Manby why he stuck to him? He said, Because he (Hudson)had so many people in his power, and had held his peace; and because he(Manby) saw so many Notabilities grand with him now, who were alwaysgrovelling for 'shares' in the days of his grandeur. " Upon Dickens's arrival in London the second series of his readings wasbrought to a close; and opportunity may be taken, before describing thethird, to speak of the manuscript volume found among his papers, containing Memoranda for use in his writings. FOOTNOTES: [241] "You will be grieved, " he wrote (Saturday 19th of Nov. 1859) "tohear of poor Stone. On Sunday he was not well. On Monday, went to Dr. Todd, who told him he had aneurism of the heart. On Tuesday, went to Dr. Walsh, who told him he hadn't. On Wednesday I met him in a cab in theSquare here, and he got out to talk to me. I walked about with him alittle while at a snail's pace, cheering him up; but when I came home, Itold them that I thought him much changed, and in danger. Yesterday at 2o'clock he died of spasm of the heart. I am going up to Highgate to lookfor a grave for him. " [242] He was now hard at work on his story; and a note written fromGadshill after the funeral shows, what so frequently was incident to hispursuits, the hard conditions under which sorrow, and its claim on hisexertion, often came to him. "To-morrow I have to work against time andtide and everything else, to fill up a No. Keeping open for me, and thestereotype plates of which must go to America on Friday. But indeed theenquiry into poor Alfred's affairs; the necessity of putting the widowand children somewhere; the difficulty of knowing what to do for thebest; and the need I feel under of being as composed and deliberate as Ican be, and yet of not shirking or putting off the occasion that thereis for doing a duty; would have brought me back here to be quiet, underany circumstances. " [243] The same letter adds: "The fourth edition of _Great Expectations_is now going to press; the third being nearly out. Bulwer's story keepsus up bravely. As well as we can make out, we have even risen fifteenhundred. " [244] "There was a very touching thing in the Chapel" (at Brompton). "When the body was to be taken up and carried to the grave, therestepped out, instead of the undertaker's men with their hideousparaphernalia, the men who had always been with the two brothers at theEgyptian Hall; and they, in their plain, decent, own mourning clothes, carried the poor fellow away. Also, standing about among thegravestones, dressed in black, I noticed every kind of person who hadever had to do with him--from our own gas man and doorkeepers andbillstickers, up to Johnson the printer and that class of man. Thefather and Albert and he now lie together, and the grave, I suppose, will be no more disturbed I wrote a little inscription for the stone, and it is quite full. " [245] Of his former manager he writes in the same letter: "I miss himdreadfully. The sense I used to have of compactness and comfort about mewhile I was reading, is quite gone; and on my coming out for the tenminutes, when I used to find him always ready for me with somethingcheerful to say, it is forlorn. . . . Besides which, H. And all the rest ofthem are always somewhere, and he was always everywhere. " [246] The more detailed account of the scene which he wrote to hisdaughter is also well worth giving. "A most tremendous hall here lastnight. Something almost terrible in the cram. A fearful thing might havehappened. Suddenly, when they were all very still over Smike, my GasBatten came down, and it looked as if the room were falling. There werethree great galleries crammed to the roof, and a high steep flight ofstairs; and a panic must have destroyed numbers of people. A lady in thefront row of stalls screamed, and ran out wildly towards me, and for oneinstant there was a terrible wave in the crowd. I addressed that lady, laughing (for I knew she was in sight of everybody there), and calledout as if it happened every night--'There's nothing the matter I assureyou; don't be alarmed; pray sit down----' and she sat down directly, andthere was a thunder of applause. It took some five minutes to mend, andI looked on with my hands in my pockets; for I think if I had turned myback for a moment, there might still have been a move. My people weredreadfully alarmed--Boycott" (the gas-man) "in particular, who I supposehad some notion that the whole place might have taken fire--'but therestood the master, ' he did me the honour to say afterwards, in addressingthe rest, 'as cool as ever I see him a lounging at a Railway Station. '" [247] The letter referred also to the death of his American friendProfessor Felton. "Your mention of poor Felton's death is a shock ofsurprise as well as grief to me, for I had not heard a word about it. Mr. Fields told me when he was here that the effect of that hoteldisaster of bad drinking water had not passed away; so I suppose, as youdo, that he sank under it. Poor dear Felton! It is 20 years since I toldyou of the delight my first knowledge of him gave me, and it is asstrongly upon me to this hour. I wish our ways had crossed a littleoftener, but that would not have made it better for us now. Alas! alas!all ways have the same finger-post at the head of them, and at everyturning in them. " [248] I give the letter in which he put the scheme formally before me, after the renewed and larger offers had been submitted. "If there werereasonable hope and promise, I could make up my mind to go to Australiaand get money. I would not accept the Australian people's offer. I wouldtake no money from them; would bind myself to nothing with them; butwould merely make them my agents at such and such a per centage, and goand read there. I would take some man of literary pretensions as asecretary (Charles Collins? What think you?) and with his aid" (heafterwards made the proposal to his old friend Mr. Thomas Beard) "woulddo, for _All the Year Round_ while I was away, The UncommercialTraveller Upside Down. If the notion of these speculators be anythinglike accurate, I should come back rich. I should have seen a great dealof novelty to boot. I should have been very miserable too. . . . Of courseone cannot possibly count upon the money to be realized by a six months'absence, but, £12, 000 is supposed to be a low estimate. Mr. S. Broughtme letters from members of the legislature, newspaper editors, and thelike, exhorting me to come, saying how much the people talk of me, anddwelling on the kind of reception that would await me. No doubt this isso, and of course a great deal of curious experience for after use wouldbe gained over and above the money. Being my own master too, I could'work' myself more delicately than if I bound myself for moneybeforehand. A few years hence, if all other circumstances were the same, I might not be so well fitted for the excessive wear and tear. This isabout the whole case. But pray do not suppose that I am in my own mindfavourable to going, or that I have any fancy for going. " That was latein October. From Paris in November (1862), he wrote: "I mentioned thequestion to Bulwer when he dined with us here last Sunday, and he wasall for going. He said that not only did he think the whole populationwould go to the Readings, but that the country would strike me in somequite new aspect for a Book; and that wonders might be done with suchbook in the way of profit, over there as well as here. " [249] A person present thus described (1st of February 1863) the secondnight to Miss Dickens. "No one can imagine the scene of last Fridaynight at the Embassy . . . A two hours' storm of excitement and pleasure. They actually murmured and applauded right away into their carriages anddown the street. " CHAPTER XII. HINTS FOR BOOKS WRITTEN AND UNWRITTEN. 1855-1865. Book of MS. Memoranda--Home of the Barnacles--Original of Mrs. Clennam--River and Ferryman--Notions for _Little Dorrit_--Original of _Hunted Down_--Titles for _Tale of Two Cities_--Hints for _Mutual Friend_--Reprobate's Notion of Duty--Proposed Opening for a Story--England first seen by an Englishman--Touching Fancy--Story from State Trials--Sentimentalist and her Fate--Female Groups--Children Farming--Subjects for Description--Fancies not worked upon--Available Names--Mr. Brobity's Snuff-box. DICKENS began the Book of Memoranda for possible use in his work, towhich occasional reference has been made, in January 1855, six monthsbefore the first page of _Little Dorrit_ was written; and I find noallusion leading me to suppose, except in one very doubtful instance, that he had made addition to its entries, or been in the habit ofresorting to them, after the date of _Our Mutual Friend_. It seems tocomprise that interval of ten years in his life. In it were put down any hints or suggestions that occurred to him. Amere piece of imagery or fancy, it might be at one time; at another theoutline of a subject or a character; then a bit of description ordialogue; no order or sequence being observed in any. Titles for storieswere set down too, and groups of names for the actors in them; not theleast curious of the memoranda belonging to this class. More rarely, entry is made of some oddity of speech; and he has thus preserved in it, _verbatim et literatim_, what he declared to have been as startling amessage as he ever received. A confidential servant at Tavistock House, having conferred on some proposed changes in his bed-room with the partythat was to do the work, delivered this ultimatum to her master. "Thegas-fitter says, sir, that he can't alter the fitting of your gas inyour bed-room without taking up almost the ole of your bed-room floor, and pulling your room to pieces. He says, of course you can have it doneif you wish, and he'll do it for you and make a good job of it, but hewould have to destroy your room first, and go entirely under thejistes. "[250] It is very interesting in this book, last legacy as it is of theliterary remains of such a writer, to compare the way in which fancieswere worked out with their beginnings entered in its pages. Thosetherefore will first be taken that in some form or other appearedafterwards in his writings, with such reference to the latter as mayenable the reader to make comparison for himself. "Our House. Whatever it is, it is in a first-rate situation, and afashionable neighbourhood. (Auctioneer called it 'a gentlemanlyresidence. ') A series of little closets squeezed up into the corner of adark street--but a Duke's Mansion round the corner. The whole housejust large enough to hold a vile smell. The air breathed in it, at thebest of times, a kind of Distillation of Mews. " He made it the home ofthe Barnacles in _Little Dorrit_. What originally he meant to express by Mrs. Clennam in the same storyhas narrower limits, and a character less repellent, in the Memorandathan it assumed in the book. "Bed-ridden (or room-ridden)twenty--five-and-twenty--years; any length of time. As to most things, kept at a standstill all the while. Thinking of altered streets as theold streets--changed things as the unchanged things--the youth or girl Iquarrelled with all those years ago, as the same youth or girl now. Brought out of doors by an unexpected exercise of my latent strength ofcharacter, and then how strange!" One of the people of the same story who becomes a prominent actor in it, Henry Gowan, a creation on which he prided himself as forcible and new, seems to have risen to his mind in this way. "I affect to believe that Iwould do anything myself for a ten-pound note, and that anybody elsewould. I affect to be always book-keeping in every man's case, andposting up a little account of good and evil with every one. Thus thegreatest rascal becomes 'the dearest old fellow, ' and there is much lessdifference than you would be inclined to suppose between an honest manand a scoundrel. While I affect to be finding good in most men, I am inreality decrying it where it really is, and setting it up where it isnot. Might not a presentation of this far from uncommon class ofcharacter, if I could put it strongly enough, be likely to lead somemen to reflect, and change a little? I think it has never been done. " In _Little Dorrit_ also will be found a picture which seems to live witha more touching effect in his first pleasing fancy of it. "The ferrymanon a peaceful river, who has been there from youth, who lives, who growsold, who does well, who does ill, who changes, who dies--the river runssix hours up and six hours down, the current sets off that point, thesame allowance must be made for the drifting of the boat, the same tuneis always played by the rippling water against the prow. " Here was an entry made when the thought occurred to him of the close ofold Dorrit's life. "First sign of the father failing and breaking down. Cancels long interval. Begins to talk about the turnkey who first calledhim the Father of the Marshalsea--as if he were still living. 'Tell BobI want to speak to him. See if he is on the Lock, my dear. '" And herewas the first notion of Clennam's reverse of fortune. "His falling intodifficulty, and himself imprisoned in the Marshalsea. Then she, out ofall her wealth and changed station, comes back in her old dress, anddevotes herself in the old way. " He seems to have designed, for the sketches of society in the same tale, a "Full-length portrait of his lordship, surrounded by worshippers;" ofwhich, beside that brief memorandum, only his first draft of the generaloutline was worked at. "Sensible men enough, agreeable men enough, independent men enough in a certain way;--but the moment they begin tocircle round my lord, and to shine with a borrowed light from hislordship, heaven and earth how mean and subservient! What a competitionand outbidding of each other in servility. " The last of the Memoranda hints which were used in the story whosedifficulties at its opening seem first to have suggested them, ran thus:"The unwieldy ship taken in tow by the snorting little steam tug"--bywhich was prefigured the patriarch Casby and his agent Panks. In a few lines are the germ of the tale called _Hunted Down_: "Devotedto the Destruction of a man. Revenge built up on love. The secretary inthe Wainewright case, who had fallen in love (or supposed he had) withthe murdered girl. "--The hint on which he worked in his description ofthe villain of that story, is also in the Memoranda. "The man with hishair parted straight up the front of his head, like an aggravatinggravel-walk. Always presenting it to you. 'Up here, if you please. Neither to the right nor left. Take me exactly in this direction. Straight up here. Come off the grass--'" His first intention as to the _Tale of Two Cities_ was to write it upona plan proposed in this manuscript book. "How as to a story in twoperiods--with a lapse of time between, like a French Drama? Titles forsuch a notion. TIME! THE LEAVES OF THE FOREST. SCATTERED LEAVES. THEGREAT WHEEL. ROUND AND ROUND. OLD LEAVES. LONG AGO. FAR APART. FALLENLEAVES. FIVE AND TWENTY YEARS. YEARS AND YEARS. ROLLING YEARS. DAY AFTERDAY. FELLED TREES. MEMORY CARTON. ROLLING STONES. TWO GENERATIONS. " Thatspecial title of _Memory Carton_ shows that what led to the greatestsuccess of the book as written was always in his mind; and another ofthe memoranda is this rough hint of the character itself. "Thedrunken?--dissipated?--What?--LION--and his JACKALL and Primer, stealingdown to him at unwonted hours. " The studies of Silas Wegg and his patron as they exist in _Our MutualFriend_, are hardly such good comedy as in the form which the firstnotion of them seems to have intended. "Gibbon's Decline and Fall. Thetwo characters. One reporting to the other as he reads. Both gettingconfused as to whether it is not all going on now. " In the same storymay be traced, more or less clearly, other fancies which had found theirfirst expression in the Memoranda. A touch for Bella Wilfer is here. "Buying poor shabby--FATHER?--a new hat. So incongruous that it makeshim like African King Boy, or King George; who is usually full dressedwhen he has nothing upon him but a cocked hat or a waistcoat. " Hereundoubtedly is the voice of Podsnap. "I stand by my friends andacquaintances;--not for their sakes, but because they are _my_ friendsand acquaintances. _I_ know them, _I_ have licensed them, they havetaken out _my_ certificate. Ergo, I champion them as myself. " To thesame redoubtable person another trait clearly belongs. "And by denying athing, supposes that he altogether puts it out of existence. " A thirdvery perfectly expresses the boy, ready for mischief, who does all thework there is to be done in Eugene Wrayburn's place of business. "Theoffice boy for ever looking out of window, who never has anything todo. " The poor wayward purposeless good-hearted master of the boy, Eugenehimself, is as evidently in this: "If they were great things, I, theuntrustworthy man in little things, would do them earnestly--But O No, Iwouldn't!" What follows has a more direct reference; being indeed almostliterally copied in the story. "As to the question whether I, Eugene, lying ill and sick even unto death, may be consoled by therepresentation that coming through this illness, I shall begin a newlife, and have energy and purpose and all I have yet wanted: 'I _hope_ Ishould, but I _know_ I shouldn't. Let me die, my dear. '" In connection with the same book, the last in that form which he livedto complete, another fancy may be copied from which, though nototherwise worked out in the tale, the relation of Lizzie Hexam to herbrother was taken. "A man, and his wife--or daughter--or niece. The man, a reprobate and ruffian; the woman (or girl) with good in her, and withcompunctions. He believes nothing, and defies everything; yet hassuspicions always, that she is 'praying against' his evil schemes, andmaking them go wrong. He is very much opposed to this, and is alwaysangrily harping on it. 'If she _must_ pray, why can't she pray in theirfavour, instead of going against 'em? She's always ruining me--shealways is--and calls that, Duty! There's a religious person! Calls itDuty to fly in my face! Calls it Duty to go sneaking against me!'" Other fancies preserved in his Memoranda were left wholly unemployed, receiving from him no more permanent form of any kind than that whichthey have in this touching record; and what most people would probablythink the most attractive and original of all the thoughts he had thusset down for future use, are those that were never used. Here were his first rough notes for the opening of a story. "Beginningwith the breaking up of a large party of guests at a country house:house left lonely with the shrunken family in it: guests spoken of, andintroduced to the reader that way. --OR, beginning with a house abandonedby a family fallen into reduced circumstances. Their old furniturethere, and numberless tokens of their old comforts. Inscriptions underthe bells downstairs--'Mr. John's Room, ' 'Miss Caroline's Room. ' Greatgardens trimly kept to attract a tenant: but no one in them. A landscapewithout figures. Billiard room: table covered up, like a body. Greatstables without horses, and great coach-houses without carriages. Grassgrowing in the chinks of the stone-paving, this bright cold winter day. _Downhills. _" Another opening had also suggested itself to him. "Open astory by bringing two strongly contrasted places and strongly contrastedsets of people, into the connexion necessary for the story, by means ofan electric message. Describe the message--_be_ the message--flashingalong through space, over the earth, and under the sea. "[251] Connectedwith which in some way would seem to be this other notion, following itin the Memoranda. "Representing London--or Paris, or any other greatplace--in the new light of being actually unknown to all the people inthe story, and only taking the colour of their fears and fancies andopinions. So getting a new aspect, and being unlike itself. An _odd_unlikeness of itself. " The subjects for stories are various, and some are striking. There wasone he clung to much, and thought of frequently as in a special degreeavailable for a series of papers in his periodical; but when he came toclose quarters with it the difficulties were found to be too great. "English landscape. The beautiful prospect, trim fields, clipped hedges, everything so neat and orderly--gardens, houses, roads. Where are thepeople who do all this? There must be a great many of them, to do it. Where are they all? And are _they_, too, so well kept and so fair tosee? Suppose the foregoing to be wrought out by an Englishman: say, fromChina: who knows nothing about his native country. " To which may beadded a fancy that savours of the same mood of discontent, political andsocial. "How do I know that I, a man, am to learn from insects--unlessit is to learn how little my littlenesses are? All that botheration inthe hive about the queen bee, may be, in little, me and the courtcircular. " A domestic story he had met with in the State Trials struck him greatlyby its capabilities, and I may preface it by mentioning another subject, not entered in the Memoranda, which for a long time impressed him ascapable of attractive treatment. It was after reading one of thewitch-trials that this occurred to him; and the heroine was to be a girlwho for a special purpose had taken a witch's disguise, and whose trickwas not discovered until she was actually at the stake. Here is theState Trials story as told by Dickens. "There is a case in the StateTrials, where a certain officer made love to a (supposed) miser'sdaughter, and ultimately induced her to give her father slow poison, while nursing him in sickness. Her father discovered it, told her so, forgave her, and said 'Be patient my dear--I shall not live long, evenif I recover: and then you shall have all my wealth. ' Though penitentthen, she afterwards poisoned him again (under the same influence), andsuccessfully. Whereupon it appeared that the old man had no money atall, and had lived on a small annuity which died with him, though alwaysfeigning to be rich. He had loved this daughter with great affection. " A theme touching closely on ground that some might think dangerous, issketched in the following fancy. "The father (married young) who, inperfect innocence, venerates his son's young wife, as the realization ofhis ideal of woman. (He not happy in his own choice. ) The son slightsher, and knows nothing of her worth. The father watches her, protectsher, labours for her, endures for her, --is for ever divided between hisstrong natural affection for his son as his son, and his resentmentagainst him as this young creature's husband. " Here is another, lessdangerous, which he took from an actual occurrence made known to himwhen he was at Bonchurch. "The idea of my being brought up by my mother(me the narrator), my father being dead; and growing up in this beliefuntil I find that my father is the gentleman I have sometimes seen, andoftener heard of, who has the handsome young wife, and the dog I oncetook notice of when I was a little child, and who lives in the greathouse and drives about. " Very admirable is this. "The girl separating herself from the lover whohas shewn himself unworthy--loving him still--living single for hissake--but never more renewing their old relations. Coming to him whenthey are both grown old, and nursing him in his last illness. " Nor isthe following less so. "Two girls _mis-marrying_ two men. The man whohas evil in him, dragging the superior woman down. The man who has goodin him, raising the inferior woman up. " Dickens would have been at hisbest in working out both fancies. In some of the most amusing of his sketches of character, women alsotake the lead. "The lady un peu passée, who is determined to beinteresting. No matter how much I love that person--nay, the more so forthat very reason--I MUST flatter, and bother, and be weak andapprehensive and nervous, and what not. If I were well and strong, agreeable and self-denying, my friend might forget me. " Another notremotely belonging to the same family is as neatly hit off. "Thesentimental woman feels that the comic, undesigning, unconscious man, is'Her Fate. '--I her fate? God bless my soul, it puts me into a coldperspiration to think of it. _I_ her fate? How can _I_ be her fate? Idon't mean to be. I don't want to have anything to do withher--Sentimental woman perceives nevertheless that Destiny must beaccomplished. " Other portions of a female group are as humorously sketched and hardlyless entertaining. "The enthusiastically complimentary person, whoforgets you in her own flowery prosiness: as--'I have no need to say toa person of your genius and feeling, and wide range of experience'--andthen, being shortsighted, puts up her glass to remember who youare. "--"Two sisters" (these were real people known to him). "One goingin for being generally beloved (which she is not by any means); and theother for being generally hated (which she needn't be). "--"Thebequeathed maid-servant, or friend. Left as a legacy. And a devil of alegacy too. "--"The woman who is never on any account to hear of anythingshocking. For whom the world is to be of barley-sugar. "--"The lady wholives on her enthusiasm; and hasn't a jot. "--"Bright-eyed creatureselling jewels. The stones and the eyes. " Much significance is in thelast few words. One may see to what uses Dickens would have turned them. A more troubled note is sounded in another of these female characters. "I am a common woman--fallen. Is it devilry in me--is it a wickedcomfort--what is it--that induces me to be always tempting other womendown, while I hate myself!" This next, with as much truth in it, goesdeeper than the last. "The prostitute who will not let one certain youthapproach her. 'O let there be some one in the world, who having aninclination towards me has not gratified it, and has not known me in mydegradation!' She almost loving him. --Suppose, too, this touch in hercould not be believed in by his mother or mistress: by some handsome andproudly virtuous woman, always revolting from her. " A more agreeablesketch than either follows, though it would not please M. Taine so well. "The little baby-like married woman--so strange in her new dignity, andtalking with tears in her eyes, of her sisters 'and all of them' athome. Never from home before, and never going back again. " Another fromthe same manuscript volume not less attractive, which was sketched inhis own home, I gave upon a former page. The female character in its relations with the opposite sex has livelyillustration in the Memoranda. "The man who is governed by his wife, andis heartily despised in consequence by all other wives; who still wantto govern _their_ husbands, notwithstanding. " An alarming family pairfollows that. "The playful--and scratching--family. Father anddaughter. " And here is another. "The agreeable (and wicked) young-matureman, and his devoted sister. " What next was set down he had himselfpartly seen; and, by enquiry at the hospital named, had ascertained thetruth of the rest. "The two people in the Incurable Hospital. --The poorincurable girl lying on a water-bed, and the incurable man who has astrange flirtation with her; comes and makes confidences to her; snipsand arranges her plants; and rehearses to her the comic songs(!) bywriting which he materially helps out his living. "[252] Two lighter figures are very pleasantly touched. "Set of circumstanceswhich suddenly bring an easy, airy fellow into near relations withpeople he knows nothing about, and has never even seen. This, throughhis being thrown in the way of the innocent young personage of thestory. 'Then there is Uncle Sam to be considered, ' says she. 'Aye to besure, ' says he, 'so there is! By Jupiter, I forgot Uncle Sam. He's arock ahead, is Uncle Sam. He must be considered, of course; he must besmoothed down; he must be cleared out of the way. To be sure. I neverthought of Uncle Sam. --By the bye, who _is_ Uncle Sam?'" There are several such sketches as that, to set against the groups ofwomen; and some have Dickens's favourite vein of satire in them. "Theman whose vista is always stopped up by the image of Himself. Looks downa long walk, and can't see round himself, or over himself, or beyondhimself. Is always blocking up his own way. Would be such a good thingfor him, if he could knock himself down. " Another picture of selfishnessis touched with greater delicacy. "'Too good' to be grateful to, ordutiful to, or anything else that ought to be. 'I won't thank you: youare too good. '--'Don't ask me to marry you: you are too good. '--Inshort, I don't particularly mind ill-using you, and being selfish withyou: for you are _so_ good. Virtue its own reward!" A third, which seemsto reverse the dial, is but another face of it: frankly avowing faults, which are virtues. "In effect--I admit I am generous, amiable, gentle, magnanimous. Reproach me--I deserve it--I know my faults--I have strivenin vain to get the better of them. " Dickens would have made much, too, of the working out of the next. "The knowing man in distress, whoborrows a round sum of a generous friend. Comes, in depression andtears, dines, gets the money, and gradually cheers up over his wine, ashe obviously entertains himself with the reflection that his friend isan egregious fool to have lent it to him, and that _he_ would have knownbetter. " And so of this other. "The man who invariably says appositethings (in the way of reproof or sarcasm) THAT HE DON'T MEAN. Astonishedwhen they are explained to him. " Here is a fancy that I remember him to have been more than once bentupon making use of: but the opportunity never came. "The two men to beguarded against, as to their revenge. One, whom I openly hold in someserious animosity, whom I am at the pains to wound and defy, and whom Iestimate as worth wounding and defying;--the other, whom I treat as asort of insect, and contemptuously and pleasantly flick aside with myglove. But, it turns out to be the latter who is the really dangerousman; and, when I expect the blow from the other, it comes from _him_. " We have the master hand in the following bit of dialogue, which takeswider application than that for which it appears to have been intended. "'There is some virtue in him too. ' "'Virtue! Yes. So there is in any grain of seed in a seedsman'sshop--but you must put it in the ground, before you can get any good outof it. ' "'Do you mean that _he_ must be put in the ground before any good comesof _him_?' "'Indeed I do. You may call it burying him, or you may call it sowinghim, as you like. You must set him in the earth, before you get any goodof him. '" One of the entries is a list of persons and places meant to have beenmade subjects for special description, and it will awaken regret thatonly as to one of them (the Mugby Refreshments) his intention wasfulfilled. "A Vestryman. A Briber. A Station Waiting-Room. Refreshmentsat Mugby. A Physician's Waiting-Room. The Royal Academy. An Antiquary'shouse. A Sale Room. A Picture Gallery (for sale). A Waste-paper Shop. APost-Office. A Theatre. " All will have been given that have particular interest or value, fromthis remarkable volume, when the thoughts and fancies I proceed totranscribe have been put before the reader. * * * * * "The man who is incapable of his own happiness. Or who is always inpursuit of happiness. Result, Where is happiness to be found then?Surely not Everywhere? Can that be so, after all? Is _this_ myexperience?" * * * * * "The people who persist in defining and analysing their (and everybodyelse's) moral qualities, motives and what not, at once in the narrowestspirit and the most lumbering manner;--as if one should put up anenormous scaffolding for the building of a pigstye. " * * * * * "The house-full of Toadies and Humbugs. They all know and despise oneanother; but--partly to keep their hands in, and partly to make outtheir own individual cases--pretend not to detect one another. " * * * * * "People realising immense sums of money, imaginatively--speculatively--counting their chickens before hatched. Inflaming each other's imaginations about great gains of money, andentering into a sort of intangible, impossible, competition as to who isthe richer. " * * * * * "The advertising sage, philosopher, and friend: who educates 'for thebar, the pulpit, or the stage. '" * * * * * "The character of the real refugee--not the conventional; the real. " * * * * * "The mysterious character, or characters, interchanging confidences. 'Necessary to be very careful in that direction. '--'In whatdirection?'--'B'--'You don't say so. What, do you mean that C----?'--'Isaware of D. Exactly. '" "The father and boy, as I dramatically see them. Opening with the wilddance I have in my mind. " * * * * * "The old child. That is to say, born of parents advanced in life, andobserving the parents of other children to be young. Taking an old toneaccordingly. " * * * * * "A thoroughly sulky character--perverting everything. Making the good, bad--and the bad, good. " * * * * * "The people who lay all their sins negligences and ignorances, onProvidence. " * * * * * "The man who marries his cook at last, after being so desperatelyknowing about the sex. " * * * * * "The swell establishment, frightfully mean and miserable in all but the'reception rooms. ' Those very showy. " * * * * * "B. Tells M. What my opinion is of his work, &c. Quoting the man youhave once spoken to as if he had talked a life's talk in two minutes. " * * * * * "A misplaced and mis-married man; always, as it were, playing hide andseek with the world; and never finding what Fortune seems to have hiddenwhen he was born. " "Certain women in Africa who have lost children, carry little woodenimages of children on their heads, and always put their food to the lipsof those images, before tasting it themselves. This is in a part ofAfrica where the mortality among children (judging from the number ofthese little memorials) is very great. " * * * * * Two more entries are the last which he made. "AVAILABLE NAMES"introduces a wonderful list in the exact following classes and order; asto which the reader may be left to his own memory for selection of suchas found their way into the several stories from _Little Dorrit_ to theend. The rest, not lifted into that higher notice by such favour oftheir creator, must remain like any other undistinguished crowd. Butamong them may perhaps be detected, by those who have special insightfor the physiognomy of a name, some few with so great promise in them offun and character as will make the "mute inglorious" fate which hasbefallen them a subject for special regret; and much ingeniousspeculation will probably wait upon all. Dickens has generally beenthought, by the curious, to display not a few of his most characteristictraits in this particular field of invention. First there are titles for books; and from the list subjoined were takentwo for Christmas numbers and two for stories, though _Nobody's Fault_had ultimately to give way to _Little Dorrit_. "THE LUMBER ROOM. SOMEBODY'S LUGGAGE. TO BE LEFT TILL CALLED FOR. SOMETHING WANTED. EXTREMES MEET. NOBODY'S FAULT. THE GRINDSTONE. ROKESMITH'S FORGE. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. THE CINDER HEAP. TWO GENERATIONS. BROKEN CROCKERY. DUST. THE HOME DEPARTMENT. THE YOUNG PERSON. NOW OR NEVER. MY NEIGHBOURS. THE CHILDREN OF THE FATHERS. NO THOROUGHFARE. " Then comes a batch of "Christian names": Girls and Boys: which standthus, with mention of the source from which he obtained them. Thesetherefore can hardly be called pure invention. Some would have beenreckoned too extravagant for anything but reality. "_Girls from Privy Council Education lists. _ "LELIA. MENELLA. RUBINA. IRIS. REBECCA. ETTY. REBINAH. SEBA. PERSIA. ARAMANDA. DORIS. BALZINA. PLEASANT. GENTILLA. "_Boys from Privy Council Education lists. _ "DOCTOR. HOMER. ODEN. BRADLEY. ZERUBBABEL. MAXIMILIAN. URBIN. SAMILIAS. PICKLES. ORANGE. FEATHER. "_Girls and Boys from Ditto. _ "AMANDA, ETHLYNIDA; BOETIUS, BOLTIUS. " To which he adds supplementary lists that appear to be his own. "_More Boys. _ "ROBERT LADLE. JOLY STICK. BILL MARIGOLD. STEPHEN MARQUICK. JONATHAN KNOTWELL. PHILIP BROWNDRESS. HENRY GHOST. GEORGE MUZZLE. WALTER ASHES. ZEPHANIAH FERRY (or FURY). WILLIAM WHY. ROBERT GOSPEL. THOMAS FATHERLY. ROBIN SCUBBAM. "_More Girls. _ "SARAH GOLDSACKS. ROSETTA DUST. SUSAN GOLDRING. CATHERINE TWO. MATILDA RAINBIRD. MIRIAM DENIAL. SOPHIA DOOMSDAY. ALICE THORNEYWORK. SALLY GIMBLET. VERITY HAWKYARD. BIRDIE NASH. AMBROSINA EVENTS. APAULINA VERNON. NELTIE ASHFORD. " And then come the mass of his "available names, " which stand thus, without other introduction or comment: "TOWNDLING. MOOD. GUFF. TREBLE. CHILBY. SPESSIFER. WODDER. WHELPFORD. FENNERCK. GANNERSON. CHINKERBLE. BINTREY. FLEDSON. HIRLL. BRAYLE. MULLENDER. TRESLINGHAM. BRANKLE. SITTERN. DOSTONE. CAY-LON. SLYANT. QUEEDY. BESSELTHUR. MUSTY. GROUT. TERTIUS JOBBER. AMON HEADSTON. STRAYSHOTT. HIGDEN. MORFIT. GOLDSTRAW. BARREL. INGE. JUMP. JIGGINS. BONES. COY. DAWN. TATKIN. DROWVEY. PUDSEY. PEDSEY. DUNCALF. TRICKLEBANK. SAPSEA. READYHUFF. DUFTY. FOGGY. TWINN. BROWNSWORD. PEARTREE. SUDDS. SILVERMAN. KIMBER. LAUGHLEY. LESSOCK. TIPPINS. MINNITT. RADLOWE. PRATCHET. MAWDETT. WOZENHAM. SNOWELL. LOTTRUM. LAMMLE. FROSER. HOLBLACK. MULLEY. REDWORTH. REDFOOT. TARBOX (B). TINKLING. DUDDLE. JEBUS. POWDERHILL. GRIMMER. SKUSE. TITCOOMBE. CRABBLE. SWANNOCK. TUZZEN. TWEMLOW. SQUAB. JACKMAN. SUGG. BREMMIDGE. SILAS BLODGET. MELVIN BEAL. BUTTRICK. EDSON. SANLORN. LIGHTWORD. TITBULL. BANGHAM. KYLE--NYLE. PEMBLE. MAXEY. ROKESMITH. CHIVERY. WABBLER. PEEX--SPEEX. GANNAWAY. MRS. FLINKS. FLINX. JEE. HARDEN. MERDLE. MURDEN. TOPWASH. PORDAGE. DORRET--DORRIT. CARTON. MINIFIE. SLINGO. JOAD. KINCH. MAG. CHELLYSON. BLENNAM--CL. BARDOCK. SNIGSWORTH. SWENTON. CASBY--PEACH. LOWLEIGH--LOWELY. PIGRIN. YERBURY. PLORNISH. MAROON. BANDY-NANDY. STONEBURY. MAGWITCH. MEAGLES. PANCKS. HAGGAGE. PROVIS. STILTINGTON. STILTWALK. STILTINGSTALK. STILTSTALKING. RAVENDER. PODSNAP. CLARRIKER. COMPERY. STRIVER-STRYVER. PUMBLECHOOK. WANGLER. BOFFIN. BANTINCK. DIBTON. WILFER. GLIBBERY. MULVEY. HORLICK. DOOLGE. GANNERY. GARGERY. WILLSHARD. RIDERHOOD. PRATTERSTONE. CHINKIBLE. WOPSELL. WOPSLE. WHELPINGTON. WHELPFORD. GAYVERY. WEGG. HUBBLE. URRY. KIBBLE. SKIFFINS. WODDER. ETSER. AKERSHEM. " The last of the Memoranda, and the last words written by Dickens in theblank paper book containing them, are these. "'Then I'll give upsnuff. ' Brobity. --An alarming sacrifice. Mr. Brobity's snuff-box. ThePawnbroker's account of it?" What was proposed by this must be left toconjecture; but "Brobity" is the name of one of the people in hisunfinished story, and the suggestion may have been meant for someincident in it. If so, it is the only passage in the volume which can bein any way connected with the piece of writing on which he was lastengaged. Some names were taken for it from the lists, but there isotherwise nothing to recall _Edwin Drood_. FOOTNOTES: [250] From the same authority proceeded, in answer to a casual questionone day, a description of the condition of his wardrobe of which he hasalso made note in the Memoranda. "Well, sir, your clothes is all shabby, and your boots is all burst. " [251] The date when this fancy dropped into his Memoranda is fixed bythe following passage in a letter to me of the 25th of August 1862. "Iam trying to coerce my thoughts into hammering out the Christmas number. And I have an idea of opening a book (not the Christmas number--a book)by bringing together two strongly contrasted places and two stronglycontrasted sets of people, with which and with whom the story is torest, through the agency of an electric message. I think a fine thingmight be made of the message itself shooting over the land and under thesea, and it would be a curious way of sounding the key note. " [252] Following this in the "Memoranda" is an advertisement cut from the_Times_: of a kind that always expressed to Dickens a child-farming thatdeserved the gallows quite as much as the worst kind of starving, by wayof farming, babies. The fourteen guineas a-year, "tender" age of the"dear" ones, maternal care, and no vacations or extras, to him had onlyone meaning. EDUCATION FOR LITTLE CHILDREN. --Terms 14 to 18 guineas per annum; no extras or vacations. The system of education embraces the wide range of each useful and ornamental study suited to the tender age of the dear children. Maternal care and kindness may be relied on. --X. , Heald's Library, Fulham-road. CHAPTER XIII. THIRD SERIES OF READINGS. 1864-1867. Death of Thackeray--Dickens on Thackeray--Mother's Death--Death of his Second Son--_Our Mutual Friend_--Revising a Play--Sorrowful New Year--Lameness--Fatal Anniversary--New Readings undertaken--Offer of Messrs. Chappell--Relieved from Management--Greater Fatigues involved--A Memorable Evening--Mrs. Carlyle--Offer for more Readings--Result of the Last--Grave Warnings--At Liverpool--At Manchester--At Birmingham--In Scotland--Exertion and its Result--An Old Malady--Audiences at Newcastle--Scene at Tynemouth--In Dublin--At Cambridge--Close of the Third Series--Desire in America to hear Dickens read--Sends Agent to America--Warning unheeded--For and against reading in America--Decision to go--Departure. THE sudden death of Thackeray on the Christmas eve of 1863 was a painfulshock to Dickens. It would not become me to speak, when he has himselfspoken, of his relations with so great a writer and so old a friend. "I saw him first, nearly twenty-eight years ago, when he proposed tobecome the illustrator of my earliest book. I saw him last, [253] shortlybefore Christmas, at the Athenæum Club, when he told me that he hadbeen in bed three days . . . And that he had it in his mind to try a newremedy which he laughingly described. He was cheerful, and looked verybright. In the night of that day week, he died. The long intervalbetween these two periods is marked in my remembrance of him by manyoccasions when he was extremely humorous, when he was irresistiblyextravagant, when he was softened and serious, when he was charming withchildren. . . . No one can be surer than I, of the greatness and goodnessof his heart. . . . In no place should I take it upon myself at this timeto discourse of his books, of his refined knowledge of character, of hissubtle acquaintance with the weaknesses of human nature, of hisdelightful playfulness as an essayist, of his quaint and touchingballads, of his mastery over the English language. . . . But before me liesall that he had written of his latest story . . . And the pain I have feltin perusing it has not been deeper than the conviction that he was inthe healthiest vigour of his powers when he worked on this lastlabour. . . . The last words he corrected in print were 'And my heartthrobbed with an exquisite bliss. ' God grant that on that Christmas Evewhen he laid his head back on his pillow and threw up his arms as he hadbeen wont to do when very weary, some consciousness of duty done, and ofChristian hope throughout life humbly cherished, may have caused hisown heart so to throb, when he passed away to his Redeemer's rest. Hewas found peacefully lying as above described, composed, undisturbed, and to all appearance asleep. " Other griefs were with Dickens at this time, and close upon them camethe too certain evidence that his own health was yielding to theoverstrain which had been placed upon it by the occurrences andanxieties of the few preceding years. His mother, whose infirm healthhad been tending for more than two years to the close, died in September1863; and on his own birthday in the following February he had tidingsof the death of his second son Walter, on the last day of the old yearin the officers' hospital at Calcutta; to which he had been sent upinvalided from his station, on his way home. He was a lieutenant in the26th Native Infantry regiment, and had been doing duty with the 42ndHighlanders. In 1853 his father had thus written to the youth'sgodfather, Walter Savage Landor: "Walter is a very good boy, and comeshome from school with honorable commendation and a prize into thebargain. He never gets into trouble, for he is a great favourite withthe whole house and one of the most amiable boys in the boy-world. Hecomes out on birthdays in a blaze of shirt pin. " The pin was a presentfrom Landor; to whom three years later, when the boy had obtained hiscadetship through the kindness of Miss Coutts, Dickens wrote again. "Walter has done extremely well at school; has brought home a prize intriumph; and will be eligible to 'go up' for his India examination soonafter next Easter. Having a direct appointment he will probably be sentout soon after he has passed, and so will fall into that strange life'up the country' before he well knows he is alive, or what lifeis--which indeed seems to be rather an advanced state of knowledge. " Ifhe had lived another month he would have reached his twenty-third year, and perhaps not then the advanced state of knowledge his father speaksof. But, never forfeiting his claim to those kindly paternal words, hehad the goodness and simplicity of boyhood to the last. Dickens had at this time begun his last story in twenty numbers, and mynext chapter will show through what unwonted troubles, in this and thefollowing year, he had to fight his way. What otherwise during itsprogress chiefly interested him, was the enterprise of Mr. Fechter atthe Lyceum, of which he had become the lessee; and Dickens was moved tothis quite as much by generous sympathy with the difficulties of such aposition to an artist who was not an Englishman, as by genuineadmiration of Mr. Fechter's acting. He became his helper in disputes, adviser on literary points, referee in matters of management; and forsome years no face was more familiar than the French comedian's atGadshill or in the office of his journal. But theatres and their affairsare things of a season, and even Dickens's whim and humour will notrevive for us any interest in these. No bad example, however, of thedifficulties in which a French actor may find himself with Englishplaywrights, will appear in a few amusing words from one of his lettersabout a piece played at the Princess's before the Lyceum management wastaken in hand. "I have been cautioning Fechter about the play whereof he gave the plotand scenes to B; and out of which I have struck some enormities, myaccount of which will (I think) amuse you. It has one of the best firstacts I ever saw; but if he can do much with the last two, not to saythree, there are resources in his art that _I_ know nothing about. WhenI went over the play this day week, he was at least 20 minutes, _in aboat, in the last scene_, discussing with another gentleman (also in theboat) whether he should kill him or not; after which the gentleman divedoverboard and swam for it. Also, in the most important and dangerousparts of the play, there was a young person of the name of Pickles whowas constantly being mentioned by name, in conjunction with the powersof light or darkness; as, 'Great Heaven! Pickles?'--'By Hell, 'tisPickles!'--'Pickles? a thousand Devils!'--'Distraction! Pickles?'"[254] The old year ended and the new one opened sadly enough. The death ofLeech in November affected Dickens very much, [255] and a severe attackof illness in February put a broad mark between his past life and whatremained to him of the future. The lameness now began in his left footwhich never afterwards wholly left him, which was attended by greatsuffering, and which baffled experienced physicians. He had persistedin his ordinary exercise during heavy snow-storms, and to the last hehad the fancy that his illness was merely local. But that this was anerror is now certain; and it is more than probable that if the nervousdanger and disturbance it implied had been correctly appreciated at thetime, its warning might have been of priceless value to Dickens. Unhappily he never thought of husbanding his strength except for thepurpose of making fresh demands upon it, and it was for this he took abrief holiday in France during the summer. "Before I went away, " hewrote to his daughter, "I had certainly worked myself into a damagedstate. But the moment I got away, I began, thank God, to get well. Ihope to profit by this experience, and to make future dashes from mydesk before I want them. " At his return he was in the terrible railwayaccident at Staplehurst, on a day[256] which proved afterwards morefatal to him; and it was with shaken nerves but unsubdued energy heresumed the labour to be presently described. His foot troubled him moreor less throughout the autumn;[257] he was beset by nervousapprehensions which the accident had caused to himself, not lessened byhis generous anxiety to assuage the severer sufferings inflicted by iton others;[258] and that he should nevertheless have determined, on theclose of his book, to undertake a series of readings involving greaterstrain and fatigue than any hitherto, was a startling circumstance. Hehad perhaps become conscious, without owning it even to himself, thatfor exertion of this kind the time left him was short; but, whateverpressed him on, his task of the next three years, self-imposed, was tomake the most money in the shortest time without any regard to thephysical labour to be undergone. The very letter announcing his newengagement shows how entirely unfit he was to enter upon it. "For some time, " he wrote at the end of February 1866, "I have been veryunwell. F. B. Wrote me word that with such a pulse as I described, anexamination of the heart was absolutely necessary. 'Want of muscularpower in the heart, ' B said. 'Only remarkable irritability of theheart, ' said Doctor Brinton of Brook-street, who had been called in toconsultation. I was not disconcerted; for I knew well beforehand thatthe effect could not possibly be without the one cause at the bottom ofit, of some degeneration of some function of the heart. Of course I amnot so foolish as to suppose that all my work can have been achievedwithout _some_ penalty, and I have noticed for some time a decidedchange in my buoyancy and hopefulness--in other words, in my usual'tone. ' But tonics have already brought me round. So I have accepted anoffer, from Chappells of Bond-street, of £50 a night for thirty nightsto read 'in England, Ireland, Scotland, or Paris;' they undertaking allthe business, paying all personal expenses, travelling and otherwise, ofmyself, John" (his office servant), "and my gasman; and making what theycan of it. I begin, I believe, in Liverpool on the Thursday in Easterweek, and then come to London. I am going to read at Cheltenham (on myown account) on the 23rd and 24th of this month, staying with Macreadyof course. " The arrangement of this series of Readings differed from those of itspredecessors in relieving Dickens from every anxiety except of thereading itself; but, by such rapid and repeated change of nights atdistant places as kept him almost wholly in a railway carriage when notat the reading-desk or in bed, it added enormously to the physicalfatigue. He would read at St. James's Hall in London one night, and atBradford the next. He would read in Edinburgh, go on to Glasgow and toAberdeen, then come back to Glasgow, read again in Edinburgh, strike offto Manchester, come back to St. James's Hall once more, and begin thesame round again. It was labour that must in time have broken down thestrongest man, and what Dickens was when he assumed it we have seen. He did not himself admit a shadow of misgiving. "As to the readings"(11th of March), "all I have to do is, to take in my book and read, atthe appointed place and hour, and come out again. All the business ofevery kind, is done by Chappells. They take John and my other man, merely for my convenience. I have no more to do with any detailwhatever, than you have. They transact all the business at their owncost, and on their own responsibility. I think they are disposed to doit in a very good spirit, because, whereas the original proposition wasfor thirty readings 'in England, Ireland, Scotland, or Paris, ' theywrote out their agreement 'in London, the Provinces, or elsewhere, _asyou and we may agree_. ' For this they pay £1500 in three sums; £500 onbeginning, £500 on the fifteenth Reading, £500 at the close. Everycharge of every kind, they pay besides. I rely for mere curiosity on_Doctor Marigold_ (I am going to begin with him in Liverpool, and at St. James's Hall). I have got him up with immense pains, and should like togive you a notion what I am going to do with him. " The success everywhere went far beyond even the former successes. Asingle night at Manchester, when eight hundred stalls were let, twothousand five hundred and sixty-five people admitted, and the receiptsamounted to more than three hundred pounds, was followed in nearly thesame proportion by all the greater towns; and on the 20th of April theoutlay for the entire venture was paid, leaving all that remained, tothe middle of the month of June, sheer profit. "I came back lastSunday, " he wrote on the 30th of May, "with my last country piece ofwork for this time done. Everywhere the success has been the same. St. James's Hall last night was quite a splendid spectacle. Two moreTuesdays there, and I shall retire into private life. I have only beenable to get to Gadshill once since I left it, and that was the daybefore yesterday. " One memorable evening he had passed at my house in the interval, when hesaw Mrs. Carlyle for the last time. Her sudden death followed shortlyafter, and near the close of April he had thus written to me fromLiverpool. "It was a terrible shock to me, and poor dear Carlyle hasbeen in my mind ever since. How often I have thought of the unfinishednovel. No one now to finish it. None of the writing women come near herat all. " This was an allusion to what had passed at their meeting. Itwas on the second of April, the day when Mr. Carlyle had delivered hisinaugural address as Lord Rector of Edinburgh University, and a coupleof ardent words from Professor Tyndall had told her of the triumph justbefore dinner. She came to us flourishing the telegram in her hand, andthe radiance of her enjoyment of it was upon her all the night. Amongother things she gave Dickens the subject for a novel, from what she hadherself observed at the outside of a house in her street; of which thevarious incidents were drawn from the condition of its blinds andcurtains, the costumes visible at its windows, the cabs at its door, itsvisitors admitted or rejected, its articles of furniture delivered orcarried away; and the subtle serious humour of it all, the truth intrifling bits of character, and the gradual progress into ahalf-romantic interest, had enchanted the skilled novelist. She was wellinto the second volume of her small romance before she left, being asfar as her observation then had taken her; but in a few days excitingincidents were expected, the denouement could not be far off, andDickens was to have it when they met again. Yet it was to something farother than this amusing little fancy his thoughts had carried him, whenhe wrote of no one being capable to finish what she might have begun. Ingreater things this was still more true. No one could doubt it who hadcome within the fascinating influence of that sweet and noble nature. With some of the highest gifts of intellect, and the charm of a mostvaried knowledge of books and things, there was something "beyond, beyond. " No one who knew Mrs. Carlyle could replace her loss when shehad passed away. The same letter which told of his uninterrupted success to the last, told me also that he had a heavy cold upon him and was "very tired anddepressed. " Some weeks before the first batch of readings closed, Messrs. Chappell had already tempted him with an offer for fifty morenights to begin at Christmas, for which he meant, as he then said, toask them seventy pounds a night. "It would be unreasonable to askanything now on the ground of the extent of the late success, but I ambound to look to myself for the future. The Chappells are speculators, though of the worthiest and most honourable kind. They make some badspeculations, and have made a very good one in this case, and will setthis against those. I told them when we agreed: 'I offer these thirtyReadings to you at fifty pounds a night, because I know perfectly wellbeforehand that no one in your business has the least idea of their realworth, and I wish to prove it. ' The sum taken is £4720. " The result ofthe fresh negotiation, though not completed until the beginning ofAugust, may be at once described. "Chappell instantly accepts myproposal of forty nights at sixty pounds a night, and every conceivableand inconceivable expense paid. To make an even sum, I have made itforty-two nights for £2500. So I shall now try to discover a Christmasnumber" (he means the subject for one), "and shall, please Heaven, bequit of the whole series of readings so as to get to work on a new storyfor the new series of _All the Year Round_ early in the spring. Thereadings begin probably with the New Year. " These were fair designs, butthe fairest are the sport of circumstance, and though the subject forChristmas was found, the new series of _All the Year_ Round never had anew story from its founder. With whatever consequence to himself, thestrong tide of the Readings was to sweep on to its full. The Americanwar had ceased, and the first renewed offers from the States had beenmade and rejected. Hovering over all, too, were other sternerdispositions. "I think, " he wrote in September, "there is some strangeinfluence in the atmosphere. Twice last week I was seized in a mostdistressing manner--apparently in the heart; but, I am persuaded, onlyin the nervous system. " In the midst of his ovations such checks had not been wanting. "Thepolice reported officially, " he wrote to his daughter from Liverpool onthe 14th of April, "that three thousand people were turned away from thehall last night. . . . Except that I can _not_ sleep, I really think myselfin very much better training than I had anticipated. A dozen oysters anda little champagne between the parts every night, seem to constitute thebest restorative I have ever yet tried. " "Such a prodigiousdemonstration last night at Manchester, " he wrote to the samecorrespondent twelve days later, "that I was obliged (contrary to myprinciple in such cases) to go back. I am very tired to-day; for itwould be of itself very hard work in that immense place, if there werenot to be added eighty miles of railway and late hours to boot. " "It hasbeen very heavy work, " he wrote to his sister-in-law on the 11th of Mayfrom Clifton, "getting up at 6. 30 each morning after a heavy night, andI am not at all well to-day. We had a tremendous hall at Birmingham lastnight, £230 odd, 2100 people; and I made a most ridiculous mistake. Had_Nickleby_ on my list to finish with, instead of _Trial_. Read_Nickleby_ with great go, _and the people remained_. Went back again at10 o'clock, and explained the accident: but said if they liked I wouldgive them the _Trial_. They _did_ like;--and I had another half hour ofit, in that enormous place. . . . I have so severe a pain in the ball of myleft eye that it makes it hard for me to do anything after 100 milesshaking since breakfast. My cold is no better, nor my hand either. " Itwas his left eye, it will be noted, as it was his left foot and hand;the irritability or faintness of heart was also of course on the leftside; and it was on the same left side he felt most of the effect of therailway accident. Everything was done to make easier the labour of travel, but nothingcould materially abate either the absolute physical exhaustion, or thenervous strain. "We arrived here, " he wrote from Aberdeen (16th of May), "safe and sound between 3 and 4 this morning. There was a compartmentfor the men, and a charming room for ourselves furnished with sofas andeasy chairs. We had also a pantry and washing-stand. This carriage is togo about with us. " Two days later he wrote from Glasgow: "We halted atPerth yesterday, and got a lovely walk there. Until then I had been in acondition the reverse of flourishing; half strangled with my cold, anddyspeptically gloomy and dull; but, as I feel much more like myself thismorning, we are going to get some fresh air aboard a steamer on theClyde. " The last letter during his country travel was from Portsmouth onthe 24th of May, and contained these words: "You need have no fear aboutAmerica. " The readings closed in June. The readings of the new year began with even increased enthusiasm, butnot otherwise with happier omen. Here was his first outline of plan: "Istart on Wednesday afternoon (the 15th of January) for Liverpool, andthen go on to Chester, Derby, Leicester, and Wolverhampton. On Tuesdaythe 29th I read in London again, and in February I read at Manchesterand then go on into Scotland. " From Liverpool he wrote on the 21st:"The enthusiasm has been unbounded. On Friday night I quite astonishedmyself; but I was taken so faint afterwards that they laid me on a sofa, at the hall for half an hour. I attribute it to my distressing inabilityto sleep at night, and to nothing worse. Everything is made as easy tome as it possibly can be. Dolby would do anything to lighten the work, and _does_ everything. " The weather was sorely against him. "AtChester, " he wrote on the 24th from Birmingham, "we read in a snow-stormand a fall of ice. I think it was the worst weather I ever saw. . . . AtWolverhampton last night the thaw had thoroughly set in, and it rainedfuriously, and I was again heavily beaten. We came on here after thereading (it is only a ride of forty miles), and it was as much as Icould do to hold out the journey. But I was not faint, as at Liverpool. I was only exhausted. " Five days later he had returned for his Readingin London, and thus replied to a summons to dine with Macready at myhouse: "I am very tired; cannot sleep; have been severely shaken on anatrocious railway; read to-night, and have to read at Leeds on Thursday. But I have settled with Dolby to put off our going to Leeds onWednesday, in the hope of coming to dine with you, and seeing our dearold friend. I say 'in the hope, ' because if I should be a little moreused-up to-morrow than I am to-day, I should be constrained, in spite ofmyself, to take to the sofa and stick there. " On the 15th of February he wrote to his sister-in-law from Liverpoolthat they had had "an enormous turnaway" the previous night. "The dayhas been very fine, and I have turned it to the wholesomest account bywalking on the sands at New Brighton all the morning. I am not quiteright within, but believe it to be an effect of the railway shaking. There is no doubt of the fact that, after the Staplehurst experience, ittells more and more (railway shaking, that is) instead of, as one mighthave expected, less and less. " The last remark is a strange one, from aman of his sagacity; but it was part of the too-willing self-deceptionwhich he practised, to justify him in his professed belief that thesecontinued excesses of labour and excitement were really doing him noharm. The day after that last letter he pushed on to Scotland, and onthe 17th wrote to his daughter from Glasgow. The closing night atManchester had been enormous. "They cheered to that extent after it wasover that I was obliged to huddle on my clothes (for I was undressing toprepare for the journey) and go back again. After so heavy a week, it_was_ rather stiff to start on this long journey at a quarter to two inthe morning; but I got more sleep than I ever got in a railway-carriagebefore. . . . I have, as I had in the last series of readings, a curiousfeeling of soreness all round the body--which I suppose to arise fromthe great exertion of voice . . . " Two days later he wrote to hissister-in-law from the Bridge of Allan, which he had reached fromGlasgow that morning. "Yesterday I was so unwell with an internal maladythat occasionally at long intervals troubles me a little, and it wasattended with the sudden loss of so much blood, that I wrote to F. B. From whom I shall doubtless hear to-morrow. . . . I felt it a little moreexertion to read, afterwards, and I passed a sleepless night after thatagain; but otherwise I am in good force and spirits to-day: I may say, in the best force. . . . The quiet of this little place is sure to do megood. " He rallied again from this attack, and, though he stillcomplained of sleeplessness, wrote cheerfully from Glasgow on the 21st, describing himself indeed as confined to his room, but only because "inclose hiding from a local poet who has christened his infant son in myname, and consequently haunts the building. " On getting back toEdinburgh he wrote to me, with intimation that many troubles had besethim; but that the pleasure of his audiences, and the providence andforethought of Messrs. Chappell, had borne him through. "Everything isdone for me with the utmost liberality and consideration. Every want Ican have on these journeys is anticipated, and not the faintest spark ofthe tradesman spirit ever peeps out. I have three men in constantattendance on me; besides Dolby, who is an agreeable companion, anexcellent manager, and a good fellow. " On the 4th of March he wrote from Newcastle: "The readings have made animmense effect in this place, and it is remarkable that although thepeople are individually rough, collectively they are an unusually tenderand sympathetic audience; while their comic perception is quite up tothe high London standard. The atmosphere is so very heavy that yesterdaywe escaped to Tynemouth for a two hours' sea walk. There was a highnorth wind blowing, and a magnificent sea running. Large vessels werebeing towed in and out over the stormy bar, with prodigious wavesbreaking on it; and, spanning the restless uproar of the waters, was aquiet rainbow of transcendent beauty. The scene was quite wonderful. Wewere in the full enjoyment of it when a heavy sea caught us, knocked usover, and in a moment drenched us and filled even our pockets. We hadnothing for it but to shake ourselves together (like Dr. Marigold), anddry ourselves as well as we could by hard walking in the wind andsunshine. But we were wet through for all that, when we came back hereto dinner after half-an-hour's railway drive. I am wonderfully well, andquite fresh and strong. " Three days later he was at Leeds; from which hewas to work himself round through the most important neighbouring placesto another reading in London, before again visiting Ireland. This was the time of the Fenian excitements; it was with greatreluctance he consented to go;[259] and he told us all at his firstarrival that he should have a complete breakdown. More than 300 stallswere gone at Belfast two days before the reading, but on the afternoonof the reading in Dublin not 50 were taken. Strange to say however agreat crowd pressed in at night, he had a tumultuous greeting, and onthe 22nd of March I had this announcement from him: "You will besurprised to be told that we have done WONDERS! Enthusiastic crowds havefilled the halls to the roof each night, and hundreds have been turnedaway. At Belfast the night before last we had £246 5_s. _ In Dublinto-night everything is sold out, and people are besieging Dolby to putchairs anywhere, in doorways, on my platform, in any sort of hole orcorner. In short the Readings are a perfect rage at a time wheneverything else is beaten down. " He took the Eastern Counties at hisreturn, and this brought the series to a close. "The reception atCambridge was something to be proud of in such a place. The collegesmustered in full force, from the biggest guns to the smallest; and wentbeyond even Manchester in the roars of welcome and rounds of cheers. Theplace was crammed, and all through the reading everything was taken withthe utmost heartiness of enjoyment. " The temptation of offers fromAmerica had meanwhile again been presented to him so strongly, and insuch unlucky connection with immediate family claims threatening excessof expenditure even beyond the income he was making, that he was fain towrite to his sister-in-law: "I begin to feel myself drawn towardsAmerica as Darnay in the _Tale of Two Cities_ was attracted to Paris. Itis my Loadstone Rock. " Too surely it was to be so; and Dickens was notto be saved from the consequence of yielding to the temptation, by anysuch sacrifice as had rescued Darnay. The letter which told me of the close of his English readings had in itno word of the farther enterprise, yet it seemed to be in some sort apreparation for it. "Last Monday evening" (14th May) "I finished the 50Readings with great success. You have no idea how I have worked at them. Feeling it necessary, as their reputation widened, that they should bebetter than at first, I have _learnt them all_, so as to have nomechanical drawback in looking after the words. I have tested all theserious passion in them by everything I know; made the humorous pointsmuch more humorous; corrected my utterance of certain words; cultivateda self-possession not to be disturbed; and made myself master of thesituation. Finishing with _Dombey_ (which I had not read for a longtime) I learnt that, like the rest; and did it to myself, often twice aday, with exactly the same pains as at night, over and over and overagain. " . . . Six days later brought his reply to a remark that no degreeof excellence to which he might have brought his readings couldreconcile me to what there was little doubt would soon be pressed uponhim. "It is curious" (20th May) "that you should touch the Americansubject, because I must confess that my mind is in a most disturbedstate about it. That the people there have set themselves on having thereadings, there is no question. Every mail brings me proposals, and thenumber of Americans at St. James's Hall has been surprising. A certainMr. Grau, who took Ristori out, and is highly responsible, wrote to meby the last mail (for the second time) saying that if I would give him aword of encouragement he would come over immediately and arrange on theboldest terms for any number I chose, and would deposit a large sum ofmoney at Coutts's. Mr. Fields writes to me on behalf of a committee ofprivate gentlemen at Boston who wished for the credit of getting me out, who desired to hear the readings and did not want profit, and would putdown as a guarantee £10, 000--also to be banked here. Every Americanspeculator who comes to London repairs straight to Dolby, with similarproposals. And, thus excited, Chappells, the moment this last series wasover, proposed to treat for America!" Upon the mere question of thesevarious offers he had little difficulty in making up his mind. If hewent at all, he would go on his own account, making no compact with anyone. Whether he should go at all, was what he had to determine. One thing with his usual sagacity he saw clearly enough. He must make uphis mind quickly. "The Presidential election would be in the autumn ofnext year. They are a people whom a fancy does not hold long. They arebent upon my reading there, and they believe (on no foundation whatever)that I am going to read there. If I ever go, the time would be when theChristmas number goes to press. Early in this next November. " Every sortof enquiry he accordingly set on foot; and so far came to the immediatedecision, that, if the answers left him no room to doubt that a certainsum might be realized, he would go. "Have no fear that anything willinduce me to make the experiment, if I do not see the most forciblereasons for believing that what I could get by it, added to what I havegot, would leave me with a sufficient fortune. I should be wretchedbeyond expression there. My small powers of description cannot describethe state of mind in which I should drag on from day to day. " At the endof May he wrote: "Poor dear Stanfield!" (our excellent friend had passedaway the week before). "I cannot think even of him, and of our greatloss, for this spectre of doubt and indecision that sits at the boardwith me and stands at the bedside. I am in a tempest-tossed condition, and can hardly believe that I stand at bay at last on the Americanquestion. The difficulty of determining amid the variety of statementsmade to me is enormous, and you have no idea how heavily the anxiety ofit sits upon my soul. But the prize looks so large!" One way at lastseemed to open by which it was possible to get at some settled opinion. "Dolby sails for America" (2nd of July) "on Saturday the 3rd of August. It is impossible to come to any reasonable conclusion, without sendingeyes and ears on the actual ground. He will take out my MS. For the_Children's Magazine_. I hope it is droll, and very child-like; thoughthe joke is a grown-up one besides. You must try to like the piratestory, for I am very fond of it. " The allusion is to his pleasant_Holiday Romance_ which he had written for Mr. Fields. Hardly had Mr. Dolby gone when there came that which should have availedto dissuade, far more than any of the arguments which continued toexpress my objection to the enterprise. "I am laid up, " he wrote on the6th of August, "with another attack in my foot, and was on the sofa alllast night in tortures. I cannot bear to have the fomentations taken offfor a moment. I was so ill with it on Sunday, and it looked so fierce, that I came up to Henry Thompson. He has gone into the case heartily, and says that there is no doubt the complaint originates in the actionof the shoe, in walking, on an enlargement in the nature of a bunion. Erysipelas has supervened upon the injury; and the object is to avoid agathering, and to stay the erysipelas where it is. Meantime I am on myback, and chafing. . . . I didn't improve my foot by going down toLiverpool to see Dolby off, but I have little doubt of its yielding totreatment, and repose. " A few days later he was chafing still; theaccomplished physician he consulted having dropped other hints thatsomewhat troubled him. "I could not walk a quarter of a mile to-nightfor £500. I make out so many reasons against supposing it to be goutythat I really do not think it is. " So momentous in my judgment were the consequences of the Americanjourney to him that it seemed right to preface thus much of theinducements and temptations that led to it. My own part in thediscussion was that of steady dissuasion throughout: though this mightperhaps have been less persistent if I could have reconciled myself tothe belief, which I never at any time did, that Public Readings were aworthy employment for a man of his genius. But it had by this timebecome clear to me that nothing could stay the enterprise. The result ofMr. Dolby's visit to America--drawn up by Dickens himself in a paperpossessing still the interest of having given to the Readings when hecrossed the Atlantic much of the form they then assumed[260]--reached mewhen I was staying at Ross; and upon it was founded my last argumentagainst the scheme. This he received in London on the 28th of September, on which day he thus wrote to his eldest daughter: "As I telegraphedafter I saw you, I am off to Ross to consult with Mr. Forster and Dolbytogether. You shall hear, either on Monday, or by Monday's post fromLondon, how I decide finally. " The result he wrote to her three dayslater: "You will have had my telegram that I go to America. After a longdiscussion with Forster, and consideration of what is to be said on bothsides, I have decided to go through with it. We have telegraphed 'Yes'to Boston. " Seven days later he wrote to me: "The Scotia being full, Ido not sail until lord mayor's day; for which glorious anniversary Ihave engaged an officer's cabin on deck in the Cuba. I am not in verybrilliant spirits at the prospect before me, and am deeply sensible ofyour motive and reasons for the line you have taken; but I am not in theleast shaken in the conviction that I could never quite have given upthe idea. " The remaining time was given to preparations; on the 2nd of Novemberthere was a Farewell Banquet in the Freemasons' Hall over which LordLytton presided; and on the 9th Dickens sailed for Boston. Before heleft he had contributed his part to the last of his Christmas Numbers;all the writings he lived to complete were done; and the interval of hisvoyage may be occupied by a general review of the literary labour of hislife. FOOTNOTES: [253] There had been some estrangement between them since the autumn of1858, hardly now worth mention even in a note. Thackeray, justlyindignant at a published description of himself by the member of a clubto which both he and Dickens belonged, referred it to the Committee, whodecided to expel the writer. Dickens, thinking expulsion too harsh apenalty for an offence thoughtlessly given, and, as far as might be, manfully atoned for by withdrawal and regret, interposed to avert thatextremity. Thackeray resented the interference, and Dickens was justlyhurt by the manner in which he did so. Neither was wholly right, nor waseither altogether in the wrong. [254] As I have thus fallen on theatrical subjects, I may add one or twopractical experiences which befell Dickens at theatres in the autumn of1864, when he sallied forth from his office upon these night wanderingsto "cool" a boiling head. "I went the other night" (8th of October) "tosee the _Streets of London_ at the Princess's. A piece that is reallydrawing all the town, and filling the house with nightly overflows. Itis the most depressing instance, without exception, of an utterlydegraded and debased theatrical taste that has ever come under mywrithing notice. For not only do the audiences--of all classes--go, butthey are unquestionably delighted. At Astley's there has been muchpuffing at great cost of a certain Miss Ada Isaacs Menkin, who is to beseen bound on the horse in _Mazeppa_ 'ascending the fearful precipicesnot as hitherto done by a dummy. ' Last night, having a boiling head, Iwent out from here to cool myself on Waterloo Bridge, and I thought Iwould go and see this heroine. Applied at the box-door for a stall. 'None left sir. ' For a box-ticket. 'Only standing-room sir. ' Then theman (busy in counting great heaps of veritable checks) recognizes me andsays--'Mr. Smith will be very much concerned when he hears that you wentaway sir'--'Never mind; I'll come again. ' 'You never go behind I thinksir, or--?' 'No thank you, I never go behind. ' 'Mr. Smith's box, sir--''No thank you, I'll come again. ' Now who do you think the lady is? Ifyou don't already know, ask that question of the highest Irish mountainsthat look eternal, and they'll never tell you--_Mrs. Heenan!_" Thislady, who turned out to be one of Dickens's greatest admirers, addressedhim at great length on hearing of this occurrence, and afterwardsdedicated a volume of poems to him! There was a pleasanter close to hisletter. "Contrariwise I assisted another night at the Adelphi (where Icouldn't, with careful calculation, get the house up to Nine Pounds), and saw quite an admirable performance of Mr. Toole and Mrs. Mellon--she, an old servant, wonderfully like Anne--he, showing a powerof passion very unusual indeed in a comic actor, as such things go, andof a quite remarkable kind. " [255] Writing to me three months before, he spoke of the death of onewhom he had known from his boyhood (_ante_, i. 47-8) and with whom hehad fought unsuccessfully for some years against the management of theLiterary Fund. "Poor Dilke! I am very sorry that the capital oldstout-hearted man is dead. " Sorrow may also be expressed that noadequate record should remain of a career which for steadfast purpose, conscientious maintenance of opinion, and pursuit of public objects withdisregard of self, was one of very high example. So averse was Mr. Dilketo every kind of display that his name appears to none of the literaryinvestigations which were conducted by him with an acuteness wonderfulas his industry, and it was in accordance with his express instructionsthat the literary journal which his energy and self-denial hadestablished kept silence respecting him at his death. [256] One day before, the 8th of June 1865, his old friend Sir JosephPaxton had breathed his last. [257] Here are allusions to it at that time. "I have got a boot onto-day, --made on an Otranto scale, but really not very discernible fromits ordinary sized companion. " After a few days' holiday: "I began tofeel my foot stronger the moment I breathed the sea air. Still, duringthe ten days I have been away, I have never been able to wear a bootafter four or five in the afternoon, but have passed all the eveningswith the foot up, and nothing on it. I am burnt brown and have walked bythe sea perpetually, yet I feel certain that if I wore a boot thisevening, I should be taken with those torments again before the nightwas out. " This last letter ended thus: "As a relief to my late dismalletters, I send you the newest American story. Backwoods Doctor iscalled in to the little boy of a woman-settler. Stares at the child sometime through a pair of spectacles. Ultimately takes them off, and saysto the mother: 'Wa'al Marm, this is small-pox. 'Tis Marm, small-pox. ButI am not posted up in Pustuls, and I do not know as I could bring himalong slick through it. But I'll tell you wa'at I can do Marm:--I cansend him a draft as will certainly put him into a most etarnal Fit, andI am almighty smart at Fits, and we might git round Old Grisly thatway. '" [258] I give one such instance: "The railway people have offered, in thecase of the young man whom I got out of the carriage just alive, all theexpenses and a thousand pounds down. The father declines to accept theoffer. It seems unlikely that the young man, whose destination is India, would ever be passed for the Army now by the Medical Board. The questionis, how far will that contingency tell, under Lord Campbell's Act?" [259] He wrote to me on the 15th of March from Dublin: "So profoundlydiscouraging were the accounts from here in London last Tuesday that Iheld several councils with Chappell about coming at all; had actuallydrawn up a bill announcing (indefinitely) the postponement of thereadings; and had meant to give him a reading to cover the chargesincurred--but yielded at last to his representations the other way. Weran through a snow storm nearly the whole way, and in Wales got snowedup, came to a stoppage, and had to dig the engine out. . . . We got toDublin at last, found it snowing and raining, and heard that it had beensnowing and raining since the first day of the year. . . . As to outwardsigns of trouble or preparation, they are very few. At Kingstown ourboat was waited for by four armed policemen, and some stragglers invarious dresses who were clearly detectives. But there was no show ofsoldiery. My people carry a long heavy box containing gas-fittings. Thiswas immediately laid hold of; but one of the stragglers instantlyinterposed on seeing my name, and came to me in the carriage andapologised. . . . The worst looking young fellow I ever saw, turned up atHolyhead before we went to bed there, and sat glooming and glowering bythe coffee-room fire while we warmed ourselves. He said he had beensnowed up with us (which we didn't believe), and was horriblydisconcerted by some box of his having gone to Dublin without him. Wesaid to one another 'Fenian:' and certainly he disappeared in themorning, and let his box go where it would. " What Dickens heard and sawin Dublin, during this visit, convinced him that Fenianism anddisaffection had found their way into several regiments. [260] This renders it worth preservation in a note. He called it "THE CASE IN A NUTSHELL. "1. I think it may be taken as proved, that general enthusiasm and excitement are awakened in America on the subject of the Readings, and that the people are prepared to give me a great reception. _The New York Herald_, indeed, is of opinion that 'Dickens must apologise first'; and where a _New York Herald_ is possible, anything is possible. But the prevailing tone, both of the press and of people of all conditions, is highly favourable. I have an opinion myself that the Irish element in New York is dangerous; for the reason that the Fenians would be glad to damage a conspicuous Englishman. This is merely an opinion of my own. "2. All our original calculations were based on 100 Readings. But an unexpected result of careful enquiry on the spot, is the discovery that the month of May is generally considered (in the large cities) bad for such a purpose. Admitting that what governs an ordinary case in this wise, governs mine, this reduces the Readings to 80, and consequently at a blow makes a reduction of 20 per cent. , in the means of making money within the half year--unless the objection should not apply in my exceptional instance. "3. I dismiss the consideration that the great towns of America could not possibly be exhausted--or even visited--within 6 months, and that a large harvest would be left unreaped. Because I hold a second series of Readings in America is to be set down as out of the question: whether regarded as involving two more voyages across the Atlantic, or a vacation of five months in Canada. "4. The narrowed calculation we have made, is this: What is the largest amount of clear profit derivable, under the most advantageous circumstances possible, as to their public reception, from 80 Readings and no more? In making this calculation, the expenses have been throughout taken on the New York scale--which is the dearest; as much as 20 per cent. , has been deducted for management, including Mr. Dolby's commission; and no credit has been taken for any extra payment on reserved seats, though a good deal of money is confidently expected from this source. But on the other hand it is to be observed that four Readings (and a fraction over) are supposed to take place every week, and that the estimate of receipts is based on the assumption that the audiences are, on all occasions, as large as the rooms will reasonably hold. "5. So considering 80 Readings, we bring out the net profit of that number, remaining to me after payment of all charges whatever, as £15, 500. "6. But it yet remains to be noted that the calculation assumes New York City, and the State of New York, to be good for a very large proportion of the 80 Readings; and that the calculation also assumes the necessary travelling not to extend beyond Boston and adjacent places, New York City and adjacent places, Philadelphia, Washington, and Baltimore. But, if the calculation should prove too sanguine on this head, and if these places should _not_ be good for so many Readings, then it may prove impracticable to get through 80 within the time: by reason of other places that would come into the list, lying wide asunder, and necessitating long and fatiguing journeys. "7. The loss consequent on the conversion of paper money into gold (with gold at the present ruling premium) is allowed for in the calculation. It counts seven dollars to the pound. " CHAPTER XIV. DICKENS AS A NOVELIST. 1836-1870. THE TALE OF TWO CITIES. GREAT EXPECTATIONS. CHRISTMAS SKETCHES. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. DR. MARIGOLD AND TALES FOR AMERICA. M. Taine's Criticism--What M. Taine overlooks--Anticipatory Reply to M. Taine--Paper by Mr. Lewes--Plea for Objectors to Dickens--Dickens a "Seer of Visions"--Criticised and Critic--An Opinion on Mr. And Mrs. Micawber--Dickens in a Fit of Hallucination--Dickens's Leading Quality--Dickens's Earlier Books--Mastery of Dialogue--Realities of Fiction--Fielding and Dickens--Universality of Micawber Experiences--Dickens's Enjoyment of his Own Humour--Origin of _Tale of Two Cities_--Title-hunting--Success--Method different from his Other Books--Reply to an Objection--Care with which Dickens worked--_Tale of Two Cities_ characterized--Opinion of an American Critic--_Great Expectations_--Another Boy-child for Hero--Groundwork of the Story--Masterly Drawing of Character--Christmas Sketches--_Our Mutual Friend_--Germ of Characters for it--Writing Numbers in Advance--Death of Leech--Holiday in France--In the Staplehurst Accident--On a Tale by Edmund About--Doctor Marigold--Minor Stories--Edwin Drood--Purity of Dickens's Writings--True Province of Humour--Dickens's Death--Effect of the News in America--A Far-Western Admirer of Dickens. WHAT I have to say generally of Dickens's genius as a writer may be madepart of the notice, which still remains to be given, of his writingsfrom _The Tale of Two Cities_ to the time at which we have arrived, leaving _Edwin Drood_ for mention in its place; and this will beaccompanied, as in former notices of individual stories, byillustrations drawn from his letters and life. His literary work was sointensely one with his nature that he is not separable from it, and theman and the method throw a singular light on each other. But someallusion to what has been said of these books, by writers assuming tospeak with authority, will properly precede what has to be offered byme; and I shall preface this part of my task with the hint of Carlyle, that in looking at a man out of the common it is good for common men tomake sure that they "see" before they attempt to "oversee" him. Of the French writer, M. Henri Taine, it has before been remarked thathis inability to appreciate humour is fatal to his pretensions as acritic of the English novel. But there is much that is noteworthy in hiscriticism notwithstanding, as well as remarkable in his knowledge of ourlanguage; his position entitles him to be heard without a suspicion ofpartizanship or intentional unfairness; whatever the value of hisopinion, the elaboration of its form and expression is itself no commontribute; and what is said in it of Dickens's handling in regard to styleand character, embodies temperately objections which have since beentaken by some English critics without his impartiality and with lessthan his ability. As to style M. Taine does not find that the natural orsimple prevails sufficiently. The tone is too passionate. Theimaginative or poetic side of allusion is so uniformly dwelt on, thatthe descriptions cease to be subsidiary, and the minute details of painor pleasure wrought out by them become active agencies in the tale. Sovivid and eager is the display of fancy that everything is borne alongwith it; imaginary objects take the precision of real ones; livingthoughts are controlled by inanimate things; the chimes console the poorold ticket-porter; the cricket steadies the rough carrier's doubts; thesea waves soothe the dying boy; clouds, flowers, leaves, play theirseveral parts; hardly a form of matter without a living quality; nosilent thing without its voice. Fondling and exaggerating thus what isoccasional in the subject of his criticism, into what he has evidentlyat last persuaded himself is a fixed and universal practice withDickens, M. Taine proceeds to explain the exuberance by comparing suchimagination in its vividness to that of a monomaniac. He failsaltogether to apprehend that property in Humour which involves thefeeling of subtlest and most affecting analogies, and from which isdrawn the rare insight into sympathies between the nature of things andtheir attributes or opposites, in which Dickens's fancy revelled withsuch delight. Taking the famous lines which express the lunatic, thelover, and the poet as "of Imagination all compact, " in a sense thatwould have startled not a little the great poet who wrote them, M. Taineplaces on the same level of creative fancy the phantoms of the lunaticand the personages of the artist. He exhibits Dickens as from time totime, in the several stages of his successive works of fiction, given upto one idea, possessed by it, seeing nothing else, treating it in ahundred forms, exaggerating it, and so dazzling and overpowering hisreaders with it that escape is impossible. This he maintains to beequally the effect as Mr. Mell the usher plays the flute, as Tom Pinchenjoys or exposes his Pecksniff, as the guard blows his bugle while Tomrides to London, as Ruth Pinch crosses Fountain Court or makes thebeefsteak pudding, as Jonas Chuzzlewit commits and returns from themurder, and as the storm which is Steerforth's death-knell beats on theYarmouth shore. To the same kind of power he attributes theextraordinary clearness with which the commonest objects in all hisbooks, the most ordinary interiors, any old house, a parlour, a boat, aschool, fifty things that in the ordinary tale-teller would passunmarked, are made vividly present and indelible; are brought out with astrength of relief, precision, and force, unapproached in any otherwriter of prose fiction; with everything minute yet nothing cold, "withall the passion and the patience of the painters of his country. " Andwhile excitement in the reader is thus maintained to an extentincompatible with a natural style or simple narrative, M. Taine yetthinks he has discovered, in this very power of awakening a feverishsensibility and moving laughter or tears at the commonest things, thesource of Dickens's astonishing popularity. Ordinary people, he says, are so tired of what is always around them, and take in so little of thedetail that makes up their lives, that when, all of a sudden, therecomes a man to make these things interesting, and turn them into objectsof admiration, tenderness, or terror, the effect is enchantment. Withoutleaving their arm-chairs or their firesides, they find themselvestrembling with emotion, their eyes are filled with tears, their cheeksare broad with laughter, and, in the discovery they have thus made thatthey too can suffer, love, and feel, their very existence seems doubledto them. It had not occurred to M. Taine that to effect so much mightseem to leave little not achieved. So far from it, the critic had satisfied himself that such a power ofstyle must be adverse to a just delineation of character. Dickens is notcalm enough, he says, to penetrate to the bottom of what he is dealingwith. He takes sides with it as friend or enemy, laughs or cries overit, makes it odious or touching, repulsive or attractive, and is toovehement and not enough inquisitive to paint a likeness. His imaginationis at once too vivid and not sufficiently large. Its tenacious quality, and the force and concentration with which his thoughts penetrate intothe details he desires to apprehend, form limits to his knowledge, confine him to single traits, and prevent his sounding all the depths ofa soul. He seizes on one attitude, trick, expression, or grimace; seesnothing else; and keeps it always unchanged. Mercy Pecksniff laughs atevery word, Mark Tapley is nothing but jolly, Mrs. Gamp talksincessantly of Mrs. Harris, Mr. Chillip is invariably timid, and Mr. Micawber is never tired of emphasizing his phrases or passing withludicrous brusqueness from joy to grief. Each is the incarnation of someone vice, virtue, or absurdity; whereof the display is frequent, invariable, and exclusive. The language I am using condenses with strictaccuracy what is said by M. Taine, and has been repeated _ad nauseam_ byothers, professing admirers as well as open detractors. Mrs. Gamp andMr. Micawber, who belong to the first rank of humorous creation, arethus without another word dismissed by the French critic; and he showsno consciousness whatever in doing it, of that very fault in himself forwhich Dickens is condemned, of mistaking lively observation for realinsight. He has, however much concession in reserve, being satisfied, by hisobservation of England, that it is to the people for whom Dickens wrotehis deficiencies in art are mainly due. The taste of his nation hadprohibited him from representing character in a grand style. The Englishrequire too much morality and religion for genuine art. They made himtreat love, not as holy and sublime in itself, but as subordinate tomarriage; forced him to uphold society and the laws, against nature andenthusiasm; and compelled him to display, in painting such a seductionas in _Copperfield_, not the progress, ardour, and intoxication ofpassion, but only the misery, remorse, and despair. The result of suchsurface religion and morality, combined with the trading spirit, M. Taine continues, leads to so many national forms of hypocrisy, and ofgreed as well as worship for money, as to justify this great writer ofthe nation in his frequent choice of those vices for illustration in histales. But his defect of method again comes into play. He does not dealwith vices in the manner of a physiologist, feeling a sort of love forthem, and delighting in their finer traits as if they were virtues. Hegets angry over them. (I do not interrupt M. Taine, but surely, to takeone instance illustrative of many, Dickens's enjoyment in dealing withPecksniff is as manifest as that he never ceases all the time to makehim very hateful. ) He cannot, like Balzac, leave morality out ofaccount, and treat a passion, however loathsome, as that greattale-teller did, from the only safe ground of belief, that it is aforce, and that force of whatever kind is good. It is essential to anartist of that superior grade, M. Taine holds, no matter how vile hissubject, to show its education and temptations, the form of brain orhabits of mind that have reinforced the natural tendency, to deduce itfrom its cause, to place its circumstances around it, and to develop itseffects to their extremes. In handling such and such a capital miser, hypocrite, debauchee, or what not, he should never trouble himself aboutthe evil consequences of the vices. He should be too much of aphilosopher and artist to remember that he is a respectable citizen. Butthis is what Dickens never forgets, and he renounces all beautiesrequiring so corrupt a soil. M. Taine's conclusion upon the wholenevertheless is, that though those triumphs of art which become theproperty of all the earth have not been his, much has yet been achievedby him. Out of his unequalled observation, his satire, and hissensibility, has proceeded a series of original characters existingnowhere but in England, which will exhibit to future generations not therecord of his own genius only, but that of his country and his times. Between the judgment thus passed by the distinguished French lecturer, and the later comment to be now given from an English critic, certainlynot in arrest of that judgment, may fitly come a passage from one ofDickens's letters saying something of the limitations placed upon theartist in England. It may read like a quasi-confession of one of M. Taine's charges, though it was not written with reference to his ownbut to one of Scott's later novels. "Similarly" (15th of August 1856) "Ihave always a fine feeling of the honest state into which we have got, when some smooth gentleman says to me or to some one else when I am by, how odd it is that the hero of an English book is alwaysuninteresting--too good--not natural, &c. I am continually hearing thisof Scott from English people here, who pass their lives with Balzac andSand. But O my smooth friend, what a shining impostor you must thinkyourself and what an ass you must think me, when you suppose that byputting a brazen face upon it you can blot out of my knowledge the factthat this same unnatural young gentleman (if to be decent is to benecessarily unnatural), whom you meet in those other books and in mine, _must_ be presented to you in that unnatural aspect by reason of yourmorality, and is not to have, I will not say any of the indecencies youlike, but not even any of the experiences, trials, perplexities, andconfusions inseparable from the making or unmaking of all men!" M. Taine's criticism was written three or four years before Dickens'sdeath, and to the same date belong some notices in England which adoptedmore or less the tone of depreciation; conceding the great effectsachieved by the writer, but disputing the quality and value of his art. For it is incident to all such criticism of Dickens to be of necessityaccompanied by the admission, that no writer has so completely impressedhimself on the time in which he lived, that he has made his characters apart of literature, and that his readers are the world. But, a little more than a year after his death, a paper was publishedof which the object was to reconcile such seeming inconsistency, toexpound the inner meanings of "Dickens in relation to Criticism, " and toshow that, though he had a splendid genius and a wonderful imagination, yet the objectors were to be excused who called him only a stagysentimentalist and a clever caricaturist. This critical essay appearedin the _Fortnightly Review_ for February 1872, with the signature of Mr. George Henry Lewes; and the pretentious airs of the performance, withits prodigious professions of candour, force upon me the painful task ofstating what it really is. During Dickens's life, especially when anyfresh novelist could be found available for strained comparison withhim, there were plenty of attempts to write him down: but the trick ofstudied depreciation was never carried so far or made so odious as inthis case, by intolerable assumptions of an indulgent superiority; andto repel it in such a form once for all is due to Dickens's memory. The paper begins by the usual concessions--that he was a writer of vastpopularity, that he delighted no end of people, that his admirers werein all classes and all countries, that he stirred the sympathy of massesnot easily reached through literature and always to healthy emotion, that he impressed a new direction on popular writing, and modified theliterature of his age in its spirit no less than its form. The verysplendour of these successes, on the other hand, so deepened the shadowof his failures, that to many there was nothing but darkness. Was itunnatural? Could greatness be properly ascribed, by the fastidious, to awriter whose defects were so glaring, exaggerated, untrue, fantastic, and melodramatic? Might they not fairly insist on such defects asoutweighing all positive qualities, and speak of him with condescendingpatronage or sneering irritation? Why, very often such men, though theirtalk would be seasoned with quotations from, and allusions to, hiswritings, and though they would lay aside their most favourite books tobury themselves in his new "number, " had been observed by this critic tobe as niggardly in their praise of him as they were lavish in theirscorn. He actually heard "_a very distinguished man_, " on one occasion, express measureless contempt for Dickens, and a few minutes afterwardsadmit that Dickens had "entered into his life. " And so the critic betookhimself to the task of reconciling this immense popularity and thiscritical contempt, which he does after the following manner. He says that Dickens was so great in "fun" (humour he does not concedeto him anywhere) that Fielding and Smollett are small in comparison, butthat this would only have been a passing amusement for the world if hehad not been "gifted with an imagination of marvellous vividness, and anemotional sympathetic nature capable of furnishing that imagination withelements of universal power. " To people who think that words shouldcarry some meaning it might seem, that, if only a man could be "gifted"with all this, nothing more need be said. With marvellous imagination, and a nature to endow it with elements of universal power, what secretsof creative art could possibly be closed to him? But this is reckoningwithout your philosophical critic. The vividness of Dickens'simagination M. Taine found to be simply monomaniacal, and his followerfinds it to be merely hallucinative. Not the less he heaps upon itepithet after epithet. He talks of its irradiating splendour; calls itglorious as well as imperial and marvellous; and, to make us quite surehe is not with these fine phrases puffing-off an inferior article, heinterposes that such imagination is "common to all great writers. "Luckily for great writers in general, however, their creations are ofthe old, immortal, commonplace sort; whereas Dickens in his creativeprocesses, according to this philosophy of criticism, is tied up hardand fast within hallucinative limits. "He was, " we are told, "a seer of visions. " Amid silence and darkness, we are assured, he heard voices and saw objects; of which the revivedimpressions to him had the vividness of sensations, and the images hismind created in explanation of them had the coercive force ofrealities;[261] so that what he brought into existence in this way, nomatter how fantastic and unreal, was (whatever this may mean)universally intelligible. "His types established themselves in thepublic mind like personal experiences. Their falsity was unnoticed inthe blaze of their illumination. Every humbug seemed a Pecksniff, everyjovial improvident a Micawber, every stinted serving-wench aMarchioness. " The critic, indeed, saw through it all, but he gave hiswarnings in vain. "In vain critical reflection showed these figures tobe merely masks; not characters, but personified characteristics;caricatures and distortions of human nature. The vividness of theirpresentation triumphed over reflection; their creator managed tocommunicate to the public his own unhesitating belief. " What, however, is the public? Mr Lewes goes on to relate. "Give a child a wooden horse, with hair for mane and tail, and wafer-spots for colouring, he willnever be disturbed by the fact that this horse does not move its legsbut runs on wheels; and this wooden horse, which he can handle and draw, is believed in more than a pictured horse by a Wouvermanns or anAnsdell(!!) It may be said of Dickens's human figures that they too arewooden, and run on wheels; but these are details which scarcely disturbthe belief of admirers. Just as the wooden horse is brought within therange of the child's emotions, and dramatizing tendencies, when he canhandle and draw it, so Dickens's figures are brought within the range ofthe reader's interests, and receive from these interests a suddenillumination, when they are the puppets of a drama every incident ofwhich appeals to the sympathies. " _Risum teneatis?_ But the smile is grim that rises to the face of one towhom the relations of the writer and his critic, while both writer andcritic lived, are known; and who sees the drift of now scattering suchrubbish as this over an established fame. As it fares with theimagination that is imperial, so with the drama every incident of whichappeals to the sympathies. The one being explained by hallucination, andthe other by the wooden horse, plenty of fine words are to spare bywhich contempt may receive the show of candour. When the characters in aplay are puppets, and the audiences of the theatre fools or children, nowise man forfeits his wisdom by proceeding to admit that the successfulplaywright, "with a fine felicity of instinct, " seized upon situations, for his wooden figures, having "irresistible hold over the domesticaffections;" that, through his puppets, he spoke "in the mother-tongueof the heart;" that, with his spotted horses and so forth, he "paintedthe life he knew and everyone knew;" that he painted, of course, nothingideal or heroic, and that the world of thought and passion lay beyondhis horizon; but that, with his artificial performers and hisfeeble-witted audiences, "all the resources of the bourgeois epic werein his grasp; the joys and pains of childhood, the petty tyrannies ofignoble natures, the genial pleasantries of happy natures, the life ofthe poor, the struggles of the street and back parlour, the insolence ofoffice, the sharp social contrasts, east wind and Christmas jollity, hunger, misery, and hot punch"--"so that even critical spectators whocomplained that these broadly painted pictures were artistic daubs couldnot wholly resist their effective suggestiveness. " Since Trinculo andCaliban were under one cloak, there has surely been no such delicatemonster with two voices. "His forward voice, now, is to speak well ofhis friend; his backward voice is to utter foul speeches and todetract. " One other of the foul speeches I may not overlook, since itcontains what is alleged to be a personal revelation of Dickens made tothe critic himself. "When one thinks of Micawber always presenting himself in the samesituation, moved with the same springs and uttering the same sounds, always confident of something turning up, always crushed and rebounding, always making punch--and his wife always declaring she will never partfrom him, always referring to his talents and her family--when onethinks of the 'catchwords' personified as characters, one is reminded ofthe frogs whose brains have been taken out for physiological purposes, and whose actions henceforth want the distinctive peculiarity of organicaction, that of fluctuating spontaneity. " Such was that sheer inabilityof Dickens, indeed, to comprehend this complexity of the organism, thatit quite accounted, in the view of this philosopher, for all hisunnaturalness, for the whole of his fantastic people, and for thestrained dialogues of which his books are made up, painfully resemblingin their incongruity "the absurd and eager expositions which insanepatients pour into the listener's ear when detailing their wrongs, ortheir schemes. Dickens once declared to me, " Mr. Lewes continues, "thatevery word said by his characters was distinctly _heard_ by him; I wasat first not a little puzzled to account for the fact that he could hearlanguage so utterly unlike the language of real feeling, and not beaware of its preposterousness; but the surprise vanished when I thoughtof the phenomena of hallucination. " Wonderful sagacity! to unraveleasily such a bewildering "puzzle"! And so to the close. Between theuncultivated whom Dickens moved, and the cultivated he failed to move;between the power that so worked in delft as to stir the universalheart, and the commonness that could not meddle with porcelain or aspireto any noble clay; the pitiful see-saw is continued up to the finalsentence, where, in the impartial critic's eagerness to discredit eventhe value of the emotion awakened in such men as Jeffrey by suchcreations as Little Nell, he reverses all he has been saying about thecultivated and uncultivated, and presents to us a cultivatedphilosopher, in his ignorance of the stage, applauding an actor whomevery uncultivated playgoing apprentice despises as stagey. But the boldstroke just exhibited, of bringing forward Dickens himself in the actualcrisis of one of his fits of hallucination, requires an additional word. To establish the hallucinative theory, he is said on one occasion tohave declared to the critic that every word uttered by his characterswas distinctly _heard_ by him before it was written down. Such anaverment, not credible for a moment as thus made, indeed simply untrueto the extent described, may yet be accepted in the limited and quitedifferent sense which a passage in one of Dickens's letters gives to it. All writers of genius to whom their art has become as a second nature, will be found capable of doing upon occasion what the vulgar may thinkto be "hallucination, " but hallucination will never account for. AfterScott began the _Bride of Lammermoor_ he had one of his terribleseizures of cramp, yet during his torment he dictated[262] that finenovel; and when he rose from his bed, and the published book was placedin his hands, "he did not, " James Ballantyne explicitly assuredLockhart, "recollect one single incident, character, or conversation itcontained. " When Dickens was under the greatest trial of his life, andillness and sorrow were contending for the mastery over him, he thuswrote to me. "Of my distress I will say no more than that it has borne aterrible, frightful, horrible proportion to the quickness of the giftsyou remind me of. But may I not be forgiven for thinking it a wonderfultestimony to my being made for my art, that when, in the midst of thistrouble and pain, I sit down to my book, some beneficent power shows itall to me, and tempts me to be interested, and I don't invent it--reallydo not--_but see it_, and write it down. . . . It is only when it all fadesaway and is gone, that I begin to suspect that its momentary relief hascost me something. " Whatever view may be taken of the man who wrote those words, he had theclaim to be judged by reference to the highest models in the art whichhe studied. In the literature of his time, from 1836 to 1870, he heldthe most conspicuous place, and his claim to the most popular one inthe literature of fiction was by common consent admitted. He obtainedthis rank by the sheer force of his genius, unhelped in any way, and heheld it without dispute. As he began he closed. After he had written foronly four months, and after he had written incessantly for four andthirty years, he was of all living writers the most widely read. It isof course quite possible that such popularity might imply ratherlittleness in his contemporaries than greatness in him: but his booksare the test to judge by. Each thus far, as it appeared, has had noticein these pages for its illustration of his life, or of his method ofwork, or of the variety and versatility in the manifestations of hispower. But his latest books remain still for notice, and will properlysuggest what is farther to be said of his general place in literature. His leading quality was Humour. It has no mention in either of thecriticisms cited, but it was his highest faculty; and it accounts forhis magnificent successes, as well as for his not infrequent failures, in characteristic delineation. He was conscious of this himself. Fiveyears before he died, a great and generous brother artist, Lord Lytton, amid much ungrudging praise of a work he was then publishing, asked himto consider, as to one part of it, if the modesties of art were not alittle overpassed. "I cannot tell you, " he replied, "how highly I prizeyour letter, or with what pride and pleasure it inspires me. Nor do Ifor a moment question its criticism (if objection so generous and easymay be called by that hard name) otherwise than on this ground--that Iwork slowly and with great care, and never give way to my inventionrecklessly, but constantly restrain it; and that I think it is myinfirmity to fancy or perceive relations in things which are notapparent generally. Also, I have such an inexpressible enjoyment of whatI see in a droll light, that I dare say I pet it as if it were a spoiltchild. This is all I have to offer in arrest of judgment. " To perceiverelations in things which are not apparent generally, is one of thoseexquisite properties of humour by which are discovered the affinitiesbetween the high and the low, the attractive and the repulsive, therarest things and things of every day, which bring us all upon the levelof a common humanity. It is this which gives humour an immortal touchthat does not belong of necessity to pictures, even the most exquisite, of mere character or manners; the property which in its highest aspectsCarlyle so subtly described as a sort of inverse sublimity, exaltinginto our affections what is below us as the other draws down into ouraffections what is above us. But it has a danger which Dickens alsohints at, and into which he often fell. All humour has in it, is indeedidentical with, what ordinary people are apt to call exaggeration; butthere is an excess beyond the allowable even here, and to "pet" ormagnify out of proper bounds its sense of what is droll, is to put themerely grotesque in its place. What might have been overlooked in awriter with no uncommon powers of invention, was thrown intooverpowering prominence by Dickens's wealth of fancy; and a splendidexcess of his genius came to be objected to as its integral andessential quality. It cannot be said to have had any place in his earlier books. Hispowers were not at their highest and the humour was less fine andsubtle, but there was no such objection to be taken. No misgivinginterrupted the enjoyment of the wonderful freshness of animal spiritsin _Pickwick_; but beneath its fun, laughter, and light-heartedness wereindications of power of the first rank in the delineation of character. Some caricature was in the plan; but as the circle of people widenedbeyond the cockney club, and the delightful oddity of Mr. Pickwick tookmore of an independent existence, a different method revealed itself, nothing appeared beyond the exaggerations permissible to humorouscomedy, and the art was seen which can combine traits vividly true toparticular men or women with propensities common to all mankind. Thishas its highest expression in Fielding: but even the first of Dickens'sbooks showed the same kind of mastery; and, by the side of its life-likemiddle-class people universally familiar, there was one figure beforeseen by none but at once knowable by all, delightful for the surprise itgave by its singularity and the pleasure it gave by its truth; and, though short of the highest in this form of art, taking rank with theclass in which live everlastingly the dozen unique inventions that haveimmortalized the English novel. The groups in _Oliver Twist_, Fagin andhis pupils, Sikes and Nancy, Mr. Bumble and his parish-boy, belong tothe same period; when Dickens also began those pathetic delineationsthat opened to the neglected, the poor, and the fallen, a world ofcompassion and tenderness. Yet I think it was not until the third book, _Nickleby_, that he began to have his place as a writer conceded tohim; and that he ceased to be regarded as a mere phenomenon or marvelof fortune, who had achieved success by any other means than that ofdeserving it, and who challenged no criticism better worth the name thansuch as he has received from the Fortnightly reviewer. It is to be addedto what before was said of _Nickleby_, that it established beyonddispute his mastery of dialogue, or that power of making characters realexistences, not by describing them but by letting them describethemselves, which belongs only to story-tellers of the first rank. Dickens never excelled the easy handling of the subordinate groups inthis novel, and he never repeated its mistakes in the direction ofaristocratic or merely polite and dissipated life. It displayed morethan before of his humour on the tragic side; and, in close connectionwith its affecting scenes of starved and deserted childhood, were placedthose contrasts of miser and spendthrift, of greed and generosity, ofhypocrisy and simple-heartedness, which he handled in later books withgreater power and fullness, but of which the first formal expression washere. It was his first general picture, so to speak, of the characterand manners of his time, which it was the design more or less of all hisbooks to exhibit; and it suffers by comparison with his laterproductions, because the humour is not to the same degree enriched byimagination; but it is free from the not infrequent excess into whichthat supreme gift also tempted its possessor. None of the tales is moreattractive throughout, and on the whole it was a step in advance even ofthe stride previously taken. Nor was the gain lost in the succeedingstory of the _Old Curiosity Shop_. The humorous traits of Mrs. Nicklebycould hardly be surpassed: but, in Dick Swiveller and the Marchioness, there was a subtlety and lightness of touch that led to finer issues;and around Little Nell[263] and her fortunes, surpassingly touching andbeautiful, let criticism object what it will, were gathered some smallcharacters that had a deeper intention and more imaginative insight, than anything yet done. Strokes of this kind were also observable in thehunted life of the murderer in _Barnaby Rudge_; and his next book, _Chuzzlewit_, was, as it still remains, one of his greatestachievements. Even so brief a retrospect of the six opening years ofDickens's literary labour will help to a clearer judgment of the work ofthe twenty-eight more years that remained to him. To the special observations already made on the series of stories whichfollowed the return from America, _Chuzzlewit_, _Dombey_, _Copperfield_, and _Bleak House_, in which attention has been directed to the higherpurpose and more imaginative treatment that distinguished them, [264] ageneral remark is to be added. Though the range of character theytraverse is not wide, it is surrounded by a fertility of invention andillustration without example in any previous novelist; and it isrepresented in these books, so to speak, by a number and variety ofexistences sufficiently real to have taken places as among the actualpeople of the world. Could half as many known and universallyrecognisable men and women be selected out of one story, by any otherprose writer of the first rank, as at once rise to the mind from one ofthe masterpieces of Dickens? So difficult of dispute is this, that asmuch perhaps will be admitted; but then it will be added, if the replyis by a critic of the school burlesqued by Mr. Lewes, that after allthey are not individual or special men and women so much as generalimpersonations of men and women, abstract types made up of tellingcatchwords or surface traits, though with such accumulation upon them ofa wonderful wealth of humorous illustration, itself filled with minuteand accurate knowledge of life, that the real nakedness of the land ofcharacter is hidden. Well, what can be rejoined to this, but that thepoverty or richness of any territory worth survey will for the most partlie in the kind of observation brought to it. There was no finerobserver than Johnson of the manners of his time, and he protested oftheir greatest delineator that he knew only the shell of life. Anotherof his remarks, after a fashion followed by the criticizers of Dickens, places Fielding below one of his famous contemporaries; but who will notnow be eager to reverse such a comparison, as that Fielding tells youcorrectly enough what o'clock it is by looking at the face of the dial, but that Richardson shows you how the watch is made? There never was asubtler or a more sagacious observer than Fielding, or who betterdeserved what is generously said of him by Smollett, that he painted thecharacters and ridiculed the follies of life with equal strength, humour, and propriety. But might it not be said of him, as of Dickens, that his range of character was limited; and that his method ofproceeding from a central idea in all his leading people, exposed himequally to the charge of now and then putting human nature itself inplace of the individual who should only be a small section of it? Thisis in fact but another shape of what I have expressed on a former page, that what a character, drawn by a master, will roughly present upon itssurface, is frequently such as also to satisfy its more subtlerequirements; and that when only the salient points or sharperprominences are thus displayed, the great novelist is using hisundoubted privilege of showing the large degree to which humanintercourse is carried on, not by men's habits or ways at theircommonest, but by the touching of their extremes. A definition ofFielding's genius has been made with some accuracy in the saying, thathe shows common propensities in connection with the identicalunvarnished adjuncts which are peculiar to the individual, nor could amore exquisite felicity of handling than this be any man's aim ordesire; but it would be just as easy, by employment of the criticalrules applied to Dickens, to transform it into matter of censure. Partridge, Adams, Trulliber, Squire Western, and the rest, presentthemselves often enough under the same aspects, and use with sufficientuniformity the same catchwords, to be brought within the charge ofmannerism; and though M. Taine cannot fairly say of Fielding as ofDickens, that he suffers from too much morality, he brings against himprecisely the charge so strongly put against the later novelist of"looking upon the passions not as simple forces but as objects ofapprobation or blame. " We must keep in mind all this to understand theworth of the starved fancy, that can find in such a delineation as thatof Micawber only the man described by Mr. Lewes as always in the samesituation, moved with the same springs and uttering the same sounds, always confident of something turning up, always crushed and rebounding, always making punch, and his wife always declaring she will never partfrom him. It is not thus that such creations are to be viewed; but bythe light which enables us to see why the country squires, villageschoolmasters, and hedge parsons of Fielding became immortal. The laterones will live, as the earlier do, by the subtle quality of genius thatmakes their doings and sayings part of those general incentives whichpervade mankind. Who has not had occasion, however priding himself onhis unlikeness to Micawber, to think of Micawber as he reviewed his ownexperiences? Who has not himself waited, like Micawber, for something toturn up? Who has not at times discovered, in one or other acquaintanceor friend, some one or other of that cluster of sagacious hints andfragments of human life and conduct which the kindly fancy of Dickensembodied in this delightful form? If the irrepressible New Zealanderever comes over to achieve his long promised sketch of St. Paul's, whocan doubt that it will be no other than our undying Micawber, who hadtaken to colonisation the last time we saw him, and who will thus againhave turned up? There are not many conditions of life or society towhich his and his wife's experiences are not applicable; and when, theyear after the immortal couple made their first appearance on earth, Protection was in one of its then frequent difficulties, declaring itcould not live without something widely different from existingcircumstances shortly turning up, and imploring its friends to throwdown the gauntlet and boldly challenge society to turn up a majority andrescue it from its embarrassments, a distinguished wit seized upon thelikeness to Micawber, showed how closely it was borne out by the jollityand gin-punch of the banquets at which the bewailings were heard, andasked whether Dickens had stolen from the farmer's friends or thefarmer's friends had stolen from Dickens. "Corn, said Mr. Micawber, maybe gentlemanly, but it is not remunerative. . . . I ask myself thisquestion: if corn is not to be relied on, what is? We must live. . . . "Loud as the general laughter was, I think the laughter of Dickenshimself was loudest, at this discovery of so exact and unexpected alikeness. [265] A readiness in all forms thus to enjoy his own pleasantry was indeedalways observable (it is common to great humourists, nor would it beeasier to carry it farther than Sterne did), and his own confession onthe point may receive additional illustration before proceeding to thelater books. He accounted by it, as we have seen, for occasional evengrotesque extravagances. In another of his letters there is thispassage: "I can report that I have finished the job I set myself, andthat it has in it something--to me at all events--so extraordinarilydroll, that though I have been reading it some hundred times in thecourse of the working, I have never been able to look at it with theleast composure, but have always roared in the most unblushing manner. Ileave you to find out what it was. " It was the encounter of the majorand the tax-collector in the second Mrs. Lirriper. Writing previously ofthe papers in _Household Words_ called The Lazy Tour of Two IdleApprentices, after saying that he and Mr. Wilkie Collins had writtentogether a story in the second part, "in which I think you would find itvery difficult to say where I leave off and he comes in, " he had said ofthe preceding descriptions: "Some of my own tickle me very much; butthat may be in great part because I know the originals, and delight intheir fantastic fidelity. " "I have been at work with such a will" hewrites later of a piece of humour for the holidays, "that I have donethe opening and conclusion of the Christmas number. They are done in thecharacter of a waiter, and I think are exceedingly droll. The thread onwhich the stories are to hang, is spun by this waiter, and is, purposely, very slight; but has, I fancy, a ridiculously comical andunexpected end. The waiter's account of himself includes (I hope)everything you know about waiters, presented humorously. " In this lastwe have a hint of the "fantastic fidelity" with which, when a fancy"tickled" him, he would bring out what Corporal Nym calls the humour ofit under so astonishing a variety of conceivable and inconceivableaspects of subtle exaggeration, that nothing was left to the subject butthat special individual illustration of it. In this, however, humour wasnot his servant but his master; because it reproduced too readily, andcarried too far, the grotesque imaginings to which great humourists areprone; which lie indeed deep in their nature; and from which they derivetheir genial sympathy with eccentric characters that enables them tofind motives for what to other men is hopelessly obscure, to exalt intotypes of humanity what the world turns impatiently aside at, and toenshrine in a form for eternal homage and love such whimsical absurdityas Captain Toby Shandy's. But Dickens was too conscious of theseexcesses from time to time, not zealously to endeavour to keep theleading characters in his more important stories under some strictnessof discipline. To confine exaggeration within legitimate limits was anart he laboriously studied; and, in whatever proportions of failure orsuccess, during the vicissitudes of both that attended his later years, he continued to endeavour to practise it. In regard to mere description, it is true, he let himself loose more frequently, and would sometimesdefend it even on the ground of art; nor would it be fair to omit hisreply, on one occasion, to some such remonstrance as M. Taine hasembodied in his adverse criticism, against the too great imaginativewealth thrown by him into mere narrative. [266] "It does not seem to meto be enough to say of any description that it is the exact truth. Theexact truth must be there; but the merit or art in the narrator, is themanner of stating the truth. As to which thing in literature, it alwaysseems to me that there is a world to be done. And in these times, whenthe tendency is to be frightfully literal and catalogue-like--to makethe thing, in short, a sort of sum in reduction that any miserablecreature can do in that way--I have an idea (really founded on the loveof what I profess), that the very holding of popular literature througha kind of popular dark age, may depend on such fanciful treatment. " THE TALE OF TWO CITIES. Dickens's next story to _Little Dorrit_ was the _Tale of Two Cities_, ofwhich the first notion occurred to him while acting with his friends andhis children in the summer of 1857 in Mr. Wilkie Collins's drama of _TheFrozen Deep_. But it was only a vague fancy, and the sadness and troubleof the winter of that year were not favourable to it. Towards the close(27th) of January 1858, talking of improvements at Gadshill in which hetook little interest, it was again in his thoughts. "Growinginclinations of a fitful and undefined sort are upon me sometimes tofall to work on a new book. Then I think I had better not worry myworried mind yet awhile. Then I think it would be of no use if I did, for I couldn't settle to one occupation. --And that's all!" "If I candiscipline my thoughts, " he wrote three days later, "into the channel ofa story, I have made up my mind to get to work on one: always supposingthat I find myself, on the trial, able to do well. Nothing whatever willdo me the least 'good' in the way of shaking the one strong possessionof change impending over us that every day makes stronger; but if Icould work on with some approach to steadiness, through the summer, theanxious toil of a new book would have its neck well broken beforebeginning to publish, next October or November. Sometimes, I think I maycontinue to work; sometimes, I think not. What do you say to the title, ONE OF THESE DAYS?" That title held its ground very briefly. "What doyou think, " he wrote after six weeks, "of _this_ name for mystory--BURIED ALIVE? Does it seem too grim? Or, THE THREAD OF GOLD? Or, THE DOCTOR OF BEAUVAIS?" But not until twelve months later did he fairlybuckle himself to the task he had contemplated so long. _All the YearRound_ had taken the place of _Household Words_ in the interval; and thetale was then started to give strength to the new weekly periodical forwhose pages it was designed. "This is merely to certify, " he wrote on the 11th of March 1859, "that Ihave got exactly the name for the story that is wanted; exactly whatwill fit the opening to a T. A TALE OF TWO CITIES. Also, that I havestruck out a rather original and bold idea. That is, at the end of eachmonth to publish the monthly part in the green cover, with the twoillustrations, at the old shilling. This will give _All the Year Round_always the interest and precedence of a fresh weekly portion during themonth; and will give me my old standing with my old public, and theadvantage (very necessary in this story) of having numbers of people whoread it in no portions smaller than a monthly part. . . . My Americanambassador pays a thousand pounds for the first year, for the privilegeof republishing in America one day after we publish here. Not bad?" . . . He had to struggle at the opening through a sharp attack of illness, andon the 9th of July progress was thus reported. "I have been getting onin health very slowly and through irksome botheration enough. But Ithink I am round the corner. This cause--and the heat--has tended to mydoing no more than hold my ground, my old month's advance, with the_Tale of Two Cities_. The small portions thereof, drive me frantic; butI think the tale must have taken a strong hold. The run upon ourmonthly parts is surprising, and last month we sold 35, 000 back numbers. A note I have had from Carlyle about it has given me especial pleasure. "A letter of the following month expresses the intention he had when hebegan the story, and in what respect it differs as to method from allhis other books. Sending in proof four numbers ahead of the currentpublication, he adds: "I hope you will like them. Nothing but theinterest of the subject, and the pleasure of striving with thedifficulty of the form of treatment, --nothing in the way of mere money, I mean, --could else repay the time and trouble of the incessantcondensation. But I set myself the little task of making a _picturesquestory_, rising in every chapter, with characters true to nature, butwhom the story should express more than they should express themselvesby dialogue. I mean in other words, that I fancied a story of incidentmight be written (in place of the odious stuff that is written underthat pretence), pounding the characters in its own mortar, and beatingtheir interest out of them. If you could have read the story all atonce, I hope you wouldn't have stopped halfway. "[267] Another of hisletters supplies the last illustration I need to give of the design andmeanings in regard to this tale expressed by himself. It was a reply tosome objections of which the principal were, a doubt if the feudalcruelties came sufficiently within the date of the action to justify hisuse of them, and some question as to the manner of disposing of thechief revolutionary agent in the plot. "I had of course full knowledgeof the formal surrender of the feudal privileges, but these had beenbitterly felt quite as near to the time of the Revolution as theDoctor's narrative, which you will remember dates long before theTerror. With the slang of the new philosophy on the one side, it wassurely not unreasonable or unallowable, on the other, to suppose anobleman wedded to the old cruel ideas, and representing the time goingout as his nephew represents the time coming in. If there be anythingcertain on earth, I take it that the condition of the French peasantgenerally at that day was intolerable. No later enquiries or provings byfigures will hold water against the tremendous testimony of men livingat the time. There is a curious book printed at Amsterdam, written tomake out no case whatever, and tiresome enough in its literaldictionary-like minuteness; scattered up and down the pages of which isfull authority for my marquis. This is Mercier's _Tableau de Paris_. Rousseau is the authority for the peasant's shutting up his house whenhe had a bit of meat. The tax-tables are the authority for the wretchedcreature's impoverishment. . . . I am not clear, and I never have beenclear, respecting the canon of fiction which forbids the interpositionof accident in such a case as Madame Defarge's death. Where the accidentis inseparable from the passion and action of the character; where it isstrictly consistent with the entire design, and arises out of someculminating proceeding on the part of the individual which the wholestory has led up to; it seems to me to become, as it were, an act ofdivine justice. And when I use Miss Pross (though this is quite anotherquestion) to bring about such a catastrophe, I have the positiveintention of making that half-comic intervention a part of the desperatewoman's failure; and of opposing that mean death, instead of a desperateone in the streets which she wouldn't have minded, to the dignity ofCarton's. Wrong or right, this was all design, and seemed to me to be inthe fitness of things. " These are interesting intimations of the care with which Dickens worked;and there is no instance in his novels, excepting this, of a deliberateand planned departure from the method of treatment which had beenpre-eminently the source of his popularity as a novelist. To rely lessupon character than upon incident, and to resolve that his actors shouldbe expressed by the story more than they should express themselves bydialogue, was for him a hazardous, and can hardly be called an entirelysuccessful, experiment. With singular dramatic vivacity, muchconstructive art, and with descriptive passages of a high ordereverywhere (the dawn of the terrible outbreak in the journey of themarquis from Paris to his country seat, and the London crowd at thefuneral of the spy, may be instanced for their power), there wasprobably never a book by a great humourist, and an artist so prolific inthe conception of character, with so little humour and so fewrememberable figures. Its merits lie elsewhere. Though there areexcellent traits and touches all through the revolutionary scenes, theonly full-length that stands out prominently is the picture of thewasted life saved at last by heroic sacrifice. Dickens speaks of hisdesign to make impressive the dignity of Carton's death, and in this hesucceeded perhaps even beyond his expectation. Carton suffers himself tobe mistaken for another, and gives his life that the girl he loves maybe happy with that other; the secret being known only to a poor littlegirl in the tumbril that takes them to the scaffold, who at the momenthas discovered it, and whom it strengthens also to die. The incident isbeautifully told; and it is at least only fair to set against verdictsnot very favourable as to this effort of his invention, what was said ofthe particular character and scene, and of the book generally, by anAmerican critic whose literary studies had most familiarized him withthe rarest forms of imaginative writing. [268] "Its pourtrayal of thenoble-natured castaway makes it almost a peerless book in modernliterature, and gives it a place among the highest examples of literaryart. . . . The conception of this character shows in its author an ideal ofmagnanimity and of charity unsurpassed. There is not a grander, lovelierfigure than the self-wrecked, self-devoted Sydney Carton, in literatureor history; and the story itself is so noble in its spirit, so grand andgraphic in its style, and filled with a pathos so profound and simple, that it deserves and will surely take a place among the great seriousworks of imagination. " I should myself prefer to say that itsdistinctive merit is less in any of its conceptions of character, evenCarton's, than as a specimen of Dickens's power in imaginativestory-telling. There is no piece of fiction known to me, in which thedomestic life of a few simple private people is in such a manner knittedand interwoven with the outbreak of a terrible public event, that theone seems but part of the other. When made conscious of the first sultrydrops of a thunderstorm that fall upon a little group sitting in anobscure English lodging, we are witness to the actual beginning of atempest which is preparing to sweep away everything in France. And, tothe end, the book in this respect is really remarkable. GREAT EXPECTATIONS. The _Tale of Two Cities_ was published in 1859; the series of paperscollected as the _Uncommercial Traveller_ were occupying Dickens in1860; and it was while engaged in these, and throwing off in the courseof them capital "samples" of fun and enjoyment, he thus replied to asuggestion that he should let himself loose upon some single humorousconception, in the vein of his youthful achievements in that way. "For alittle piece I have been writing--or am writing; for I hope to finish itto-day--such a very fine, new, and grotesque idea has opened upon me, that I begin to doubt whether I had not better cancel the little paper, and reserve the notion for a new book. You shall judge as soon as I getit printed. But it so opens out before _me_ that I can see the whole ofa serial revolving on it, in a most singular and comic manner. " This wasthe germ of Pip and Magwitch, which at first he intended to make thegroundwork of a tale in the old twenty-number form, but for reasonsperhaps fortunate brought afterwards within the limits of a lesselaborate novel. "Last week, " he wrote on the 4th of October 1860, "Igot to work on the new story. I had previously very carefully consideredthe state and prospects of _All the Year Round_, and, the more Iconsidered them, the less hope I saw of being able to get back, _now_, to the profit of a separate publication in the old 20 numbers. " (A tale, which at the time was appearing in his serial, had disappointedexpectation. ) "However I worked on, knowing that what I was doing wouldrun into another groove; and I called a council of war at the office onTuesday. It was perfectly clear that the one thing to be done was, forme to strike in. I have therefore decided to begin the story as of thelength of the _Tale of Two Cities_ on the first of December--beginpublishing, that is. I must make the most I can out of the book. Youshall have the first two or three weekly parts to-morrow. The name isGREAT EXPECTATIONS. I think a good name?" Two days later he wrote: "Thesacrifice of _Great Expectations_ is really and truly made for myself. The property of _All the Year Round_ is far too valuable, in every way, to be much endangered. Our fall is not large, but we have a considerableadvance in hand of the story we are now publishing, and there is novitality in it, and no chance whatever of stopping the fall; which onthe contrary would be certain to increase. Now, if I went into atwenty-number serial, I should cut off my power of doing anything serialhere for two good years--and that would be a most perilous thing. On theother hand, by dashing in now, I come in when most wanted; and if Readeand Wilkie follow me, our course will be shaped out handsomely andhopefully for between two and three years. A thousand pounds are to bepaid for early proofs of the story to America. " A few more days broughtthe first instalment of the tale, and explanatory mention of it. "Thebook will be written in the first person throughout, and during thesefirst three weekly numbers you will find the hero to be a boy-child, like David. Then he will be an apprentice. You will not have to complainof the want of humour as in the _Tale of Two Cities_. I have made theopening, I hope, in its general effect exceedingly droll. I have put achild and a good-natured foolish man, in relations that seem to me veryfunny. Of course I have got in the pivot on which the story will turntoo--and which indeed, as you remember, was the grotesque tragi-comicconception that first encouraged me. To be quite sure I had fallen intono unconscious repetitions, I read _David Copperfield_ again the otherday, and was affected by it to a degree you would hardly believe. " It may be doubted if Dickens could better have established his right tothe front rank among novelists claimed for him, than by the ease andmastery with which, in these two books of _Copperfield_ and _GreatExpectations_, he kept perfectly distinct the two stories of a boy'schildhood, both told in the form of autobiography. A subtle penetrationinto character marks the unlikeness in the likeness; there is enough atonce of resemblance and of difference in the position and surroundingsof each to account for the divergences of character that arise; bothchildren are good-hearted, and both have the advantage of associationwith models of tender simplicity and oddity, perfect in their truth andquite distinct from each other; but a sudden tumble into distresssteadies Peggotty's little friend, and as unexpected a stroke of goodfortune turns the head of the small protégé of Joe Gargery. What a dealof spoiling nevertheless, a nature that is really good at the bottom ofit will stand without permanent damage, is nicely shown in Pip; and theway he reconciles his determination to act very shabbily to his earlyfriends, with a conceited notion that he is setting them a moralexample, is part of the shading of a character drawn with extraordinaryskill. His greatest trial comes out of his good luck; and thefoundations of both are laid at the opening of the tale, in a churchyarddown by the Thames, as it winds past desolate marshes twenty miles tothe sea, of which a masterly picture in half a dozen lines will giveonly average example of the descriptive writing that is everywhere oneof the charms of the book. It is strange, as I transcribe the words, with what wonderful vividness they bring back the very spot on which westood when he said he meant to make it the scene of the opening of hisstory--Cooling Castle ruins and the desolate Church, lying out among themarshes seven miles from Gadshill! "My first most vivid and broadimpression . . . On a memorable raw afternoon towards evening . . . Was. . . That this bleak place, overgrown with nettles, was the churchyard, and that the dark flat wilderness beyond the churchyard, intersectedwith dykes and mounds and gates, with scattered cattle feeding on it, was the marshes; and that the low leaden line beyond, was the river; andthat the distant savage lair from which the wind was rushing, was thesea. . . . On the edge of the river . . . Only two black things in allthe prospect seemed to be standing upright . . . One, the beacon bywhich the sailors steered, like an unhooped cask upon a pole, an uglything when you were near it; the other, a gibbet with some chainshanging to it which had once held a pirate. " Here Magwitch, an escapedconvict from Chatham, terrifies the child Pip into stealing for him foodand a file; and though recaptured and transported, he carries with himto Australia such a grateful heart for the small creature's service, that on making a fortune there he resolves to make his little friend agentleman. This requires circumspection; and is so done, through theOld-Bailey attorney who has defended Magwitch at his trial (a characterof surprising novelty and truth), that Pip imagines his present giftsand "great expectations" to have come from the supposed rich lady ofthe story (whose eccentricities are the unattractive part of it, andhave yet a weird character that somehow fits in with the kind of wrongshe has suffered). When therefore the closing scenes bring back Magwitchhimself, who risks his life to gratify his longing to see the gentlemanhe has made, it is an unspeakable horror to the youth to discover hisbenefactor in the convicted felon. If any one doubts Dickens's power ofso drawing a character as to get to the heart of it, seeing beyondsurface peculiarities into the moving springs of the human beinghimself, let him narrowly examine those scenes. There is not a grain ofsubstitution of mere sentiment, or circumstance, for the inner andabsolute reality of the position in which these two creatures findthemselves. Pip's loathing of what had built up his fortune, and hishorror of the uncouth architect, are apparent in even his most generousefforts to protect him from exposure and sentence. Magwitch's convicthabits strangely blend themselves with his wild pride in, and love for, the youth whom his money has turned into a gentleman. He has a cravingfor his good opinion; dreads to offend him by his "heavy grubbing, " orby the oaths he lets fall now and then; and pathetically hopes his Pip, his dear boy, won't think him "low": but, upon a chum of Pip's appearingunexpectedly while they are together, he pulls out a jack-knife by wayof hint he can defend himself, and produces afterwards a greasy littleclasped black Testament on which the startled new-comer, being found tohave no hostile intention, is sworn to secrecy. At the opening of thestory there had been an exciting scene of the wretched man's chase andrecapture among the marshes, and this has its parallel at the close inhis chase and recapture on the river while poor Pip is helping to gethim off. To make himself sure of the actual course of a boat in suchcircumstances, and what possible incidents the adventure might have, Dickens hired a steamer for the day from Blackwall to Southend. Eight ornine friends and three or four members of his family were on board, andhe seemed to have no care, the whole of that summer day (22nd of May1861), except to enjoy their enjoyment and entertain them with his ownin shape of a thousand whims and fancies; but his sleepless observationwas at work all the time, and nothing had escaped his keen vision oneither side of the river. The fifteenth chapter of the third volume is amasterpiece. The characters generally afford the same evidence as those two thatDickens's humour, not less than his creative power, was at its best inthis book. The Old-Bailey attorney Jaggers, and his clerk Wemmick (bothexcellent, and the last one of the oddities that live in everybody'sliking for the goodheartedness of its humorous surprises), are as goodas his earliest efforts in that line; the Pumblechooks and Wopsles areperfect as bits of _Nickleby_ fresh from the mint; and the scene inwhich Pip, and Pip's chum Herbert, make up their accounts and scheduletheir debts and obligations, is original and delightful as Micawberhimself. It is the art of living upon nothing and making the best of it, in the most pleasing form. Herbert's intentions to trade east and west, and get himself into business transactions of a magnificent extent andvariety, are as perfectly warranted to us, in his way of putting them, by merely "being in a counting-house and looking about you, " as Pip'smeans of paying his debts are lightened and made easy by his method ofsimply adding them up with a margin. "The time comes, " says Herbert, "when you see your opening. And you go in, and you swoop upon it, andyou make your capital, and then there you are! When you have once madeyour capital you have nothing to do but employ it. " In like manner Piptells us "Suppose your debts to be one hundred and sixty four poundsfour and two-pence, I would say, leave a margin and put them down at twohundred; or suppose them to be four times as much, leave a margin andput them down at seven hundred. " He is sufficiently candid to add, that, while he has the highest opinion of the wisdom and prudence of themargin, its dangers are that in the sense of freedom and solvency itimparts there is a tendency to run into new debt. But the satire thatthus enforces the old warning against living upon vague hopes, andpaying ancient debts by contracting new ones, never presented itself inmore amusing or kindly shape. A word should be added of the father ofthe girl that Herbert marries, Bill Barley, ex-ship's purser, a gouty, bed-ridden, drunken old rascal, who lies on his back in an upper flooron Mill Pond Bank by Chinks's Basin, where he keeps, weighs, and servesout the family stores or provisions, according to old professionalpractice, with one eye at a telescope which is fitted on his bed for theconvenience of sweeping the river. This is one of those sketches, slightin itself but made rich with a wealth of comic observation, in whichDickens's humour took especial delight; and to all this part of thestory, there is a quaint riverside flavour that gives it amusing realityand relish. Sending the chapters that contain it, which open the third division ofthe tale, he wrote thus: "It is a pity that the third portion cannot beread all at once, because its purpose would be much more apparent; andthe pity is the greater, because the general turn and tone of theworking out and winding up, will be away from all such things as theyconventionally go. But what must be, must be. As to the planning outfrom week to week, nobody can imagine what the difficulty is, withouttrying. But, as in all such cases, when it is overcome the pleasure isproportionate. Two months more will see me through it, I trust. All theiron is in the fire, and I have 'only' to beat it out. " One other letterthrows light upon an objection taken not unfairly to the too great speedwith which the heroine, after being married, reclaimed, and widowed, isin a page or two again made love to, and remarried by the hero. Thissummary proceeding was not originally intended. But, over and above itspopular acceptance, the book had interested some whose opinions Dickensspecially valued (Carlyle among them, I remember);[269] and upon BulwerLytton objecting to a close that should leave Pip a solitary man, Dickens substituted what now stands. "You will be surprised" he wrote"to hear that I have changed the end of _Great Expectations_ from andafter Pip's return to Joe's, and finding his little likeness there. Bulwer, who has been, as I think you know, extraordinarily taken by thebook, so strongly urged it upon me, after reading the proofs, andsupported his view with such good reasons, that I resolved to make thechange. You shall have it when you come back to town. I have put in aspretty a little piece of writing as I could, and I have no doubt thestory will be more acceptable through the alteration. " This turned outto be the case; but the first ending nevertheless seems to be moreconsistent with the drift, as well as natural working out, of the tale, and for this reason it is preserved in a note. [270] CHRISTMAS SKETCHES. Between that fine novel, which was issued in three volumes in the autumnof 1861, and the completion of his next serial story, were interposedthree sketches in his happiest vein at which everyone laughed and criedin the Christmas times of 1862, '3, and '4. Of the waiter in _Somebody'sLuggage_ Dickens has himself spoken; and if any theme is well treated, when, from the point of view taken, nothing more is left to say aboutit, that bit of fun is perfect. Call it exaggeration, grotesqueness, orby what hard name you will, laughter will always intercept any gravercriticism. Writing from Paris of what he was himself responsible for inthe articles left by Somebody with his wonderful Waiter, he said that inone of them he had made the story a camera obscura of certain Frenchplaces and styles of people; having founded it on something he hadnoticed in a French soldier. This was the tale of Little Bebelle, whichhad a small French corporal for its hero, and became highly popular. Butthe triumph of the Christmas achievements in these days was Mrs. Lirriper. She took her place at once among people known to everybody;and all the world talked of Major Jemmy Jackman, and his friend the poorelderly lodging-house keeper of the Strand, with her miserable caresand rivalries and worries, as if they had both been as long in Londonand as well known as Norfolk-street itself. A dozen volumes could nothave told more than those dozen pages did. The _Legacy_ followed the_Lodgings_ in 1864, and there was no falling off in the fun andlaughter. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. The publication of _Our Mutual Friend_, in the form of the earlieststories, extended from May 1864 to November 1865. Four years earlier hehad chosen this title as a good one, and he held to it through muchobjection. Between that time and his actual commencement there ismention, in his letters, of the three leading notions on which hefounded the story. In his water-side wanderings during his last book, the many handbills he saw posted up, with dreary description of personsdrowned in the river, suggested the 'long shore men and their ghastlycalling whom he sketched in Hexam and Riderhood, "I think, " he hadwritten, "a man, young and perhaps eccentric, feigning to be dead, and_being_ dead to all intents and purposes external to himself, and foryears retaining the singular view of life and character so imparted, would be a good leading incident for a story;" and this he partly did inRokesmith. For other actors in the tale, he had thought of "a poorimpostor of a man marrying a woman for her money; she marrying _him_ for_his_ money; after marriage both finding out their mistake, andentering into a league and covenant against folks in general:" withwhom he had proposed to connect some Perfectly New people. "Everythingnew about them. If they presented a father and mother, it seemed as ifTHEY must be bran new, like the furniture and the carriages--shiningwith varnish, and just home from the manufacturers. " These groups tookshape in the Lammles and the Veneerings. "I must use somehow, " is theremark of another letter, "the uneducated father in fustian and theeducated boy in spectacles whom Leech and I saw at Chatham;" of which ahint is in Charley Hexam and his father. The benevolent old Jew whom hemakes the unconscious agent of a rascal, was meant to wipe out areproach against his Jew in _Oliver Twist_ as bringing dislike upon thereligion of the race he belonged to. [271] Having got his title in '61 it was his hope to have begun in '62. "Alas!" he wrote in the April of that year, "I have hit upon nothing fora story. Again and again I have tried. But this odious little house" (hehad at this time for a few weeks exchanged Gadshill for a friend's housenear Kensington) "seems to have stifled and darkened my invention. " Itwas not until the autumn of the following year he saw his way to abeginning. "The Christmas number has come round again" (30th of August1863)--"it seems only yesterday that I did the last--but I am full ofnotions besides for the new twenty numbers. When I can clear theChristmas stone out of the road, I think I can dash into it on thegrander journey. " He persevered through much difficulty; which hedescribed six weeks later, with characteristic glance at his own wayswhen writing, in a letter from the office of his journal. "I came herelast night, to evade my usual day in the week--in fact to shirk it--andget back to Gad's for five or six consecutive days. My reason is, that Iam exceedingly anxious to begin my book. I am bent upon getting to workat it. I want to prepare it for the spring; but I am determined not tobegin to publish with less than five numbers done. I see my openingperfectly, with the one main line on which the story is to turn; and ifI don't strike while the iron (meaning myself) is hot, I shall drift offagain, and have to go through all this uneasiness once more. " He had written, after four months, very nearly three numbers, when upona necessary rearrangement of his chapters he had to hit upon a newsubject for one of them. "While I was considering" (25th of February)"what it should be, Marcus, [272] who has done an excellent cover, cameto tell me of an extraordinary trade he had found out, through one ofhis painting requirements. I immediately went with him to Saint Giles'sto look at the place, and found--what you will see. " It was theestablishment of Mr. Venus, preserver of animals and birds, andarticulator of human bones; and it took the place of the last chapter ofNo. 2, which was then transferred to the end of No. 3. But a start withthree full numbers done, though more than enough to satisfy the hardestself-conditions formerly, did not satisfy him now. With his previousthought given to the story, with his Memoranda to help him, with thepeople he had in hand to work it with, and ready as he still was to turnhis untiring observation to instant use on its behalf, he now moved, with the old large canvas before him, somewhat slowly and painfully. "IfI were to lose" (29th of March) "a page of the five numbers I haveproposed to myself to be ready by the publication day, I should feelthat I had fallen short. I have grown hard to satisfy, and write veryslowly. And I have so much--not fiction--that _will_ be thought of, whenI don't want to think of it, that I am forced to take more care than Ionce took. " The first number was launched at last, on the first of May; and aftertwo days he wrote: "Nothing can be better than _Our Friend_, now in histhirtieth thousand, and orders flowing in fast. " But between the firstand second number there was a drop of five thousand, strange to say, forthe larger number was again reached, and much exceeded, before the bookclosed. "This leaves me" (10th of June) "going round and round like acarrier-pigeon before swooping on number seven. " Thus far he had heldhis ground; but illness came, with some other anxieties, and on the 29thof July he wrote sadly enough. "Although I have not been wanting inindustry, I have been wanting in invention, and have fallen back withthe book. Looming large before me is the Christmas work, and I canhardly hope to do it without losing a number of _Our Friend_. I havevery nearly lost one already, and two would take one half of my wholeadvance. This week I have been very unwell; am still out of sorts; and, as I know from two days' slow experience, have a very mountain to climbbefore I shall see the open country of my work. " The three followingmonths brought hardly more favourable report. "I have not done mynumber. This death of poor Leech (I suppose) has put me out woefully. Yesterday and the day before I could do nothing; seemed for the time tohave quite lost the power; and am only by slow degrees getting back intothe track to-day. " He rallied after this, and satisfied himself for awhile; but in February 1865 that formidable illness in his foot brokeout which, at certain times for the rest of his life, deprived him moreor less of his inestimable solace of bodily exercise. In April and Mayhe suffered severely; and after trying the sea went abroad for morecomplete change. "Work and worry, without exercise, would soon make anend of me. If I were not going away now, I should break down. No oneknows as I know to-day how near to it I have been. " That was the day of his leaving for France, and the day of his returnbrought these few hurried words. "Saturday, tenth of June, 1865. I wasin the terrific Staplehurst accident yesterday, and worked for hoursamong the dying and dead. I was in the carriage that did not go over, but went off the line, and hung over the bridge in an inexplicablemanner. No words can describe the scene. [273] I am away to Gads. " Thoughwith characteristic energy he resisted the effects upon himself of thatterrible ninth of June, they were for some time evident; and, up to theday of his death on its fatal fifth anniversary, were perhaps neverwholly absent. But very few complaints fell from him. "I am curiouslyweak--weak as if I were recovering from a long illness. " "I begin tofeel it more in my head. I sleep well and eat well; but I write half adozen notes, and turn faint and sick. " "I am getting right, though stilllow in pulse and very nervous. Driving into Rochester yesterday I feltmore shaken than I have since the accident. " "I cannot bear railwaytravelling yet. A perfect conviction, against the senses, that thecarriage is down on one side (and generally that is the left, and _not_the side on which the carriage in the accident really went over), comesupon me with anything like speed, and is inexpressibly distressing. "These are passages from his letters up to the close of June. Upon hisbook the immediate result was that another lost number was added to thelosses of the preceding months, and "alas!" he wrote at the opening ofJuly, "for the two numbers you write of! There is only one in existence. I have but just begun the other. " "Fancy!" he added next day, "fancy myhaving under-written number sixteen by two and a half pages--a thing Ihave not done since _Pickwick_!" He did it once with _Dombey_, and wasto do it yet again. The book thus begun and continued under adverse influences, though withfancy in it, descriptive power, and characters well designed, will neverrank with his higher efforts. It has some pictures of a rare veracity ofsoul amid the lowest forms of social degradation, placed beside othersof sheer falsehood and pretence amid unimpeachable social correctness, which lifted the writer to his old place; but the judgment of it on thewhole must be, that it wants freshness and natural development. Thisindeed will be most freely admitted by those who feel most strongly thatall the old cunning of the master hand is yet in the wayward lovingBella Wilfer, in the vulgar canting Podsnap, and in the dolls'dressmaker Jenny Wren, whose keen little quaint weird ways, andprecocious wit sharpened by trouble, are fitted into a character asoriginal and delightfully conceived as it is vividly carried through tothe last. A dull coarse web her small life seems made of; but even fromits taskwork, which is undertaken for childhood itself, there areglittering threads cast across its woof and warp of care. Theunconscious philosophy of her tricks and manners has in it more of thesubtler vein of the satire aimed at in the book, than even the voices ofsociety which the tale begins and ends with. In her very kindlinessthere is the touch of malice that shows a childish playfulness familiarwith unnatural privations; this gives a depth as well as tenderness toher humours which entitles them to rank with the writer's happiestthings; and though the odd little creature's talk is incessant when sheis on the scene, it has the individuality that so seldom tires. It isveritably her own small "trick" and "manner, " and is never mistakeablefor any one else's. "I have been reading, " Dickens wrote to me fromFrance while he was writing the book, "a capital little story by EdmondAbout--_The Notary's Nose_. I have been trying other books; but soinfernally conversational, that I forget who the people are before theyhave done talking, and don't in the least remember what they talkedabout before when they begin talking again!" The extreme contrast to hisown art could not be defined more exactly; and other examples from thistale will be found in the differing members of the Wilfer family, in theriverside people at the Fellowship Porters, in such marvellousserio-comic scenes as that of Rogue Riderhood's restoration fromdrowning, and in those short and simple annals of Betty Higden's lifeand death which might have given saving virtue to a book more likelythan this to perish prematurely. It has not the creative power whichcrowded his earlier page, and transformed into popular realities theshadows of his fancy; but the observation and humour he excelled in arenot wanting to it, nor had there been, in his first completed work, more eloquent or generous pleading for the poor and neglected, than thislast completed work contains. Betty Higden finishes what Oliver Twistbegan. DR. MARIGOLD AND TALES FOR AMERICA. He had scarcely closed that book in September, wearied somewhat with alabour of invention which had not been so free or self-sustaining as inthe old facile and fertile days, when his customary contribution toChristmas became due from him; and his fancy, let loose in a narrowerfield, resumed its old luxury of enjoyment. Here are notices of it fromhis letters. "If people at large understand a Cheap Jack, my part of theChristmas number will do well. It is wonderfully like the real thing, ofcourse a little refined and humoured. " "I do hope that in the beginningand end of this Christmas number you will find something that willstrike you as being fresh, forcible, and full of spirits. " He describedits mode of composition afterwards. "Tired with _Our Mutual_, I sat downto cast about for an idea, with a depressing notion that I was, for themoment, overworked. Suddenly, the little character that you will see, and all belonging to it, came flashing up in the most cheerful manner, and I had only to look on and leisurely describe it. " This was _Dr. Marigold's Prescriptions_, one of the most popular of all the piecesselected for his readings, and a splendid example of his humour, pathos, and character. There were three more Christmas pieces before he made hislast visit to America: _Barbox Brothers_, _The Boy at Mugby Station_, and _No Thoroughfare_: the last a joint piece of work with Mr. WilkieCollins, who during Dickens's absence in the States transformed it intoa play for Mr. Fechter, with a view to which it had been plannedoriginally. There were also two papers written for first publication inAmerica, _George Silverman's Explanation_, and _Holiday Romance_, containing about the quantity of half a shilling number of his ordinaryserials, and paid for at a rate unexampled in literature. They occupiedhim not many days in the writing, and he received a thousand pounds forthem. * * * * * The year after his return, as the reader knows, saw the commencement ofthe work which death interrupted. The fragment will hereafter bedescribed; and here meanwhile may close my criticism--itself a fragmentleft for worthier completion by a stronger hand than mine. But at least I may hope that the ground has been cleared by it fromthose distinctions and comparisons never safely to be applied to anoriginal writer, and which always more or less intercept his fairappreciation. It was long the fashion to set up wide divergences betweennovels of incident and manners, and novels of character; the narrowerrange being left to Fielding and Smollett, and the larger to Richardson;yet there are not many now who will accept such classification. Nor isthere more truth in other like distinctions alleged between novelistswho are assumed to be real, or ideal, in their methods of treatment. Toany original novelist of the higher grade there is no meaning in thesecontrasted phrases. Neither mode can exist at all perfectly without theother. No matter how sensitive the mind to external impressions, or howkeen the observation to whatever can be seen, without the rarer seeingof imagination nothing will be arrived at that is real in any genuineartist-sense. Reverse the proposition, and the result is expressed in anexcellent remark of Lord Lytton's, that the happiest effort ofimagination, however lofty it may be, is that which enables it to becheerfully at home with the real. I have said that Dickens feltcriticism, of whatever kind, with too sharp a relish for theindifference he assumed to it; but the secret was that he believedhimself to be entitled to higher tribute than he was always in the habitof receiving. It was the feeling which suggested a memorable saying ofWordsworth. "I am not at all desirous that any one should write acritique on my poems. If they be from above, they will do their own workin course of time; if not, they will perish as they ought. " The something "from above" never seems to be absent from Dickens, evenat his worst. When the strain upon his invention became apparent, and hecould only work freely in a more confined space than of old, it wasstill able to assert itself triumphantly; and his influence over hisreaders was continued by it to the last day of his life. Looking backover the series of his writings, the first reflection that rises to themind of any thoughtful person, is one of thankfulness that the mostpopular of writers, who had carried into the lowest scenes andconditions an amount of observation, fun, and humour not approached byany of his contemporaries, should never have sullied that world-wideinfluence by a hint of impurity or a possibility of harm. Nor is thereanything more surprising than the freshness and variety of characterwhich those writings include, within the range of the not numerous typesof character that were the limit of their author's genius. For, thisalso appears, upon any review of them collectively, that the teeminglife which is in them is that of the time in which his own life waspassed; and that with the purpose of showing vividly its form andpressure, was joined the hope and design to leave it better than hefound it. It has been objected that humanity receives from him noaddition to its best types; that the burlesque humourist is alwaysstronger in him than the reflective moralist; that the light thrown byhis genius into out of the way corners of life never steadily shines inits higher beaten ways; and that beside his pictures of what man is ordoes, there is no attempt to show, by delineation of an exalted purposeor a great career, what man is able to be or to do. In the chargeabstractedly there is truth; but the fair remark upon it is thatwhatever can be regarded as essential in the want implied by it will befound in other forms in his writings, that the perfect innocence oftheir laughter and tears has been itself a prodigious blessing, and thatit is otherwise incident to so great a humourist to work after thefashion most natural to the genius of humour. What kind of work it hasbeen in his case, the attempt is made in preceding pages to show; and onthe whole it can be said with some certainty that the best ideals inthis sense are obtained, not by presenting with added comeliness orgrace the figures which life is ever eager to present as of its best, but by connecting the singularities and eccentricities, which ordinarylife is apt to reject or overlook, with the appreciation that is deepestand the laws of insight that are most universal. It is thus that allthings human are happily brought within human sympathy. It was at theheart of everything Dickens wrote. It was the secret of the hope he hadthat his books might help to make people better; and it so guarded themfrom evil, that there is scarcely a page of the thousands he has writtenwhich might not be put into the hands of a little child. [274] It madehim the intimate of every English household, and a familiar friendwherever the language is spoken whose stores of harmless pleasure he hasso largely increased. "The loss of no single man during the present generation, if we exceptAbraham Lincoln alone, " said Mr. Horace Greeley, describing the profoundand universal grief of America at his death, "has carried mourning intoso many families, and been so unaffectedly lamented through all theranks of society. " "The terrible news from England, " wrote Longfellow tome (Cambridge, Mass. 12th of June 1870), "fills us all withinexpressible sadness. Dickens was so full of life that it did not seempossible he could die, and yet he has gone before us, and we aresorrowing for him. . . . I never knew an author's death cause such generalmourning. It is no exaggeration to say that this whole country isstricken with grief . . . " Nor was evidence then wanting, that far beyondthe limits of society on that vast continent the English writer'sinfluence had penetrated. Of this, very touching illustration was givenin my first volume; and proof even more striking has since been affordedto me, that not merely in wild or rude communities, but in life the mostsavage and solitary, his genius had helped to while time away. "Like all Americans who read, " writes an American gentleman, "and thattakes in nearly all our people, I am an admirer and student ofDickens. . . . Its perusal" (that of my second volume) "has recalled anincident which may interest you. Twelve or thirteen years ago I crossedthe Sierra Nevada mountains as a Government surveyor under a famousfrontiersman and civil engineer--Colonel Lander. We were too early by amonth, and became snow-bound just on the very summit. Under thesecircumstances it was necessary to abandon the wagons for a time, anddrive the stock (mules) down the mountains to the valleys where therewas pasturage and running water. This was a long and difficult task, occupying several days. On the second day, in a spot where we expectedto find nothing more human than a grizzly bear or an elk, we found alittle hut, built of pine boughs and a few rough boards clumsily hewnout of small trees with an axe. The hut was covered with snow many feetdeep, excepting only the hole in the roof which served for a chimney, and a small pit-like place in front to permit egress. The occupant cameforth to hail us and solicit whisky and tobacco. He was dressed in asuit made entirely of flour-sacks, and was curiously labelled on variousparts of his person _Best Family Flour_. _Extra. _ His head was coveredby a wolf's skin drawn from the brute's head--with the ears standingerect in a fierce alert manner. He was a most extraordinary object, andtold us he had not seen a human being in four months. He lived on bearand elk meat and flour laid in during his short summer. Emigrants inthe season paid him a kind of ferry-toll. I asked him how he passed histime, and he went to a barrel and produced _Nicholas Nickleby_ and_Pickwick_. I found he knew them almost by heart. He did not know, orseem to care, about the author; but he gloried in Sam Weller, despisedSqueers, and would probably have taken the latter's scalp with greatskill and cheerfulness. For Mr. Winkle he had no feeling but contempt, and in fact regarded a fowling-piece as only a toy for a squaw. He hadno Bible; and perhaps if he practised in his rude savage way all Dickenstaught, he might less have felt the want even of that companion. " FOOTNOTES: [261] I hope my readers will find themselves able to understand that, aswell as this which follows: "What seems preposterous, impossible to us, seemed to him simple fact of observation. When he imagined a street, ahouse, a room, a figure, he saw it not in the vague schematic way ofordinary imagination, but in the sharp definition of actual perception, all the salient details obtruding themselves on his attention. He, seeing it thus vividly, made us also see it; and believing in itsreality however fantastic, he communicated something of his belief tous. He presented it in such relief that we ceased to think of it as apicture. So definite and insistent was the image, that even whileknowing it was false we could not help, for a moment, being affected, asit were, by his hallucination. " [262] "Though, " John Ballantyne told Lockhart, "he often turned himselfon his pillow with a groan of torment, he usually continued the sentencein the same breath. But when dialogue of peculiar animation was inprogress, spirit seemed to triumph altogether over matter--he arose fromhis couch and walked up and down the room, raising and lowering hisvoice, and as it were acting the parts. " _Lockhart_, vi. 67-8. Thestatement of James Ballantyne is at p. 89 of the same volume. Theoriginal incidents on which Scott had founded the tale he remembered, but "not a single character woven by the romancer, not one of the manyscenes and points of humour, nor anything with which he was connected asthe writer of the work. " [263] "Do you know _Master Humphrey's Clock_! I admire Nell in the _OldCuriosity Shop_ exceedingly. The whole thing is a good deal borrowedfrom _Wilhelm Meister_. But little Nell is a far purer, lovelier, more_English_ conception than Mignon, treasonable as the saying would seemto some. No doubt it was suggested by Mignon. "--Sara Coleridge to Aubreyde Vere (_Memoirs and Letters_, ii. 269-70). Expressing no opinion onthis comparison, I may state it as within my knowledge that the bookreferred to was not then known to Dickens. [264] The distinction I then pointed out was remarked by Sara Coleridge(_Memoirs and Letters_, ii. 169) in writing of her children. "They liketo talk to me . . . Above all about the productions of Dickens, thenever-to-be-exhausted fun of _Pickwick_, and the capital new strokes of_Martin Chuzzlewit_. This last work contains, besides all the fun, somevery marked and available morals. I scarce know any book in which theevil and odiousness of selfishness are more forcibly brought out, or ina greater variety of exhibitions. In the midst of the merry quotations, or at least on any fair opportunity, I draw the boys' attention to thesepoints. " [265] All the remarks in my text had been some time in type when LordLytton sent me what follows, from one of his father's manuscript (andunpublished) note-books. Substantially it agrees with what I have said;and such unconscious testimony of a brother novelist of so high a rank, careful in the study of his art, is of special value. "The greatestmasters of the novel of modern manners have generally availed themselvesof Humour for the illustration of manners; and have, with a deep andtrue, but perhaps unconscious, knowledge of art, pushed the humouralmost to the verge of caricature. For, as the serious ideal requires acertain exaggeration in the proportions of the natural, so also does theludicrous. Thus Aristophanes, in painting the humours of his time, resorts to the most poetical extravagance of machinery, and calls theClouds in aid of his ridicule of philosophy, or summons Frogs and Godsto unite in his satire on Euripides. The Don Quixote of Cervantes neverlived, nor, despite the vulgar belief, ever could have lived, in Spain;but the art of the portrait is in the admirable exaltation of thehumorous by means of the exaggerated. With more or less qualification, the same may be said of Parson Adams, of Sir Roger de Coverley, and evenof the Vicar of Wakefield. . . . It follows therefore that art andcorrectness are far from identical, and that the one is sometimes provedby the disdain of the other. For the ideal, whether humorous or serious, does not consist in the imitation but in the exaltation of nature. Andwe must accordingly enquire of art, not how far it resembles what wehave seen, so much as how far it embodies what we can imagine. " [266] I cannot refuse myself the satisfaction of quoting, from the bestcriticism of Dickens I have seen since his death, remarks very pertinentto what is said in my text. "Dickens possessed an imaginationunsurpassed, not only in vividness, but in swiftness. I haveintentionally avoided all needless comparisons of his works with thoseof other writers of his time, some of whom have gone before him to theirrest, while others survive to gladden the darkness and relieve themonotony of our daily life. But in the power of his imagination--of thisI am convinced--he surpassed them, one and all. That imagination couldcall up at will those associations which, could we but summon them intheir full number, would bind together the human family, and make thatexpression no longer a name, but a living reality. . . . Such associationssympathy alone can warm into life, and imagination alone can at timesdiscern. The great humourist reveals them to every one of us; and hisgenius is indeed an inspiration from no human source, in that it enableshim to render this service to the brotherhood of mankind. But more thanthis. So marvellously has this earth become the inheritance of mankind, that there is not a thing upon it, animate or inanimate, with which, orwith the likeness of which, man's mind has not come into contact; . . . With which human feelings, aspirations, thoughts, have not acquired anendless variety of single or subtle associations. . . . These also, whichwe imperfectly divine or carelessly pass by, the imagination of geniusdistinctly reveals to us, and powerfully impresses upon us. When theyappeal directly to the emotions of the heart, it is the power of Pathoswhich has awakened them; and when the suddenness, the unexpectedness, the apparent oddity of the one by the side of the other, strike the mindwith irresistible force, it is the equally divine gift of Humour whichhas touched the spring of laughter by the side of the spring oftears. "--_Charles Dickens. A Lecture by Professor Ward. Delivered inManchester, 30th November, 1870. _ [267] The opening of this letter (25th of August 1859), referring to aconviction for murder, afterwards reversed by a Home Office pardonagainst the continued and steadily expressed opinion of the judge whotried the case, is much too characteristic of the writer to be lost. "Icannot easily tell you how much interested I am by what you tell me ofour brave and excellent friend. . . . I have often had more than half amind to write and thank that upright judge. I declare to heaven that Ibelieve such a service one of the greatest that a man of intellect andcourage can render to society. . . . Of course I have been driving thegirls out of their wits here, by incessantly proclaiming that thereneeded no medical evidence either way, and that the case was plainwithout it. . . . Lastly of course (though a merciful man--because amerciful man, I mean), I would hang any Home Secretary, Whig, Tory, Radical, or otherwise, who should step in between so black a scoundreland the gallows. . . . I am reminded of Tennyson by thinking that KingArthur would have made short work of the amiable man! How fine theIdylls are! Lord! what a blessed thing it is to read a man who reallycan write. I thought nothing could be finer than the first poem, till Icame to the third; but when I had read the last, it seemed to me to beabsolutely unapproachable. " Other literary likings rose and fell withhim, but he never faltered in his allegiance to Tennyson. [268] Mr. Grant White, whose edition of Shakespeare has been receivedwith much respect in England. [269] A dear friend now gone, used laughingly to relate what outcrythere used to be, on the night of the week when a number was due, for"that Pip nonsense!" and what roars of laughter followed, though atfirst it was entirely put aside as not on any account to have timewasted over it. [270] There was no Chapter xx. As now; but the sentence which opens it("For eleven years" in the original, altered to "eight years") followedthe paragraph about his business partnership with Herbert, and led toBiddy's question whether he is sure he does not fret for Estella ("I amsure and certain, Biddy" as originally written, altered to "O no--Ithink not, Biddy"): from which point here was the close. "It was twoyears more, before I saw herself. I had heard of her as leading a mostunhappy life, and as being separated from her husband who had used herwith great cruelty, and who had become quite renowned as a compound ofpride, brutality, and meanness. I had heard of the death of her husband(from an accident consequent on ill-treating a horse), and of her beingmarried again to a Shropshire doctor, who, against his interest, hadonce very manfully interposed, on an occasion when he was inprofessional attendance on Mr. Drummle, and had witnessed someoutrageous treatment of her. I had heard that the Shropshire doctor wasnot rich, and that they lived on her own personal fortune. I was inEngland again--in London, and walking along Piccadilly with littlePip--when a servant came running after me to ask would I step back to alady in a carriage who wished to speak to me. It was a little ponycarriage, which the lady was driving; and the lady and I looked sadlyenough on one another. 'I am greatly changed, I know; but I thought youwould like to shake hands with Estella too, Pip. Lift up that prettychild and let me kiss it!' (She supposed the child, I think, to be mychild. ) I was very glad afterwards to have had the interview; for, inher face and in her voice, and in her touch, she gave me the assurance, that suffering had been stronger than Miss Havisham's teaching, and hadgiven her a heart to understand what my heart used to be. " [271] On this reproach, from a Jewish lady whom he esteemed, he hadwritten two years before. "Fagin, in _Oliver Twist_, is a Jew, becauseit unfortunately was true, of the time to which that story refers, thatthat class of criminal almost invariably _was_ a Jew. But surely nosensible man or woman of your persuasion can fail to observe--firstly, that all the rest of the wicked _dramatis personæ_ are Christians; and, secondly, that he is called 'The Jew, ' not because of his religion, butbecause of his race. " [272] Mr. Marcus Stone had, upon the separate issue of the _Tale of TwoCities_, taken the place of Mr. Hablot Browne as his illustrator. _HardTimes_ and the first edition of _Great Expectations_ were notillustrated; but when Pip's story appeared in one volume, Mr. Stonecontributed designs for it. [273] He thus spoke of it in his "Postscript in lieu of Preface" (dated2nd of September 1865), which accompanied the last number of the storyunder notice. "On Friday the ninth of June in the present year, Mr. AndMrs. Boffin (in their manuscript dress of receiving Mr. And Mrs. Lammleat breakfast) were on the South-Eastern Railway with me, in a terriblydestructive accident. When I had done what I could to help others, Iclimbed back into my carriage--nearly turned over a viaduct, and caughtaslant upon the turn--to extricate the worthy couple. They were muchsoiled, but otherwise unhurt. The same happy result attended Miss BellaWilfer on her wedding-day, and Mr. Riderhood inspecting BradleyHeadstone's red neckerchief as he lay asleep. I remember with devoutthankfulness that I can never be much nearer parting company with myreaders for ever, than I was then, until there shall be written againstmy life the two words with which I have this day closed this book--THEEND. " [274] I borrow this language from the Bishop of Manchester, who, on thethird day after Dickens's death, in the Abbey where he was so soon to belaid, closed a plea for the toleration of differences of opinion wherethe foundations of religious truth are accepted, with these words. "Itwill not be out of harmony with the line of thought we have beenpursuing--certainly it will be in keeping with the associations of thisplace, dear to Englishmen, not only as one of the proudest Christiantemples, but as containing the memorials of so many who by their geniusin arts, or arms, or statesmanship, or literature, have made Englandwhat she is--if in the simplest and briefest words I allude to that sadand unexpected death which has robbed English literature of one of itshighest living ornaments, and the news of which, two mornings ago, musthave made every household in England feel as though they had lost apersonal friend. He has been called in one notice an apostle of thepeople. I suppose it is meant that he had a mission, but in a style andfashion of his own; a gospel, a cheery, joyous, gladsome message, whichthe people understood, and by which they could hardly help beingbettered; for it was the gospel of kindliness, of brotherly love, ofsympathy in the widest sense of the word. I am sure I have felt inmyself the healthful spirit of his teaching. Possibly we might not havebeen able to subscribe to the same creed in relation to God, but I thinkwe should have subscribed to the same creed in relation to man. He whohas taught us our duty to our fellow men better than we knew it before, who knew so well to weep with them that wept, and to rejoice with themthat rejoiced, who has shown forth in all his knowledge of the darkcorners of the earth how much sunshine may rest upon the lowliest lot, who had such evident sympathy with suffering, and such a naturalinstinct of purity that there is scarcely a page of the thousands he haswritten which might not be put into the hands of a little child, must beregarded by those who recognise the diversity of the gifts of the spiritas a teacher sent from God. He would have been welcomed as afellow-labourer in the common interests of humanity by Him who asked thequestion 'If a man love not his brother whom he hath seen, how can helove God whom he hath not seen?'" CHAPTER XV. AMERICA REVISITED: NOVEMBER AND DECEMBER 1867. 1867. In Boston--Warmth of the Greeting--Old and New Friends--Changes since 1842--Sale of Tickets in New York--First Boston Reading--Profits--Scene at First New York Sales--A Fire at the Hotel--Increase of New York City--Story of _Black Crook_--Local and General Politics--Railway Travelling--Police of New York--Again in Boston--More Fires--New York Newspapers generally--Cities chosen for Readings--The Webster Murder in 1849--Again at New York--Illness--Mr. Fields's Account of Dickens while in America--Miseries of American Travel. IT is the intention of this and the following chapter to narrate theincidents of the visit to America in Dickens's own language, and in thatonly. They will consist almost exclusively of extracts from his letterswritten home, to members of his family and to myself. On the night of Tuesday the 19th of November he arrived at Boston, wherehe took up his residence at the Parker House hotel; and his first letter(21st) stated that the tickets for the first four Readings, all to thattime issued, had been sold immediately on their becoming saleable. "Animmense train of people waited in the freezing street for twelve hours, and passed into the office in their turns, as at a French theatre. Thereceipts already taken for these nights exceed our calculation by morethan £250. " Up to the last moment, he had not been able to clear offwholly a shade of misgiving that some of the old grudges might makethemselves felt; but from the instant of his setting foot in Boston nota vestige of such fear remained. The greeting was to the full asextraordinary as that of twenty-five years before, and was given now, asthen, to the man who had made himself the most popular writer in thecountry. His novels and tales were crowding the shelves of all thedealers in books in all the cities of the Union. In every house, inevery car, on every steamboat, in every theatre of America, thecharacters, the fancies, the phraseology of Dickens were become familiarbeyond those of any other writer of books. "Even in England, " said oneof the New York journals, "Dickens is less known than here; and of themillions here who treasure every word he has written, there are tens ofthousands who would make a large sacrifice to see and hear the man whohas made happy so many hours. Whatever sensitiveness there once was toadverse or sneering criticism, the lapse of a quarter of a century, andthe profound significance of a great war, have modified or removed. " Thepoint was more pithily, and as truly, put by Mr. Horace Greeley in the_Tribune_. "The fame as a novelist which Mr. Dickens had already createdin America, and which, at the best, has never yielded him anythingparticularly munificent or substantial, is become his capital stock inthe present enterprise. " The first Reading was appointed for the second of December, and in theinterval he saw some old friends and made some new ones. [275] Boston hewas fond of comparing to Edinburgh as Edinburgh was in the days whenseveral dear friends of his own still lived there. Twenty-five years hadchanged much in the American city; some genial faces were gone, and onground which he had left a swamp he found now the most princely streets;but there was no abatement of the old warmth of kindness, and, withevery attention and consideration shown to him, there was no intrusion. He was not at first completely conscious of the change in this respect, or of the prodigious increase in the size of Boston. But the latter grewupon him from day to day, and then there was impressed along with it acontrast to which it was difficult to reconcile himself. Nothingenchanted him so much as what he again saw of the delightful domesticlife of Cambridge, simple, self-respectful, cordial, and affectionate;and it seemed impossible to believe that within half an hour's distanceof it should be found what might at any time be witnessed in such hotelsas that which he was staying at: crowds of swaggerers, loafers, bar-loungers, and dram-drinkers, that seemed to be making up, from dayto day, not the least important-part of the human life of the city. Butno great mercantile resort in the States, such as Boston had now become, could be without that drawback; and fortunate should we account anyplace to be, though even so plague-afflicted, that has yet so near itthe healthier influence of the other life which our older world haswellnigh lost altogether. "The city has increased prodigiously in twenty-five years, " he wrote tohis daughter Mary. "It has grown more mercantile. It is like Leeds mixedwith Preston, and flavoured with New Brighton. Only, instead of smokeand fog, there is an exquisitely bright light air. " "Cambridge isexactly as I left it, " he wrote to me. "Boston more mercantile, and muchlarger. The hotel I formerly stayed at, and thought a very big one, isnow regarded as a very small affair. I do not yet notice--but a day, youknow, is not a long time for observation!--any marked change incharacter or habits. In this immense hotel I live very high up, and havea hot and cold bath in my bed room, with other comforts not in existencein my former day. The cost of living is enormous. " "Two of the staff areat New York, " he wrote to his sister-in-law on the 25th of November, "where we are at our wits' end how to keep tickets out of the hands ofspeculators. We have communications from all parts of the country, butwe take no offer whatever. The young under-graduates of Cambridge havemade a representation to Longfellow that they are 500 strong and cannotget one ticket. I don't know what is to be done, but I suppose I mustread there, somehow. We are all in the clouds until I shall have brokenground in New York. " The sale of tickets, there, had begun two daysbefore the first reading in Boston. "At the New York barriers, " he wroteto his daughter on the first of December, "where the tickets were onsale and the people ranged as at the Paris theatres, speculators went upand down offering twenty dollars for any body's place. The money was inno case accepted. But one man sold two tickets for the second, third, and fourth nights; his payment in exchange being one ticket for thefirst night, fifty dollars (about £7 10_s. _), and a 'brandy-cocktail. '" On Monday the second of December he read for the first time in Boston, his subjects being the _Carol_ and the _Trial from Pickwick_; and hisreception, from an audience than which perhaps none more remarkablecould have been brought together, went beyond all expectations formed. "It is really impossible, " he wrote to me next morning, "to exaggeratethe magnificence of the reception or the effect of the reading. Thewhole city will talk of nothing else and hear of nothing else to-day. Every ticket for those announced here, and in New York, is sold. All aresold at the highest price, for which in our calculation we made noallowance; and it is impossible to keep out speculators who immediatelysell at a premium. At the decreased rate of money even, we had above£450 English in the house last night; and the New York hall holds 500people more. Everything looks brilliant beyond the most sanguine hopes, and I was quite as cool last night as though I were reading at Chatham. "The next night he read again; and also on Thursday and Friday; onWednesday he had rested; and on Saturday he travelled to New York. He had written, the day before he left, that he was making a clearprofit of thirteen hundred pounds English a week, even allowing sevendollars to the pound; but words were added having no good omen in them, that the weather was taking a turn of even unusual severity, and that hefound the climate, in the suddenness of its changes, "and the wide leapsthey take, " excessively trying. "The work is of course rather tryingtoo; but the sound position that everything must be subservient to itenables me to keep aloof from invitations. To-morrow, " ran the close ofthe letter, "we move to New York. We cannot beat the speculators in ourtickets. We sell no more than six to any one person for the course offour readings; but these speculators, who sell at greatly increasedprices and make large profits, will employ any number of men to buy. Oneof the chief of them--now living in this house, in order that he maymove as we move!--can put on 50 people in any place we go to; and thushe gets 300 tickets into his own hands. " Almost while Dickens waswriting these words an eye-witness was describing to a Philadelphiapaper the sale of the New York tickets. The pay-place was to open atnine on a Wednesday morning, and at midnight of Tuesday a long line ofspeculators were assembled in _queue_; at two in the morning a fewhonest buyers had begun to arrive; at five there were, of all classes, two lines of not less than 800 each; at eight there were at least 5000persons in the two lines; at nine each line was more than three-quartersof a mile in length, and neither became sensibly shorter during thewhole morning. "The tickets for the course were all sold before noon. Members of families relieved each other in the _queues_; waiters flewacross the streets and squares from the neighbouring restaurant, toserve parties who were taking their breakfast in the open December air;while excited men offered five and ten dollars for the mere permissionto exchange places with other persons standing nearer the head of theline!" The effect of the reading in New York corresponded with this marvellouspreparation, and Dickens characterised his audience as an unexpectedsupport to him; in its appreciation quick and unfailing, and highlydemonstrative in its satisfactions. On the 11th of December he wrote tohis daughter: "Amazing success. A very fine audience, far better than atBoston. _Carol_ and _Trial_ on first night, great: still greater, _Copperfield_ and _Bob Sawyer_ on second. For the tickets of the fourreadings of next week there were, at nine o'clock this morning, 3000people in waiting, and they had begun to assemble in the bitter cold asearly as two o'clock in the morning. " To myself he wrote on the 15th, adding touches to the curious picture. "Dolby has got into trouble aboutthe manner of issuing the tickets for next week's series. He cannot getfour thousand people into a room holding only two thousand, he cannotinduce people to pay at the ordinary price for themselves instead ofgiving thrice as much to speculators, and he is attacked in alldirections . . . I don't much like my hall, for it has two largebalconies far removed from the platform; but no one ever waylays me as Igo into it or come out of it, and it is kept as rigidly quiet as theFrançais at a rehearsal. We have not yet had in it less than £430 pernight, allowing for the depreciated currency! I send £3000 to England bythis packet. From all parts of the States, applications and offerscontinually come in. We go to Boston next Saturday for two morereadings, and come back here on Christmas Day for four more. I am notyet bound to go elsewhere, except three times (each time for two nights)to Philadelphia; thinking it wisest to keep free for the largest places. I have had an action brought against me by a man who considered himselfinjured (and really may have been) in the matter of his tickets. Personal service being necessary, I was politely waited on by a marshalfor that purpose; whom I received with the greatest courtesy, apparentlyvery much to his amazement. The action was handsomely withdrawn nextday, and the plaintiff paid his own costs. . . . Dolby hopes you aresatisfied with the figures so far; the profit each night exceeding theestimated profit by £130 odd. He is anxious I should also tell you thathe is the most unpopular and best-abused man in America. " Next day aletter to his sister-in-law related an incident too common in Americancities to disconcert any but strangers. He had lodged himself, I shouldhave said, at the Westminster Hotel in Irving Place. "Last night I wasgetting into bed just at 12 o'clock, when Dolby came to my door toinform me that the house was on fire. I got Scott up directly; told himfirst to pack the books and clothes for the Readings; dressed, andpocketed my jewels and papers; while the manager stuffed himself outwith money. Meanwhile the police and firemen were in the house tracingthe mischief to its source in a certain fire-grate. By this time thehose was laid all through from a great tank on the roof, and everybodyturned out to help. It was the oddest sight, and people had put thestrangest things on! After chopping and cutting with axes throughstairs, and much handing about of water, the fire was confined to adining-room in which it had originated; and then everybody talked toeverybody else, the ladies being particularly loquacious and cheerful. Imay remark that the second landlord (from both, but especially thefirst, I have had untiring attention) no sooner saw me on this agitatingoccasion, than, with his property blazing, he insisted on taking me downinto a room full of hot smoke, to drink brandy and water with him! Andso we got to bed again about 2. " Dickens had been a week in New York before he was able to identify thegreat city which a lapse of twenty-five years had so prodigiouslyincreased. "The only portion that has even now come back to me, " hewrote, "is the part of Broadway in which the Carlton Hotel (long sincedestroyed) used to stand. There is a very fine new park in theoutskirts, and the number of grand houses and splendid equipages isquite surprising. There are hotels close here with 500 bedrooms and Idon't know how many boarders; but this hotel is quite as quiet as, andnot much larger than, Mivart's in Brook Street. My rooms are all ensuite, and I come and go by a private door and private staircasecommunicating with my bed-room. The waiters are French, and one might beliving in Paris. One of the two proprietors is also proprietor ofNiblo's Theatre, and the greatest care is taken of me. Niblo's greatattraction, the _Black Crook_, has now been played every night for 16months(!), and is the most preposterous peg to hang ballets on that wasever seen. The people who act in it have not the slightest idea of whatit is about, and never had; but, after taxing my intellectual powers tothe utmost, I fancy that I have discovered Black Crook to be a malignanthunchback leagued with the Powers of Darkness to separate two lovers;and that the Powers of Lightness coming (in no skirts whatever) to therescue, he is defeated. I am quite serious in saying that I do notsuppose there are two pages of _All the Year Round_ in the whole piece(which acts all night); the whole of the rest of it being ballets of allsorts, perfectly unaccountable processions, and the Donkey out of lastyear's Covent Garden pantomime! At the other theatres, comic operas, melodramas, and domestic dramas prevail all over the city, and mystories play no inconsiderable part in them. I go nowhere, having laiddown the rule that to combine visiting with my work would be absolutelyimpossible. . . . The Fenian explosion at Clerkenwell was telegraphed herein a few hours. I do not think there is any sympathy whatever with theFenians on the part of the American people, though politicaladventurers may make capital out of a show of it. But no doubt largesections of the Irish population of this State are themselves Fenian;and the local politics of the place are in a most depraved condition, ifhalf of what is said to me be true. I prefer not to talk of thesethings, but at odd intervals I look round for myself. Great socialimprovements in respect of manners and forbearance have come to passsince I was here before, but in public life I see as yet but littlechange. " He had got through half of his first New York readings when a winterstorm came on, and from this time until very near his return theseverity of the weather was exceptional even for America. When the firstsnow fell, the railways were closed for some days; and he described NewYork crowded with sleighs, and the snow piled up in enormous walls thewhole length of the streets. "I turned out in a rather gorgeous sleighyesterday with any quantity of buffalo robes, and made an imposingappearance. " "If you were to behold me driving out, " he wrote to hisdaughter, "furred up to the moustache, with an immense whitered-and-yellow-striped rug for a covering, you would suppose me to be ofHungarian or Polish nationality. " These protections nevertheless availedhim little; and when the time came for getting back to Boston, he foundhimself at the close of his journey with a cold and cough that neveragain left him until he had quitted the country, and of which theeffects became more and more disastrous. For the present there waslittle allusion to this, his belief at the first being strong that heshould overmaster it; but it soon forced itself into all his letters. His railway journey otherwise had not been agreeable. "The railways aretruly alarming. Much worse (because more worn I suppose) than when I washere before. We were beaten about yesterday, as if we had been aboardthe Cuba. Two rivers have to be crossed, and each time the whole trainis banged aboard a big steamer. The steamer rises and falls with theriver, which the railroad don't do; and the train is either banged uphill or banged down hill. In coming off the steamer at one of thesecrossings yesterday, we were banged up such a height that the ropebroke, and one carriage rushed back with a run down-hill into the boatagain. I whisked out in a moment, and two or three others after me; butnobody else seemed to care about it. The treatment of the luggage isperfectly outrageous. Nearly every case I have is already broken. Whenwe started from Boston yesterday, I beheld, to my unspeakable amazement, Scott, my dresser, leaning a flushed countenance against the wall of thecar, and _weeping bitterly_. It was over my smashed writing-desk. Yetthe arrangements for luggage are excellent, if the porters would not bebeyond description reckless. " The same excellence of provision, andflinging away of its advantages, are observed in connection with anothersubject in the same letter. "The halls are excellent. Imagine oneholding two thousand people, seated with exact equality for every one ofthem, and every one seated separately. I have nowhere, at home orabroad, seen so fine a police as the police of New York; and theirbearing in the streets is above all praise. On the other hand, the lawsfor regulation of public vehicles, clearing of streets, and removal ofobstructions, are wildly outraged by the people for whose benefit theyare intended. Yet there is undoubtedly improvement in every direction, and I am taking time to make up my mind on things in general. Let me addthat I have been tempted out at three in the morning to visit one of thelarge police station-houses, and was so fascinated by the study of ahorrible photograph-book of thieves' portraits that I couldn't shut itup. " A letter of the same date (22nd) to his sister-in-law told of personalattentions awaiting him on his return to Boston by which he was greatlytouched. He found his rooms garnished with flowers and holly, with realred berries, and with festoons of moss; and the homely Christmas look ofthe place quite affected him. "There is a certain Captain Dolliverbelonging to the Boston custom-house, who came off in the little steamerthat brought me ashore from the Cuba; and he took it into his head thathe would have a piece of English mistletoe brought out in this week'sCunard, which should be laid upon my breakfast-table. And there it wasthis morning. In such affectionate touches as this, these New Englandpeople are especially amiable. . . . As a general rule you may lay it downthat whatever you see about me in the papers is not true; but you maygenerally lend a more believing ear to the Philadelphia correspondent ofthe _Times_, a well-informed gentleman. Our hotel in New York was onfire again the other night. But fires in this country are quite mattersof course. There was a large one in Boston at four this morning; and Idon't think a single night has passed, since I have been under theprotection of the Eagle, that I have not heard the Fire Bells dolefullyclanging all over both cities. " The violent abuse of his manager byportions of the press is the subject of the rest of the letter, andreceives farther illustration in one of the same date to me. "A goodspecimen of the sort of newspaper you and I know something of, came outin Boston here this morning. The editor had applied for ouradvertisements, saying that 'it was at Mr. D's disposal for paragraphs. 'The advertisements were not sent; Dolby did not enrich its columnsparagraphically; and among its news to-day is the item that 'this chapcalling himself Dolby got drunk down town last night, and was taken tothe police station for fighting an Irishman!' I am sorry to say that Idon't find anybody to be much shocked by this liveliness. " It is rightto add what was said to me a few days later. "The _Tribune_ is anexcellent paper. Horace Greeley is editor in chief, and a considerableshareholder too. All the people connected with it whom I have seen areof the best class. It is also, a very fine property--but here the _NewYork Herald_ beats it hollow, hollow, hollow! Another able and welledited paper is the _New York Times_. A most respectable journal too isBryant's _Evening Post_, excellently written. There is generally a muchmore responsible and respectable tone than prevailed formerly, howeversmall may be the literary merit, among papers pointed out to me as oflarge circulation. In much of the writing there is certainlyimprovement, but it might be more widely spread. " The time had now come when the course his Readings were to takeindependently of the two leading cities must be settled, and the generaltour made out. His agent's original plan was that they should be in NewYork every week. "But I say No. By the 10th of January I shall have readto 35, 000 people in that city alone. Put the readings out of the reachof all the people behind them, for the time. It is that one of thepopular peculiarities which I most particularly notice, that they mustnot have a thing too easily. Nothing in the country lasts long; and athing is prized the more, the less easy it is made. Reflecting thereforethat I shall want to close, in April, with farewell readings here and inNew York, I am convinced that the crush and pressure upon thesenecessary to their adequate success is only to be got by absence; andthat the best thing I can do is not to give either city as much readingas it wants now, but to be independent of both while both are mostenthusiastic. I have therefore resolved presently to announce in NewYork so many readings (I mean a certain number) as the last that can begiven there, before I travel to promised places; and that we select thebest places, with the largest halls, on our list. This will include, East here--the two or three best New England towns; South--Baltimore andWashington; West--Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, Chicago, and St. Louis; andtowards Niagara--Cleveland and Buffalo. Philadelphia we are alreadypledged to, for six nights; and the scheme will pretty easily bring ushere again twice before the farewells. I feel convinced that this is thesound policy. " (It was afterwards a little modified, as will be seen, bypublic occurrences and his own condition of health; the West, as wellas a promise to Canada, having to be abandoned; but otherwise it wascarried out. ) "I read here to-morrow and Tuesday; all tickets being soldto the end of the series, even for subjects not announced. I have notread a single time at a lower clear profit per night (all deductionsmade) than £315. But rely upon it I shall take great care not to readoftener than four times a week--after this next week, when I standcommitted to five. The inevitable tendency of the staff, when thesegreat houses excite them, is, in the words of an old friend of ours, to'hurge the hartist hon;' and a night or two ago I had to cut away fivereadings from _their_ list. " An incident at Boston should have mention before he resumes his readingsin New York. In the interval since he was first in America, the Harvardprofessor of chemistry, Dr. Webster, whom he had at that visit met amongthe honoured men who held chairs in their Cambridge University, had beenhanged for the murder, committed in his laboratory in the college, of afriend who had lent him money, portions of whose body lay concealedunder the lid of the lecture-room table where the murderer continued tomeet his students. "Being in Cambridge, " Dickens wrote to Lord Lytton, "I thought I would go over the Medical School, and see the exactlocalities where Professor Webster did that amazing murder, and workedso hard to rid himself of the body of the murdered man. (I find there isof course no rational doubt that the Professor was always a secretlycruel man. ) They were horribly grim, private, cold, and quiet; theidentical furnace smelling fearfully (some anatomical broth in it Isuppose) as if the body were still there; jars of pieces of sourmortality standing about, like the forty robbers in _Ali Baba_ afterbeing scalded to death; and bodies near us ready to be carried in tonext morning's lecture. At the house where I afterwards dined I heard anamazing and fearful story; told by one who had been at a dinner-party often or a dozen, at Webster's, less than a year before the murder. Theybegan rather uncomfortably, in consequence of one of the guests (thevictim of an instinctive antipathy) starting up with the sweat pouringdown his face, and crying out, 'O Heaven! There's a cat somewhere in theroom!' The cat was found and ejected, but they didn't get on very well. Left with their wine, they were getting on a little better; when Webstersuddenly told the servants to turn the gas off and bring in that bowl ofburning minerals which he had prepared, in order that the company mightsee how ghastly they looked by its weird light. All this was done, andevery man was looking, horror-stricken, at his neighbour; when Websterwas seen bending over the bowl with a rope round his neck, holding upthe end of the rope, with his head on one side and his tongue lolledout, to represent a hanged man!" Dickens read at Boston on the 23rd and the 24th of December, and onChristmas day travelled back to New York where he was to read on the26th. The last words written before he left were of illness. "The lowaction of the heart, or whatever it is, has inconvenienced me greatlythis last week. On Monday night, after the reading, I was laid upon abed, in a very faint and shady state; and on the Tuesday I did not getup till the afternoon. " But what in reality was less grave tookoutwardly the form of a greater distress; and the effects of the coldwhich had struck him in travelling to Boston, as yet not known to hisEnglish friends, appear most to have alarmed those about him. I departfrom my rule in this narrative, otherwise strictly observed, in singlingout one of those friends for mention by name: but a business connectionwith the Readings, as well as untiring offices of personal kindness andsympathy, threw Mr. Fields into closer relations with Dickens fromarrival to departure, than any other person had; and his description ofthe condition of health in which Dickens now quitted Boston and wentthrough the rest of the labour he had undertaken, will be a sad thoughfit prelude to what the following chapter has to tell. "He went fromBoston to New York carrying with him a severe catarrh contracted in ourclimate. He was quite ill from the effects of the disease; but he foughtcourageously against them. . . . His spirit was wonderful, and, although helost all appetite and could partake of very little food, he was alwayscheerful and ready for his work when the evening came round. A dinnerwas tendered to him by some of his literary friends in Boston; but hewas so ill the day before that the banquet had to be given up. Thestrain upon his strength and nerves was very great during all the monthshe remained, and only a man of iron will could have accomplished what hedid. He was accustomed to talk and write a good deal about eating anddrinking, but I have rarely seen a man eat and drink less. He liked todilate in imagination over the brewing of a bowl of punch, but when thepunch was ready he drank less of it than any one who might be present. It was the sentiment of the thing and not the thing itself that engagedhis attention. I scarcely saw him eat a hearty meal during his wholestay. Both at Parker's hotel in Boston, and at the Westminster in NewYork, everything was arranged by the proprietors for his comfort, andtempting dishes to pique his invalid appetite were sent up at differenthours of the day; but the influenza had seized him with masterful power, and held the strong man down till he left the country. " When he arrived in New York on the evening of Christmas Day he found aletter from his daughter. Answering her next day he told her: "I wantedit much, for I had a frightful cold (English colds are nothing to thoseof this country) and was very miserable. . . . It is a bad country to beunwell and travelling in. You are one of, say, a hundred people in aheated car with a great stove in it, all the little windows beingclosed; and the bumping and banging about are indescribable, theatmosphere detestable, the ordinary motion all but intolerable. " Thefollowing day this addition was made to the letter. "I managed to readlast night, but it was as much as I could do. To-day I am so very unwellthat I have sent for a doctor. He has just been, and is in doubt whetherI shall not have to stop reading for a while. " His stronger will prevailed, and he went on without stopping. On thelast day of the year he announced to us that though he had been very lowhe was getting right again; that in a couple of days he should haveaccomplished a fourth of the entire Readings; and that the first monthof the new year would see him through Philadelphia and Baltimore, aswell as through two more nights in Boston. He also prepared his Englishfriends for the startling intelligence they might shortly expect, offour readings coming off in a church, before an audience of two thousandpeople accommodated in pews, and with himself emerging from a vestry. FOOTNOTES: [275] Among these I think he was most delighted with the greatnaturalist and philosopher, Agassiz, whose death is unhappily announcedwhile I write, and as to whom it will no longer be unbecoming to quotehis allusion. "Agassiz, who married the last Mrs. Felton's sister, isnot only one of the most accomplished but the most natural and jovial ofmen. " Again he says: "I cannot tell you how pleased I was by Agassiz, amost charming fellow, or how I have regretted his seclusion for a whileby reason of his mother's death. " A valued correspondent, Mr. GrantWilson, sends me a list of famous Americans who greeted Dickens at hisfirst visit, and in the interval had passed away. "It is melancholy tocontemplate the large number of American authors who had, between thefirst and second visits of Mr. Dickens, 'gone hence, to be no moreseen. ' The sturdy Cooper, the gentle Irving, his friend and kinsmanPaulding, Prescott the historian and Percival the poet, the eloquentEverett, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Edgar A. Poe, N. P. Willis, the genialHalleck, and many lesser lights, including Prof. Felton and Geo. P. Morris, had died during the quarter of a century that elapsed betweenDickens's visits to this country, leaving a new generation of writers toextend the hand of friendship to him on his second coming. "--Let me addto this that Dickens was pleased, at this second visit, to see his oldsecretary who had travelled so agreeably with him through his first tourof triumph. "He would have known him anywhere. " CHAPTER XVI. AMERICA REVISITED: JANUARY TO APRIL 1868. 1868. Speculators and the Public--Republican Self-help--Receipts affected by Speculators--Again at Boston--Hit of _Marigold_ and of _Boots at Holly Tree_--Chapel Readings at Brooklyn--Energy of New York Speculators--At Philadelphia--Irish Element in New York--Improved Social Ways--Result of Thirty-four Readings--Shadow to the Sunshine--Arrangements for Washington--At Baltimore--Success in Philadelphia--Value of a Vote--Objections to Coloured People--At Washington--With Sumner and Stanton--Lincoln's last Cabinet Council--Lincoln's Dream--Interview with President Johnson--Incident at First Reading--One of the Audience--A Day at the Readings--Proposed Walking-match--In his Hotel at Philadelphia--Providence and New Haven--North-west Tour--President's Impeachment--Political Excitement--Boston Audiences--Struggle for Tickets in Remote Places--At Rochester--At Syracuse and Buffalo--American Female Beauty--Suspension Bridge at Niagara--Final Impression of the Falls--At Utica--Reading at Albany--New England Engagements--Again attacked by Lameness--Reading at New Bedford--"Nearly used up"--Farewell Readings--Last Boston Readings--New York Farewells--Receipts throughout--Public Dinner to Dickens. THE Reading on the third of January closed a fourth of the entireseries, and on that day Dickens wrote of the trouble brought on them bythe "speculators, " which to some extent had affected unfavourably thethree previous nights in New York. When adventurers buy up the bestplaces, the public resent it by refusing the worst; to prevent it byfirst helping themselves, being the last thing they ever think of doing. "We try to withhold the best seats from the speculators, but theunaccountable thing is that the great mass of the public buy of them(prefer it), and the rest of the public are injured if we have not gotthose very seats to sell them. We have now a travelling staff of sixmen, in spite of which Dolby, who is leaving me to-day to sell ticketsin Philadelphia to-morrow morning, will no doubt get into a tempest ofdifficulties. Of course also, in such a matter, as many obstacles aspossible are thrown in an Englishman's way; and he may himself be alittle injudicious into the bargain. Last night, for instance, he metone of the 'ushers' (who show people to their seats) coming in with oneof our men. It is against orders that any one employed in front shouldgo out during the reading, and he took this man to task in the Britishmanner. Instantly, the free and independent usher put on his hat andwalked off. Seeing which, all the other free and independent ushers(some 20 in number) put on _their_ hats and walked off; leaving usabsolutely devoid and destitute of a staff for to-night. One has sincebeen improvised: but it was a small matter to raise a stir and ill-willabout, especially as one of our men was equally in fault; and reallythere is little to be done at night. American people are so accustomedto take care of themselves, that one of these immense audiences willfall into their places with an ease amazing to a frequenter of St. James's Hall; and the certainty with which they are all in, before I goon, is a very acceptable mark of respect. Our great labour is outside;and we have been obliged to bring our staff up to six, besides a boy ortwo, by employment of a regular additional clerk, a Bostonian. Thespeculators buying the front-seats (we have found instances of thisbeing done by merchants in good position), the public won't have theback seats; return their tickets; write and print volumes on thesubject; and deter others from coming. You are not to suppose that thisprevails to any great extent, as our lowest house here has been £300;but it does hit us. There is no doubt about it. Fortunately I saw thedanger when the trouble began, and changed the list at the righttime. . . . You may get an idea of the staff's work, by what is in handnow. They are preparing, numbering, and stamping, 6000 tickets forPhiladelphia, and 8000 tickets for Brooklyn. The moment those are done, another 8000 tickets will be wanted for Baltimore, and probably another6000 for Washington; and all this in addition to the correspondence, advertisements, accounts, travelling, and the nightly business of theReadings four times a week. . . . I cannot get rid of this intolerablecold! My landlord invented for me a drink of brandy, rum, and snow, called it a 'Rocky Mountain Sneezer, ' and said it was to put down allless effectual sneezing; but it has not yet had the effect. Did I tellyou that the favourite drink before you get up is an Eye-Opener? Therehas been another fall of snow, succeeded by a heavy thaw. " The day after (the 4th) he went back to Boston, and next day wrote tome: "I am to read here on Monday and Tuesday, return to New York onWednesday, and finish there (except the farewells in April) on Thursdayand Friday. The New York reading of _Doctor Marigold_ made really atremendous hit. The people doubted at first, having evidently not theleast idea what could be done with it, and broke out at last into aperfect chorus of delight. At the end they made a great shout, and gavea rush towards the platform as if they were going to carry me off. Itputs a strong additional arrow into my quiver. Another extraordinarysuccess has been _Nickleby_ and _Boots at the Holly Tree_ (appreciatedhere in Boston, by the bye, even more than _Copperfield_); and think ofour last New York night bringing £500 English into the house, aftermaking more than the necessary deduction for the present price of gold!The manager is always going about with an immense bundle that looks likea sofa-cushion, but is in reality paper-money, and it had risen to theproportions of a sofa on the morning he left for Philadelphia. Well, thework is hard, the climate is hard, the life is hard: but so far the gainis enormous. My cold steadily refuses to stir an inch. It distresses megreatly at times, though it is always good enough to leave me for theneedful two hours. I have tried allopathy, homoeopathy, cold things, warm things, sweet things, bitter things, stimulants, narcotics, allwith the same result. Nothing will touch it. " In the same letter, light was thrown on the ecclesiastical mystery. "AtBrooklyn I am going to read in Mr. Ward Beecher's chapel: the onlybuilding there available for the purpose. You must understand thatBrooklyn is a kind of sleeping-place for New York, and is supposed to bea great place in the money way. We let the seats pew by pew! the pulpitis taken down for my screen and gas! and I appear out of the vestry incanonical form! These ecclesiastical entertainments come off on theevenings of the 16th, 17th, 20th, and 21st, of the present month. " Hisfirst letter after returning to New York (9th of January) made additionsto the Brooklyn picture. "Each evening an enormous ferry-boat willconvey me and my state-carriage (not to mention half a dozen wagons andany number of people and a few score of horses) across the river toBrooklyn, and will bring me back again. The sale of tickets there was anamazing scene. The noble army of speculators are now furnished (this isliterally true, and I am quite serious) each man with a straw mattress, a little bag of bread and meat, two blankets, and a bottle of whiskey. With this outfit, _they lie down in line on the pavement_ the whole ofthe night before the tickets are sold: generally taking up theirposition at about 10. It being severely cold at Brooklyn, they made animmense bonfire in the street--a narrow street of wooden houses--whichthe police turned out to extinguish. A general fight then took place;from which the people farthest off in the line rushed bleeding when theysaw any chance of ousting others nearer the door, put their mattressesin the spots so gained, and held on by the iron rails. At 8 in themorning Dolby appeared with the tickets in a portmanteau. He wasimmediately saluted with a roar of Halloa! Dolby! So Charley has let youhave the carriage, has he, Dolby? How is he, Dolby? Don't drop thetickets, Dolby! Look alive, Dolby! &c. &c. &c. In the midst of which heproceeded to business, and concluded (as usual) by giving universaldissatisfaction. He is now going off upon a little journey to look overthe ground and cut back again. This little journey (to Chicago) istwelve hundred miles on end, by railway, besides the back again!" Itmight tax the Englishman, but was nothing to the native American. It waspart of his New York landlord's ordinary life in a week, Dickens toldme, to go to Chicago and look at his theatre there on a Monday; to peltback to Boston and look at his theatre there on a Thursday; and to comerushing to New York on a Friday, to apostrophize his enormous ballet. Three days later, still at New York, he wrote to his sister-in-law. "Iam off to Philadelphia this evening for the first of three visits of twonights each, tickets for all being sold. My cold steadily refuses toleave me, but otherwise I am as well as I can hope to be under thisheavy work. My New York readings are over (except the farewell nights), and I look forward to the relief of being out of my hardest hall. OnFriday I was again dead beat at the end, and was once more laid upon asofa. But the faintness went off after a little while. We have now coldbright frosty weather, without snow; the best weather for me. " Next dayfrom Philadelphia he wrote to his daughter that he was lodged in TheContinental, one of the most immense of American hotels, but that hefound himself just as quiet as elsewhere. "Everything is very good, mywaiter is German, and the greater part of the servants seem to becoloured people. The town is very clean, and the day as blue and brightas a fine Italian day. But it freezes very very hard, and my cold is notimproved; for the cars were so intolerably hot that I was often obligedto stand upon the brake outside, and then the frosty air bit me indeed. I find it necessary (so oppressed am I with this American catarrh asthey call it) to dine at three o'clock instead of four, that I may havemore time to get voice; so that the days are cut short andletter-writing not easy. " He nevertheless found time in this city to write to me (14th of January)the most interesting mention he had yet made of such opinions as he hadbeen able to form during his present visit, apart from the pursuit thatabsorbed him. Of such of those opinions as were given on a former page, it is only necessary to repeat that while the tone of party politicsstill impressed him unfavourably, he had thus far seen everywhere greatchanges for the better socially. I will add other points from the sameletter. That he was unfortunate in his time of visiting New York, as faras its politics were concerned, what has since happened conclusivelyshows. "The Irish element is acquiring such enormous influence in NewYork city, that when I think of it, and see the large Roman Catholiccathedral rising there, it seems unfair to stigmatise as 'American'other monstrous things that one also sees. But the general corruption inrespect of the local funds appears to be stupendous, and there is analarming thing as to some of the courts of law which I am afraid isnative-born. A case came under my notice the other day in which it wasperfectly plain, from what was said to me by a person interested inresisting an injunction, that his first proceeding had been to 'look upthe Judge. '" Of such occasional provincial oddity, harmless in itselfbut strange in large cities, as he noticed in the sort of halfdisappointment at the small fuss made by himself about the Readings, andin the newspaper references to "Mr. Dickens's extraordinary composure"on the platform, he gives an illustration. "Last night here inPhiladelphia (my first night), a very impressible and responsiveaudience were so astounded by my simply walking in and opening my bookthat I wondered what was the matter. They evidently thought that thereought to have been a flourish, and Dolby sent in to prepare for me. Withthem it is the simplicity of the operation that raises wonder. With thenewspapers 'Mr. Dickens's extraordinary composure' is not reasoned outas being necessary to the art of the thing, but is sensitively watchedwith a lurking doubt whether it may not imply disparagement of theaudience. Both these things strike me as drolly expressive. ". . . His testimony as to improved social habits and ways was expressed verydecidedly. "I think it reasonable to expect that as I go westward, Ishall find the old manners going on before me, and may tread upon theirskirts mayhap. But so far, I have had no more intrusion or boredom thanI have when I lead the same life in England. I write this in an immensehotel, but I am as much at peace in my own rooms, and am left as whollyundisturbed, as if I were at the Station Hotel in York. I have now readin New York city to 40, 000 people, and am quite as well known in thestreets there as I am in London. People will turn back, turn again andface me, and have a look at me, or will say to one another 'Look here!Dickens coming!' But no one ever stops me or addresses me. Sittingreading in the carriage outside the New York post-office while one ofthe staff was stamping the letters inside, I became conscious that a fewpeople who had been looking at the turn-out had discovered me within. On my peeping out good-humouredly, one of them (I should say amerchant's book-keeper) stepped up to the door, took off his hat, andsaid in a frank way: 'Mr. Dickens, I should very much like to have thehonour of shaking hands with you'--and, that done, presented two others. Nothing could be more quiet or less intrusive. In the railway cars, if Isee anybody who clearly wants to speak to me, I usually anticipate thewish by speaking myself. If I am standing on the brake outside (to avoidthe intolerable stove), people getting down will say with a smile: 'As Iam taking my departure, Mr. Dickens, and can't trouble you for more thana moment, I should like to take you by the hand sir. ' And so we shakehands and go our ways. . . . Of course many of my impressions come throughthe readings. Thus I find the people lighter and more humorous thanformerly; and there must be a great deal of innocent imagination amongevery class, or they never could pet with such extraordinary pleasure asthey do, the Boots' story of the elopement of the two little children. They seem to see the children; and the women set up a shrillundercurrent of half-pity and half-pleasure that is quite affecting. To-night's reading is my 26th; but as all the Philadelphia tickets forfour more are sold, as well as four at Brooklyn, you must assume that Iam at--say--my 35th reading. I have remitted to Coutts's in English gold£10, 000 odd; and I roughly calculate that on this number Dolby will haveanother thousand pounds profit to pay me. These figures are of coursebetween ourselves, at present; but are they not magnificent? Theexpenses, always recollect, are enormous. On the other hand we neverhave occasion to print a bill of any sort (bill-printing and posting aregreat charges at home); and have just now sold off £90 worth ofbill-paper, provided beforehand, as a wholly useless incumbrance. " Then came, as ever, the constant shadow that still attended him, theslave in the chariot of his triumph. "The work is very severe. There isnow no chance of my being rid of this American catarrh until I embarkfor England. It is very distressing. It likewise happens, not seldom, that I am so dead beat when I come off that they lay me down on a sofaafter I have been washed and dressed, and I lie there, extremely faint, for a quarter of an hour. In that time I rally and come right. " One weeklater from New York, where he had become due on the 16th for the firstof his four Brooklyn readings, he wrote to his sister-in-law. "My coldsticks to me, and I can scarcely exaggerate what I undergo fromsleeplessness. I rarely take any breakfast but an egg and a cup oftea--not even toast or bread and butter. My small dinner at 3, and alittle quail or some such light thing when I come home at night, is mydaily fare; and at the hall I have established the custom of taking anegg beaten up in sherry before going in, and another between the parts, which I think pulls me up. . . . It is snowing hard now, and I begin tomove to-morrow. There is so much floating ice in the river, that we areobliged to have a pretty wide margin of time for getting over the ferryto read. " The last of the readings over the ferry was on the day whenthis letter was written. "I finished at my church to-night. It is Mrs. Stowe's brother's, and a most wonderful place to speak in. We had itenormously full last night (_Marigold_ and _Trial_), but it scarcelyrequired an effort. Mr. Ward Beecher being present in his pew, I sent toinvite him to come round before he left. I found him to be anunostentatious, evidently able, straightforward, and agreeable man;extremely well-informed, and with a good knowledge of art. " Baltimore and Washington were the cities in which he was now, onquitting New York, to read for the first time; and as to the latter somedoubts arose. The exceptional course had been taken in regard to it, ofselecting a hall with space for not more than 700 and charging everybodyfive dollars; to which Dickens, at first greatly opposed, had yieldedupon use of the argument, "you have more people at New York, thanks tothe speculators, paying more than five dollars every night. " But nowother suggestions came. "Horace Greeley dined with me last Saturday, " hewrote on the 20th, "and didn't like my going to Washington, now full ofthe greatest rowdies and worst kind of people in the States. Last nightat eleven came B. Expressing like doubts; and though they may be absurdI thought them worth attention, B. Coming so close on Greeley. " Mr. Dolby was in consequence sent express to Washington with power towithdraw or go on, as enquiry on the spot might dictate; and Dickenstook the additional resolve so far to modify the last arrangements ofhis tour as to avoid the distances of Chicago, St. Louis, andCincinnati, to content himself with smaller places and profits, andthereby to get home nearly a month earlier. He was at Philadelphia onthe 23rd of January, when he announced this intention. "The worst of itis, that everybody one advises with has a monomania respecting Chicago. 'Good heavens sir, ' the great Philadelphia authority said to me thismorning, 'if you don't read in Chicago the people will go into fits!'Well, I answered, I would rather they went into fits than I did. But hedidn't seem to see it at all. " From Baltimore he wrote to his sister-in-law on the 29th, in the hour'sinterval he had to spare before going back to Philadelphia. "It has beensnowing hard for four and twenty hours--though this place is as farsouth as Valentia in Spain; and my manager, being on his way to NewYork, has a good chance of being snowed up somewhere. This is one of theplaces where Butler carried it with a high hand during the war, andwhere the ladies used to spit when they passed a Northern soldier. Theyare very handsome women, with an Eastern touch in them, and dressbrilliantly. I have rarely seen so many fine faces in an audience. Theyare a bright responsive people likewise, and very pleasant to read to. My hall is a charming little opera house built by a society of Germans;quite a delightful place for the purpose. I stand on the stage, with thedrop curtain down, and my screen before it. The whole scene is verypretty and complete, and the audience have a 'ring' in them that soundsdeeper than the ear. I go from here to Philadelphia, to read to-morrownight and Friday; come through here again on Saturday on my way back toWashington; come back here on Saturday week for two finishing nights;then go to Philadelphia for two farewells--and so turn my back on thesouthern part of the country. Our new plan will give 82 readings inall. " (The real number was 76, six having been dropped on subsequentpolitical excitements. ) "Of course I afterwards discovered that we hadfinally settled the list on a Friday. I shall be halfway through it atWashington; of course on a Friday also, and my birthday. " To myself hewrote on the following day from Philadelphia, beginning with a thankHeaven that he had struck off Canada and the West, for he found the wearand tear "enormous. " "Dolby decided that the croakers were wrong aboutWashington, and went on; the rather as his raised prices, which he putfinally at three dollars each, gave satisfaction. Fields is so confidentabout Boston, that my remaining list includes, in all, 14 more readingsthere. I don't know how many more we might not have had here (where Ihave had attentions otherwise that have been very grateful to me), if wehad chosen. Tickets are now being resold at ten dollars each. AtBaltimore I had a charming little theatre, and a very apprehensiveimpulsive audience. It is remarkable to see how the Ghost of Slaveryhaunts the town; and how the shambling, untidy, evasive, and postponingIrrepressible proceeds about his free work, going round and round it, instead of at it. The melancholy absurdity of giving these people votes, at any rate at present, would glare at one out of every roll of theireyes, chuckle in their mouths, and bump in their heads, if one did notsee (as one cannot help seeing in the country) that theirenfranchisement is a mere party trick to get votes. Being at thePenitentiary the other day (this, while we mention votes), and lookingover the books, I noticed that almost every man had been 'pardoned' aday or two before his time was up. Why? Because, if he had served histime out, he would have been _ipso facto_ disfranchised. So, this formof pardon is gone through to save his vote; and as every officer of theprison holds his place only in right of his party, of course his hopefulclients vote for the party that has let them out! When I read in Mr. Beecher's church at Brooklyn, we found the trustees had suppressed thefact that a certain upper gallery holding 150 was 'the ColouredGallery, ' On the first night not a soul could be induced to enter it;and it was not until it became known next day that I was certainly notgoing to read there more than four times, that we managed to fill it. One night at New York, on our second or third row, there were twowell-dressed women with a tinge of colour--I should say, not evenquadroons. But the holder of one ticket who found his seat to be nextthem, demanded of Dolby 'what he meant by fixing him next to those twoGord darmed cusses of niggers?' and insisted on being supplied withanother good place. Dolby firmly replied that he was perfectly certainMr. Dickens would not recognize such an objection on any account, but hecould have his money back, if he chose. Which, after some squabbling, hehad. In a comic scene in the New York Circus one night, when I waslooking on, four white people sat down upon a form in a barber's shop tobe shaved. A coloured man came as the fifth customer, and the fourimmediately ran away. This was much laughed at and applauded. In theBaltimore Penitentiary, the white prisoners dine on one side of theroom, the coloured prisoners on the other; and no one has the slightestidea of mixing them. But it is indubitably the fact that exhalationsnot the most agreeable arise from a number of coloured people gottogether, and I was obliged to beat a quick retreat from theirdormitory. I strongly believe that they will die out of this countryfast. It seems, looking at them, so manifestly absurd to suppose itpossible that they can ever hold their own against a restless, shifty, striving, stronger race. " On the fourth of February he wrote from Washington. "You may like tohave a line to let you know that it is all right here, and that thecroakers were simply ridiculous. I began last night. A charmingaudience, no dissatisfaction whatever at the raised prices, nothingmissed or lost, cheers at the end of the _Carol_, and rounds upon roundsof applause all through. All the foremost men and their families hadtaken tickets for the series of four. A small place to read in. £300 init. " It will be no violation of the rule of avoiding private detail ifthe very interesting close of this letter is given. Its anecdote ofPresident Lincoln was repeatedly told by Dickens after his return, and Iam under no necessity to withhold from it the authority of Mr. Sumner'sname. "I am going to-morrow to see the President, who has sent to metwice. I dined with Charles Sumner last Sunday, against my rule; and asI had stipulated for no party, Mr. Secretary Stanton was the only otherguest, besides his own secretary. Stanton is a man with a veryremarkable memory, and extraordinarily familiar with my books. . . . He andSumner having been the first two public men at the dying President'sbedside, and having remained with him until he breathed his last, wefell into a very interesting conversation after dinner, when, each ofthem giving his own narrative separately, the usual discrepancies aboutdetails of time were observable. Then Mr. Stanton told me a curiouslittle story which will form the remainder of this short letter. "On the afternoon of the day on which the President was shot, there wasa cabinet council at which he presided. Mr. Stanton, being at the timecommander-in-chief of the Northern troops that were concentrated abouthere, arrived rather late. Indeed they were waiting for him, and on hisentering the room, the President broke off in something he was saying, and remarked: 'Let us proceed to business, gentlemen. ' Mr. Stanton thennoticed, with great surprise, that the President sat with an air ofdignity in his chair instead of lolling about it in the most ungainlyattitudes, as his invariable custom was; and that instead of tellingirrelevant or questionable stories, he was grave and calm, and quite adifferent man. Mr. Stanton, on leaving the council with theAttorney-General, said to him, 'That is the most satisfactory cabinetmeeting I have attended for many a long day! What an extraordinarychange in Mr. Lincoln!' The Attorney-General replied, 'We all saw it, before you came in. While we were waiting for you, he said, with hischin down on his breast, "Gentlemen, something very extraordinary isgoing to happen, and that very soon. "' To which the Attorney-General hadobserved, 'Something good, sir, I hope?' when the President answeredvery gravely: 'I don't know; I don't know. But it will happen, andshortly too!' As they were all impressed by his manner, theAttorney-General took him up again: 'Have you received any information, sir, not yet disclosed to us?' 'No, ' answered the President: 'but I havehad a dream. And I have now had the same dream three times. Once, on thenight preceding the Battle of Bull Run. Once, on the night preceding'such another (naming a battle also not favourable to the North). Hischin sank on his breast again, and he sat reflecting. 'Might one ask thenature of this dream, sir?' said the Attorney-General. 'Well, ' repliedthe President, without lifting his head or changing his attitude, 'I amon a great broad rolling river--and I am in a boat--and I drift--and Idrift!--But this is not business--' suddenly raising his face andlooking round the table as Mr. Stanton entered, 'let us proceed tobusiness, gentlemen. ' Mr. Stanton and the Attorney-General said, as theywalked on together, it would be curious to notice whether anythingensued on this; and they agreed to notice. He was shot that night. " On his birthday, the seventh of February, Dickens had his interview withPresident Andrew Johnson. "This scrambling scribblement is resumed thismorning, because I have just seen the President: who had sent to me verycourteously asking me to make my own appointment. He is a man with aremarkable face, indicating courage, watchfulness, and certainlystrength of purpose. It is a face of the Webster type, but without the'bounce' of Webster's face. I would have picked him out anywhere as acharacter of mark. Figure, rather stoutish for an American; a trifleunder the middle size; hands clasped in front of him; manner, suppressed, guarded, anxious. Each of us looked at the other veryhard. . . . It was in his own cabinet that I saw him. As I came away, Thornton drove up in a sleigh--turned out for a state occasion--todeliver his credentials. There was to be a cabinet council at 12. Theroom was very like a London club's ante-drawing room. On the walls, twoengravings only: one, of his own portrait; one, of Lincoln's. . . . In theouter room was sitting a certain sunburnt General Blair, with manyevidences of the war upon him. He got up to shake hands with me, andthen I found that he had been out on the Prairie with me five-and-twentyyears ago. . . . The papers having referred to my birthday's fallingto-day, my room is filled with most exquisite flowers. [276] They camepouring in from all sorts of people at breakfast time. The audienceshere are really very fine. So ready to laugh or cry, and doing both sofreely, that you would suppose them to be Manchester shillings ratherthan Washington half-sovereigns. Alas! alas! my cold worse than ever. "So he had written too at the opening of his letter. The first reading had been four days earlier, and was described to hisdaughter in a letter on the 4th, with a comical incident that occurredin the course of it. "The gas was very defective indeed last night, andI began with a small speech to the effect that I must trust to thebrightness of their faces for the illumination of mine. This was takengreatly. In the _Carol_ a most ridiculous incident occurred. All of asudden, I saw a dog leap out from among the seats in the centre aisle, and look very intently at me. The general attention being fixed on me, Idon't think anybody saw this dog; but I felt so sure of his turning upagain and barking, that I kept my eye wandering about in search of him. He was a very comic dog, and it was well for me that I was reading acomic part of the book. But when he bounced out into the centre aisleagain, in an entirely new place, and (still looking intently at me)tried the effect of a bark upon my proceedings, I was seized with such aparoxysm of laughter that it communicated itself to the audience, and weroared at one another, loud and long. " Three days later the sequel came, in a letter to his sister-in-law. "I mentioned the dog on the firstnight here? Next night, I thought I heard (in _Copperfield_) asuddenly-suppressed bark. It happened in this wise:--One of our people, standing just within the door, felt his leg touched, and looking downbeheld the dog, staring intently at me, and evidently just about tobark. In a transport of presence of mind and fury, he instantly caughthim up in both hands, and threw him over his own head, out into theentry, where the check-takers received him like a game at ball. Lastnight he came again, _with another dog_; but our people were so sharplyon the look-out for him that he didn't get in. He had evidentlypromised to pass the other dog, free. " What is expressed in these letters, of a still active, hopeful, enjoying, energetic spirit, able to assert itself against illness of thebody and in some sort to overmaster it, was also so strongly impressedupon those who were with him, that, seeing his sufferings as they did, they yet found it difficult to understand the extent of them. Thesadness thus ever underlying his triumph makes it all very tragical. "That afternoon of my birthday, " he wrote from Baltimore on the 11th, "my catarrh was in such a state that Charles Sumner, coming in at fiveo'clock, and finding me covered with mustard poultice, and apparentlyvoiceless, turned to Dolby and said: 'Surely, Mr. Dolby, it isimpossible that he can read to-night!' Says Dolby: 'Sir, I have told Mr. Dickens so, four times to-day, and I have been very anxious. But youhave no idea how he will change, when he gets to the little table. 'After five minutes of the little table I was not (for the time) evenhoarse. The frequent experience of this return of force when it iswanted, saves me a vast amount of anxiety; but I am not at times withoutthe nervous dread that I may some day sink altogether. " To the sameeffect in another letter he adds: "Dolby and Osgood" (the latterrepresented the publishing firm of Mr. Fields and was one of thetravelling staff), "who do the most ridiculous things to keep me inspirits[277] (I am often very heavy, and rarely sleep much), aredetermined to have a walking match at Boston on the last day of Februaryto celebrate the arrival of the day when I can say '_next_ month!' forhome. " The match ended in the Englishman's defeat; which Dickens doublycommemorated, by a narrative of the American victory insporting-newspaper style, and by a dinner in Boston to a party of dearfriends there. After Baltimore he was reading again at Philadelphia, from which hewrote to his sister-in-law on the 13th as to a characteristic traitobserved in both places. "Nothing will induce the people to believe inthe farewells. At Baltimore on Tuesday night (a very brilliant nightindeed), they asked as they came out: 'When will Mr. Dickens read hereagain?' 'Never. ' 'Nonsense! Not come back, after such houses as these?Come. Say when he'll read again. ' Just the same here. We could as soonpersuade them that I am the President, as that to-morrow night I amgoing to read here for the last time. . . . There is a child in thishouse--a little girl--to whom I presented a black doll when I was herelast; and as I have just seen her eye at the keyhole since I beganwriting this, I think she and the doll must be outside still. 'When yousent it up to me by the coloured boy, ' she said after receiving it(coloured boy is the term for black waiter), 'I gave such a cream thatMa come running in and creamed too, 'cos she fort I'd hurt myself. But Icreamed a cream of joy. ' She had a friend to play with her that day, andbrought the friend with her--to my infinite confusion. A friend allstockings and much too tall, who sat on the sofa very far back with herstockings sticking stiffly out in front of her, and glared at me, andnever spake a word. Dolby found us confronted in a sort of fascination, like serpent and bird. " On the 15th he was again at New York, in the thick of more troubles withthe speculators. They involved even charges of fraud in ticket-sales atNewhaven and Providence; indignation meetings having been held by theMayors, and unavailing attempts made by his manager to turn the wrathaside. "I expect him back here presently half bereft of his senses, andI should be wholly bereft of mine if the situation were not comical aswell as disagreeable. We can sell at our own box-office to any extent;but we cannot buy back of the speculators, because we have informed thepublic that all the tickets are gone; and even if we made the sacrificeof buying at their price and selling at ours, we should be accused oftreating with them and of making money by it. " It ended in Providence byhis going himself to the town and making a speech; and in Newhaven itended by his sending back the money taken, with intimation that he wouldnot read until there had been a new distribution of the tickets approvedby all the town. Fresh disturbance broke out upon this; but he stuck tohis determination to delay the reading until the heats had cooled down, and what should have been given in the middle of February he did notgive until the close of March. The Readings he had promised at the smaller outlying places by theCanadian frontier and Niagara district, including Syracuse, Rochester, and Buffalo, were appointed for that same March month which was to bethe interval between the close of the ordinary readings and thefarewells in the two leading cities. All that had been promised in NewYork were closed when he returned to Boston on the 23rd of February, ready for the increase he had promised there; but the check of a suddenpolitical excitement came. It was the month when the vote was taken forimpeachment of President Johnson. "It is well" (25th of February) "thatthe money has flowed in hitherto so fast, for I have a misgiving thatthe great excitement about the President's impeachment will damage ourreceipts. . . . The vote was taken at 5 last night. At 7 the three largetheatres here, all in a rush of good business, were stricken withparalysis. At 8 our long line of outsiders waiting for unoccupiedplaces, was nowhere. To-day you hear all the people in the streetstalking of only one thing. I shall suppress my next week's promisedreadings (by good fortune, not yet announced), and watch the course ofevents. Nothing in this country, as I before said, lasts long; and Ithink it likely that the public may be heartily tired of the President'sname by the 9th of March, when I read at a considerable distance fromhere. So behold me with a whole week's holiday in view!" Two days laterhe wrote pleasantly to his sister-in-law of his audiences. "They havecome to regard the Readings and the Reader as their peculiar property;and you would be both amused and pleased if you could see the curiousway in which they show this increased interest in both. Whenever theylaugh or cry, they have taken to applauding as well; and the result isvery inspiriting. I shall remain here until Saturday the 7th; but afterto-morrow night shall not read here until the 1st of April, when I beginmy farewells--six in number. " On the 28th he wrote: "To-morrowfortnight we purpose being at the Falls of Niagara, and then we shallcome back and really begin to wind up. I have got to know the _Carol_ sowell that I can't remember it, and occasionally go dodging about in thewildest manner, to pick up lost pieces. They took it so tremendouslylast night that I was stopped every five minutes. One poor young girl inmourning burst into a passion of grief about Tiny Tim, and was takenout. We had a fine house, and, in the interval while I was out, theycovered the little table with flowers. The cough has taken a fresh startas if it were a novelty, and is even worse than ever to-day. There is alull in the excitement about the President: but the articles ofimpeachment are to be produced this afternoon, and then it may set inagain. Osgood came into camp last night from selling in remote places, and reports that at Rochester and Buffalo (both places near thefrontier), tickets were bought by Canada people, who had struggledacross the frozen river and clambered over all sorts of obstructions toget them. Some of those distant halls turn out to be smaller thanrepresented; but I have no doubt--to use an American expression--that weshall 'get along. ' The second half of the receipts cannot reasonably beexpected to come up to the first; political circumstances, and all othersurroundings, considered. " His old ill luck in travel pursued him. On the day his letter waswritten a snow-storm began, with a heavy gale of wind; and "after allthe hard weather gone through, " he wrote on the 2nd of March, "this isthe worst day we have seen. It is telegraphed that the storm prevailsover an immense extent of country, and is just the same at Chicago ashere. I hope it may prove a wind up. We are getting sick of the verysound of sleigh-bells even. " The roads were so bad and the trains somuch out of time, that he had to start a day earlier; and on the 6th ofMarch his tour north-west began, with the gale still blowing and thesnow falling heavily. On the 13th he wrote to me from Buffalo. "We go to the Falls of Niagara to-morrow for our own pleasure; and Itake all the men, as a treat. We found Rochester last Tuesday in a verycurious state. Perhaps you know that the Great Falls of the GenesseeRiver (really very fine, even so near Niagara) are at that place. In theheight of a sudden thaw, an immense bank of ice above the rapids refusedto yield; so that the town was threatened (for the second time in fouryears) with submersion. Boats were ready in the streets, all the peoplewere up all night, and none but the children slept. In the dead of thenight a thundering noise was heard, the ice gave way, the swollen rivercame raging and roaring down the Falls, and the town was safe. Verypicturesque! but 'not very good for business, ' as the manager says. Especially as the hall stands in the centre of danger, and had ten feetof water in it on the last occasion of flood. But I think we had above£200 English. On the previous night at Syracuse--a most out of the wayand unintelligible-looking place, with apparently no people in it--wehad £375 odd. Here, we had last night, and shall have to-night, whateverwe can cram into the hall. "This Buffalo has become a large and important town, with numbers ofGerman and Irish in it. But it is very curious to notice, as we touchthe frontier, that the American female beauty dies out; and a woman'sface clumsily compounded of German, Irish, Western America, andCanadian, not yet fused together, and not yet moulded, obtains instead. Our show of Beauty at night is, generally, remarkable; but we had not adozen pretty women in the whole throng last night, and the faces wereall blunt. I have just been walking about, and observing the same thingin the streets. . . . The winter has been so severe, that the hotel on theEnglish side at Niagara (which has the best view of the Falls, and isfor that reason very preferable) is not yet open. So we go, perforce, tothe American: which telegraphs back to our telegram: 'all Mr. Dickens'srequirements perfectly understood. ' I have not yet been in more than two_very bad_ inns. I have been in some, where a good deal of what ispopularly called 'slopping round' has prevailed; but have been able toget on very well. 'Slopping round, ' so used, means untidyness anddisorder. It is a comically expressive phrase, and has many meanings. Fields was asking the price of a quarter-cask of sherry the other day. 'Wa'al Mussr Fields, ' the merchant replies, 'that varies according toquality, as is but nay'tral. If yer wa'ant a sherry just to slop roundwith it, I can fix you some at a very low figger. '" His letter was resumed at Rochester on the 18th. "After two mostbrilliant days at the Falls of Niagara, we got back here last night. To-morrow morning we turn out at 6 for a long railway journey back toAlbany. But it is nearly all 'back' now, thank God! I don't know howlong, though, before turning, we might have gone on at Buffalo. . . . Wewent everywhere at the Falls, and saw them in every aspect. There is asuspension bridge across, now, some two miles or more from the HorseShoe; and another, half a mile nearer, is to be opened in July. They arevery fine but very ticklish, hanging aloft there, in the continualvibration of the thundering water: nor is one greatly reassured by theprinted notice that troops must not cross them at step, that bands ofmusic must not play in crossing, and the like. I shall never forget thelast aspect in which we saw Niagara yesterday. We had been everywhere, when I thought of struggling (in an open carriage) up some verydifficult ground for a good distance, and getting where we could standabove the river, and see it, as it rushes forward to its tremendousleap, coming for miles and miles. All away to the horizon on our rightwas a wonderful confusion of bright green and white water. As we stoodwatching it with our faces to the top of the Falls, our backs weretowards the sun. The majestic valley below the Falls, so seen throughthe vast cloud of spray, was made of rainbow. The high banks, the rivenrocks, the forests, the bridge, the buildings, the air, the sky, wereall made of rainbow. Nothing in Turner's finest water-colour drawings, done in his greatest day, is so ethereal, so imaginative, so gorgeous incolour, as what I then beheld. I seemed to be lifted from the earth andto be looking into Heaven. What I once said to you, as I witnessed thescene five and twenty years ago, all came back at this most affectingand sublime sight. The 'muddy vesture of our clay' falls from us as welook. . . . I chartered a separate carriage for our men, so that they mightsee all in their own way, and at their own time. "There is a great deal of water out between Rochester and New York, andtravelling is very uncertain, as I fear we may find to-morrow. There isagain some little alarm here on account of the river rising too fast. But our to-night's house is far ahead of the first. Most charming hallsin these places; excellent for sight and sound. Almost invariably builtas theatres, with stage, scenery, and good dressing-rooms. Audienceseated to perfection (every seat always separate), excellent doorwaysand passages, and brilliant light. My screen and gas are set up in frontof the drop-curtain, and the most delicate touches will tell anywhere. No creature but my own men ever near me. " His anticipation of the uncertainty that might beset his travel back haddismal fulfilment. It is described in a letter written on the 21st fromSpringfield to his valued friend, Mr. Frederic Ouvry, having muchinterest of its own, and making lively addition to the picture whichthese chapters give. The unflagging spirit that bears up under alldisadvantages is again marvellously shown. "You can hardly imagine whatmy life is with its present conditions--how hard the work is, and howlittle time I seem to have at my disposal. It is necessary to the dailyrecovery of my voice that I should dine at 3 when not travelling; Ibegin to prepare for the evening at 6; and I get back to my hotel, pretty well knocked up, at half-past 10. Add to all this, perpetualrailway travelling in one of the severest winters ever known; and youwill descry a reason or two for my being an indifferent correspondent. Last Sunday evening I left the Falls of Niagara for this and twointervening places. As there was a great thaw, and the melted snow wasswelling all the rivers, the whole country for three hundred miles wasflooded. On the Tuesday afternoon (I had read on the Monday) the traingave in, as under circumstances utterly hopeless, and stopped at a placecalled Utica; the greater part of which was under water, while the highand dry part could produce nothing particular to eat. Here, some of thewretched passengers passed the night in the train, while others stormedthe hotel. I was fortunate enough to get a bed-room, and garnished itwith an enormous jug of gin-punch; over which I and the manager played adouble-dummy rubber. At six in the morning we were knocked up: 'to comeaboard and try it. ' At half-past six we were knocked up again with thetidings 'that it was of no use coming aboard or trying it. ' At eight allthe bells in the town were set agoing, to summon us to 'come aboard'instantly. And so we started, through the water, at four or five milesan hour; seeing nothing but drowned farms, barns adrift like Noah'sarks, deserted villages, broken bridges, and all manner of ruin. I wasto read at Albany that night, and all the tickets were sold. A veryactive superintendent of works assured me that if I could be 'got along'he was the man to get me along: and that if I couldn't be got along, Imight conclude that it couldn't possibly be fixed. He then turned on ahundred men in seven-league boots, who went ahead of the train, eacharmed with a long pole and pushing the blocks of ice away. Followingthis cavalcade, we got to land at last, and arrived in time for me toread the _Carol_ and _Trial_ triumphantly. My people (I had five of thestaff with me) turned to at their work with a will, and did a day'slabour in a couple of hours. If we had not come in as we did, I shouldhave lost £350, and Albany would have gone distracted. You may conceivewhat the flood was, when I hint at the two most notable incidents of ourjourney:--1, We took the passengers out of two trains, who had been inthe water, immovable all night and all the previous day. 2, We releaseda large quantity of sheep and cattle from trucks that had been in thewater I don't know how long, but so long that the creatures in them hadbegun to eat each other, and presented a most horrible spectacle. "[278] Beside Springfield, he had engagements at Portland, New Bedford, andother places in Massachusetts, before the Boston farewells began; andthere wanted but two days to bring him to that time, when he thusdescribed to his daughter the labour which was to occupy them. Hisletter was from Portland on the 29th of March, and it will be observedthat he no longer compromises or glozes over what he was and had beensuffering. During his terrible travel to Albany his cough had somewhatspared him, but the old illness had broken out in his foot; and, thoughhe persisted in ascribing it to the former supposed origin ("having beenlately again wet, from walking in melted snow, which I suppose to be theoccasion of its swelling in the old way"), it troubled him sorely, extended now at intervals to the right foot also, and lamed him for allthe time he remained in the States. "I should have written to you by thelast mail, but I really was too unwell to do it. The writing day waslast Friday, when I ought to have left Boston for New Bedford (55 miles)before eleven in the morning. But I was so exhausted that I could not begot up, and had to take my chance of an evening train's producing me intime to read--which it just did. With the return of snow, nine days ago, my cough became as bad as ever. I have coughed every morning from two orthree till five or six, and have been absolutely sleepless. I have hadno appetite besides, and no taste. [279] Last night here, I took somelaudanum; and it is the only thing that has done me good, though it mademe sick this morning. But the life, in this climate, is so very hard!When I did manage to get to New Bedford, I read with my utmost force andvigour. Next morning, well or ill, I must turn out at seven, to getback to Boston on my way here. I dined at Boston at three, and at fivehad to come on here (a hundred and thirty miles or so) for to-morrownight: there being no Sunday train. To-morrow night I read here in avery large place; and Tuesday morning at six I must again start, to getback to Boston once more. But after to-morrow night I have only thefarewells, thank God! Even as it is, however, I have had to write toDolby (who is in New York) to see my doctor there, and ask him to sendme some composing medicine that I can take at night, inasmuch as withoutsleep I cannot get through. However sympathetic and devoted the peopleare about one, they CAN NOT be got to comprehend, seeing me able to dothe two hours when the time comes round, that it may also involve muchmisery. " To myself on the 30th he wrote from the same place, making likeconfession. No comment could deepen the sadness of the story ofsuffering, revealed in his own simple language. "I write in a town threeparts of which were burnt down in a tremendous fire three years ago. Thepeople lived in tents while their city was rebuilding. The charredtrunks of the trees with which the streets of the old city were planted, yet stand here and there in the new thoroughfares like black spectres. The rebuilding is still in progress everywhere. Yet such is theastonishing energy of the people that the large hall in which I am toread to-night (its predecessor was burnt) would compare very favourablywith the Free Trade Hall at Manchester! . . . I am nearly used up. Climate, distance, catarrh, travelling, and hard work, have begun (I may say so, now they are nearly all over) to tell heavily upon me. Sleeplessnessbesets me; and if I had engaged to go on into May, I think I must havebroken down. It was well that I cut off the Far West and Canada when Idid. There would else have been a sad complication. It is impossible tomake the people about one understand, however zealous and devoted (it isimpossible even to make Dolby understand until the pinch comes), thatthe power of coming up to the mark every night, with spirits and spirit, may coexist with the nearest approach to sinking under it. When I gotback to Boston on Thursday, after a very hard three weeks, I saw thatFields was very grave about my going on to New Bedford (55 miles) nextday, and then coming on here (180 miles) _next_ day. But the stress isover, and so I can afford to look back upon it, and think about it, andwrite about it. " On the 31st he closed his letter at Boston, and he wasat home when I heard of him again. "The latest intelligence, my dear oldfellow, is, that I have arrived here safely, and that I am certainlybetter. I consider my work virtually over, now. My impression is, thatthe political crisis will damage the farewells by about one half. Icannot yet speak by the card; but my predictions here, as to ourproceedings, have thus far been invariably right. We took last night atPortland, £360 English; where a costly Italian troupe, using the samehall to-night, had not booked £14! It is the same all over the country, and the worst is not seen yet. Everything is becoming absorbed in thePresidential impeachment, helped by the next Presidential election. Connecticut is particularly excited. The night after I read at Hartfordthis last week, there were two political meetings in the town; meetingsof two parties; and the hotel was full of speakers coming in fromoutlying places. So at Newhaven: the moment I had finished, carpenterscame in to prepare for next night's politics. So at Buffalo. Soeverywhere very soon. " In the same tone he wrote his last letter to his sister-in-law fromBoston. "My notion of the farewells is pretty certain now to turn outright. We had £300 English here last night. To-day is a Fast Day, andto-night we shall probably take much less. Then it is likely that weshall pull up again, and strike a good reasonable average; but it is notat all probable that we shall do anything enormous. Every pulpit inMassachusetts will resound with violent politics to-day and to-night. "That was on the second of April, and a postscript was added. "Fridayafternoon the 3rd. Catarrh worse than ever! and we don't know (at fouro'clock) whether I can read to-night or must stop. Otherwise, all well. " Dickens's last letter from America was written to his daughter Mary fromBoston on the 9th of April, the day before his sixth and last farewellnight. "I not only read last Friday when I was doubtful of being able todo so, but read as I never did before, and astonished the audience quiteas much as myself. You never saw or heard such a scene of excitement. Longfellow and all the Cambridge men have urged me to give in. I havebeen very near doing so, but feel stronger to-day. I cannot tell whetherthe catarrh may have done me any lasting injury in the lungs or otherbreathing organs, until I shall have rested and got home. I hope andbelieve not. Consider the weather! There have been two snow storms sinceI wrote last, and to-day the town is blotted out in a ceaseless whirl ofsnow and wind. Dolby is as tender as a woman, and as watchful as adoctor. He never leaves me during the reading, now, but sits at the sideof the platform, and keeps his eye upon me all the time. Ditto Georgethe gasman, steadiest and most reliable man I ever employed. I have_Dombey_ to do to-night, and must go through it carefully; so here endsmy report. The personal affection of the people in this place ischarming to the last. Did I tell you that the New York Press are goingto give me a public dinner on Saturday the 18th?" In New York, where there were five farewell nights, three thousand twohundred and ninety-eight dollars were the receipts of the last, on the20th of April; those of the last at Boston, on the 8th, having beenthree thousand four hundred and fifty-six dollars. But on earlier nightsin the same cities respectively, these sums also had been reached; andindeed, making allowance for an exceptional night here and there, thereceipts varied so wonderfully little, that a mention of the highestaverage returns from other places will give no exaggerated impression ofthe ordinary receipts throughout. Excluding fractions of dollars, thelowest were New Bedford ($1640), Rochester ($1906), Springfield ($1970), and Providence ($2140). Albany and Worcester averaged something lessthan $2400; while Hartford, Buffalo, Baltimore, Syracuse, Newhaven, andPortland rose to $2600. Washington's last night was $2610, no nightthere having less than $2500. Philadelphia exceeded Washington by $300, and Brooklyn went ahead of Philadelphia by $200. The amount taken at thefour Brooklyn readings was 11, 128 dollars. The New York public dinner was given at Delmonico's, the hosts were morethan two hundred, and the chair was taken by Mr. Horace Greeley. Dickensattended with great difficulty, [280] and spoke in pain. But he used theoccasion to bear his testimony to the changes of twenty-five years; therise of vast new cities; growth in the graces and amenities of life;much improvement in the press, essential to every other advance; andchanges in himself leading to opinions more deliberately formed. Hepromised his kindly entertainers that no copy of his _Notes_, or his_Chuzzlewit_, should in future be issued by him without accompanyingmention of the changes to which he had referred that night; of thepoliteness, delicacy, sweet temper, hospitality, and consideration inall ways for which he had to thank them; and of his gratitude for therespect shown, during all his visit, to the privacy enforced upon him bythe nature of his work and the condition of his health. He had to leave the room before the proceedings were over. On thefollowing Monday he read to his last American audience, telling them atthe close that he hoped often to recall them, equally by his winter fireand in the green summer weather, and never as a mere public audience butas a host of personal friends. He sailed two days later in the "Russia, "and reached England in the first week of May 1868. FOOTNOTES: [276] few days later he described it to his daughter. "I couldn't helplaughing at myself on my birthday at Washington; it was observed so muchas though I were a little boy. Flowers and garlands of the mostexquisite kind, arranged in all manner of green baskets, bloomed overthe room; letters radiant with good wishes poured in; a shirt pin, ahandsome silver travelling bottle, a set of gold shirt studs, and a setof gold sleeve links, were on the dinner table. Also, by hands unknown, the hall at night was decorated; and after _Boots at the Holly Tree_, the whole audience rose and remained, great people and all, standing andcheering, until I went back to the table and made them a little speech. " [277] Mr. Dolby unconsciously contributed at this time to the same happyresult by sending out some advertisements in these exact words: "TheReading will be comprised within _two minutes_, and the audience areearnestly entreated to be seated _ten hours_ before its commencement. "He had transposed the minutes and the hours. [278] What follows is from the close of the letter. "On my return, Ihave arranged with Chappell to take my leave of reading for good andall, in a hundred autumnal and winter Farewells _for ever_. I return bythe Cunard steam-ship 'Russia. ' I had the second officer's cabin ondeck, when I came out; and I am to have the chief steward's going home. Cunard was so considerate as to remember that it will be on the sunnyside of the vessel. " [279] Here was his account of his mode of living for his last ten weeksin America. "I cannot eat (to anything like the necessary extent) andhave established this system. At 7 in the morning, in bed, a tumbler ofnew cream and two tablespoonsful of rum. At 12, a sherry cobbler and abiscuit. At 3 (dinner time) a pint of champagne. At five minutes to 8, an egg beaten up with a glass of sherry. Between the parts, thestrongest beef tea that can be made, drunk hot. At a quarter past 10, soup, and any little thing to drink that I can fancy. I do not eat morethan half a pound of solid food in the whole four-and-twenty hours, ifso much. " [280] Here is the newspaper account: "At about five o'clock on Saturdaythe hosts began to assemble, but at 5. 30 news was received that theexpected guest had succumbed to a painful affection of the foot. In ashort time, however, another bulletin announced Mr. Dickens's intentionto attend the dinner at all hazards. At a little after six, having beenassisted up the stairs, he was joined by Mr. Greeley, and the hostsforming in two lines silently permitted the distinguished gentlemen topass through. Mr. Dickens limped perceptibly; his right foot wasswathed, and he leaned heavily on the arm of Mr. Greeley. He evidentlysuffered great pain. " CHAPTER XVII. LAST READINGS. 1868-1870. At Home--Project for Last Readings--What the Readings did and undid--Profit from all the Readings--Noticeable Changes--Proposed Reading from _Oliver Twist_--Parting from his Youngest Son--Death of his Brother Frederick--Old Friends--_Sikes and Nancy_ Reading--Reading stopped--Mr. Syme's Opinion of the Lameness--Emerson Tennent's Funeral--Public Dinner in Liverpool--His Description of his Illness--Brought to Town--Sir Thomas Watson's Note of the Case--Close of Career as Public Reader. FAVOURABLE weather helped him pleasantly home. He had profited greatlyby the sea voyage, perhaps greatly more by its repose; and on the 25thof May he described himself to his Boston friends as brown beyondbelief, and causing the greatest disappointment in all quarters bylooking so well. "My doctor was quite broken down in spirits on seeingme for the first time last Saturday. _Good Lord! seven years younger!_said the doctor, recoiling. " That he gave all the credit to "those finedays at sea, " and none to the rest from such labours as he had passedthrough, the close of the letter too sadly showed. "We are alreadysettling--think of this!--the details of my farewell course ofreadings. " Even on his way out to America that enterprise was in hand. From Halifaxhe had written to me. "I told the Chappells that when I got back toEngland, I would have a series of farewell readings in town and country;and then read No More. They at once offer in writing to pay all expenseswhatever, to pay the ten per cent. For management, and to pay me, for aseries of 75, six thousand pounds. " The terms were raised and settledbefore the first Boston readings closed. The number was to be a hundred;and the payment, over and above expenses and per centage, eight thousandpounds. Such a temptation undoubtedly was great; and though it was afatal mistake which Dickens committed in yielding to it, it was not anignoble one. He did it under no excitement from the American gains, ofwhich he knew nothing when he pledged himself to the enterprise. No mancould care essentially less for mere money than he did. But thenecessary provision for many sons was a constant anxiety; he was proudof what the Readings had done to abridge this care; and the very strainof them under which it seems certain that his health had first givenway, and which he always steadily refused to connect especially withthem, had also broken the old confidence of being at all times availablefor his higher pursuit. What affected his health only he would notregard as part of the question either way. That was to be borne as thelot more or less of all men; and the more thorough he could make hisfeeling of independence, and of ability to rest, by what was now inhand, the better his final chances of a perfect recovery would be. Thatwas the spirit in which he entered on this last engagement. It was anopportunity offered for making a particular work really complete beforehe should abandon it for ever. Something of it will not beindiscernible even in the summary of his past acquisitions, which with apardonable exultation he now sent me. "We had great difficulty in getting our American accounts squared to thepoint of ascertaining what Dolby's commission amounted to in Englishmoney. After all, we were obliged to call in the aid of a money-changer, to determine what he should pay as his share of the average loss ofconversion into gold. With this deduction made, I think his commission(I have not the figures at hand) was £2, 888; Ticknor and Fields had acommission of £1, 000, besides 5 per cent. On all Boston receipts. Theexpenses in America to the day of our sailing were 38, 948dollars;--roughly 39, 000 dollars, or £13, 000. The preliminary expenseswere £614. The average price of gold was nearly 40 per cent. , and yet myprofit was within a hundred or so of £20, 000. Supposing me to have gotthrough the present engagement in good health, I shall have made by theReadings, _in two years_, £33, 000: that is to say, £13, 000 received fromthe Chappells, and £20, 000 from America. What I had made by them before, I could only ascertain by a long examination of Coutts's books. I shouldsay, certainly not less than £10, 000: for I remember that I made halfthat money in the first town and country campaign with poor ArthurSmith. These figures are of course between ourselves; but don't youthink them rather remarkable? The Chappell bargain began with £50 anight and everything paid; then became £60; and now rises to £80. " The last readings were appointed to begin with October; and at therequest of an old friend, Chauncy Hare Townshend, who died during hisabsence in the States, he had accepted the trust, which occupied himsome part of the summer, of examining and selecting for publication abequest of some papers on matters of religious belief, which were issuedin a small volume the following year. There came also in June a visitfrom Longfellow and his daughters, with later summer visits from theEliot Nortons; and at the arrival of friends whom he loved and honouredas he did these, from the great country to which he owed so much, infinite were the rejoicings of Gadshill. Nothing could quench his oldspirit in this way. But in the intervals of my official work I saw himfrequently that summer, and never without the impression that Americahad told heavily upon him. There was manifest abatement of his naturalforce, the elasticity of bearing was impaired, and the wonderfulbrightness of eye was dimmed at times. One day, too, as he walked fromhis office with Miss Hogarth to dine at our house, he could read onlythe halves of the letters over the shop doors that were on his right ashe looked. He attributed it to medicine. It was an additionalunfavourable symptom that his right foot had become affected as well asthe left, though not to anything like the same extent, during thejourney from the Canada frontier to Boston. But all this disappeared, upon any special cause for exertion; and he was never unprepared tolavish freely for others the reserved strength that should have beenkept for himself. This indeed was the great danger, for it dulled theapprehension of us all to the fact that absolute and pressing danger didpositively exist. He had scarcely begun these last readings than he was beset by amisgiving, that, for a success large enough to repay Messrs. Chappell'sliberality, the enterprise would require a new excitement to carry himover the old ground; and it was while engaged in Manchester andLiverpool at the outset of October that this announcement came. "I havemade a short reading of the murder in _Oliver Twist_. I cannot make upmy mind, however, whether to do it or not. I have no doubt that I couldperfectly petrify an audience by carrying out the notion I have of theway of rendering it. But whether the impression would not be so horribleas to keep them away another time, is what I cannot satisfy myself upon. What do you think? It is in three short parts: 1, Where Fagin sets NoahClaypole on to watch Nancy. 2, The scene on London Bridge. 3, WhereFagin rouses Claypole from his sleep, to tell his perverted story toSikes. And the Murder, and the Murderer's sense of being haunted. I haveadapted and cut about the text with great care, and it is very powerful. I have to-day referred the book and the question to the Chappells as solargely interested. " I had a strong dislike to this proposal, lessperhaps on the ground which ought to have been taken of the physicalexertion it would involve, than because such a subject seemed to bealtogether out of the province of reading; and it was resolved, that, before doing it, trial should be made to a limited private audience inSt. James's Hall. The note announcing this, from Liverpool on the 25thof October, is for other reasons worth printing. "I give you earliestnotice that the Chappells suggest to me the 18th of November" (the 14thwas chosen) "for trial of the _Oliver Twist_ murder, when everything inuse for the previous day's reading can be made available. I hope thismay suit you? We have been doing well here; and how it was arranged, nobody knows, but we had £410 at St. James's Hall last Tuesday, havingadvanced from our previous £360. The expenses are such, however, on theprincely scale of the Chappells, that we never begin at a smaller, oftenat a larger, cost than £180. . . . I have not been well, and have beenheavily tired. However, I have little to complain of--nothing, nothing;though, like Mariana, I am aweary. But think of this. If all go well, and (like Mr. Dennis) I 'work off' this series triumphantly, I shallhave made of these readings £28, 000 in a year and a half. " This did notbetter reconcile me to what had been too clearly forced upon him by thesupposed necessity of some new excitement to ensure a triumphant result;and even the private rehearsal only led to a painful correspondencebetween us, of which a few words are all that need now be preserved. "Wemight have agreed, " he wrote, "to differ about it very well, because weonly wanted to find out the truth if we could, and because it was quiteunderstood that I wanted to leave behind me the recollection ofsomething very passionate and dramatic, done with simple means, if theart would justify the theme. " Apart from mere personal considerations, the whole question lay in these last words. It was impossible for me toadmit that the effect to be produced was legitimate, or such as it wasdesirable to associate with the recollection of his readings. Mention should not be omitted of two sorrows which affected him at thistime. At the close of the month before the readings began his youngestson went forth from home to join an elder brother in Australia. "Thesepartings are hard hard things" (26th of September), "but they are thelot of us all, and might have to be done without means or influence, andthen would be far harder. God bless him!" Hardly a month later, the lastof his surviving brothers, Frederick, the next to himself, died atDarlington. "He had been tended" (24th of October) "with the greatestcare and affection by some local friends. It was a wasted life, but Godforbid that one should be hard upon it, or upon anything in this worldthat is not deliberately and coldly wrong. " Before October closed the renewal of his labour had begun to tell uponhim. He wrote to his sister-in-law on the 29th of sickness and sleeplessnights, and of its having become necessary, when he had to read, that heshould lie on the sofa all day. After arrival at Edinburgh in Decemberhe had been making a calculation that the railway travelling over such adistance involved something more than thirty thousand shocks to thenerves; but he went on to Christmas, alternating these far-off placeswith nights regularly intervening in London, without much more complaintthan of an inability to sleep. Trade reverses at Glasgow had checked thesuccess there, [281] but Edinburgh made compensation. "The affectionateregard of the people exceeds all bounds and is shown in every way. Theaudiences do everything but embrace me, and take as much pains with thereadings as I do. . . . The keeper of the Edinburgh hall, a fine oldsoldier, presented me on Friday night with the most superb red camelliafor my button-hole that ever was seen. Nobody can imagine how he came byit, as the florists had had a considerable demand for that colour, fromladies in the stalls, and could get no such thing. " The second portion of the enterprise opened with the New Year, and the_Sikes and Nancy_ scenes, everywhere his prominent subject, exacted themost terrible physical exertion from him. In January he was at Clifton, where he had given, he told his sister-in-law, "by far the best Murderyet done;" while at the same date he wrote to his daughter: "At Cliftonon Monday night we had a contagion of fainting; and yet the place wasnot hot. I should think we had from a dozen to twenty ladies taken outstiff and rigid, at various times! It became quite ridiculous. " He wasafterwards at Cheltenham. "Macready is of opinion that the Murder is twoMacbeths. He declares that he heard every word of the reading, but Idoubt it. Alas! he is sadly infirm. " On the 27th he wrote to hisdaughter from Torquay that the place into which they had put him toread, and where a pantomime had been played the night before, wassomething between a Methodist chapel, a theatre, a circus, ariding-school, and a cow-house. That day he wrote to me from Bath:"Landor's ghost goes along the silent streets here before me. . . . Theplace looks to me like a cemetery which the Dead have succeeded inrising and taking. Having built streets, of their old gravestones, theywander about scantly trying to 'look alive. ' A dead failure. " In the second week of February he was in London, under engagement toreturn to Scotland (which he had just left) after the usual weeklyreading at St. James's Hall, when there was a sudden interruption. "Myfoot has turned lame again!" was his announcement to me on the 15th, followed next day by this letter. "Henry Thompson will not let me readto-night, and will not let me go to Scotland to-morrow. Tremendous househere, and also in Edinburgh. Here is the certificate he drew up forhimself and Beard to sign. 'We the undersigned hereby certify that Mr. C. D. Is suffering from inflammation of the foot (caused byover-exertion), and that we have forbidden his appearance on theplatform this evening, as he must keep his room for a day or two. ' Ihave sent up to the Great Western Hotel for apartments, and, if I canget them, shall move there this evening. Heaven knows what engagementsthis may involve in April! It throws us all back, and will cost me somefive hundred pounds. " A few days' rest again brought so much relief, that, against the urgententreaties of members of his family as well as other friends, he was inthe railway carriage bound for Edinburgh on the morning of the 20th ofFebruary, accompanied by Mr. Chappell himself. "I came down lazily on asofa, " he wrote to me from Edinburgh next day, "hardly changing myposition the whole way. The railway authorities had done all sorts ofthings, and I was more comfortable than on the sofa at the hotel. Thefoot gave me no uneasiness, and has been quiet and steady allnight. "[282] He was nevertheless under the necessity, two days later, ofconsulting Mr. Syme; and he told his daughter that this great authorityhad warned him against over-fatigue in the readings, and given him someslight remedies, but otherwise reported him in "joost pairfactlysplendid condition. " With care he thought the pain might be got rid of. "'Wa'at mad' Thompson think it was goot?' he said often, and seemed totake that opinion extremely ill. " Again before leaving Scotland he sawMr. Syme, and wrote to me on the second of March of the indignation withwhich he again treated the gout diagnosis, declaring the disorder to bean affection of the delicate nerves and muscles originating in cold. "Itold him that it had shewn itself in America in the other foot as well. 'Noo I'll joost swear, ' said he, 'that ayond the fatigue o' the readingsye'd been tramping i' th' snaw, within twa or three days. ' I certainlyhad. 'Wa'al, ' said he triumphantly, 'and hoo did it first begin? I' th'snaw. Goot! Bah!--Thompson knew no other name for it, and just ca'd itGoot--Boh!' For which he took two guineas. " Yet the famous pupil, SirHenry Thompson, went certainly nearer the mark than the distinguishedmaster, Mr. Syme, in giving to it a more than local character. The whole of that March month he went on with the scenes from _OliverTwist_. "The foot goes famously, " he wrote to his daughter. "I feel thefatigue in it (four Murders in one week[283]) but not overmuch. Itmerely aches at night; and so does the other, sympathetically Isuppose. " At Hull on the 8th he heard of the death of the old and dearfriend, Emerson Tennent, to whom he had inscribed his last book; and onthe morning of the 12th I met him at the funeral. He had read the_Oliver Twist_ scenes the night before at York; had just been able toget to the express train, after shortening the pauses in the reading, bya violent rush when it was over; and had travelled through the night. Heappeared to, me "dazed" and worn. No man could well look more so than hedid, that sorrowful morning. The end was near. A public dinner, which will have mention on a laterpage, had been given him in Liverpool on the 10th of April, with LordDufferin in the chair, and a reading was due from him in Preston on the22nd of that month. But on Sunday the 18th we had ill report of him fromChester, and on the 21st he wrote from Blackpool to his sister-in-law. "I have come to this Sea-Beach Hotel (charming) for a day's rest. I ammuch better than I was on Sunday; but shall want careful looking to, toget through the readings. My weakness and deadness are all on the leftside; and if I don't look at anything I try to touch with my left hand, I don't know where it is. I am in (secret) consultation with FrankBeard, who says that I have given him indisputable evidences of overworkwhich he could wish to treat immediately; and so I have telegraphed forhim. I have had a delicious walk by the sea to-day, and I sleep soundly, and have picked up amazingly in appetite. My foot is greatly better too, and I wear my own boot. " Next day was appointed for the reading atPreston; and from that place he wrote to me, while waiting the arrivalof Mr. Beard. "Don't say anything about it, but the tremendously severenature of this work is a little shaking me. At Chester last Sunday Ifound myself extremely giddy, and extremely uncertain of my sense oftouch, both in the left leg and the left hand and arms. I had beentaking some slight medicine of Beard's; and immediately wrote to himdescribing exactly what I felt, and asking him whether those feelings_could be_ referable to the medicine? He promptly replied: 'There can beno mistaking them from your exact account. The medicine cannot possiblyhave caused them. I recognise indisputable symptoms of overwork, and Iwish to take you in hand without any loss of time. ' They have greatlymodified since, but he is coming down here this afternoon. To-morrownight at Warrington I shall have but 25 more nights to work through. Ifhe can coach me up for them, I do not doubt that I shall get all rightagain--as I did when I became free in America. The foot has given mevery little trouble. Yet it is remarkable that it is _the left foottoo_; and that I told Henry Thompson (before I saw his old master Syme)that I had an inward conviction that whatever it was, it was not gout. Ialso told Beard, a year after the Staplehurst accident, that I wascertain that my heart had been fluttered, and wanted a little helping. This the stethoscope confirmed; and considering the immense exertion Iam undergoing, and the constant jarring of express trains, the caseseems to me quite intelligible. Don't say anything in the Gad'sdirection about my being a little out of sorts. I have broached thematter of course; but very lightly. Indeed there is no reason forbroaching it otherwise. " Even to the close of that letter he had buoyed himself up with the hopethat he might yet be "coached" and that the readings need not bediscontinued. But Mr. Beard stopped them at once, and brought hispatient to London. On Friday morning the 23rd, the same envelope broughtme a note from himself to say that he was well enough, but tired; inperfectly good spirits, not at all uneasy, and writing this himself thatI should have it under his own hand; with a note from his eldest son tosay that his father appeared to him to be very ill, and that aconsultation had been appointed with Sir Thomas Watson. The statement ofthat distinguished physician, sent to myself in June 1872, completes forthe present the sorrowful narrative. "It was, I think, on the 23rd of April 1869 that I was asked to seeCharles Dickens, in consultation with Mr. Carr Beard. After I got home Ijotted down, from their joint account, what follows. "After unusual irritability, C. D. Found himself, last Saturday orSunday, giddy, with a tendency to go backwards, and to turn round. Afterwards, desiring to put something on a small table, he pushed it andthe table forwards, undesignedly. He had some odd feeling of insecurityabout his left leg, as if there was something unnatural about his heel;but he could lift, and he did not drag, his leg. Also he spoke of somestrangeness of his left hand and arm; missed the spot on which he wishedto lay that hand, unless he carefully looked at it; felt an unreadinessto lift his hands towards his head, especially his left hand--when, forinstance, he was brushing his hair. "He had written thus to Mr. Carr Beard. "'Is it possible that anything in my medicine can have made me extremelygiddy, extremely uncertain of my footing, especially on the left side, and extremely indisposed to raise my hands to my head. These symptomsmade me very uncomfortable on Saturday (qy. Sunday?) night, and allyesterday, &c. ' "The state thus described showed plainly that C. D. Had been on thebrink of an attack of paralysis of his left side, and possibly ofapoplexy. It was, no doubt, the result of extreme hurry, overwork, andexcitement, incidental to his Readings. "On hearing from him Mr. Carr Beard had gone at once to Preston, orBlackburn (I am not sure which), had forbidden his reading that sameevening, and had brought him to London. "When I saw him he _appeared_ to be well. His mind was unclouded, hispulse quiet. His heart was beating with some slight excess of thenatural impulse. He told me he had of late sometimes, but rarely, lostor misused a word; that he forgot names, and numbers, but had alwaysdone that; and he promised implicit obedience to our injunctions. "We gave him the following certificate. "'The undersigned certify that Mr. Charles Dickens has been seriouslyunwell, through great exhaustion and fatigue of body and mind consequentupon his public Readings and long and frequent railway journeys. In ourjudgment Mr. Dickens will not be able with safety to himself to resumehis Readings for several months to come. "'THOS. WATSON, M. D. "'F. CARR BEARD. ' "However, after some weeks, he expressed a wish for my sanction to hisendeavours to redeem, in a careful and moderate way, some of the readingengagements to which he had been pledged before those threatenings ofbrain-mischief in the North of England. "As he had continued uniformly to seem and to feel perfectly well, I didnot think myself warranted to refuse that sanction: and in writing toenforce great caution in the trials, I expressed some apprehension thathe might fancy we had been too peremptory in our injunctions of mentaland bodily repose in April; and I quoted the following remark, whichoccurs somewhere in one of Captain Cook's Voyages. 'Preventive measuresare always invidious, for when most successful, the necessity for themis the least apparent. ' "I mention this to explain the letter which I send herewith, [284] andwhich I must beg you to return to me, as a precious remembrance of thewriter with whom I had long enjoyed very friendly and much valuedrelations. "I scarcely need say that if what I have now written can, _in any way_, be of use to you, it is entirely at your service and disposal--nor needI say with how much interest I have read the first volume of your latefriend's Life. I cannot help regretting that a great pressure ofprofessional work at the time, prevented my making a fuller record of acase so interesting. " The twelve readings to which Sir Thomas Watson consented, with thecondition that railway travel was not to accompany them, were farther tobe delayed until the opening months of 1870. They were an offering fromDickens by way of small compensation to Messrs. Chappell for thebreakdown of the enterprise on which they had staked so much. But herepractically he finished his career as a public reader, and what remainswill come with the end of what is yet to be told. One effort onlyintervened, by which he hoped to get happily back to his old pursuits;but to this, as to that which preceded it, sterner Fate said also No, and his Last Book, like his Last Readings, prematurely closed. FOOTNOTES: [281] "I think I shall be pretty correct in both places as to the runbeing on the Final readings. We had an immense house here" (Edinburgh, 12th of December) "last night, and a very large turnaway. But Glasgowbeing shady and the charges very great, it will be the most we can do, Ifancy, on these first Scotch readings, to bring the Chappells safelyhome (as to them) without loss. " [282] The close of the letter has an amusing picture which I may beexcused for printing in a note. "The only news that will interest you isthat the good-natured Reverdy Johnson, being at an Art Dinner in Glasgowthe other night, and falling asleep over the post-prandial speeches(only too naturally), woke suddenly on hearing the name of 'Johnson' ina list of Scotch painters which one of the orators was enumerating; atonce plunged up, under the impression that somebody was drinking hishealth; and immediately, and with overflowing amiability, beganreturning thanks. The spectacle was then presented to the astonishedcompany, of the American Eagle being restrained by the coat tails fromswooping at the moon, while the smaller birds endeavoured to explain toit how the case stood, and the cock robin in possession of thechairman's eye twittered away as hard as he could split. I am told thatit was wonderfully droll. " [283] I take from the letter a mention of the effect on a friend. "Thenight before last, unable to get in, B. Had a seat behind the screen, and was nearly frightened off it, by the Murder. Every vestige of colourhad left his face when I came off, and he sat staring over a glass ofchampagne in the wildest way. " [284] In this letter Dickens wrote: "I thank you heartily" (23rd of June1869) "for your great kindness and interest. It would really pain me ifI thought you could seriously doubt my implicit reliance on yourprofessional skill and advice. I feel as certain now as I felt when youcame to see me on my breaking down through over fatigue, that theinjunction you laid upon me to stop in my course of Readings wasnecessary and wise. And to its firmness I refer (humanly speaking) myspeedy recovery from that moment. I would on no account have resumed, even on the turn of this year, without your sanction. Your friendly aidwill never be forgotten by me; and again I thank you for it with all myheart. " CHAPTER XVIII. LAST BOOK. 1869-1870. First Fancy for _Edwin Drood_--Story as planned in his Mind--Nothing written of his Intentions--Merits of the Fragment--Comparison of his Early and his Late MSS. --Discovery of Unpublished Scene--Probable Reason for writing it in Advance--How Mr. Sapsea ceased to be a Member of the Eight Club. THE last book undertaken by Dickens was to be published, in illustratedmonthly numbers, of the old form, but to close with the twelfth. [285] Itclosed, unfinished, with the sixth number, which was itselfunderwritten by two pages. His first fancy for the tale was expressed in a letter in the middle ofJuly. "What should you think of the idea of a story beginning in thisway?--Two people, boy and girl, or very young, going apart from oneanother, pledged to be married after many years--at the end of the book. The interest to arise out of the tracing of their separate ways, and theimpossibility of telling what will be done with that impending fate. "This was laid aside; but it left a marked trace on the story asafterwards designed, in the position of Edwin Drood and his betrothed. I first heard of the later design in a letter dated "Friday the 6th ofAugust 1869, " in which after speaking, with the usual unstinted praisehe bestowed always on what moved him in others, of a little tale he hadreceived for his journal, [286] he spoke of the change that had occurredto him for the new tale by himself. "I laid aside the fancy I told youof, and have a very curious and new idea for my new story. Not acommunicable idea (or the interest of the book would be gone), but avery strong one, though difficult to work. " The story, I learntimmediately afterward, was to be that of the murder of a nephew by hisuncle; the originality of which was to consist in the review of themurderer's career by himself at the close, when its temptations were tobe dwelt upon as if, not he the culprit, but some other man, were thetempted. The last chapters were to be written in the condemned cell, towhich his wickedness, all elaborately elicited from him as if told ofanother, had brought him. Discovery by the murderer of the utterneedlessness of the murder for its object, was to follow hard uponcommission of the deed; but all discovery of the murderer was to bebaffled till towards the close, when, by means of a gold ring which hadresisted the corrosive effects of the lime into which he had thrown thebody, not only the person murdered was to be identified but the localityof the crime and the man who committed it. [287] So much was told to mebefore any of the book was written; and it will be recollected that thering, taken by Drood to be given to his betrothed only if theirengagement went on, was brought away with him from their lastinterview. Rosa was to marry Tartar, and Crisparkle the sister ofLandless, who was himself, I think, to have perished in assisting Tartarfinally to unmask and seize the murderer. Nothing had been written, however, of the main parts of the designexcepting what is found in the published numbers; there was no hint orpreparation for the sequel in any notes of chapters in advance; andthere remained not even what he had himself so sadly written of the bookby Thackeray also interrupted by death. The evidence of matured designsnever to be accomplished, intentions planned never to be executed, roadsof thought marked out never to be traversed, goals shining in thedistance never to be reached, was wanting here. It was all a blank. Enough had been completed nevertheless to give promise of a much greaterbook than its immediate predecessor. "I hope his book is finished, "wrote Longfellow when the news of his death was flashed to America. "Itis certainly one of his most beautiful works, if not the most beautifulof all. It would be too sad to think the pen had fallen from his hand, and left it incomplete. " Some of its characters were touched withsubtlety, and in its descriptions his imaginative power was at its best. Not a line was wanting to the reality, in the most minute local detail, of places the most widely contrasted; and we saw with equal vividnessthe lazy cathedral town and the lurid opium-eater's den. [288] Somethinglike the old lightness and buoyancy of animal spirits gave a newfreshness to the humour; the scenes of the child-heroine and herluckless betrothed had both novelty and nicety of character in them; andMr. Grewgious in chambers with his clerk and the two waiters, theconceited fool Sapsea, and the blustering philanthropist Honeythunder, were first-rate comedy. Miss Twinkleton was of the family of Miss LaCreevy; and the lodging-house keeper, Miss Billickin, though she gaveMiss Twinkleton but a sorry account of her blood, had that of Mrs. Todgers in her veins. "I was put in life to a very genteelboarding-school, the mistress being no less a lady than yourself, ofabout your own age, or it may be, some years younger, and a poorness ofblood flowed from the table which has run through my life. " Was everanything better said of a school-fare of starved gentility? The last page of _Edwin Drood_ was written in the Châlet in theafternoon of his last day of consciousness; and I have thought theremight be some interest in a facsimile of the greater part of this finalpage of manuscript that ever came from his hand, at which he had workedunusually late in order to finish the chapter. It has very much thecharacter, in its excessive care of correction and interlineation, ofall his later manuscripts; and in order that comparison may be madewith his earlier and easier method, I place beside it a portion of apage of the original of _Oliver Twist_. His greater pains andelaboration of writing, it may be mentioned, become first very obviousin the later parts of _Martin Chuzzlewit_; but not the least remarkablefeature in all his manuscripts, is the accuracy with which the portionsof each representing the several numbers are exactly adjusted to thespace the printer had to fill. Whether without erasure or so interlinedas to be illegible, nothing is wanting, and there is nothing in excess. So assured was the habit, that he has himself remarked upon an instancethe other way, in _Our Mutual Friend_, as not having happened to him forthirty years. But _Edwin Drood_ more startlingly showed him howunsettled the habit he most prized had become, in the clashing of oldand new pursuits. "When I had written" (22nd of December 1869) "and, asI thought, disposed of the first two Numbers of my story, Clowesinformed me to my horror that they were, together, _twelve printed pagestoo short_!!! Consequently I had to transpose a chapter from number twoto number one, and remodel number two altogether! This was the moreunlucky, that it came upon me at the time when I was obliged to leavethe book, in order to get up the Readings" (the additional twelve forwhich Sir Thomas Watson's consent had been obtained), "quite gone out ofmy mind since I left them off. However, I turned to it and got it done, and both numbers are now in type. Charles Collins has designed anexcellent cover. " It was his wish that his son-in-law should haveillustrated the story; but, this not being practicable, upon an opinionexpressed by Mr. Millais which the result thoroughly justified, choicewas made of Mr. S. L. Fildes. * * * * * [Illustration: Handwritten Notes] [Illustration: Handwritten Notes] This reference to the last effort of Dickens's genius had been writtenas it thus stands, when a discovery of some interest was made by thewriter. Within the leaves of one of Dickens's other manuscripts werefound some detached slips of his writing, on paper only half the size ofthat used for the tale, so cramped, interlined, and blotted as to benearly illegible, which on close inspection proved to be a scene inwhich Sapsea the auctioneer is introduced as the principal figure, amonga group of characters new to the story. The explanation of it perhapsis, that, having become a little nervous about the course of the tale, from a fear that he might have plunged too soon into the incidentsleading on to the catastrophe, such as the Datchery assumption in thefifth number (a misgiving he had certainly expressed to hissister-in-law), it had occurred to him to open some fresh veins ofcharacter incidental to the interest, though not directly part of it, and so to handle them in connection with Sapsea as a little to suspendthe final development even while assisting to strengthen it. Beforebeginning any number of a serial he used, as we have seen in formerinstances, to plan briefly what he intended to put into it chapter bychapter; and his first number-plan of _Drood_ had the following: "Mr. Sapsea. Old Tory jackass. Connect Jasper with him. (He will want asolemn donkey by and by):" which was effected by bringing togetherboth Durdles and Jasper, for connection with Sapsea, in the matter ofthe epitaph for Mrs. Sapsea's tomb. The scene now discovered might inthis view have been designed to strengthen and carry forward thatelement in the tale; and otherwise it very sufficiently expressesitself. It would supply an answer, if such were needed, to those whohave asserted that the hopeless decadence of Dickens as a writer had setin before his death. Among the lines last written by him, these are thevery last we can ever hope to receive; and they seem to me a delightfulspecimen of the power possessed by him in his prime, and the rarestwhich any novelist can have, of revealing a character by a touch. Hereare a couple of people, Kimber and Peartree, not known to us before, whom we read off thoroughly in a dozen words; and as to Sapsea himself, auctioneer and mayor of Cloisterham, we are face to face with whatbefore we only dimly realised, and we see the solemn jackass, in hisbusiness pulpit, playing off the airs of Mr. Dean in his Cathedralpulpit, with Cloisterham laughing at the impostor. "HOW MR. SAPSEA CEASED TO BE A MEMBER OF THE EIGHT CLUB. "TOLD BY HIMSELF. "Wishing to take the air, I proceeded by a circuitous route to the Club, it being our weekly night of meeting. I found that we mustered our fullstrength. We were enrolled under the denomination of the Eight Club. Wewere eight in number; we met at eight o'clock during eight months of theyear; we played eight games of four-handed cribbage, at eightpence thegame; our frugal supper was composed of eight rolls, eight mutton chops, eight pork sausages, eight baked potatoes, eight marrow-bones, witheight toasts, and eight bottles of ale. There may, or may not, be acertain harmony of colour in the ruling idea of this (to adopt a phraseof our lively neighbours) reunion. It was a little idea of mine. "A somewhat popular member of the Eight Club, was a member by the nameof Kimber. By profession, a dancing-master. A commonplace, hopeful sortof man, wholly destitute of dignity or knowledge of the world. "As I entered the Club-room, Kimber was making the remark: 'And he stillhalf-believes him to be very high in the Church. ' "In the act of hanging up my hat on the eighth peg by the door, I caughtKimber's visual ray. He lowered it, and passed a remark on the nextchange of the moon. I did not take particular notice of this at themoment, because the world was often pleased to be a little shy ofecclesiastical topics in my presence. For I felt that I was picked out(though perhaps only through a coincidence) to a certain extent torepresent what I call our glorious constitution in Church and State. Thephrase may be objected to by captious minds; but I own to it as mine. Ithrew it off in argument some little time back. I said: 'OUR GLORIOUSCONSTITUTION in CHURCH and STATE. ' "Another member of the Eight Club was Peartree; also member of the RoyalCollege of Surgeons. Mr. Peartree is not accountable to me for hisopinions, and I say no more of them here than that he attends the poorgratis whenever they want him, and is not the parish doctor. Mr. Peartree may justify it to the grasp of _his_ mind thus to do hisrepublican utmost to bring an appointed officer into contempt. Sufficeit that Mr. Peartree can never justify it to the grasp of _mine_. "Between Peartree and Kimber there was a sickly sort of feeble-mindedalliance. It came under my particular notice when I sold off Kimber byauction. (Goods taken in execution). He was a widower in a whiteunder-waistcoat, and slight shoes with bows, and had two daughters notill-looking. Indeed the reverse. Both daughters taught dancing inscholastic establishments for Young Ladies--had done so at Mrs. Sapsea's; nay, Twinkleton's--and both, in giving lessons, presented theunwomanly spectacle of having little fiddles tucked under their chins. In spite of which, the younger one might, if I am correctly informed--Iwill raise the veil so far as to say I KNOW she might--have soared forlife from this degrading taint, but for having the class of mindallotted to what I call the common herd, and being so incredibly devoidof veneration as to become painfully ludicrous. "When I sold off Kimber without reserve, Peartree (as poor as he canhold together) had several prime household lots knocked down to him. Iam not to be blinded; and of course it was as plain to me what he wasgoing to do with them, as it was that he was a brown hulking sort ofrevolutionary subject who had been in India with the soldiers, and ought(for the sake of society) to have his neck broke. I saw the lots shortlyafterwards in Kimber's lodgings--through the window--and I easily madeout that there had been a sneaking pretence of lending them till bettertimes. A man with a smaller knowledge of the world than myself mighthave been led to suspect that Kimber had held back money from hiscreditors, and fraudulently bought the goods. But, besides that I knewfor certain he had no money, I knew that this would involve a species offorethought not to be made compatible with the frivolity of a caperer, inoculating other people with capering, for his bread. "As it was the first time I had seen either of those two since the sale, I kept myself in what I call Abeyance. When selling him up, I haddelivered a few remarks--shall I say a little homely?--concerningKimber, which the world did regard as more than usually worth notice. Ihad come up into my pulpit;, it was said, uncommonly like--and a murmurof recognition had repeated his (I will not name whose) title, before Ispoke. I had then gone on to say that all present would find, in thefirst page of the catalogue that was lying before them, in the lastparagraph before the first lot, the following words: 'Sold in pursuanceof a writ of execution issued by a creditor. ' I had then proceeded toremind my friends, that however frivolous, not to say contemptible, thebusiness by which a man got his goods together, still his goods were asdear to him, and as cheap to society (if sold without reserve), asthough his pursuits had been of a character that would bear seriouscontemplation. I had then divided my text (if I may be allowed so tocall it) into three heads: firstly, Sold; secondly, In pursuance of awrit of execution; thirdly, Issued by a creditor; with a few moralreflections on each, and winding up with, 'Now to the first lot' in amanner that was complimented when I afterwards mingled with my hearers. "So, not being certain on what terms I and Kimber stood, I was grave, Iwas chilling. Kimber, however, moving to me, I moved to Kimber. (I wasthe creditor who had issued the writ. Not that it matters. ) "'I was alluding, Mr. Sapsea, ' said Kimber, 'to a stranger who enteredinto conversation with me in the street as I came to the Club. He hadbeen speaking to you just before, it seemed, by the churchyard; andthough you had told him who you were, I could hardly persuade him thatyou were not high in the Church. ' "'Idiot!' said Peartree. "'Ass!' said Kimber. "'Idiot and Ass!" said the other five members. "'Idiot and Ass, gentlemen, ' I remonstrated, looking around me, 'arestrong expressions to apply to a young man of good appearance andaddress. ' My generosity was roused; I own it. "'You'll admit that he must be a Fool, ' said Peartree. "'You can't deny that he must be a Blockhead, said Kimber. "Their tone of disgust amounted to being offensive. Why should the youngman be so calumniated? What had he done? He had only made an innocentand natural mistake. I controlled my generous indignation, and said so. "'Natural?' repeated Kimber; '_He's_ a Natural!' "The remaining six members of the Eight Club laughed unanimously. Itstung me. It was a scornful laugh. My anger was roused in behalf of anabsent, friendless stranger. I rose (for I had been sitting down). "'Gentlemen, ' I said with dignity, 'I will not remain one of this Cluballowing opprobrium to be cast on an unoffending person in his absence. I will not so violate what I call the sacred rites of hospitality. Gentlemen, until you know how to behave yourselves better, I leave you. Gentlemen, until then I withdraw, from this place of meeting, whateverpersonal qualifications I may have brought into it. Gentlemen, untilthen you cease to be the Eight Club, and must make the best you can ofbecoming the Seven. ' "I put on my hat and retired. As I went down stairs I distinctly heardthem give a suppressed cheer. Such is the power of demeanour andknowledge of mankind. I had forced it out of them. "II. "Whom should I meet in the street, within a few yards of the door of theinn where the Club was held, but the self-same young man whose cause Ihad felt it my duty so warmly--and I will add so disinterestedly--totake up. "Is it Mr. Sapsea, ' he said doubtfully, 'or is it----' "'It is Mr. Sapsea, ' I replied. "'Pardon me, Mr. Sapsea; you appear warm, sir, ' "'I have been warm, ' I said, 'and on your account. ' Having stated thecircumstances at some length (my generosity almost overpowered him), Iasked him his name. "'Mr. Sapsea, ' he answered, looking down, 'your penetration is so acute, your glance into the souls of your fellow men is so penetrating, that ifI was hardy enough to deny that my name is Poker, what would it availme?' "I don't know that I had quite exactly made out to a fraction that hisname _was_ Poker, but I daresay I had been pretty near doing it. "'Well, well, ' said I, trying to put him at his ease by nodding my headin a soothing way. 'Your name is Poker, and there is no harm in beingnamed Poker. ' "'Oh Mr. Sapsea!' cried the young man, in a very well-behaved manner. 'Bless you for those words!' He then, as if ashamed of having given wayto his feelings, looked down again. "'Come, Poker, ' said I, 'let me hear more about you. Tell me. Where areyou going to, Poker? and where do you come from?' "'Ah Mr. Sapsea!' exclaimed the young man. 'Disguise from you isimpossible. You know already that I come from somewhere, and am goingsomewhere else. If I was to deny it, what would it avail me?' "'Then don't deny it, ' was my remark. "'Or, ' pursued Poker, in a kind of despondent rapture, 'or if I was todeny that I came to this town to see and hear you sir, what would itavail me? Or if I was to deny----'" The fragment ends there, and the hand that could alone have completed itis at rest for ever. * * * * * Some personal characteristics remain for illustration before the end isbriefly told. FOOTNOTES: [285] In drawing the agreement for the publication, Mr. Ouvry had, byDickens's wish, inserted a clause thought to be altogether needless, butfound to be sadly pertinent. It was the first time such a clause hadbeen inserted in one of his agreements. "That if the said CharlesDickens shall die during the composition of the said work of the_Mystery of Edwin Drood_, or shall otherwise become incapable ofcompleting the said work for publication in twelve monthly numbers asagreed, it shall be referred to John Forster, Esq, one of Her Majesty'sCommissioners in Lunacy, or in the case of his death, incapacity, orrefusal to act, then to such person as shall be named by Her Majesty'sAttorney-General for the time being, to determine the amount which shallbe repaid by the said Charles Dickens, his executors or administrators, to the said Frederic Chapman as a fair compensation for so much of thesaid work as shall not have been completed for publication. " The sum tobe paid at once for 25, 000 copies was £7500; publisher and authorsharing equally in the profit of all sales beyond that impression; andthe number reached, while the author yet lived, was 50, 000. The sum paidfor early sheets to America was £1000; and Baron Tauchnitz paidliberally, as he always did, for his Leipzig reprint. "All Mr. Dickens'sworks, " M. Tauchnitz writes to me, "have been published under agreementby me. My intercourse with him lasted nearly twenty-seven years. Thefirst of his letters dates in October 1843, and his last at the close ofMarch 1870. Our long relations were not only never troubled by the leastdisagreement, but were the occasion of most hearty personal feeling; andI shall never lose the sense of his kind and friendly nature. On myasking him his terms for _Edwin Drood_, he replied 'Your terms shall bemine. '" [286] "I have a very remarkable story indeed for you to read. It is inonly two chapters. A thing never to melt into other stories in the mind, but always to keep itself apart. " The story was published in the 37thnumber of the new series of _All the Year Round_, with the title of "AnExperience. " The "new series" had been started to break up the too greatlength of volumes in sequence, and the only change it announced was thediscontinuance of Christmas Numbers. He had tired of them himself; and, observing the extent to which they were now copied in all directions (asusual with other examples set by him), he supposed them likely to becometiresome to the public. [287] The reader curious in such matters will be helped to the clue formuch of this portion of the plot by reference to pp. 90, 103, and 109, in Chapters XII, XIII, and XIV. [288] I subjoin what has been written to me by an Americancorrespondent. "I went lately with the same inspector who accompaniedDickens to see the room of the opium-smokers, old Eliza and her Lascaror Bengalee friend. There a fancy seized me to buy the bedstead whichfigures so accurately in _Edwin Drood_, in narrative and picture. I gavethe old woman a pound for it, and have it now packed and ready forshipment to New York. Another American bought a pipe. So you see we haveheartily forgiven the novelist his pleasantries at our expense. Manymilitary men who came to England from America refuse to register theirtitles, especially if they be Colonels; all the result of the basting wegot on that score in _Martin Chuzzlewit_. " CHAPTER XIX. PERSONAL CHARACTERISTICS. 1836-1870. Dickens not a Bookish Man--Character of his Talk--Dickens made to tell his Own Story--Lord Russell on Dickens's Letters--No Self-conceit in Dickens--Letter to his Youngest Son--Personal Prayer--Hymn in a Christmas Tale--Objection to Posthumous Honours--Source of Quarrel with Literary Fund--Small Poets--On "Royalty" Bargains--Editorship--Relations with Contributors--Foreign Views of English People--Editorial Pleasures--Adverse Influences of Periodical Writing--Anger and Satire--No desire to enter the House of Commons--Reforms he took most Interest in--The Liverpool Dinner in 1869--Tribute to Lord Russell--The People governing and the People governed--Tone of Last Book--Alleged Offers from the Queen--The Queen's Desire to see Dickens act--Her Majesty's Wish to hear Dickens read--Interview with the Queen--Dickens's Grateful Impression from it--"In Memoriam" by Arthur Helps--Rural Enjoyments--A Winner in the Games--Dickens's Habits of Life everywhere--Centre and Soul of his Home--Daily Habits--London Haunts--First Attack of Lameness--How it affected his Large Dogs--His Hatred of Indifference--At Social Meetings--Agreeable Pleasantries--Ghost Stories--Marvels of Coincidence--Predominant Impression of his Life--Effects on his Career. OBJECTION has been taken to this biography as likely to disappoint itsreaders in not making them "talk to Dickens as Boswell makes them talkto Johnson. " But where will the blame lie if a man takes up _Pickwick_and is disappointed to find that he is not reading _Rasselas_? A bookmust be judged for what it aims to be, and not for what it cannot bypossibility be. I suppose so remarkable an author as Dickens hardly everlived who carried so little of authorship into ordinary socialintercourse. Potent as the sway of his writings was over him, itexpressed itself in other ways. Traces or triumphs of literary labour, displays of conversational or other personal predominance, were no partof the influence he exerted over friends. To them he was only thepleasantest of companions, with whom they forgot that he had everwritten anything, and felt only the charm which a nature of suchcapacity for supreme enjoyment causes every one around it to enjoy. Histalk was unaffected and natural, never bookish in the smallest degree. He was quite up to the average of well read men, but as there was noostentation of it in his writing, so neither was there in hisconversation. This was so attractive because so keenly observant, andlighted up with so many touches of humorous fancy; but, with everypossible thing to give relish to it, there were not many things to bringaway. Of course a book must stand or fall by its contents. Macaulay said verytruly that the place of books in the public estimation is fixed, not bywhat is written about them, but by what is written in them. I offer nocomplaint of any remark made upon these volumes, but there have beensome misapprehensions. Though Dickens bore outwardly so little of theimpress of his writings, they formed the whole of that inner life whichessentially constituted the man; and as in this respect he was actually, I have thought that his biography should endeavour to present him. Thestory of his books, therefore, at all stages of their progress, and ofthe hopes or designs connected with them, was my first care. With thatview, and to give also to the memoir what was attainable of the value ofautobiography, letters to myself, such as were never addressed to anyother of his correspondents, and covering all the important incidents inthe life to be retraced, were used with few exceptions exclusively; andthough the exceptions are much more numerous in the present volume, thisgeneral plan has guided me to the end. Such were my limits indeed, thathalf even of those letters had to be put aside; and to have added allsuch others as were open to me would have doubled the size of my book, not contributed to it a new fact of life or character, and alteredmaterially its design. It would have been so much lively illustrationadded to the subject, but out of place here. The purpose here was tomake Dickens the sole central figure in the scenes revived, narrator aswell as principal actor; and only by the means employed couldconsistency or unity be given to the self-revelation, and the picturemade definite and clear. It is the peculiarity of few men to be to theirmost intimate friend neither more nor less than they are to themselves, but this was true of Dickens; and what kind or quality of nature suchintercourse expressed in him, of what strength, tenderness, and delicacysusceptible, of what steady level warmth, of what daily unrestingactivity of intellect, of what unbroken continuity of kindly impulsethrough the change and vicissitude of three-and-thirty years, theletters to myself given in these volumes could alone express. Gatheredfrom various and differing sources, their interest could not have beenas the interest of these; in which everything comprised in thesuccessive stages of a most attractive career is written with unexampledcandour and truthfulness, and set forth in definite pictures of what hesaw and stood in the midst of, unblurred by vagueness or reserve. Of thecharge of obtruding myself to which their publication has exposed me, Ican only say that I studied nothing so hard as to suppress my ownpersonality, and have to regret my ill success where I supposed I hadeven too perfectly succeeded. But we have all of us frequent occasion tosay, parodying Mrs. Peachem's remark, that we are bitter bad judges ofourselves. The other properties of these letters are quite subordinate to this mainfact that the man who wrote them is thus perfectly seen in them. Butthey do not lessen the estimate of his genius. Admiration rises higherat the writer's mental forces, who, putting so much of himself into hiswork for the public, had still so much overflowing for such privateintercourse. The sunny health of nature in them is manifest; itslargeness, spontaneity, and manliness; but they have also that whichhighest intellects appreciate best. "I have read them, " Lord Russellwrote to me, "with delight and pain. His heart, his imagination, hisqualities of painting what is noble, and finding diamonds hidden faraway, are greater here than even his works convey to me. How I lament hewas not spared to us longer. I shall have a fresh grief when he dies inyour volumes. " Shallower people are more apt to find other things. Ifthe bonhommie of a man's genius is obvious to all the world, there areplenty of knowing ones ready to take the shine out of the genius, todiscover that after all it is not so wonderful, that what is grave in itwants depth, and the humour has something mechanical. But it will bedifficult even for these to look over letters so marvellous in the artof reproducing to the sight what has once been seen, so natural andunstudied in their wit and fun, and with such a constant well-spring ofsprightly runnings of speech in them, point of epigram, ingenuity ofquaint expression, absolute freedom from every touch of affectation, andto believe that the source of this man's humour, or of whatever gavewealth to his genius, was other than habitual, unbounded, andresistless. There is another consideration of some importance. Sterne did not moreincessantly fall back from his works upon himself than Dickens did, andundoubtedly one of the impressions left by the letters is that of theintensity and tenacity with which he recognized, realized, contemplated, cultivated, and thoroughly enjoyed, his own individuality in even itsmost trivial manifestations. But if any one is led to ascribe this toself-esteem, to a narrow exclusiveness, or to any other invidious formof egotism, let him correct the impression by observing how Dickens borehimself amid the universal blazing-up of America, at the beginning andat the end of his career. Of his hearty, undisguised, and unmistakeableenjoyment of his astonishing and indeed quite bewildering popularity, there can be as little doubt as that there is not a particle of vanityin it, any more than of false modesty or grimace. [289] While realizingfully the fact of it, and the worth of the fact, there is not in hiswhole being a fibre that answers falsely to the charmer's voice. Few menin the world, one fancies, could have gone through such grand displaysof fireworks, not merely with so marvellous an absence of what theFrench call _pose_, but unsoiled by the smoke of a cracker. No man'sstrong individuality was ever so free from conceit. Other personal incidents and habits, and especially some matters ofopinion of grave importance, will help to make his character betterknown. Much questioning followed a brief former reference to hisreligious belief, but, inconsistent or illogical as the conductdescribed may be, there is nothing to correct or to modify in mystatement of it;[290] and, to what otherwise appeared to be in doubt, explicit answer will be afforded by a letter, written upon the youngestof his children leaving home in September 1868 to join his brother inAustralia, than which none worthier appears in his story. "I write thisnote to-day because your going away is much upon my mind, and because Iwant you to have a few parting words from me, to think of now and thenat quiet times. I need not tell you that I love you dearly, and am very, very sorry in my heart to part with you. But this life is half made upof partings, and these pains must be borne. It is my comfort and mysincere conviction that you are going to try the life for which you arebest fitted. I think its freedom and wildness more suited to you thanany experiment in a study or office would have been; and without thattraining, you could have followed no other suitable occupation. What youhave always wanted until now, has been a set, steady, constant purpose. I therefore exhort you to persevere in a thorough determination to dowhatever you have to do, as well as you can do it. I was not so old asyou are now, when I first had to win my food, and to do it out of thisdetermination; and I have never slackened in it since. Never take a meanadvantage of any one in any transaction, and never be hard upon peoplewho are in your power. Try to do to others as you would have them do toyou, and do not be discouraged if they fail sometimes. It is much betterfor you that they should fail in obeying the greatest rule laid down byOur Saviour than that you should. I put a New Testament among your booksfor the very same reasons, and with the very same hopes, that made mewrite an easy account of it for you, when you were a little child. Because it is the best book that ever was, or will be, known in theworld; and because it teaches you the best lessons by which any humancreature, who tries to be truthful and faithful to duty, can possibly beguided. As your brothers have gone away, one by one, I have written toeach such words as I am now writing to you, and have entreated them allto guide themselves by this Book, putting aside the interpretations andinventions of Man. You will remember that you have never at home beenharassed about religious observances, or mere formalities. I have alwaysbeen anxious not to weary my children with such things, before they areold enough to form opinions respecting them. You will thereforeunderstand the better that I now most solemnly impress upon you thetruth and beauty of the Christian Religion, as it came from ChristHimself, and the impossibility of your going far wrong if you humbly butheartily respect it. Only one thing more on this head. The more we arein earnest as to feeling it, the less we are disposed to hold forthabout it. Never abandon the wholesome practice of saying your ownprivate prayers, night and morning. I have never abandoned it myself, and I know the comfort of it. I hope you will always be able to say inafter life, that you had a kind father. You cannot show your affectionfor him so well, or make him so happy, as by doing your duty. " They whomost intimately knew Dickens will know best that every word there iswritten from his heart, and is radiant with the truth of his nature. To the same effect, in the leading matter, he expressed himself twelveyears before, and again the day before his death; replying in both casesto correspondents who had addressed him as a public writer. A clergyman, the Rev. R. H. Davies, had been struck by the hymn in the Christmas taleof the Wreck of the Golden Mary (_Household Words_, 1856). "I beg tothank you" Dickens answered (Christmas Eve, 1856) "for your veryacceptable letter--not the less gratifying to me because I am myself thewriter you refer to. . . . There cannot be many men, I believe, who have amore humble veneration for the New Testament, or a more profoundconviction of its all-sufficiency, than I have. If I am ever (as youtell me I am) mistaken on this subject, it is because I discountenanceall obtrusive professions of and tradings in religion, as one of themain causes why real Christianity has been retarded in this world; andbecause my observation of life induces me to hold in unspeakable dreadand horror, those unseemly squabbles about the letter which drive thespirit out of hundreds of thousands. " In precisely similar tone, to areader of _Edwin Drood_ (Mr. J. M. Makeham), who had pointed out to himthat his employment as a figure of speech of a line from Holy Writ inhis tenth chapter might be subject to misconstruction, he wrote fromGadshill on Wednesday the eighth of June, 1870. "It would be quiteinconceivable to me, but for your letter, that any reasonable readercould possibly attach a scriptural reference to that passage. . . . I amtruly shocked to find that any reader can make the mistake. I havealways striven in my writings to express veneration for the life andlessons of our Saviour; because I feel it; and because I re-wrote thathistory for my children--every one of whom knew it, from having itrepeated to them, long before they could read, and almost as soon asthey could speak. But I have never made proclamation of this from thehouse tops. "[291] A dislike of all display was rooted in him; and his objection toposthumous honours, illustrated by the instructions in his will, wasvery strikingly expressed two years before his death, when Mr. ThomasFairbairn asked his help to a proposed recognition of Rajah Brooke'sservices by a memorial in Westminster Abbey. "I am very stronglyimpelled" (24th of June 1868) "to comply with any request of yours. Butthese posthumous honours of committee, subscriptions, and WestminsterAbbey are so profoundly unsatisfactory in my eyes that--plainly--I wouldrather have nothing to do with them in any case. My daughter and heraunt unite with me in kindest regards to Mrs. Fairbairn, and I hope youwill believe in the possession of mine until I am quietly buried withoutany memorial but such as I have set up in my lifetime. " Asked a yearlater (August 1869) to say something on the inauguration of Leigh Hunt'sbust at his grave in Kensal-green, he told the committee that he had avery strong objection to speech-making beside graves. "I do not expector wish my feelings in this wise to guide other men; still, it is soserious with me, and the idea of ever being the subject of such aceremony myself is so repugnant to my soul, that I must decline toofficiate. " His aversion to every form of what is called patronage ofliterature[292] was part of the same feeling. A few months earlier aManchester gentleman[293] wrote for his support to such a scheme. "I begto be excused, " was his reply, "from complying with the request you dome the honour to prefer, simply because I hold the opinion that there isa great deal too much patronage in England. The better the design, theless (as I think) should it seek such adventitious aid, and the morecomposedly should it rest on its own merits. " This was the beliefSouthey held; it extended to the support by way of patronage given bysuch societies as the Literary Fund, which Southey also stronglyresisted; and it survived the failure of the Guild whereby it was hopedto establish a system of self-help, under which men engaged in literarypursuits might be as proud to receive as to give. Though there was noproject of his life into which he flung himself with greater eagernessthan the Guild, it was not taken up by the class it was meant tobenefit, and every renewed exertion more largely added to the failure. There is no room in these pages for the story, which will add itschapter some day to the vanity of human wishes; but a passage from aletter to Bulwer Lytton at its outset will be some measure of the heightfrom which the writer fell, when all hope for what he had so set hisheart upon ceased. "I do devoutly believe that this plan, carried by thesupport which I trust will be given to it, will change the status of theliterary man in England, and make a revolution in his position which nogovernment, no power on earth but his own, could ever effect. I haveimplicit confidence in the scheme--so splendidly begun--if we carry itout with a stedfast energy. I have a strong conviction that we hold inour hands the peace and honour of men of letters for centuries to come, and that you are destined to be their best and most enduringbenefactor. . . . Oh what a procession of new years may walk out of allthis for the class we belong to, after we are dust. " These views about patronage did not make him more indulgent to theclamour with which it is so often invoked for the ridiculously small. "You read that life of Clare?" he wrote (15th of August 1865). "Did youever see such preposterous exaggeration of small claims? And isn't itexpressive, the perpetual prating of him in the book as _the Poet_? Soanother Incompetent used to write to the Literary Fund when I was on thecommittee: 'This leaves the Poet at his divine mission in a corner ofthe single room. The Poet's father is wiping his spectacles. The Poet'smother is weaving'--Yah!'" He was equally intolerant of everymagnificent proposal that should render the literary man independent ofthe bookseller, and he sharply criticized even a compromise to replacethe half-profits system by one of royalties on copies sold. "What doesit come to?" he remarked of an ably-written pamphlet in which this wasurged (10th of November 1866): "what is the worth of the remedy afterall? You and I know very well that in nine cases out of ten the authoris at a disadvantage with the publisher because the publisher hascapital and the author has not. We know perfectly well that in ninecases out of ten money is advanced by the publisher before the book isproducible--often, long before. No young or unsuccessful author (unlesshe were an amateur and an independent gentleman) would make a bargainfor having that royalty, to-morrow, if he could have a certain sum ofmoney, or an advance of money. The author who could command thatbargain, could command it to-morrow, or command anything else. For theless fortunate or the less able, I make bold to say--with some knowledgeof the subject, as a writer who made a publisher's fortune long beforehe began to share in the real profits of his books--that if thepublishers met next week, and resolved henceforth to make this royaltybargain and no other, it would be an enormous hardship and misfortunebecause the authors could not live while they wrote. The pamphlet seemsto me just another example of the old philosophical chess-playing, withhuman beings for pieces. 'Don't want money. ' 'Be careful to be born withmeans, and have a banker's account. ' 'Your publisher will settle withyou, at such and such long periods according to the custom of his trade, and you will settle with your butcher and baker weekly, in the meantime, by drawing cheques as I do. ' 'You must be sure not to want money, andthen I have worked it out for you splendidly. '" Less has been said in this work than might perhaps have been wished, ofthe way in which his editorship of _Household Words_ and _All the YearRound_ was discharged. It was distinguished above all by liberality; anda scrupulous consideration and delicacy, evinced by him to all hiscontributors, was part of the esteem in which he held literature itself. It was said in a newspaper after his death, evidently by one of hiscontributors, that he always brought the best out of a man byencouragement and appreciation; that he liked his writers to feelunfettered; and that his last reply to a proposition for a series ofarticles had been: "Whatever you see your way to, I will see mine to, and we know and understand each other well enough to make the best ofthese conditions. " Yet the strong feeling of personal responsibility wasalways present in his conduct of both journals; and varied as thecontents of a number might be, and widely apart the writers, a certainindividuality of his own was never absent. He took immense pains (asindeed was his habit about everything) with numbers in which he hadwritten nothing; would often accept a paper from a young or unhandycontributor, because of some single notion in it which he thought itworth rewriting for; and in this way, or by helping generally to givestrength and attractiveness to the work of others, he grudged notrouble. [294] "I have had a story" he wrote (22nd of June 1856) "tohack and hew into some form for _Household Words_ this morning, whichhas taken me four hours of close attention. And I am perfectly addled byits horrible want of continuity after all, and the dreadful spectacle Ihave made of the proofs--which look like an inky fishing-net. " A fewlines from another letter will show the difficulties in which he wasoften involved by the plan he adopted for Christmas numbers, of puttingwithin a framework by himself a number of stories by separate writers towhom the leading notion had before been severally sent. "As yet" (25thof November 1859), "not a story has come to me in the least belonging tothe idea (the simplest in the world; which I myself described inwriting, in the most elaborate manner); and everyone of them turns, by astrange fatality, on a criminal trial!" It had all to be set right byhim, and editorship on such terms was not a sinecure. It had its pleasures as well as pains, however, and the greatest waswhen he fancied he could descry unusual merit in any writer. A letterwill give one instance for illustration of many; the lady to whom it wasaddressed, admired under her assumed name of Holme Lee, having placed itat my disposal. (Folkestone: 14th of August 1855. ) "I read your talewith the strongest emotion, and with a very exalted admiration of thegreat power displayed in it. Both in severity and tenderness I thoughtit masterly. It moved me more than I can express to you. I wrote to Mr. Wills that it had completely unsettled me for the day, and that bywhomsoever it was written, I felt the highest respect for the mind thathad produced it. It so happened that I had been for some days at workupon a character externally like the Aunt. And it was very strange to meindeed to observe how the two people seemed to be near to one another atfirst, and then turned off on their own ways so wide asunder. I told Mr. Wills that I was not sure whether I could have prevailed upon myself topresent to a large audience the terrible consideration of hereditarymadness, when it was reasonably probable that there must be many--orsome--among them whom it would awfully, because personally, address. ButI was not obliged to ask myself the question, inasmuch as the length ofthe story rendered it unavailable for _Household Words_. I speak of itslength in reference to that publication only; relatively to what is toldin it, I would not spare a page of your manuscript. Experience shows methat a story in four portions is best suited to the peculiarrequirements of such a journal, and I assure you it will be an uncommonsatisfaction to me if this correspondence should lead to your enrolmentamong its contributors. But my strong and sincere conviction of thevigour and pathos of this beautiful tale, is quite apart from, and notto be influenced by, any ulterior results. You had no existence to mewhen I read it. The actions and sufferings of the characters affected meby their own force and truth, and left a profound impression onme. "[295] The experience there mentioned did not prevent him fromadmitting into his later periodical, _All the Year Round_, longer serialstories published with the names of known writers; and to his owninterference with these he properly placed limits. "When one of myliterary brothers does me the honour to undertake such a task, I holdthat he executes it on his own personal responsibility, and for thesustainment of his own reputation; and I do not consider myself atliberty to exercise that control over his text which I claim as to othercontributions. " Nor had he any greater pleasure, even in these cases, than to help younger novelists to popularity. "You asked me about newwriters last night. If you will read _Kissing the Rod_, a book I haveread to-day, you will not find it hard to take an interest in the authorof such a book. " That was Mr. Edmund Yates, in whose literary successeshe took the greatest interest himself, and with whom he continued to thelast an intimate personal intercourse which had dated from kindnessshown at a very trying time. "I think" he wrote of another of hiscontributors, Mr. Percy Fitzgerald, for whom he had also much personalliking, and of whose powers he thought highly, "you will find _FatalZero_ a very curious bit of mental development, deepening as the storygoes on into a picture not more startling than true. " My mention ofthese pleasures of editorship shall close with what I think to him wasthe greatest. He gave to the world, while yet the name of the writer wasunknown to him, the pure and pathetic verse of Adelaide Procter. "In thespring of the year 1853 I observed a short poem among the profferedcontributions, very different, as I thought, from the shoal of versesperpetually setting through the office of such a periodical. "[296] Thecontributions had been large and frequent under an assumed name, when atChristmas 1854 he discovered that Miss Mary Berwick was the daughter ofhis old and dear friend Barry Cornwall. But periodical writing is not without its drawbacks, and its effect onDickens, who engaged in it largely from time to time, was observable inthe increased impatience of allusion to national institutions andconventional distinctions to be found in his later books. Partydivisions he cared for less and less as life moved on; but the decisive, peremptory, dogmatic style, into which a habit of rapid remark on topicsof the day will betray the most candid and considerate commentator, displayed its influence, perhaps not always consciously to himself, inthe underlying tone of bitterness that runs through the books whichfollowed _Copperfield_. The resentment against remediable wrongs is aspraiseworthy in them as in the earlier tales; but the exposure ofChancery abuses, administrative incompetence, politico-economicshortcomings, and social flunkeyism, in _Bleak House_, _Little Dorrit_, _Hard Times_, and _Our Mutual Friend_, would not have been made lessodious by the cheerier tone that had struck with much sharper effect atprison abuses, parish wrongs, Yorkshire schools, and hypocriticalhumbug, in _Pickwick_, _Oliver Twist_, _Nickleby_, and _Chuzzlewit_. Itwill be remembered of him always that he desired to set right what waswrong, that he held no abuse to be unimprovable, that he left none ofthe evils named exactly as he found them, and that to influences drawnfrom his writings were due not a few of the salutary changes whichmarked the age in which he lived; but anger does not improve satire, andit gave latterly, from the causes named, too aggressive a form to what, after all, was but a very wholesome hatred of the cant that everythingEnglish is perfect, and that to call a thing _un_English is to doom itto abhorred extinction. "I have got an idea for occasional papers in _Household Words_ calledthe Member for Nowhere. They will contain an account of his views, votes, and speeches; and I think of starting with his speeches on theSunday question. He is a member of the Government of course. The momentthey found such a member in the House, they felt that he must be dragged(by force, if necessary) into the Cabinet. " "I give it up reluctantly, "he wrote afterwards, "and with it my hope to have made every man inEngland feel something of the contempt for the House of Commons that Ihave. We shall never begin to do anything until the sentiment isuniversal. " That was in August 1854; and the break-down in the Crimeathat winter much embittered his radicalism. "I am hourly strengthened inmy old belief, " he wrote (3rd of February 1855) "that our politicalaristocracy and our tuft-hunting are the death of England. In all thisbusiness I don't see a gleam of hope. As to the popular spirit, it hascome to be so entirely separated from the Parliament and Government, andso perfectly apathetic about them both, that I seriously think it a mostportentous sign. " A couple of months later: "I have rather a brightidea, I think, for _Household Words_ this morning: a fine little bit ofsatire: an account of an Arabic MS. Lately discovered very like the_Arabian Nights_--called the Thousand and One Humbugs. With new versionsof the best known stories. " This also had to be given up, and is onlymentioned as another illustration of his political discontents and oftheir connection with his journal-work. The influences from his earlylife which unconsciously strengthened them in certain social directionshas been hinted at, and of his absolute sincerity in the matter therecan be no doubt. The mistakes of Dickens were never such as to cast ashade on his integrity. What he said with too much bitterness, in hisheart he believed; and had, alas! too much ground for believing. "Acountry, " he wrote (27th of April 1855) "which is discovered to be inthis tremendous condition as to its war affairs; with an enormous blackcloud of poverty in every town which is spreading and deepening everyhour, and not one man in two thousand knowing anything about, or evenbelieving in, its existence; with a non-working aristocracy, and asilent parliament, and everybody for himself and nobody for the rest;this is the prospect, and I think it a very deplorable one. " Admirablydid he say, of a notorious enquiry at that time: "O what a fine aspectof political economy it is, that the noble professors of the science onthe adulteration committee should have tried to make Adulteration aquestion of Supply and Demand! We shall never get to the Millennium, sir, by the rounds of that ladder; and I, for one, won't hold by theskirts of that Great Mogul of impostors, Master M'Culloch!" Again hewrote (30th of September 1855): "I really am serious in thinking--and Ihave given as painful consideration to the subject as a man withchildren to live and suffer after him can honestly give to it--thatrepresentative government is become altogether a failure with us, thatthe English gentilities and subserviences render the people unfit forit, and that the whole thing has broken down since that greatseventeenth-century time, and has no hope in it. " With the good sense that still overruled all his farthest extremes ofopinion he yet never thought of parliament for himself. He could notmend matters, and for him it would have been a false position. Thepeople of the town of Reading and others applied to him during the firsthalf of his life, and in the last half some of the Metropolitanconstituencies. To one of the latter a reply is before me in which hesays: "I declare that as to all matters on the face of this teemingearth, it appears to me that the House of Commons and Parliamentaltogether is become just the dreariest failure and nuisance that everbothered this much-bothered world. " To a private enquiry of apparentlyabout the same date he replied: "I have thoroughly satisfied myself, having often had occasion to consider the question, that I can be farmore usefully and independently employed in my chosen sphere of actionthan I could hope to be in the House of Commons; and I believe that noconsideration would induce me to become a member of that extraordinaryassembly. " Finally, upon a reported discussion in Finsbury whether ornot he should be invited to sit for that borough, he promptly wrote(November 1861): "It may save some trouble if you will kindly confirm asensible gentleman who doubted at that meeting whether I was quite theman for Finsbury. I am not at all the sort of man; for I believe nothingwould induce me to offer myself as a parliamentary representative ofthat place, or of any other under the sun. " The only direct attempt tojoin a political agitation was his speech at Drury-lane foradministrative reform, and he never repeated it. But every movement forpractical social reforms, to obtain more efficient sanitarylegislation, to get the best compulsory education practicable for thepoor, and to better the condition of labouring people, he assistedearnestly to his last hour; and the readiness with which he took thechair at meetings having such objects in view, the help he gave toimportant societies working in beneficent ways for themselves or thecommunity, and the power and attractiveness of his oratory, made him oneof the forces of the time. His speeches derived singular charm from thebuoyancy of his perfect self-possession, and to this he added theadvantages of a person and manner which had become as familiar and aspopular as his books. The most miscellaneous assemblages listened to himas to a personal friend. Two incidents at the close of his life will show what upon these mattershis latest opinions were. At the great Liverpool dinner after hiscountry readings in 1869, over which Lord Dufferin eloquently presided, he replied to a remonstrance from Lord Houghton against his objection toentering public life, [297] that when he took literature for hisprofession he intended it to be his sole profession; that at that timeit did not appear to him to be so well understood in England, as in someother countries, that literature was a dignified profession by which anyman might stand or fall; and he resolved that in his person at least itshould stand "by itself, of itself, and for itself;" a bargain which "noconsideration on earth would now induce him to break. " Here however heprobably failed to see the entire meaning of Lord Houghton's regret, which would seem to have been meant to say, in more polite form, that tohave taken some part in public affairs might have shown him thedifficulty in a free state of providing remedies very swiftly for evilsof long growth. A half reproach from the same quarter for allegedunkindly sentiments to the House of Lords, he repelled with vehementwarmth; insisting on his great regard for individual members, anddeclaring that there was no man in England he respected more in hispublic capacity, loved more in his private capacity, or from whom he hadreceived more remarkable proofs of his honour and love of literature, than Lord Russell. [298] In Birmingham shortly after, discoursing oneducation to the members of the Midland Institute, he told them theyshould value self-improvement not because it led to fortune but becauseit was good and right in itself; counselled them in regard to it thatGenius was not worth half so much as Attention, or the art of taking animmense deal of pains, which he declared to be, in every study andpursuit, the one sole, safe, certain, remunerative quality; and summedup briefly his political belief. --"My faith in the people governing is, on the whole, infinitesimal; my faith in the People governed is, on thewhole, illimitable. " This he afterwards (January 1870) explained to meanthat he had very little confidence in the people who govern us ("with asmall p"), and very great confidence in the People whom they govern("with a large P"). "My confession being shortly and ellipticallystated, was, with no evil intention I am absolutely sure, in somequarters inversely explained. " He added that his political opinions hadalready been not obscurely stated in an "idle book or two"; and hereminded his hearers that he was the inventor "of a certain fictioncalled the Circumlocution Office, said to be very extravagant, but whichI _do_ see rather frequently quoted as if there were grains of truth atthe bottom of it. " It may nevertheless be suspected, with someconfidence, that the construction of his real meaning was not far wrongwhich assumed it as the condition precedent to his illimitable faith, that the people, even with the big P, should be "governed. " It was hisconstant complaint that, being much in want of government, they had onlysham governors; and he had returned from his second American visit, ashe came back from his first, indisposed to believe that the politicalproblem had been solved in the land of the free. From the pages of hislast book, the bitterness of allusion so frequent in the books justnamed was absent altogether; and his old unaltered wish to better whatwas bad in English institutions, carried with it no desire to replacethem by new ones. In a memoir published shortly after his death there appeared thisstatement. "For many years past Her Majesty the Queen has taken theliveliest interest in Mr. Dickens's literary labours, and has frequentlyexpressed a desire for an interview with him. . . . This interview tookplace on the 9th of April, when he received her commands to attend herat Buckingham Palace, and was introduced by his friend Mr. Arthur Helps, the clerk of the Privy Council. . . . Since our author's decease thejournal with which he was formerly connected has said: 'The Queen wasready to confer any distinction which Mr. Dickens's known views andtastes would permit him to accept, and after more than one title ofhonour had been declined, Her Majesty desired that he would, at least, accept a place in her Privy Council. '" As nothing is too absurd[299] forbelief, it will not be superfluous to say that Dickens knew of no suchdesire on her Majesty's part; and though all the probabilities are onthe side of his unwillingness to accept any title or place of honour, certainly none was offered to him. It had been hoped to obtain her Majesty's name for the Jerroldperformances in 1857, but, being a public effort in behalf of anindividual, assent would have involved "either perpetual compliance orthe giving of perpetual offence. " Her Majesty however then sent, throughColonel Phipps, a request to Dickens that he would select a room in thepalace, do what he would with it, and let her see the play there. "Isaid to Col. Phipps thereupon" (21st of June 1857) "that the idea wasnot quite new to me; that I did not feel easy as to the social positionof my daughters, &c. At a Court under those circumstances; and that Iwould beg her Majesty to excuse me, if any other way of her seeing theplay could be devised. To this Phipps said he had not thought of theobjection, but had not the slightest doubt I was right. I then proposedthat the Queen should come to the Gallery of Illustration a week beforethe subscription night, and should have the room entirely at her owndisposal, and should invite her own company. This, with the good sensethat seems to accompany her good nature on all occasions, she resolvedwithin a few hours to do. " The effect of the performance was a greatgratification. "My gracious sovereign" (5th of July 1857) "was sopleased that she sent round begging me to go and see her and accept herthanks. I replied that I was in my Farce dress, and must beg to beexcused. Whereupon she sent again, saying that the dress 'could not beso ridiculous as that, ' and repeating the request. I sent my duty inreply, but again hoped her Majesty would have the kindness to excuse mypresenting myself in a costume and appearance that were not my own. Iwas mighty glad to think, when I woke this morning, that I had carriedthe point. " The opportunity of presenting himself in his own costume did not arrivetill the year of his death, another effort meanwhile made having provedalso unsuccessful. "I was put into a state of much perplexity on Sunday"(30th of March 1858). "I don't know who had spoken to my informant, butit seems that the Queen is bent upon hearing the _Carol_ read, and hasexpressed her desire to bring it about without offence; hesitating aboutthe manner of it, in consequence of my having begged to be excused fromgoing to her when she sent for me after the _Frozen Deep_. I parried thething as well as I could; but being asked to be prepared with aconsiderate and obliging answer, as it was known the request would bepreferred, I said, 'Well! I supposed Col. Phipps would speak to me aboutit, and if it were he who did so, I should assure him of my desire tomeet any wish of her Majesty's, and should express my hope that shewould indulge me by making one of some audience or other--for I thoughtan audience necessary to the effect. ' Thus it stands: but it bothersme. " The difficulty was not surmounted, but her Majesty's continuedinterest in the _Carol_ was shown by her purchase of a copy of it withDickens's autograph at Thackeray's sale;[300] and at last there came, in the year of his death, the interview with the author whose popularitydated from her accession, whose books had entertained larger numbers ofher subjects than those of any other contemporary writer, and whosegenius will be counted among the glories of her reign. Accident led toit. Dickens had brought with him from America some large and strikingphotographs of the Battle Fields of the Civil War, which the Queen, having heard of them through Mr. Helps, expressed a wish to look at. Dickens sent them at once; and went afterwards to Buckingham Palace withMr. Helps, at her Majesty's request, that she might see and thank him inperson. It was in the middle of March, not April. "Come now sir, this is aninteresting matter, do favour us with it, " was the cry of Johnson'sfriends after his conversation with George the Third; and again andagain the story was told to listeners ready to make marvels of itscommonplaces. But the romance even of the eighteenth century in such amatter is clean gone out of the nineteenth. Suffice it that the Queen'skindness left a strong impression on Dickens. Upon her Majesty's regretnot to have heard his Readings, Dickens intimated that they were becomenow a thing of the past, while he acknowledged gratefully her Majesty'scompliment in regard to them. She spoke to him of the impression madeupon her by his acting in the _Frozen Deep_; and on his stating, inreply to her enquiry, that the little play had not been very successfulon the public stage, said this did not surprise her, since it no longerhad the advantage of his performance in it. Then arose a mention of somealleged discourtesy shown to Prince Arthur in New York, and he beggedher Majesty not to confound the true Americans of that city with theFenian portion of its Irish population; on which she made the quietcomment that she was convinced the people about the Prince had made toomuch of the affair. He related to her the story of President Lincoln'sdream on the night before his murder. She asked him to give her hiswritings, and could she have them that afternoon? but he begged to beallowed to send a bound copy. Her Majesty then took from a table her ownbook upon the Highlands, with an autograph inscription "to CharlesDickens"; and, saying that "the humblest" of writers would be ashamed tooffer it to "one of the greatest" but that Mr. Helps, being asked togive it, had remarked that it would be valued most from herself, closedthe interview by placing it in his hands. "Sir, " said Johnson, "they maysay what they like of the young King, but Louis the Fourteenth could nothave shown a more refined courtliness"; and Dickens was not disposed tosay less of the young King's granddaughter. That the grateful impressionsufficed to carry him into new ways, I had immediate proof, coupled withintimation of the still surviving strength of old memories. "As mysovereign desires" (26th of March 1870) "that I should attend the nextlevee, don't faint with amazement if you see my name in that unwontedconnexion. I have scrupulously kept myself free for the second of April, in case you should be accessible. " The name appeared at the leveeaccordingly, his daughter was at the drawing-room that followed, andLady Houghton writes to me "I never saw Mr. Dickens more agreeable thanat a dinner at our house about a fortnight before his death, when he metthe King of the Belgians and the Prince of Wales at the special desireof the latter. " Up to nearly the hour of dinner, it was doubtful if hecould go. He was suffering from the distress in his foot; and on arrivalat the house, being unable to ascend the stairs, had to be assisted atonce into the dining-room. The friend who had accompanied Dickens to Buckingham Palace, writing ofhim[301] after his death, briefly but with admirable knowledge andtaste, said that he ardently desired, and confidently looked forward to, a time when there would be a more intimate union than exists at presentbetween the different classes in the state, a union that should embracealike the highest and the lowest. This perhaps expresses, as well as afew words could, what certainly was always at his heart; and he mighthave come to think it, when his life was closing, more possible ofrealisation some day than he ever thought it before. The hope of it wason his friend Talfourd's lips when he died, and his own most jarringopinions might at last have joined in the effort to bring about suchreconcilement. More on this head it needs not to say. Whatever may bethe objection to special views held by him, he would, wanting even themost objectionable, have been less himself. It was by something of thedespot seldom separable from genius, joined to a truthfulness of naturebelonging to the highest characters, that men themselves of a rarefaculty were attracted to find in Dickens what Sir Arthur Helps hasdescribed, "a man to confide in, and look up to as a leader, in themidst of any great peril. " Mr. Layard also held that opinion of him. He was at Gadshill during theChristmas before Dickens went for the last time to America, andwitnessed one of those scenes, not infrequent there, in which the masterof the house was pre-eminently at home. They took generally the form ofcricket matches; but this was, to use the phrase of his friend Bobadil, more popular and diffused; and of course he rose with the occasion. "Themore you want of the master, the more you'll find in him, " said thegasman employed about his readings. "Foot-races for the villagers, " hewrote on Christmas Day, "come off in my field to-morrow. We have beenall hard at work all day, building a course, making countless flags, andI don't know what else. Layard is chief commissioner of the domesticpolice. The country police predict an immense crowd. " There were betweentwo and three thousand people; and somehow, by a magical kind ofinfluence, said Layard, Dickens seemed to have bound every creaturepresent, upon what honour the creature had, to keep order. What was thespecial means used, or the art employed, it might have been difficult tosay; but that was the result. Writing on New Year's Day, Dickens himselfdescribed it to me. "We had made a very pretty course, and taken greatpains. Encouraged by the cricket matches experience, I allowed thelandlord of the Falstaff to have a drinking-booth on the ground. Not toseem to dictate or distrust, I gave all the prizes (about ten pounds inthe aggregate) in money. The great mass of the crowd were labouring menof all kinds, soldiers, sailors, and navvies. They did not, betweenhalf-past ten, when we began, and sunset, displace a rope or a stake;and they left every barrier and flag as neat as they found it. There wasnot a dispute, and there was no drunkenness whatever. I made them alittle speech from the lawn, at the end of the games, saying that pleaseGod we would do it again next year. They cheered most lustily anddispersed. The road between this and Chatham was like a Fair all day;and surely it is a fine thing to get such perfect behaviour out of areckless seaport town. Among other oddities we had a Hurdle Race forStrangers. One man (he came in second) ran 120 yards and leaped over tenhurdles, in twenty seconds, _with a pipe in his mouth, and smoking itall the time_. 'If it hadn't been for your pipe, ' I said to him at thewinning-post, 'you would have been first. ' 'I beg your pardon, sir, ' heanswered, 'but if it hadn't been for my pipe, I should have beennowhere. '" The close of the letter had this rather memorableannouncement. "The sale of the Christmas number was, yesterday evening, 255, 380. " Would it be absurd to say that there is something in such avast popularity in itself electrical, and, though founded on books, feltwhere books never reach? It is also very noticeable that what would have constituted the strengthof Dickens if he had entered public life, the attractive as well as thecommanding side of his nature, was that which kept him most within thecircle of home pursuits and enjoyments. This "better part" of him hadnow long survived that sorrowful period of 1857-8, when, for reasonswhich I have not thought myself free to suppress, a vaguely disturbedfeeling for the time took possession of him, and occurrences led to hisadoption of other pursuits than those to which till then he had givenhimself exclusively. It was a sad interval in his life; but, thoughchanges incident to the new occupation then taken up remained, and withthem many adverse influences which brought his life prematurely to aclose, it was, with any reference to that feeling, an interval only; andthe dominant impression of the later years, as of the earlier, takes themarvellously domestic home-loving shape in which also the strength ofhis genius is found. It will not do to draw round any part of such a mantoo hard a line, and the writer must not be charged with inconsistencywho says that Dickens's childish sufferings, [302] and the sense theyburnt into him of the misery of loneliness and a craving for joys ofhome, though they led to what was weakest in him, led also to what wasgreatest. It was his defect as well as his merit in maturer life not tobe able to live alone. When the fancies of his novels were upon him andhe was under their restless influence, though he often talked ofshutting himself up in out of the way solitary places, he never wentanywhere unaccompanied by members of his family. His habits of dailylife he carried with him wherever he went. In Albaro and Genoa, atLausanne and Geneva, in Paris and Boulogne, his ways were as entirelythose of home as in London and Broadstairs. If it is the property of adomestic nature to be personally interested in every detail, thesmallest as the greatest, of the four walls within which one lives, thenno man had it so essentially as Dickens. No man was so inclinednaturally to derive his happiness from home concerns. Even the kind ofinterest in a house which is commonly confined to women, he was full of. Not to speak of changes of importance, there was not an additional hookput up wherever he inhabited, without his knowledge, or otherwise thanas part of some small ingenuity of his own. Nothing was too minute forhis personal superintendence. Whatever might be in hand, theatricals forthe little children, entertainments for those of larger growth, cricketmatches, dinners, field sports, from the first new year's eve dance inDoughty Street to the last musical party in Hyde Park Place, he was thecentre and soul of it. He did not care to take measure of its greater orless importance. It was enough that a thing was to do, to be worth hiswhile to do it as if there was nothing else to be done in the world. The cry of Laud and Wentworth was his, alike in small and great things;and to no man was more applicable the German "Echt, " which expressesreality as well as thoroughness. The usual result followed, in all hishomes, of an absolute reliance on him for everything. Under everydifficulty, and in every emergency, his was the encouraging influence, the bright and ready help. In illness, whether of the children or any ofthe servants, he was better than a doctor. He was so full of resource, for which every one eagerly turned to him, that his mere presence in thesick-room was a healing influence, as if nothing could fail if he wereonly there. So that at last, when, all through the awful night whichpreceded his departure, he lay senseless in the room where he hadfallen, the stricken and bewildered ones who tended him found itimpossible to believe that what they saw before them alone was left, orto shut out wholly the strange wild hope that he might again be suddenlyamong them _like_ himself, and revive what they could not connect, eventhen, with death's despairing helplessness. It was not a feeling confined to the relatives whom he had thus taughtto have such exclusive dependence on him. Among the consolationsaddressed to those mourners came words from one whom in life he had mosthonoured, and who also found it difficult to connect him with death, orto think that he should never see that blithe face anymore. "It isalmost thirty years, " Mr. Carlyle wrote, "since my acquaintance with himbegan; and on my side, I may say, every new meeting ripened it into moreand more clear discernment of his rare and great worth as a brotherman: a most cordial, sincere, clear-sighted, quietly decisive, just andloving man: till at length he had grown to such a recognition with me asI have rarely had for any man of my time. This I can tell you three, forit is true and will be welcome to you: to others less concerned I had assoon _not_ speak on such a subject. " "I am profoundly sorry, for _you_, "Mr. Carlyle at the same time wrote to me; "and indeed for myself and forus all. It is an event world-wide; a _unique_ of talents suddenlyextinct; and has 'eclipsed, ' we too may say, 'the harmless gaiety ofnations. ' No death since 1866 has fallen on me with such a stroke. Noliterary man's hitherto ever did. The good, the gentle, high-gifted, ever-friendly, noble Dickens, --every inch of him an Honest Man. " Of his ordinary habits of activity I have spoken, and they weredoubtless carried too far. In youth it was all well, but he did not makeallowance for years. This has had abundant illustration, but will admitof a few words more. To all men who do much, rule and order areessential; method in everything was Dickens's peculiarity; and betweenbreakfast and luncheon, with rare exceptions, was his time of work. Buthis daily walks were less of rule than of enjoyment and necessity. Inthe midst of his writing they were indispensable, and especially, as ithas often been shown, at night. Mr. Sala is an authority on Londonstreets, and, in the eloquent and generous tribute he was among thefirst to offer to his memory, has described himself encountering Dickensin the oddest places and most inclement weather, in Ratcliffe-highway, on Haverstock-hill, on Camberwell-green, in Gray's-inn-lane, in theWandsworth-road, at Hammersmith Broadway, in Norton Folgate, and atKensal New Town. "A hansom whirled you by the Bell and Horns atBrompton, and there he was striding, as with seven-league boots, seemingly in the direction of North-end, Fulham. The MetropolitanRailway sent you forth at Lisson-grove, and you met him ploddingspeedily towards the Yorkshire Stingo. He was to be met rapidly skirtingthe grim brick wall of the prison in Coldbath-fields, or trudging alongthe Seven Sisters-road at Holloway, or bearing, under a steady press ofsail, underneath Highgate Archway, or pursuing the even tenor of his wayup the Vauxhall-bridge-road. " But he was equally at home in theintricate byways of narrow streets and in the lengthy thoroughfares. Wherever there was "matter to be heard and learned, " in back streetsbehind Holborn, in Borough courts and passages, in city wharfs oralleys, about the poorer lodging-houses, in prisons, workhouses, ragged-schools, police-courts, rag-shops, chandlers' shops, and allsorts of markets for the poor, he carried his keen observation anduntiring study. "I was among the Italian Boys from 12 to 2 thismorning, " says one of his letters. "I am going out to-night in theirboat with the Thames Police, " says another. It was the same when he wasin Italy or Switzerland, as we have seen; and when, in later life, hewas in French provincial places. "I walk miles away into the country, and you can scarcely imagine by what deserted ramparts and silent littlecathedral closes, or how I pass over rusty drawbridges and stagnantditches out of and into the decaying town. " For several consecutiveyears I accompanied him every Christmas Eve to see the marketings forChristmas down the road from Aldgate to Bow; and he had a surprisingfondness for wandering about in poor neighbourhoods on Christmas-day, past the areas of shabby genteel houses in Somers or Kentish Towns, andwatching the dinners preparing or coming in. But the temptations of hiscountry life led him on to excesses in walking. "Coming in just now, " hewrote in his third year at Gadshill, "after twelve miles in the rain, Iwas so wet that I have had to change and get my feet into warm waterbefore I could do anything. " Again, two years later: "A south-easterblowing, enough to cut one's throat. I am keeping the house for my cold, as I did yesterday. But the remedy is so new to me, that I doubt if itdoes me half the good of a dozen miles in the snow. So, if this mode oftreatment fails to-day, I shall try that to-morrow. " He tried it perhapstoo often. In the winter of 1865 he first had the attack in his leftfoot which materially disabled his walking-power for the rest of hislife. He supposed its cause to be overwalking in the snow, and that thishad aggravated the suffering is very likely; but, read by the light ofwhat followed, it may now be presumed to have had more serious origin. It recurred at intervals, before America, without any such provocation;in America it came back, not when he had most been walking in the snow, but when nervous exhaustion was at its worst with him; after America, itbecame prominent on the eve of the occurrence at Preston which firstrevealed the progress that disease had been making in the vessels of thebrain; and in the last year of his life, as will immediately be seen, it was a constant trouble and most intense suffering, extending thengravely to his left hand also, which had before been only slightlyaffected. It was from a letter of the 21st of February 1865 I first learnt that hewas suffering tortures from a "frost-bitten" foot, and ten days laterbrought more detailed account. "I got frost-bitten by walkingcontinually in the snow, and getting wet in the feet daily. My bootshardened and softened, hardened and softened, my left foot swelled, andI still forced the boot on; sat in it to write, half the day; walked init through the snow, the other half; forced the boot on again nextmorning; sat and walked again; and being accustomed to all sorts ofchanges in my feet, took no heed. At length, going out as usual, I felllame on the walk, and had to limp home dead lame, through the snow, forthe last three miles--to the remarkable terror, by-the-bye, of the twobig dogs. " The dogs were Turk and Linda. Boisterous companions as theyalways were, the sudden change in him brought them to a stand-still; andfor the rest of the journey they crept by the side of their master asslowly as he did, never turning from him. He was greatly moved by thecircumstance, and often referred to it. Turk's look upward to his facewas one of sympathy as well as fear, he said; but Linda was whollystruck down. The saying in his letter to his youngest son that he was to do to otherswhat he would that they should do to him, without being discouraged ifthey did not do it; and his saying to the Birmingham people that theywere to attend to self-improvement not because it led to fortune, butbecause it was right; express a principle that at all times guidedhimself. Capable of strong attachments, he was not what is called aneffusive man; but he had no half-heartedness in any of his likings. Theone thing entirely hateful to him, was indifference. "I give my heart tovery few people; but I would sooner love the most implacable man in theworld than a careless one, who, if my place were empty to-morrow, wouldrub on and never miss me. " There was nothing he more repeatedly told hischildren than that they were not to let indifference in others appear tojustify it in themselves. "All kind things, " he wrote, "must be done ontheir own account, and for their own sake, and without the leastreference to any gratitude. " Again he laid it down, while he was makingsome exertion for the sake of a dead friend that did not seem likely towin proper appreciation from those it was to serve. "As to gratitudefrom the family--as I have often remarked to you, one does a generousthing because it is right and pleasant, and not for any response it isto awaken in others. " The rule in another form frequently appears in hisletters; and it was enforced in many ways upon all who were dear to him. It is worth while to add his comment on a regret of a member of hisfamily at an act of self-devotion supposed to have been thrown away:"Nothing of what is nobly done can ever be lost. " It is also to be notedas in the same spirit, that it was not the loud but the silent heroismshe most admired. Of Sir John Richardson, one of the few who have livedin our days entitled to the name of a hero, he wrote from Paris in 1856. "Lady Franklin sent me the whole of that Richardson memoir; and I thinkRichardson's manly friendship, and love of Franklin, one of the noblestthings I ever knew in my life. It makes one's heart beat high, with asort of sacred joy. " (It is the feeling as strongly awakened by theearlier exploits of the same gallant man to be found at the end ofFranklin's first voyage, and never to be read without the most exaltedemotion. ) It was for something higher than mere literature he valued themost original writer and powerful teacher of the age. "I would go at alltimes farther to see Carlyle than any man alive. " Of his attractive points in society and conversation I haveparticularized little, because in truth they were himself. Such as theywere, they were never absent from him. His acute sense of enjoyment gavesuch relish to his social qualities that probably no man, not a greatwit or a professed talker, ever left, in leaving any social gathering, ablank so impossible to fill up. In quick and varied sympathy, in readyadaptation to every whim or humour, in help to any mirth or game, hestood for a dozen men. If one may say such a thing, he seemed to bealways the more himself for being somebody else, for continually puttingoff his personality. His versatility made him unique. What he said onceof his own love of acting, applied to him equally when at his happiestamong friends he loved; sketching a character, telling a story, acting acharade, taking part in a game; turning into comedy an incident of theday, describing the last good or bad thing he had seen, reproducing inquaint, tragical, or humorous form and figure, some part of thepassionate life with which all his being overflowed. "Assumption hascharms for me so delightful--I hardly know for how many wildreasons--that I feel a loss of Oh I can't say what exquisite foolery, when I lose a chance of being some one not in the remotest degree likemyself. " How it was, that, from one of such boundless resource incontributing to the pleasure of his friends, there was yet, as I havesaid, so comparatively little to bring away, may be thus explained. Butit has been also seen that no one at times said better things, and tohappy examples formerly given I will add one or two of a kind he morerarely indulged. "He is below par on the Exchange, " a friend remarked ofa notorious puffing actor; "he doesn't stand well at Lloyds. " "Yet noone stands so well with the under-writers, " said Dickens; a pun thatSwift would have envied. "I call him an Incubus!" said a non-literaryfriend, at a loss to express the boredom inflicted on him by a popularauthor. "Pen-and-ink-ubus, you mean, " interposed Dickens. So, whenStanfield said of his mid-shipman son, then absent on his first cruise, "the boy has got his sea-legs on by this time!" "I don't know, " remarkedDickens, "about his getting his sea-legs on; but if I may judge from hiswriting, he certainly has not got his A B C legs on. " Other agreeable pleasantries might be largely cited from his letters. "An old priest" (he wrote from France in 1862), "the express image ofFrederic Lemaitre got up for the part, and very cross with thetoothache, told me in a railway carriage the other day, that we had noantiquities in heretical England. 'None at all?' I said. 'You have someships however. ' 'Yes; a few. ' 'Are they strong?' 'Well, ' said I, 'yourtrade is spiritual, my father: ask the ghost of Nelson. ' A Frenchcaptain who was in the carriage, was immensely delighted with this smalljoke. I met him at Calais yesterday going somewhere with a detachment;and he said--Pardon! But he had been so limited as to suppose anEnglishman incapable of that bonhommie!" In humouring a joke he wasexcellent, both in letters and talk; and for this kind of enjoyment hisleast important little notes are often worth preserving. Take one smallinstance. So freely had he admired a tale told by his friend andsolicitor Mr. Frederic Ouvry, that he had to reply to a humorousproposal for publication of it, in his own manner, in his ownperiodical. "Your modesty is equal to your merit. . . . I think your way ofdescribing that rustic courtship in middle life, quite matchless. . . . Acheque for £1000 is lying with the publisher. We would willingly make itmore, but that we find our law charges so exceedingly heavy. " Hisletters have also examples now and then of what he called hisconversational triumphs. "I have distinguished myself" (28th of April1861) "in two respects lately. I took a young lady, unknown, down todinner, and, talking to her about the Bishop of Durham's nepotism in thematter of Mr. Cheese, I found she was Mrs. Cheese. And I expatiated tothe member for Marylebone, Lord Fermoy, generally conceiving him to bean Irish member, on the contemptible character of the Maryleboneconstituency and Marylebone representation. " Among his good things should not be omitted his telling of a ghoststory. He had something of a hankering after them, as the readers of hisbriefer pieces will know; and such was his interest generally in thingssupernatural that, but for the strong restraining power of his commonsense, he might have fallen into the follies of spiritualism. As it was, the fanciful side of his nature stopped short at such pardonablesuperstitions as those of dreams, and lucky days, or other marvels ofnatural coincidence; and no man was readier to apply sharp tests to aghost story or a haunted house, though there was just so much tendencyto believe in any such, "well-authenticated, " as made perfect his mannerof telling one. Such a story is related in the 125th number of _All theYear Round_, which before its publication both Mr. Layard and myself sawat Gadshill, and identified as one related by Lord Lytton. It waspublished in September, and in a day or two led to what Dickens willrelate. "The artist himself who is the hero of that story" (to LordLytton, 15th of September 1861) "has sent me in black and white his ownaccount of the whole experience, so very original, so veryextraordinary, so very far beyond the version I have published, that allother like stories turn pale before it. " The ghost thus reinforced cameout in the number published on the 5th of October; and the reader whocares to turn to it, and compare what Dickens in the interval (17th ofSeptember) wrote to myself, will have some measure of his readiness tobelieve in such things. "Upon the publication of the ghost story, up hasstarted the portrait-painter who saw the phantoms! His own written storyis out of all distance the most extraordinary that ever was produced;and is as far beyond my version or Bulwer's, as Scott is beyond James. Everything connected with it is amazing; but conceive this--theportrait-painter had been engaged to write it elsewhere as a story fornext Christmas, and not unnaturally supposed, when he saw himselfanticipated in _All the Year Round_, that there had been treachery athis printer's. 'In particular, ' says he, 'how else was it possible thatthe date, the 13th of September, could have been got at? For I nevertold the date, until I wrote it. ' Now, _my_ story had NO DATE; butseeing, when I looked over the proof, the great importance of having _a_date, I (C. D. ) wrote in, unconsciously, the exact date on the margin ofthe proof!" The reader will remember the Doncaster race story; and toother like illustrations of the subject already given, may be added thisdream. "Here is a curious case at first-hand" (30th of May 1863). "OnThursday night in last week, being at the office here, I dreamed that Isaw a lady in a red shawl with her back towards me (whom I supposed tobe E. ). On her turning round I found that I didn't know her, and shesaid 'I am Miss Napier. ' All the time I was dressing next morning, Ithought--What a preposterous thing to have so very distinct a dreamabout nothing! and why Miss Napier? for I never heard of any MissNapier. That same Friday night, I read. After the reading, came into myretiring-room, Mary Boyle and her brother, and _the_ Lady in the redshawl whom they present as 'Miss Napier!' These are all thecircumstances, exactly told. " Another kind of dream has had previous record, with no superstition tobuild itself upon but the loving devotion to one tender memory. Withlonger or shorter intervals this was with him all his days. Never fromhis waking thoughts was the recollection altogether absent; and thoughthe dream would leave him for a time, it unfailingly came back. It wasthe feeling of his life that always had a mastery over him. What he saidon the sixth anniversary of the death of his sister-in-law, that friendof his youth whom he had made his ideal of all moral excellence, hemight have said as truly after twenty-six years more. In the very yearbefore he died, the influence was potently upon him. "She is so much inmy thoughts at all times, especially when I am successful, and havegreatly prospered in anything, that the recollection of her is anessential part of my being, and is as inseparable from my existence asthe beating of my heart is. " Through later troubled years, whatever wasworthiest in him found in this an ark of safety; and it was the noblerpart of his being which had thus become also the essential. It gave tosuccess what success by itself had no power to give; and nothing couldconsist with it, for any length of time, that was not of good report andpure. What more could I say that was not better said from the pulpit ofthe Abbey where he rests? "He whom we mourn was the friend of mankind, a philanthropist in thetrue sense; the friend of youth, the friend of the poor, the enemy ofevery form of meanness and oppression. I am not going to attempt to drawa portrait of him. Men of genius are different from what we suppose themto be. They have greater pleasures and greater pains, greater affectionsand greater temptations, than the generality of mankind, and they cannever be altogether understood by their fellow men. . . . But we feel thata light has gone out, that the world is darker to us, when they depart. There are so very few of them that we cannot afford to lose them one byone, and we look vainly round for others who may supply their places. Hewhose loss we now mourn occupied a greater space than any other writerin the minds of Englishmen during the last thirty-three years. We readhim, talked about him, acted him; we laughed with him; we were roused byhim to a consciousness of the misery of others, and to a patheticinterest in human life. Works of fiction, indirectly, are greatinstructors of this world; and we can hardly exaggerate the debt ofgratitude which is due to a writer who has led us to sympathize withthese good, true, sincere, honest English characters of ordinary life, and to laugh at the egotism, the hypocrisy, the false respectability ofreligious professors and others. To another great humourist who lies inthis Church the words have been applied that his death eclipsed thegaiety of nations. But of him who has been recently taken I would rathersay, in humbler language, that no one was ever so much beloved or somuch mourned. " FOOTNOTES: [289] Mr. Grant Wilson has sent me an extract from a letter byFitz-Greene Halleck (author of one of the most delightful poems everwritten about Burns) which exactly expresses Dickens as he was, not onlyin 1842, but, as far as the sense of authorship went, all his life. Itwas addressed to Mrs. Rush of Philadelphia, and is dated the 8th ofMarch 1842. "You ask me about Mr. Boz. I am quite delighted with him. Heis a thorough good fellow, with nothing of the author about him but thereputation, and goes through his task as Lion with exemplary grace, patience, and good nature. He has the brilliant face of a man ofgenius. . . . His writings you know. I wish you had listened to hiseloquence at the dinner here. It was the only real specimen of eloquenceI have ever witnessed. Its charm was not in its words, but in the mannerof saying them. " [290] In a volume called _Home and Abroad_, by Mr. David Macrae, isprinted a correspondence with Dickens on matters alluded to in the text, held in 1861, which will be found to confirm all that is here said. [291] This letter is facsimile'd in _A Christmas Memorial of CharlesDickens by A. B. Hume_ (1870), containing an Ode to his Memory writtenwith feeling and spirit. [292] I may quote here from a letter (Newcastle-on-Tyne, 5th Sept. 1858)sent me by the editor of the _Northern Express_. "The view you take ofthe literary character in the abstract, or of what it might and ought tobe, expresses what I have striven for all through my literarylife--never to allow it to be patronized, or tolerated, or treated likea good or a bad child. I am always animated by the hope of leaving it alittle better understood by the thoughtless than I found it. "--To JamesB. Manson, Esq. [293] Henry Ryder-Taylor, Esq. Ph. D. 8th Sept. 1868. [294] By way of instance I subjoin an amusing insertion made by him inan otherwise indifferently written paper descriptive of the typicalEnglishman on the foreign stage, which gives in more comic detailexperiences of his own already partly submitted to the reader (ii. 127). "In a pretty piece at the Gymnase in Paris, where the prime minister ofEngland unfortunately ruined himself by speculating in railway shares, athorough-going English servant appeared under that thorough-goingEnglish name Tom Bob--the honest fellow having been christened Tom, andborn the lawful son of Mr. And Mrs. Bob. In an Italian adaptation ofDUMAS' preposterous play of KEAN, which we once saw at the great theatreof Genoa, the curtain rose upon that celebrated tragedian, drunk andfast asleep in a chair, attired in a dark blue blouse fastened round thewaist with a broad belt and a most prodigious buckle, and wearing a darkred hat of the sugar-loaf shape, nearly three feet high. He bore in hishand a champagne-bottle, with the label RHUM, in large capital letters, carefully turned towards the audience; and two or three dozen of thesame popular liquor, which we are nationally accustomed to drink neat asimported, by the half gallon, ornamented the floor of the apartment. Every frequenter of the Coal Hole tavern in the Strand, on thatoccasion, wore a sword and a beard. Every English lady, presented on thestage in Italy, wears a green veil; and almost every such specimen ofour fair countrywomen carries a bright red reticule, made in the form ofa monstrous heart. We do not remember to have ever seen an Englishman onthe Italian stage, or in the Italian circus, without a stomach likeDaniel Lambert, an immense shirt-frill, and a bunch of watch-seals eachseveral times larger than his watch, though the watch itself was animpossible engine. And we have rarely beheld this mimic Englishman, without seeing present, then and there, a score of real Englishmensufficiently characteristic and unlike the rest of the audience, to whomhe bore no shadow of resemblance. " These views as to English people andsociety, of which Count d'Orsay used always to say that an averageFrenchman knew about as much as he knew of the inhabitants of the moon, may receive amusing addition from one of Dickens's letters during hislast visit to France; which enclosed a cleverly written Paris journalcontaining essays on English manners. In one of these the writerremarked that he had heard of the venality of English politicians, butcould not have supposed it to be so shameless as it is, for, when hewent to the House of Commons, he heard them call out "Places! Places!""Give us Places!" when the Minister entered. [295] The letter is addressed to Miss Harriet Parr, whose book called_Gilbert Massenger_ is the tale referred to. [296] See the introductory memoir from his pen now prefixed to everyedition of the popular and delightful _Legends and Lyrics_. [297] On this remonstrance and Dickens's reply the _Times_ had a leadingarticle of which the closing sentences find fitting place in hisbiography. "If there be anything in Lord Russell's theory that LifePeerages are wanted specially to represent those forms of nationaleminence which cannot otherwise find fitting representation, it might beurged, for the reasons we have before mentioned, that a Life Peerage isdue to the most truly national representative of one importantdepartment of modern English literature. Something may no doubt be saidin favour of this view, but we are inclined to doubt if Mr. Dickenshimself would gain anything by a Life Peerage. Mr. Dickens ispre-eminently a writer of the people and for the people. To ourthinking, he is far better suited for the part of the 'Great Commoner'of English fiction than for even a Life Peerage. To turn Charles Dickensinto Lord Dickens would be much the same mistake in literature that itwas in politics to turn William Pitt into Lord Chatham. " [298] One of the many repetitions of the same opinion in his letters maybe given. "Lord John's note" (September 1853) "confirms me in an oldimpression that he is worth a score of official men; and has moregenerosity in his little finger than a Government usually has in itswhole corporation. " In another of his public allusions, Dickensdescribed him as a statesman of whom opponents and friends alike feltsure that he would rise to the level of every occasion, however exalted;and compared him to the seal of Solomon in the old Arabian storyinclosing in a not very large casket the soul of a giant. [299] In a memoir by Dr. Shelton McKenzie which has had circulation inAmerica, there is given the following statement, taken doubtless frompublications at the time, of which it will be strictly accurate to say, that, excepting the part of its closing averment which describes Dickenssending a copy of his works to her Majesty by her own desire, _there isin it not a single word of truth_. "Early in 1870 the Queen presented acopy of her book upon the Highlands to Mr. Dickens, with the modestautographic inscription, 'from the humblest to the most distinguishedauthor of England. ' This was meant to be complimentary, and was acceptedas such by Mr. Dickens, who acknowledged it in a manly, courteousletter. Soon after, Queen Victoria wrote to him, requesting that hewould do her the favour of paying her a visit at Windsor. He accepted, and passed a day, very pleasantly, in his Sovereign's society. It issaid that they were mutually pleased, that Mr. Dickens caught the royallady's particular humour, that they chatted together in a very friendlymanner, that the Queen was never tired of asking questions about certaincharacters in his books, that they had almost a _tête-à-tête_ luncheon, and that, ere he departed, the Queen pressed him to accept a baronetcy(a title which descends to the eldest son), and that, on his declining, she said, 'At least, Mr. Dickens, let me have the gratification ofmaking you one of my Privy Council. ' This, which gives the personaltitle of 'Right Honourable, ' he also declined--nor, indeed, did CharlesDickens require a title to give him celebrity. The Queen and the authorparted, well pleased with each other. The newspapers reported that apeerage had been offered and declined--_but even newspapers are notinvariably correct_. Mr. Dickens presented his Royal Mistress with ahandsome set of all his works, and, on the very morning of his death, aletter reached Gad's Hill, written by Mr. Arthur Helps, by her desire, acknowledging the present, and describing the exact position the booksoccupied at Balmoral--so placed that she could see them before her whenoccupying the usual seat in her sitting-room. When this letter arrived, Mr. Dickens was still alive, but wholly unconscious. What to him, atthat time, was the courtesy of an earthly sovereign?" I repeat that theonly morsel of truth in all this rigmarole is that the books were sentby Dickens, and acknowledged by Mr. Helps at the Queen's desire. Theletter did not arrive on the day of his death, the 9th of June, but wasdated from Balmoral on that day. [300] The book was thus entered in the catalogue. "DICKENS (C. ), ACHRISTMAS CAROL, in prose, 1843; _Presentation Copy_, inscribed '_W. M. Thackeray, from Charles Dickens (whom he made very happy once a long wayfrom home_). '" Some pleasant verses by his friend had affected him muchwhile abroad. I quote the Life of Dickens published by Mr. Hotten. "HerMajesty expressed the strongest desire to possess this presentationcopy, and sent an unlimited commission to buy it. The original publishedprice of the book was 5_s. _ It became Her Majesty's property for £2510_s. _, and was at once taken to the palace. " [301] "In Memoriam" by Arthur Helps, in _Macmillan's Magazine_ for July1870. [302] An entry, under the date of July 1833, from a printed butunpublished Diary by Mr. Payne Collier, appeared lately in the_Athenæum_, having reference to Dickens at the time when he firstobtained employment as a reporter, and connecting itself with what myopening volume had related of those childish sufferings. "Soonafterwards I observed a great difference in C. D. 's dress, for he hadbought a new hat and a very handsome blue cloak, which he threw over hisshoulder _à l' Espagnole_. . . . We walked together through HungerfordMarket, where we followed a coal-heaver, who carried his little rosy butgrimy child looking over his shoulder; and C. D. Bought ahalfpenny-worth of cherries, and as we went along he gave them one byone to the little fellow without the knowledge of the father. . . . Heinformed me as we walked through it that he knew Hungerford Marketwell. . . . He did not affect to conceal the difficulties he and his familyhad had to contend against. " CHAPTER XX. THE END. 1869-1870. Visit from Mr. And Mrs. Fields--Places shown to Visitor--Last Paper in _All the Year Round_--Son Henry's Scholarship--A Reading of _Edwin Drood_--Medical Attendance at Readings--Excitement after _Oliver Twist_ Scenes--Farewell Address--Results of Over Excitement--Last Appearances in Public--Death of Daniel Maclise--Temptations of London--Another Attack in the Foot--Noteworthy Incident--Tribute of Gratitude for his Books--Last Letter from him--Last Days--Thoughts on his Last Day of Consciousness--The Close--General Mourning--Wish to bury him in the Abbey--His Own Wish--The Burial--Unbidden Mourners--The Grave. THE summer and autumn of 1869 were passed quietly at Gadshill. Hereceived there, in June, the American friends to whom he had been mostindebted for unwearying domestic kindness at his most trying time in theStates. In August, he was at the dinner of the International boat-race;and, in a speech that might have gone far to reconcile the victors tochanging places with the vanquished, gave the healths of the Harvard andthe Oxford crews. He went to Birmingham, in September, to fulfil apromise that he would open the session of the Institute; and there, after telling his audience that his invention, such as it was, neverwould have served him as it had done, but for the habit of commonplace, patient, drudging attention, he declared his political creed to beinfinitesimal faith in the people governing and illimitable faith in thePeople governed. In such engagements as these, with nothing of the kindof strain he had most to dread, there was hardly more movement or changethan was necessary to his enjoyment of rest. He had been able to show Mr. Fields something of the interest of Londonas well as of his Kentish home. He went over its "general post-office"with him, took him among its cheap theatres and poor lodging-houses, andpiloted him by night through its most notorious thieves' quarter. Itslocalities that are pleasantest to a lover of books, such as Johnson'sBolt-court and Goldsmith's Temple-chambers, he explored with him; and, at his visitor's special request, mounted a staircase he had notascended for more than thirty years, to show the chambers in Furnival'sInn where the first page of _Pickwick_ was written. One more book, unfinished, was to close what that famous book began; and the originalof the scene of its opening chapter, the opium-eater's den, was the lastplace visited. "In a miserable court at night, " says Mr. Fields, "wefound a haggard old woman blowing at a kind of pipe made of an oldink-bottle; and the words which Dickens puts into the mouth of thiswretched creature in _Edwin Drood_, we heard her croon as we leaned overthe tattered bed in which she was lying. " Before beginning his novel he had written his last paper for his weeklypublication. It was a notice of my _Life of Landor_, and contained someinteresting recollections of that remarkable man. His memory at thistime dwelt much, as was only natural, with past pleasant time, as he sawfamiliar faces leaving us or likely to leave; and, on the death of oneof the comedians associated with the old bright days of Covent Garden, Ihad intimation of a fancy that had never quitted him since theCheltenham reading. "I see in the paper to-day that Meadows is dead. Ihad a talk with him at Coutts's a week or two ago, when he said he wasseventy-five, and very weak. Except for having a tearful eye, he lookedjust the same as ever. My mind still constantly misgives me concerningMacready. Curiously, I don't think he has been ever, for ten minutestogether, out of my thoughts since I talked with Meadows last. Well, theyear that brings trouble brings comfort too: I have a great success inthe boy-line to announce to you. Harry has won the second scholarship atTrinity Hall, which gives him £50 a year as long as he stays there; andI begin to hope that he will get a fellowship. " I doubt if anything evermore truly pleased him than this little success of his son Henry atCambridge. Henry missed the fellowship, but was twenty-ninth wrangler ina fair year, when the wranglers were over forty. He finished his first number of _Edwin Drood_ in the third week ofOctober, and on the 26th read it at my house with great spirit. A fewnights before we had seen together at the Olympic a little drama takenfrom his _Copperfield_, which he sat out with more than patience, evenwith something of enjoyment; and another pleasure was given him thatnight by its author, Mr. Halliday, who brought into the box anotherdramatist, Mr. Robertson, to whom Dickens, who then first saw him, saidthat to himself the charm of his little comedies was "their unassumingform, " which had so happily shown that "real wit could afford to put offany airs of pretension to it. " He was at Gadshill till the close of theyear; coming up for a few special occasions, such as Procter'seighty-second birthday; and at my house on new-year's eve he read to us, again aloud, a fresh number of his book. Yet these very last days ofDecember had not been without a reminder of the grave warnings of April. The pains in somewhat modified form had returned in both his left handand his left foot a few days before we met; and they were troubling himstill on that day. But he made so light of them himself; so littlethought of connecting them with the uncertainties of touch and tread ofwhich they were really part; and read with such an overflow of humourMr. Honeythunder's boisterous philanthropy; that there was no room, then, for anything but enjoyment. His only allusion to an effect fromhis illness was his mention of a now invincible dislike which he had torailway travel. This had decided him to take a London house for thetwelve last readings in the early months of 1870, and he had become Mr. Milner-Gibson's tenant at 5, Hyde Park Place. St. James's Hall was to be the scene of these Readings, and they were tooccupy the interval from the 11th of January to the 15th of March; twobeing given in each week to the close of January, and the remainingeight on each of the eight Tuesdays following. Nothing was said of anykind of apprehension as the time approached; but, with a curious absenceof the sense of danger, there was certainly both distrust and fear. Sufficient precaution was supposed to have been taken[303] byarrangement for the presence, at each reading, of his friend and medicalattendant, Mr. Carr Beard; but this resolved itself, not into anymeasure of safety, the case admitting of none short of stopping thereading altogether, but simply into ascertainment of the exact amount ofstrain and pressure, which, with every fresh exertion, he was placing onthose vessels of the brain where the Preston trouble too surely hadrevealed that danger lay. No supposed force in reserve, no dominantstrength of will, can turn aside the penalties sternly exacted fordisregard of such laws of life as were here plainly overlooked; andthough no one may say that it was not already too late for any but thefatal issue, there will be no presumption in believing that life mightyet have been for some time prolonged if these readings could have beenstopped. "I am a little shaken, " he wrote on the 9th of January, "by my journeyto Birmingham to give away the Institution's prizes on Twelfth Night, but I am in good heart; and, notwithstanding Lowe's worrying scheme forcollecting a year's taxes in a lump, which they tell me is damagingbooks, pictures, music, and theatres beyond precedent, our 'let' at St. James's Hall is enormous. " He opened with _Copperfield_ and the_Pickwick Trial_; and I may briefly mention, from the notes taken by Mr. Beard and placed at my disposal, at what cost of exertion to himself hegratified the crowded audiences that then and to the close made theseevenings memorable. His ordinary pulse on the first night was at 72; butnever on any subsequent night was lower than 82, and had risen on thelater nights to more than 100. After _Copperfield_ on the first night itwent up to 96, and after _Marigold_ on the second to 99; but on thefirst night of the _Sikes and Nancy_ scenes (Friday the 21st of January)it went from 80 to 112, and on the second night (the 1st of February) to118. From this, through the six remaining nights, it never was lowerthan 110 after the first piece read; and after the third and fourthreadings of the _Oliver Twist_ scenes it rose, from 90 to 124 on the15th of February, and from 94 to 120 on the 8th of March; on the formeroccasion, after twenty minutes' rest, falling to 98, and on the latter, after fifteen minutes' rest, falling to 82. His ordinary pulse onentering the room, during these last six nights, was more than onceover 100, and never lower than 84; from which it rose, after _Nickleby_on the 22nd of February, to 112. On the 8th of February, when he read_Dombey_, it had risen from 91 to 114; on the 1st of March, after_Copperfield_, it rose from 100 to 124; and when he entered the room onthe last night it was at 108, having risen only two beats more when thereading was done. The pieces on this occasion were the _ChristmasCarol_, followed by the _Pickwick Trial_; and probably in all his lifehe never read so well. On his return from the States, where he had toaddress his effects to audiences composed of immense numbers of people, a certain loss of refinement had been observable; but the old delicacywas now again delightfully manifest, and a subdued tone, as well in thehumorous as the serious portions, gave something to all the reading asof a quiet sadness of farewell. The charm of this was at its height whenhe shut the volume of _Pickwick_ and spoke in his own person. He saidthat for fifteen years he had been reading his own books to audienceswhose sensitive and kindly recognition of them had given him instructionand enjoyment in his art such as few men could have had; but that henevertheless thought it well now to retire upon older associations, andin future to devote himself exclusively to the calling which had firstmade him known. "In but two short weeks from this time I hope that youmay enter, in your own homes, on a new series of readings at which myassistance will be indispensable; but from these garish lights I vanishnow for evermore, with a heartfelt, grateful, respectful, affectionatefarewell. " The brief hush of silence as he moved from the platform; andthe prolonged tumult of sound that followed suddenly, stayed him, andagain for another moment brought him back; will not be forgotten by anypresent. Little remains to be told that has not in it almost unmixed pain andsorrow. Hardly a day passed, while the readings went on or after theyclosed, unvisited by some effect or other of the disastrous excitementshown by the notes of Mr. Beard. On the 23rd of January, when for thelast time he met Carlyle, he came to us with his left hand in a sling;on the 7th of February, when he passed with us his last birthday, and onthe 25th, when he read the third number of his novel, the hand was stillswollen and painful; and on the 21st of March, when he read admirablyhis fourth number, he told us that as he came along, walking up thelength of Oxford-street, the same incident had recurred as on the day ofa former dinner with us, and he had not been able to read, all the way, more than the right-hand half of the names over the shops. Yet he hadthe old fixed persuasion that this was rather the effect of a medicinehe had been taking than of any grave cause, and he still stronglybelieved his other troubles to be exclusively local. Eight days later hewrote: "My uneasiness and hemorrhage, after having quite left me, as Isupposed, has come back with an aggravated irritability that it has notyet displayed. You have no idea what a state I am in to-day from asudden violent rush of it; and yet it has not the slightest effect on mygeneral health that I know of. " This was a disorder which troubled himin his earlier life; and during the last five years, in his intervals ofsuffering from other causes, it had from time to time taken aggravatedform. His last public appearances were in April. On the 5th he took the chairfor the Newsvendors, whom he helped with a genial address in which evenhis apology for little speaking overflowed with irrepressible humour. Hewould try, he said, like Falstaff, "but with a modification almost aslarge as himself, " less to speak himself than to be the cause ofspeaking in others. "Much in this manner they exhibit at the door of asnuff-shop the effigy of a Highlander with an empty mull in his hand, who, apparently having taken all the snuff he can carry, and dischargedall the sneezes of which he is capable, politely invites his friends andpatrons to step in and try what they can do in the same line. " On the30th of the same month he returned thanks for "Literature" at the RoyalAcademy dinner, and I may preface my allusion to what he then said withwhat he had written to me the day before. Three days earlier DanielMaclise had passed away. "Like you at Ely, so I at Higham, had the shockof first reading at a railway station of the death of our old dearfriend and companion. What the shock would be, you know too well. It hasbeen only after great difficulty, and after hardening and steelingmyself to the subject by at once thinking of it and avoiding it in astrange way, that I have been able to get any command over it or overmyself. If I feel at the time that I can be sure of the necessarycomposure, I shall make a little reference to it at the Academyto-morrow. I suppose you won't be there. "[304] The reference made wasmost touching and manly. He told those who listened that since he firstentered the public lists, a very young man indeed, it had been hisconstant fortune to number among his nearest and dearest friends membersof that Academy who had been its pride; and who had now, one by one, sodropped from his side that he was grown to believe, with the Spanishmonk of whom Wilkie spoke, that the only realities around him were thepictures which he loved, and all the moving life but a shadow and adream. "For many years I was one of the two most intimate friends andmost constant companions of Mr. Maclise, to whose death the Prince ofWales has made allusion, and the President has referred with theeloquence of genuine feeling. Of his genius in his chosen art, I willventure to say nothing here; but of his fertility of mind and wealth ofintellect I may confidently assert that they would have made him, if hehad been so minded, at least as great a writer as he was a painter. Thegentlest and most modest of men, the freshest as to his generousappreciation of young aspirants and the frankest and largest hearted asto his peers, incapable of a sordid or ignoble thought, gallantlysustaining the true dignity of his vocation, without one grain ofself-ambition, wholesomely natural at the last as at the first, 'in wita man, simplicity a child, '--no artist of whatsoever denomination, Imake bold to say, ever went to his rest leaving a golden memory morepure from dross, or having devoted himself with a truer chivalry to theart-goddess whom he worshipped. " These were the last public words ofDickens, and he could not have spoken any worthier. Upon his appearance at the dinner of the Academy had followed someinvitations he was led to accept; greatly to his own regret, he told meon the night (7th of May) when he read to us the fifth number of _EdwinDrood_; for he was now very eager to get back to the quiet of Gadshill. He dined with Mr. Motley, then American minister; had met Mr. Disraeliat a dinner at Lord Stanhope's; had breakfasted with Mr. Gladstone; andon the 17th was to attend the Queen's ball with his daughter. But shehad to go there without him; for on the 16th I had intimation of asudden disablement. "I am sorry to report, that, in the old preposterousendeavour to dine at preposterous hours and preposterous places, I havebeen pulled up by a sharp attack in my foot. And serve me right. I hopeto get the better of it soon, but I fear I must not think of dining withyou on Friday. I have cancelled everything in the dining way for thisweek, and that is a very small precaution after the horrible pain I havehad and the remedies I have taken. " He had to excuse himself also fromthe General Theatrical Fund dinner, where the Prince of Wales was topreside; but at another dinner a week later, where the King of theBelgians and the Prince were to be present, so much pressure was putupon him that he went, still suffering as he was, to dine with LordHoughton. We met for the last time on Sunday the 22nd of May, when I dined withhim in Hyde Park Place. The death of Mr. Lemon, of which he heard thatday, had led his thoughts to the crowd of friendly companions in lettersand art who had so fallen from the ranks since we played Ben Jonsontogether that we were left almost alone. "And none beyond his sixtiethyear, " he said, "very few even fifty. " It is no good to talk of it, Isuggested. "We shall not think of it the less" was his reply; and anillustration much to the point was before us, afforded by an incidentdeserving remembrance in his story. Not many weeks before, acorrespondent had written to him from Liverpool describing himself as aself-raised man, attributing his prosperous career to what Dickens'swritings had taught him at its outset of the wisdom of kindness, andsympathy for others; and asking pardon for the liberty he took in hopingthat he might be permitted to offer some acknowledgment of what not onlyhad cheered and stimulated him through all his life, but had contributedso much to the success of it. The letter enclosed £500. Dickens wasgreatly touched by this; and told the writer, in sending back hischeque, that he would certainly have taken it if he had not been, thoughnot a man of fortune, a prosperous man himself; but that the letter, andthe spirit of its offer, had so gratified him, that if the writerpleased to send him any small memorial of it in another form he wouldgladly receive it. The memorial soon came. A richly worked basket ofsilver, inscribed "from one who has been cheered and stimulated by Mr. Dickens's writings, and held the author among his first remembranceswhen he became prosperous, " was accompanied by an extremely handsomesilver centrepiece for the table, of which the design was four figuresrepresenting the Seasons. But the kindly donor shrank from sendingWinter to one whom he would fain connect with none but the brighter andmilder days, and he had struck the fourth figure from the design. "Inever look at it, " said Dickens, "that I don't think most of theWinter. " A matter discussed that day with Mr. Ouvry was briefly resumed in a noteof the 29th of May, the last I ever received from him; which followed meto Exeter, and closed thus. "You and I can speak of it at Gads by andby. Foot no worse. But no better. " The old trouble was upon him when weparted, and this must have been nearly the last note written before hequitted London. He was at Gadshill on the 30th of May; and I heard nomore until the telegram reached me at Launceston on the night of the 9thof June, which told me that the "by and by" was not to come in thisworld. The few days at Gadshill had been given wholly to work on his novel. Hehad been easier in his foot and hand; and, though he was sufferingseverely from the local hemorrhage before named, he made no complaint ofillness. But there was observed in him a very unusual appearance offatigue. "He seemed very weary. " He was out with his dogs for the lasttime on Monday the 6th of June, when he walked with his letters intoRochester. On Tuesday the 7th, after his daughter Mary had left on avisit to her sister Kate, not finding himself equal to much fatigue, hedrove to Cobhamwood with his sister-in-law, there dismissed thecarriage, and walked round the park and back. He returned in time to putup in his new conservatory some Chinese lanterns sent from London thatafternoon; and, the whole of the evening, he sat with Miss Hogarth inthe dining-room that he might see their effect when lighted. More thanonce he then expressed his satisfaction at having finally abandoned allintention of exchanging Gadshill for London; and this he had done moreimpressively some days before. While he lived, he said, he should likehis name to be more and more associated with the place; and he had anotion that when he died he should like to lie in the little graveyardbelonging to the Cathedral at the foot of the Castle wall. On the 8th of June he passed all the day writing in the Châlet. He cameover for luncheon; and, much against his usual custom, returned to hisdesk. Of the sentences he was then writing, the last of his long life ofliterature, a portion has been given in facsimile on a previous page;and the reader will observe with a painful interest, not alone itsevidence of minute labour at this fast-closing hour of time with him, but the direction his thoughts had taken. He imagines such a brilliantmorning as had risen with that eighth of June shining on the old city ofRochester. He sees in surpassing beauty, with the lusty ivy gleaming inthe sun, and the rich trees waving in the balmy air, its antiquities andits ruins; its Cathedral and Castle. But his fancy, then, is not withthe stern dead forms of either; but with that which makes warm the coldstone tombs of centuries, and lights them up with flecks of brightness, "fluttering there like wings. " To him, on that sunny summer morning, thechanges of glorious light from moving boughs, the songs of birds, thescents from garden, woods, and fields, have penetrated into theCathedral, have subdued its earthy odour, and are preaching theResurrection and the Life. * * * * * He was late in leaving the Châlet; but before dinner, which was orderedat six o'clock with the intention of walking afterwards in the lanes, hewrote some letters, among them one to his friend Mr. Charles Kentappointing to see him in London next day; and dinner was begun beforeMiss Hogarth saw, with alarm, a singular expression of trouble and painin his face. "For an hour, " he then told her, "he had been very ill;"but he wished dinner to go on. These were the only really coherent wordsuttered by him. They were followed by some, that fell from himdisconnectedly, of quite other matters; of an approaching sale at aneighbour's house, of whether Macready's son was with his father atCheltenham, and of his own intention to go immediately to London; but atthese latter he had risen, and his sister-in-law's help alone preventedhim from falling where he stood. Her effort then was to get him on thesofa, but after a slight struggle he sank heavily on his left side. "Onthe ground" were the last words he spoke. It was now a little over tenminutes past six o'clock. His two daughters came that night with Mr. Beard, who had also been telegraphed for, and whom they met at thestation. His eldest son arrived early next morning, and was joined inthe evening (too late) by his younger son from Cambridge. All possiblemedical aid had been summoned. The surgeon of the neighbourhood wasthere from the first, and a physician from London was in attendance aswell as Mr. Beard. But all human help was unavailing. There was effusionon the brain; and though stertorous breathing continued all night, anduntil ten minutes past six o'clock on the evening of Thursday the 9th ofJune, there had never been a gleam of hope during the twenty-four hours. He had lived four months beyond his 58th year. * * * * * The excitement and sorrow at his death are within the memory of all. Before the news of it even reached the remoter parts of England, it hadbeen flashed across Europe; was known in the distant continents ofIndia, Australia, and America; and not in English-speaking communitiesonly, but in every country of the civilised earth, had awakened griefand sympathy. In his own land it was as if a personal bereavement hadbefallen every one. Her Majesty the Queen telegraphed from Balmoral "herdeepest regret at the sad news of Charles Dickens's death;" and this wasthe sentiment alike of all classes of her people. There was not anEnglish journal that did not give it touching and noble utterance; andthe _Times_ took the lead in suggesting[305] that the only fitresting-place for the remains of a man so dear to England was the Abbeyin which the most illustrious Englishmen are laid. With the expression thus given to a general wish, the Dean ofWestminster lost no time in showing ready compliance; and on the morningof the day when it appeared was in communication with the family andrepresentatives. The public homage of a burial in the Abbey had to bereconciled with his own instructions to be privately buried withoutprevious announcement of time or place, and without monument ormemorial. He would himself have preferred to lie in the small graveyardunder Rochester Castle wall, or in the little churches of Cobham orShorne; but all these were found to be closed; and the desire of theDean and Chapter of Rochester to lay him in their Cathedral had beenentertained, when the Dean of Westminster's request, and the consideratekindness of his generous assurance that there should be only suchceremonial as would strictly obey all injunctions of privacy, made it agrateful duty to accept that offer. The spot already had been chosen bythe Dean; and before mid-day on the following morning, Tuesday the 14thof June, with knowledge of those only who took part in the burial, allwas done. The solemnity had not lost by the simplicity. Nothing so grandor so touching could have accompanied it, as the stillness and thesilence of the vast Cathedral. Then, later in the day and all thefollowing day, came unbidden mourners in such crowds, that the Dean hadto request permission to keep open the grave until Thursday; but afterit was closed they did not cease to come, and "all day long, " DoctorStanley wrote on the 17th, "there was a constant pressure to the spot, and many flowers were strewn upon it by unknown hands, many tears shedfrom unknown eyes. " He alluded to this in the impressive funeraldiscourse delivered by him in the Abbey on the morning of Sunday the19th, pointing to the fresh flowers that then had been newly thrown (asthey still are thrown, in this fourth year after the death), and sayingthat "the spot would thenceforward be a sacred one with both the NewWorld and the Old, as that of the representative of the literature, notof this island only, but of all who speak our English tongue. " The stoneplaced upon it is inscribed CHARLES DICKENS. BORN FEBRUARY THE SEVENTH 1812. DIED JUNE THE NINTH 1870. [Illustration] The highest associations of both the arts he loved surround him wherehe lies. Next to him is RICHARD CUMBERLAND. Mrs. PRITCHARD'S monumentlooks down upon him, and immediately behind is DAVID GARRICK'S. Nor isthe actor's delightful art more worthily represented than the noblergenius of the author. Facing the grave, and on its left and right, arethe monuments of CHAUCER, SHAKESPEARE, and DRYDEN, the three immortalswho did most to create and settle the language to which CHARLES DICKENShas given another undying name. FINIS. FOOTNOTES: [303] I desire to guard myself against any possible supposition that Ithink these Readings might have been stopped by the exercise of medicalauthority. I am convinced of the contrary. Dickens had pledged himselfto them; and the fact that others' interests were engaged rather thanhis own supplied him with an overpowering motive for being determinedlyset on going through with them. At the sorrowful time in the precedingyear, when, yielding to the stern sentence passed by Sir Thomas Watson, he had dismissed finally the staff employed on his country readings, hehad thus written to me. "I do believe" (3rd of May 1869) "that suchpeople as the Chappells are very rarely to be found in human affairs. Tosay nothing of their noble and munificent manner of sweeping away intospace all the charges incurred uselessly, and all the immenseinconvenience and profitless work thrown upon their establishment, comesa note this morning from the senior partner, to the effect that theyfeel that my overwork has been 'indirectly caused by them, and by mygreat and kind exertions to make their venture successful to theextreme. ' There is something so delicate and fine in this, that I feelit deeply. " That feeling led to his resolve to make the additionalexertion of these twelve last readings, and nothing would have turnedhim from it as long as he could stand at the desk. [304] I preserve also the closing words of the letter. "It is verystrange--you remember I suppose?--that the last time we spoke of himtogether, you said that we should one day hear that the wayward lifeinto which he had fallen was over, and there an end of our knowledge ofit. " The waywardness, which was merely the having latterly withdrawnhimself too much from old friendly intercourse, had its real origin indisappointments connected with the public work on which he was engagedin those later years, and to which he sacrificed every private interestof his own. His was only the common fate of Englishmen, so engaged, whodo this; and when the real story of the "Fresco-painting for the Housesof Parliament" comes to be written, it will be another chapter added toour national misadventures and reproaches in everything connected withArt and its hapless cultivators. [305] It is a duty to quote these eloquent words. "Statesmen, men ofscience, philanthropists, the acknowledged benefactors of their race, might pass away, and yet not leave the void which will be caused by thedeath of Dickens. They may have earned the esteem of mankind; their daysmay have been passed in power, honour, and prosperity; they may havebeen surrounded by troops of friends; but, however pre-eminent instation, ability, or public services, they will not have been, like ourgreat and genial novelist, the intimate of every household. Indeed, sucha position is attained not even by one man in an age. It needs anextraordinary combination of intellectual and moral qualities . . . Beforethe world will thus consent to enthrone a man as their unassailable andenduring favourite. This is the position which Mr. Dickens has occupiedwith the English and also with the American public for the third of acentury. . . . Westminster Abbey is the peculiar resting-place of Englishliterary genius; and among those whose sacred dust lies there, or whosenames are recorded on the walls, very few are more worthy than CharlesDickens of such a home. Fewer still, we believe, will be regarded withmore honour as time passes and his greatness grows upon us. " APPENDIX. I. THE WRITINGS OF CHARLES DICKENS. 1835. SKETCHES BY BOZ. Illustrative of Every-day Life and Every-day People. (The detached papers collected under this title were in course ofpublication during this year, in the pages of the _Monthly Magazine_ andthe columns of the _Morning_ and the _Evening Chronicle_. ) i. 97; 104, 105; 107; 113, 114. 1836. SKETCHES BY BOZ. Illustrative of Every-day Life and Every-day People. Two volumes: Illustrations by George Cruikshank. (Preface dated fromFurnival's Inn, February 1836. ) John Macrone. THE POSTHUMOUS PAPERS OF THE PICKWICK CLUB. Edited by Boz. WithIllustrations by R. Seymour and Phiz (Hablot Browne). (Nine numberspublished monthly from April to December. ) Chapman and Hall. SUNDAY UNDER THREE HEADS. As it is; as Sabbath Bills would make it; asit might be made. By Timothy Sparks. Illustrated by H. K. B. (HablotBrowne). Dedicated (June 1836) to the Bishop of London. Chapman & Hall. I. 149. THE STRANGE GENTLEMAN. A Comic Burletta, in two acts. By "Boz. "(Performed at the St. James's Theatre, 29th of September 1836, andpublished with the imprint of 1837. ) Chapman & Hall. I. 116. THE VILLAGE COQUETTES. A Comic Opera, in two acts. By Charles Dickens. The Music by John Hullah. (Dedication to Mr. Braham is dated fromFurnival's Inn, 15th of December 1836. ) Richard Bentley. I. 116. SKETCHES BY BOZ. Illustrated by George Cruikshank. Second Series. Onevolume. (Preface dated from Furnival's Inn, 17th of December 1836. ) JohnMacrone. 1837. THE POSTHUMOUS PAPERS OF THE PICKWICK CLUB. Edited by Boz. (Elevennumbers, the last being a double number, published monthly from Januaryto November. Issued complete in the latter month, with Dedication to Mr. Serjeant Talfourd dated from Doughty-street, 27th of September, as _ThePosthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club. By Charles Dickens. _) Chapman &Hall. I. 108-113; 125-132. Iii. 343. OLIVER TWIST; OR THE PARISH BOY'S PROGRESS. By Boz. Begun in _Bentley'sMiscellany_ for January, and continued throughout the year. RichardBentley. 1838. OLIVER TWIST. By Charles Dickens, Author of the Pickwick Papers. WithIllustrations by George Cruikshank. Three volumes. (Had appeared inmonthly portions, in the numbers of _Bentley's Miscellany_ for 1837 and1838, with the title of _Oliver Twist; or the Parish Boy's Progress_. ByBoz. Illustrated by George Cruikshank. The Third Edition, with Prefacedated Devonshire-terrace, March 1841, published by Messrs. Chapman &Hall. ) Richard Bentley. I. 121; 124-126; 152-164. Iii. 24, 25; 343. MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH GRIMALDI. Edited by "Boz. " Illustrated by GeorgeCruikshank. Two volumes. (For Dickens's small share in the compositionof this work, his preface to which is dated from Doughty-street, February 1838, see i. 141-143. ) Richard Bentley. SKETCHES OF YOUNG GENTLEMEN. Illustrated by Phiz. Chapman & Hall. I. 149. LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. By Charles Dickens. WithIllustrations by Phiz (Hablot Browne). (Nine numbers published monthlyfrom April to December. ) Chapman & Hall. 1839. LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. (Eleven numbers, the lastbeing a double number, published monthly from January to October. Issuedcomplete in the latter month, with dedication to William CharlesMacready. ) Chapman & Hall. I. 145; 165-179. Ii. 99, 100; 102. Iii. 344. SKETCHES BY BOZ. Illustrative of Every-day Life and Every-day People. With forty Illustrations by George Cruikshank. (The first completeedition, issued in monthly parts uniform with _Pickwick_ and _Nickleby_, from November 1837 to June 1839, with preface dated 15th of May 1839. )Chapman & Hall. I. 121-124. 1840. SKETCHES OF YOUNG COUPLES; with an urgent Remonstrance to the Gentlemenof England, being Bachelors or Widowers, at the present alarming crisis. By the Author of Sketches of Young Gentlemen. Illustrated by Phiz. Chapman & Hall, i. 149. 1840-1841. MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. By Charles Dickens. With Illustrations byGeorge Cattermole and Hablot Browne. Three volumes. (First and secondvolume, each 306 pp. ; third, 426 pp. ) For the account of this work, published in 88 weekly numbers, extending over the greater part of thesetwo years, see i. 191-203; 240; 281, 282. In addition to occasionaldetached papers and a series of sketches entitled MR. WELLER'S WATCH, occupying altogether about 90 pages of the first volume, 4 pages of thesecond, and 5 pages of the third, which have not yet appeared in anyother collected form, this serial comprised the stories of The OldCuriosity Shop and Barnaby Rudge; each ultimately sold separately in asingle volume, from which the pages of the _Clock_ were detached. Chapman and Hall. I. OLD CURIOSITY SHOP (1840). Began at p. 37 of vol. I. ; resumed at intervals up to the appearance ofthe ninth chapter; from the ninth chapter at p. 133, continued withoutinterruption to the close of the volume (then issued with dedication toSamuel Rogers and preface from Devonshire-terrace, dated September1840); resumed in the second volume, and carried on to the close of thetale at p. 223. I. 200-216, iii. 344, 345. II. BARNABY RUDGE (1841). Introduced by brief paper from Master Humphrey (pp. 224-8), and carriedto end of Chapter XII. In the closing 78 pages of volume ii. , which wasissued with a preface dated in March 1841. Chapter XIII. Began the thirdvolume, and the story closed with its 82nd chapter at p. 420; a closingpaper from Master Humphrey (pp. 421--426) then winding up the Clock, ofwhich the concluding volume was published with a preface dated November1841. I. 134, 135; 147-149; 161-163; 223-225; 232-248. 1841. THE PIC-NIC PAPERS by Various Hands. Edited by Charles Dickens. WithIllustrations by George Cruikshank, Phiz, &c. Three volumes. (To thisBook, edited for the benefit of Mrs. Macrone, widow of his oldpublisher, Dickens contributed a preface and the opening story, the_Lamplighter_. ) Henry Colburn. I. 124; 183; 240, 241. 1842. AMERICAN NOTES FOR GENERAL CIRCULATION. By Charles Dickens. Two volumes. Chapman and Hall. Ii. 21-39; 50. 1843. THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. With Illustrations byHablot Browne. (Begun in January, and, up to the close of the year, twelve monthly numbers published). Chapman & Hall. A CHRISTMAS CAROL IN PROSE. Being a Ghost Story of Christmas. By CharlesDickens. With Illustrations by John Leech. (Preface dated December1843. ) Chapman & Hall. Ii. 60, 61; 71, 72; 84-92. 1844. THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. With Illustrations byHablot Browne. (Eight monthly numbers issued; the last being a doublenumber, between January and July; in which latter month the completedwork was published, with dedication to Miss Burdett Coutts, and Prefacedated 25th of June. ) Chapman & Hall. Ii. 44-46; 50, 51; 63-65; 74-84;99-103. Iii. 345. EVENINGS OF A WORKING MAN. By John Overs. With a Preface relative to theAuthor, by Charles Dickens. (Dedication to Doctor Elliotson, and Prefacedated in June. ) T. C. Newby. Ii. 109, 110. THE CHIMES: a Goblin Story of some Bells that Rang an Old Year out and aNew Year in. By Charles Dickens. With Illustrations by Maclise R. A. , Stanfield R. A. , Richard Doyle, and John Leech. Chapman & Hall. Ii. 143-147; 151-157; 160-162; 174, 175; 179. 1845. THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH. A Fairy Tale of Home. By Charles Dickens. With Illustrations by Maclise R. A. , Stanfield R. A. , Edwin Landseer R. A. , Richard Doyle, and John Leech. (Dedication to Lord Jeffrey dated inDecember 1845. ) Bradbury & Evans (for the Author). Ii. 202-204; 215;445. 1846. PICTURES FROM ITALY. By Charles Dickens. (Published originally in the_Daily News_ from January to March 1846, with the title of "TravellingLetters written on the Road. ") Bradbury & Evans (for the Author). Ii. 88; 105; 163-167; 191; 219, 220. DEALINGS WITH THE FIRM OF DOMBEY AND SON, WHOLESALE, RETAIL, AND FOREXPORTATION. By Charles Dickens. With Illustrations by Hablot Browne. (Three monthly numbers published, from October to the close of theyear. ) Bradbury & Evans. (During this year Messrs. Bradbury & Evanspublished "for the Author, " in numbers uniform with the other serials, and afterwards in a single volume, _The Adventures of Oliver Twist, orthe Parish Boy's Progress_. By Charles Dickens. With 24 Illustrations byGeorge Cruikshank. A new Edition, revised and corrected. ). THE BATTLE OF LIFE. A Love Story. By Charles Dickens. Illustrated byMaclise R. A. , Stanfield R. A. , Richard Doyle, and John Leech. (Dedicatedto his "English Friends in Switzerland. ") Bradbury & Evans (for theAuthor). Ii. 230; 241, 242; 279, 280; 284, 285; 286-289; 293-297;303-311. 1847. DEALINGS WITH THE FIRM OF DOMBEY AND SON. (Twelve numbers publishedmonthly during the year. ) Bradbury & Evans. FIRST CHEAP ISSUE OF THE WORKS OF CHARLES DICKENS. An Edition, printedin double columns, and issued in weekly three-halfpenny numbers. Thefirst number, being the first of _Pickwick_, was issued in April 1847;and the volume containing that book, with preface dated September 1847, was published in October. New prefaces were for the most part prefixedto each story, and each volume had a frontispiece. The first series(issued by Messrs. Chapman and Hall, and closing in September 1852)comprised Pickwick, Nickleby, Curiosity Shop, Barnaby Rudge, Chuzzlewit, Oliver Twist, American Notes, Sketches by Boz, and Christmas Books. Thesecond (issued by Messrs. Bradbury & Evans, and closing in 1861)contained Dombey and Son, David Copperfield, Bleak House, and LittleDorrit. The third, issued by Messrs. Chapman & Hall, has since includedGreat Expectations (1863), Tale of Two Cities (1864), Hard Times andPictures from Italy (1865), Uncommercial Traveller (1865), and OurMutual Friend (1867). Among the Illustrators employed for theFrontispieces were Leslie R. A. , Webster R. A. , Stanfield R. A. , GeorgeCattermole, George Cruikshank, Frank Stone A. R. A. , John Leech, MarcusStone, and Hablot Browne. See ii. 326 and 388. 1848. DEALINGS WITH THE FIRM OF DOMBEY & SON: WHOLESALE, RETAIL, AND FOREXPORTATION. (Five numbers issued monthly, the last being a doublenumber, from January to April; in which latter month the complete workwas published with dedication to Lady Normanby and preface datedDevonshire-terrace, 24th of March. ) Bradbury & Evans, ii. 102; 107; 219;220; 230; 241; 265; 278; 280-282; 334-336; 337-367. Iii. 345. THE HAUNTED MAN AND THE GHOST'S BARGAIN. A Fancy for Christmas Time. ByCharles Dickens. Illustrated by Stanfield R. A. , John Tenniel, FrankStone A. R. A. , and John Leech. Bradbury & Evans, ii. 280; 388-390; 419;442-447; 468. 1849. THE PERSONAL HISTORY OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. By Charles Dickens. WithIllustrations by Hablot Browne. (Eight parts issued monthly from May toDecember. ) Bradbury & Evans. 1850. THE PERSONAL HISTORY OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. By Charles Dickens. Illustrated by Hablot Browne. (Twelve numbers issued monthly, the lastbeing a double number, from January to November; in which latter monththe completed work was published, with inscription to Mr. And Mrs. Watson of Rockingham, and preface dated October. ) Bradbury & Evans. Ii. 102; 422, 423; 434, 435; 438; 447; 462-466; 484-487; 494. Iii. 21-40;348, 349. HOUSEHOLD WORDS. On Saturday the 30th of March in this year the weeklyserial of HOUSEHOLD WORDS was begun, and was carried on uninterruptedlyto the 28th of May 1859, when, its place having been meanwhile taken bythe serial in the same form still existing, HOUSEHOLD WORDS wasdiscontinued. Ii. 201-203; 449-456. Iii. 239; 490-498. CHRISTMAS NUMBER of _Household Words_. CHRISTMAS. To this Dickenscontributed A CHRISTMAS TREE. 1851. CHRISTMAS NUMBER of _Household Words_. WHAT CHRISTMAS IS. To thisDickens contributed WHAT CHRISTMAS IS AS WE GROW OLDER. 1852. BLEAK HOUSE. By Charles Dickens. With Illustrations by Hablot Browne. (Ten numbers, issued monthly, from March to December. ) Bradbury & Evans. CHRISTMAS NUMBER of _Household Words_. STORIES FOR CHRISTMAS. To thisDickens contributed THE POOR RELATION'S STORY, and THE CHILD'S STORY. 1853. BLEAK HOUSE. By Charles Dickens. Illustrated by Hablot Browne. (Tennumbers issued monthly, the last being a double number, from January toSeptember, in which latter month, with dedication to his "Companions inthe Guild of Literature and Art, " and preface dated in August, thecompleted book was published. ) Bradbury & Evans, ii. 342; 441. Iii. 25-29; 40-54; 57-59; 345. A CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. By Charles Dickens. Three vols. Withfrontispieces from designs by F. W. Topham. Reprinted from _HouseholdWords_, where it appeared between the dates of the 25th of January 1851and the 10th of December 1853. (It was published first in a completeform with dedication to his own children in 1854. ) Bradbury & Evans, iii. 58. CHRISTMAS NUMBER of _Household Words_. CHRISTMAS STORIES. To thisDickens contributed THE SCHOOL BOY'S STORY, and NOBODY'S STORY. 1854. HARD TIMES. FOR THESE TIMES. By Charles Dickens. (This tale appeared inweekly portions in _Household Words_, between the dates of the 1st ofApril and the 12th of August 1854; in which latter month it waspublished complete, with inscription to Thomas Carlyle. ) Bradbury &Evans, iii. 65-70. CHRISTMAS NUMBER of _Household Words_: THE SEVEN POOR TRAVELLERS. Tothis Dickens contributed three chapters. I. IN THE OLD CITY OFROCHESTER; II. THE STORY OF RICHARD DOUBLEDICK; III. THE ROAD. Iii. 154. 1855. LITTLE DORRIT. By Charles Dickens. Illustrated by Hablot Browne. Thefirst number published in December. Bradbury & Evans. CHRISTMAS NUMBER of _Household Words_. THE HOLLY-TREE. To this Dickenscontributed three branches. I. MYSELF; II. THE BOOTS; III. THE BILL. Iii. 154; 415. 1856. LITTLE DORRIT. By Charles Dickens. Illustrated by Hablot Browne. (Twelvenumbers issued monthly, between January and December. ) Bradbury & Evans. CHRISTMAS NUMBER of _Household Words_. THE WRECK OF THE GOLDEN MARY. Tothis Dickens contributed the leading chapter: THE WRECK. Iii. 485. 1857. LITTLE DORRIT. By Charles Dickens. Illustrated by Hablot Browne. (Sevennumbers issued monthly, the last being a double number, from January toJune, in which latter month the tale was published complete, withpreface, and dedication to Clarkson Stanfield. ) Bradbury & Evans, iii. 72; 75; 96; 115; 154-164; 276-278. THE LAZY TOUR OF TWO IDLE APPRENTICES, in _Household Words_ forOctober. To the first part of these papers Dickens contributed all up tothe top of the second column of page 316; to the second part, all up tothe white line in the second column of page 340; to the third part, allexcept the reflections of Mr. Idle (363-5); and the whole of the fourthpart. All the rest was by Mr. Wilkie Collins, iii. 170-176; 351. CHRISTMAS NUMBER of _Household Words_. THE PERILS OF CERTAIN ENGLISHPRISONERS. To this Dickens contributed the chapters entitled THE ISLANDOF SILVER-STORE, and THE RAFTS ON THE RIVER. THE FIRST LIBRARY EDITION OF THE WORKS OF CHARLES DICKENS. The firstvolume, with dedication to John Forster, was issued in December 1857, and the volumes appeared monthly up to the 24th, issued in November1859. The later books and writings have been added in subsequentvolumes, and an addition has also been issued with the illustrations. Tothe second volume of the Old Curiosity Shop, as issued in this edition, were added 31 "REPRINTED PIECES" taken from Dickens's papers in_Household Words_; which have since appeared also in other collectededitions. Chapman & Hall. Iii. 236. AUTHORIZED FRENCH TRANSLATION OF THE WORKS OF DICKENS. Translations ofDickens exist in every European language; but the only version of hiswritings in a foreign tongue authorized by him, or for which he receivedanything, was undertaken in Paris. Nickleby was the first storypublished, and to it was prefixed an address from Dickens to the Frenchpublic dated from Tavistock-house the 17th January 1857. Hachette. Iii. 121; 125. 1858. CHRISTMAS NUMBER of _Household Words_. A HOUSE TO LET. To this Dickenscontributed the chapter entitled "GOING INTO SOCIETY. " iii. 250; 260. 1859. ALL THE YEAR ROUND, the weekly serial which took the place of HOUSEHOLDWORDS. Began on the 30th of April in this year, went on uninterruptedlyuntil Dickens's death, and is continued under the management of his son. Iii. 239-254; 462; 490-499. A TALE OF TWO CITIES. By Charles Dickens. Illustrated by Hablot Browne. This tale was printed in weekly portions in _All the Year Round_, between the dates of the 30th of April and the 26th of November 1859;appearing also concurrently in monthly numbers with illustrations, fromJune to December; when it was published complete with dedication to LordJohn Russell, iii. 243; 279; 353-360. CHRISTMAS NUMBER of _All the Year Round_. THE HAUNTED HOUSE. To whichDickens contributed two chapters. I. THE MORTALS IN THE HOUSE. II. THEGHOST IN MASTER B'S ROOM. Iii. 246. 1860. HUNTED DOWN. A Story in two Portions. (Written for an Americannewspaper, and reprinted in the numbers of _All the Year Round_ for the4th and the 11th of August. Iii. 253; 279. ) THE UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELER. By Charles Dickens. (Seventeen papers, whichhad appeared under this title between the dates of 28th of January and13th of October 1860 in _All the Year Round_, were published at theclose of the year, in a volume, with preface dated December. A laterimpression was issued in 1868, as a volume of what was called theCharles Dickens Edition; when eleven fresh papers, written in theinterval, were added; and promise was given, in a preface dated December1868, of the Uncommercial Traveller's intention "to take to the roadagain before another winter sets in. " Between that date and the autumnof 1869, when the last of his detached papers were written, _All theYear Round_ published seven "New Uncommercial Samples" which have notyet been collected. Their title's were, i. Aboard ship (which opened, onthe 5th of December 1868, the New Series of _All the Year Round_); ii. ASmall Star in the East; iii. A Little Dinner in an Hour; iv. Mr. Barlow; v. On an Amateur Beat; vi. A Fly-Leaf in a Life; vii. A Plea forTotal Abstinence. The date of the last was the 5th of June 1869; and onthe 24th of July appeared his last piece of writing for the serial hehad so long conducted, a paper entitled _Landor's Life_. ) iii. 247-252;528. CHRISTMAS NUMBER of _All the Year Round_. A MESSAGE FROM THE SEA. Towhich Dickens contributed nearly all the first, and the whole of thesecond and the last chapter: THE VILLAGE, THE MONEY, and THERESTITUTION; the two intervening chapters, though also with insertionsfrom his hand, not being his. GREAT EXPECTATIONS. By Charles Dickens. Begun in _All the Year Round_ onthe 1st of December, and continued weekly to the close of that year. 1861. GREAT EXPECTATIONS. By Charles Dickens. Resumed on the 5th of Januaryand issued in weekly portions, closing on the 3rd of August, when thecomplete story was published in three volumes and inscribed to ChauncyHare Townshend. In the following year it was published in a singlevolume, illustrated by Mr. Marcus Stone. Chapman & Hall. Iii. 245; 259;260 (the words there used "on Great Expectations closing in June 1861"refer to the time when the Writing of it was closed: it did not close inthe Publication until August, as above stated); 360-369. CHRISTMAS NUMBER of _All the Year Round_, TOM TIDDLER'S GROUND. To whichDickens contributed three of the seven chapters. I. PICKING UP SOOT ANDCINDERS; II. PICKING UP MISS KIMMEENS; III. PICKING UP THE TINKER. Iii. 245. 1862. CHRISTMAS NUMBER of _All the Year Round_. SOMEBODY'S LUGGAGE. To whichDickens contributed four chapters. I. HIS LEAVING IT TILL CALLED FOR;II. HIS BOOTS; III. HIS BROWN-PAPER PARCEL; IV. HIS WONDERFUL END. Tothe chapter of His Umbrella he also contributed a portion. Iii. 351;370. 1863. CHRISTMAS NUMBER of _All the Year Round_. MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. Towhich Dickens contributed the first and the last chapter. I. HOW MRS. LIRRIPER CARRIED ON THE BUSINESS; II. HOW THE PARLOURS ADDED A FEWWORDS. Iii. 370, 371. 1864. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. By Charles Dickens. With Illustrations by MarcusStone. Eight numbers issued monthly between May and December. Chapman &Hall. CHRISTMAS NUMBER of _All the Year Round_: MRS. LIRRIPER'S LEGACY: towhich Dickens contributed the first and the last chapter. I. MRS. LIRRIPER RELATES HOW SHE WENT ON, AND WENT OVER; II. MRS. LIRRIPERRELATES HOW JEMMY TOPPED UP. Iii. 371. 1865. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. By Charles Dickens. With Illustrations by MarcusStone. In Two Volumes. (Two more numbers issued in January and February, when the first volume was published, with dedication to Sir JamesEmerson Tennent. The remaining ten numbers, the last being a doublenumber, were issued between March and November, when the complete workwas published in two volumes. ) Chapman & Hall. Iii. 271; 280, 281; 301. CHRISTMAS NUMBER of _All the Year Round_. DOCTOR MARIGOLD'SPRESCRIPTIONS. To this Dickens contributed three portions. I. TO BETAKEN IMMEDIATELY. II. TO BE TAKEN FOR LIFE; III. The portion with thetitle of TO BE TAKEN WITH A GRAIN OF SALT, describing a Trial forMurder, was also his. Iii. 379. 1866. CHRISTMAS NUMBER of _All the Year Round_. MUGBY JUNCTION. To thisDickens contributed four papers. I. BARBOX BROTHERS; II. BARBOXBROTHERS AND CO. ; III. MAIN LINE--THE BOY AT MUGBY. IV. NO. I BRANCHLINE--THE SIGNAL-MAN. Iii. 379 (where a slight error is made in nottreating _Barbox_ and the _Mugby Boy_ as parts of one Christmas piece). 1867. THE CHARLES DICKENS EDITION. This collected edition, which hadoriginated with the American publishing firm of Ticknor and Fields, wasissued here between the dates of 1868 and 1870, with dedication to JohnForster, beginning with Pickwick in May 1868, and closing with theChild's History in July 1870. The REPRINTED PIECES were with the volumeof AMERICAN NOTES, and the PICTURES FROM ITALY closed the volumecontaining HARD TIMES. Chapman & Hall. CHRISTMAS NUMBER of _All the Year Round_. NO THOROUGHFARE. To thisDickens contributed, with Mr. Wilkie Collins, in nearly equal portions. With the new series of _All the Year Round_, which began on the 5th ofDecember 1868, Dickens discontinued the issue of Christmas Numbers. Iii. 462 note. 1868. A HOLIDAY ROMANCE. GEORGE SILVERMAN'S EXPLANATION. Written respectivelyfor a Child's Magazine, and for the Atlantic Monthly, published inAmerica by Messrs. Ticknor and Fields. Republished in _All the YearRound_ on the 25th of January and the 1st and 8th of February 1868. Iii. 321, 380. 1870. THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. By Charles Dickens, with twelveillustrations by S. L. Fildes. (Meant to have comprised twelve monthlynumbers, but prematurely closed by the writer's death in June. ) Issuedin six monthly numbers, between April and September. Chapman & Hall. Iii. 461-477. II. THE WILL OF CHARLES DICKENS. "I, Charles Dickens, of Gadshill Place, Higham in the county of Kent, hereby revoke all my former Wills and Codicils and declare this to be mylast Will and Testament. I give the sum of £1000 free of legacy duty toMiss Ellen Lawless Ternan, late of Houghton Place, Ampthill Square, inthe county of Middlesex. I GIVE the sum of £19 19 0 to my faithfulservant Mrs. Anne Cornelius. I GIVE the sum of £19 19 0 to the daughterand only child of the said Mrs. Anne Cornelius. I GIVE the sum of £19 190 to each and every domestic servant, male and female, who shall be inmy employment at the time of my decease, and shall have been in myemployment for a not less period of time than one year. I GIVE the sumof £1000 free of legacy duty to my daughter Mary Dickens. I also give tomy said daughter an annuity of £300 a year, during her life, if sheshall so long continue unmarried; such annuity to be considered asaccruing from day to day, but to be payable half yearly, the first ofsuch half-yearly payments to be made at the expiration of six monthsnext after my decease. If my said daughter Mary shall marry, suchannuity shall cease; and in that case, but in that case only, my saiddaughter shall share with my other children in the provision hereinaftermade for them. I GIVE to my dear sister-in-law Georgina Hogarth the sumof £8000 free of legacy duty. I also give to the said Georgina Hogarthall my personal jewellery not hereinafter mentioned, and all the littlefamiliar objects from my writing-table and my room, and she will knowwhat to do with those things. I ALSO GIVE to the said Georgina Hogarthall my private papers whatsoever and wheresoever, and I leave her mygrateful blessing as the best and truest friend man ever had. I GIVE tomy eldest son Charles my library of printed books, and my engravings andprints; and I also give to my son Charles the silver salver presentedto me at Birmingham, and the silver cup presented to me at Edinburgh, and my shirt studs, shirt pins, and sleeve buttons. AND I BEQUEATH untomy said son Charles and my son Henry Fielding Dickens, the sum of £8000upon trust to invest the same, and from time to time to vary theinvestments thereof, and to pay the annual income thereof to my wifeduring her life, and after her decease the said sum of £8000 and theinvestments thereof shall be in trust for my children (but subject as tomy daughter Mary to the proviso hereinbefore contained) who being a sonor sons shall have attained or shall attain the age of twenty-one yearsor being a daughter or daughters shall have attained or shall attainthat age or be previously married, in equal shares if more than one. IGIVE my watch (the gold repeater presented to me at Coventry), and Igive the chains and seals and all appendages I have worn with it, to mydear and trusty friend John Forster, of Palace Gate House, Kensington, in the county of Middlesex aforesaid; and I also give to the said JohnForster such manuscripts of my published works as may be in mypossession at the time of my decease. AND I DEVISE AND BEQUEATH all myreal and personal estate (except such as is vested in me as a trustee ormortgagee) unto the said Georgina Hogarth and the said John Forster, their heirs, executors, administrators, and assigns respectively, upontrust that they the said Georgina Hogarth and John Forster, or thesurvivor of them or the executors or administrators of such survivor, doand shall, at their, his, or her uncontrolled and irresponsibledirection, either proceed to an immediate sale or conversion into moneyof the said real and personal estate (including my copyrights), or deferand postpone any sale or conversion into money, till such time or timesas they, he, or she shall think fit, and in the meantime may manage andlet the said real and personal estate (including my copyrights), in suchmanner in all respects as I myself could do, if I were living and actingtherein; it being my intention that the trustees or trustee for the timebeing of this my Will shall have the fullest power over the said realand personal estate which I can give to them, him, or her. AND I DECLAREthat, until the said real and personal estate shall be sold andconverted into money, the rents and annual income thereof respectivelyshall be paid and applied to the person or persons in the manner and forthe purposes to whom and for which the annual income of the monies toarise from the sale or conversion thereof into money would be payable orapplicable under this my Will in case the same were sold or convertedinto money. AND I DECLARE that my real estate shall for the purposes ofthis my Will be considered as converted into personalty upon my decease. AND I DECLARE that the said trustees or trustee for the time being, doand shall, with and out of the monies which shall come to their, his, orher hands, under or by virtue of this my Will and the trusts thereof, pay my just debts, funeral and testamentary expenses, and legacies. ANDI DECLARE that the said trust funds or so much thereof as shall remainafter answering the purposes aforesaid, and the annual income thereof, shall be in trust for all my children (but subject as to my daughterMary to the proviso hereinbefore contained), who being a son or sonsshall have attained or shall attain the age of twenty-one years, andbeing a daughter or daughters shall have attained or shall attain thatage or be previously married, in equal shares if more than one. PROVIDEDALWAYS, that, as regards my copyrights and the produce and profitsthereof, my said daughter Mary, notwithstanding the proviso hereinbeforecontained with reference to her, shall share with my other childrentherein whether she be married or not. AND I DEVISE the estates vestedin me at my decease as a trustee or mortgagee unto the use of the saidGeorgina Hogarth and John Forster, their heirs and assigns, upon thetrusts and subject to the equities affecting the same respectively. ANDI APPOINT the said GEORGINA HOGARTH and JOHN FORSTER executrix andexecutor of this my Will, and GUARDIANS of the persons of my childrenduring their respective minorities. AND LASTLY, as I have now set downthe form of words which my legal advisers assure me are necessary to theplain objects of this my Will, I solemnly enjoin my dear children alwaysto remember how much they owe to the said Georgina Hogarth, and never tobe wanting in a grateful and affectionate attachment to her, for theyknow well that she has been, through all the stages of their growth andprogress, their ever useful self-denying and devoted friend. AND IDESIRE here simply to record the fact that my wife, since our separationby consent, has been in the receipt from me of an annual income of £600, while all the great charges of a numerous and expensive family havedevolved wholly upon myself. I emphatically direct that I be buried inan inexpensive, unostentatious, and strictly private manner; that nopublic announcement be made of the time or place of my burial; that atthe utmost not more than three plain mourning coaches be employed; andthat those who attend my funeral wear no scarf, cloak, black bow, longhat-band, or other such revolting absurdity. I DIRECT that my name beinscribed in plain English letters on my tomb, without the addition of'Mr. ' or 'Esquire. ' I conjure my friends on no account to make me thesubject of any monument, memorial, or testimonial whatever. I rest myclaims to the remembrance of my country upon my published works, and tothe remembrance of my friends upon their experience of me in additionthereto. I commit my soul to the mercy of God through our Lord andSaviour Jesus Christ, and I exhort my dear children humbly to try toguide themselves by the teaching of the New Testament in its broadspirit, and to put no faith in any man's narrow construction of itsletter here or there. IN WITNESS whereof I the said Charles Dickens, thetestator, have to this my last Will and Testament set my hand this 12thday of May in the year of our Lord 1869. "Signed published and declared by } the above-named Charles Dickens the } testator as and for his last Will and Testament } in the presence of us (present together } CHARLES DICKENS. At the same time) who in his presence } at his request and in the presence of } each other have hereunto subscribed our } names as witnesses. } "G. HOLSWORTH, "26 Wellington Street, Strand. "HENRY WALKER, "26 Wellington Street, Strand. "I, Charles Dickens of Gadshill Place near Rochester in the county ofKent Esquire declare this to be a Codicil to my last Will and Testamentwhich Will bears date the 12th day of May 1869. I GIVE to my son CharlesDickens the younger all my share and interest in the weekly journalcalled 'All the Year Round, ' which is now conducted under Articles ofPartnership made between me and William Henry Wills and the said CharlesDickens the younger, and all my share and interest in the stereotypesstock and other effects belonging to the said partnership, he defrayingmy share of all debts and liabilities of the said partnership which maybe outstanding at the time of my decease, and in all other respects Iconfirm my said Will. IN WITNESS whereof I have hereunto set my hand the2nd day of June in the year of our Lord 1870. "Signed and declared by the said } CHARLES DICKENS, the testator as and } for a Codicil to his Will in the presence } of us present at the same time who at } CHARLES DICKENS. His request in his presence and in the } presence of each other hereunto subscribe } our names as witnesses. } "G. HOLSWORTH, "26 Wellington Street, Strand. "HENRY WALKER, "26 Wellington Street, Strand. * * * * * The real and personal estate, --taking the property bequeathed by thelast codicil at a valuation of something less than two years' purchase;and of course before payment of the legacies, the (inconsiderable)debts, and the testamentary and other expenses, --amounted, as nearly asmay be calculated, to, £93, 000. III. CORRECTIONS MADE IN THE LATER EDITIONS OF THE SECOND VOLUME. I regret to have had no opportunity until now (May, 1873) of making thecorrections which appear in this impression of my second volume. All theearly reprints having been called for before the close of 1872, the onlychange I at that time found possible was amendment of an error at p. 397, as to the date of the first performance at Devonshire House, and ofa few others of small importance at pp. 262, 291, 320, 360, 444, and446. Premising that additional corrections, also unimportant, are now made atpp. 57, 135, 136, 142, 301, 329, 405, and 483, I proceed to indicatewhat may seem to require more detailed mention. P. 50. "Covent-garden" is substituted for "Drury-lane. " The _Chronicle_ atoned for its present silence by a severe notice of the man's subsequent appearance at the Haymarket; and of this I am glad to be reminded by Mr. Gruneisen, who wrote the criticism. 50. The son of the publican referred to (Mr. Whelpdale of Streatham), pointing out my error in not having made the Duke of Brunswick the defendant, says he was himself a witness in the case, and has had pride in repeating to his own children what the Chief Justice said of his father. 117. The "limpet on the rock" and the "green boots" refer to a wonderful piece by Turner in the previous year's Academy, exhibiting a rock overhanging a magnificent sea, a booted figure appearing on the rock, and at its feet a blotch to represent a limpet: the subject being Napoleon at St. Helena. 168. "Assumption" is substituted for "Transfiguration. " 182. Six words are added to the first note. 193, 194. An error in my former statement of the circumstances of Mr. Fletcher's death, which I much regret to have made, is now corrected. 195. The proper names of the ship and her captain are here given, as the Fantôme, commanded by Sir Frederick (now Vice-Admiral) Nicolson. 229. A correspondent familiar with Lausanne informs me that the Castle of Chillon is not visible from Rosemont, and that Dickens in these first days must have mistaken some other object for it. "A long mass of mountain hides Chillon from view, and it only becomes visible when you get about six miles from Lausanne on the Vevay road, when a curve in the road or lake shows it visible behind the bank of mountains. " The error at p. 257, now corrected, was mine. 247. "Clinking, " the right word, replaces "drinking. " 263. A passage which stood in the early editions is removed, the portrait which it referred to having been not that of the lady mentioned, but of a relative bearing the same name. 267, 268. I quote a letter to myself from one of the baronet's family present at the outbreak goodnaturedly exaggerated in Mr. Cerjat's account to Dickens. "I well remember the dinner at Mr. Cerjat's alluded to in one of the letters from Lausanne in your Life of Dickens. It was not however our first acquaintance with the 'distinguished writer, ' as he came with his family to stay at a Pension on the border of the Lake of Geneva where my father and his family were then living, and notwithstanding the gallant captain's 'habit' the families subsequently became very intimate. " 270. Lord Vernon is more correctly described as the fifth Baron, who succeeded to the title in 1835 and died in 1866 in his 64th year. 283. The distance of Mont Blanc from the Neuchâtel road is now properly given as sixty not six miles. 341, second line from bottom. Not "subsequent" but "modified" is the proper word. 398. In mentioning the painters who took an interest in the Guild scheme I omitted the distinguished name of Mr. E. M. Ward, R. A. , by whom an admirable design, taken from Defoe's life, was drawn for the card of membership. 455, 456. In supposing that the Child's Dream of a Star was not among Dickens's Reprinted Pieces, I fell into an error, which is here corrected. 468. I did not mean to imply that Lady Graham was herself a Sheridan. She was only connected with the family she so well "represented" by being the sister of the lady whom Tom Sheridan married. * * * * * The incident at Mr. Hone's funeral quoted at pp. 31-33 from a letter toMr. Felton written by Dickens shortly after the occurrence (2nd ofMarch, 1843), and published, a year before my volume, in Mr. Field's_Yesterdays with Authors_ (pp. 146-8), has elicited from the"Independent clergyman" referred to a counter statement of the allegedfacts, of which I here present an abridgement, omitting nothing that isin any way material. "Though it is thirty years since . . . Several whowere present survive to this day, and have a distinct recollection ofall that occurred. One of these is the writer of this article--another, the Rev. Joshua Harrison. . . . The Independent clergyman never wore bands, and had no Bible under his arm. . . . An account of Mr. Hone had appearedin some of the newspapers, containing an offensive paragraph to theeffect that one 'speculation' having failed, Mr. Hone was disposed, andpersuaded by the Independent clergyman, to try another, that other being'to try his powers in the pulpit. ' This was felt by the family to be aninsult alike to the living and the dead. . . . Mr. Harrison's account is, that the Independent clergyman was observed speaking to Miss Hone aboutsomething apparently annoying to both, and that, turning to Mr. Cruikshank, he said 'Have you seen the sketch of Mr. Hone's life in the_Herald_?' Mr. C. Replied 'Yes. ' 'Don't you think it verydiscreditable? It is a gross reflection on our poor friend, as if hewould use the most sacred things merely for a piece of bread; and it isa libel on me and the denomination I belong to, as if we could beparties to such a proceeding. ' Mr. C. Said in reply, 'I know somethingof the article, but what you complain of was not in it originally--itwas an addition by another hand. ' Mr. C. Afterwards stated that he wrotethe article, 'but _not_ the offensive paragraph. ' The vulgar nonsenseput into the mouth of the clergyman by Mr. Dickens was wound up, it issaid, by 'Let us pray' . . . But this _cannot_ be true; and for thisreason, the conversation with Mr. Cruikshank took place before thedomestic service, and that service, according to Nonconformist custom, is always begun by reading an appropriate passage of Scripture. . . . Mr. Dickens says that while they were kneeling at prayer Mr. Cruikshankwhispered to him what he relates. Mr. C. Denies it; and I believehim. . . . In addition to the improbability, one of the company remembersthat Mr. Dickens and Mr. Cruikshank did not sit together, and could nothave knelt side by side. " The reader must be left to judge between whatis said of the incident in the text and these recollections of it afterthirty years. * * * * * At the close of the corrections to the first volume, prefixed to thesecond, the intention was expressed to advert at the end of the work toinformation, not in correction but in illustration of my text, forwardedby obliging correspondents who had been scholars at the Wellington HouseAcademy (i. 74). But inexorable limits of space prevent, for thepresent, a fulfilment of this intention. J. F. PALACE GATE HOUSE, KENSINGTON, _22nd of January 1874_. INDEX. A'BECKETT (GILBERT), at Miss Kelly's theatre, ii. 210; death of, iii. 119. Aberdeen, reading at, iii. 234. Actors and acting, i. 174, 175, 260, ii. 96, 103, 126-128, 176, 399, 401; at Miss Kelly's theatre, ii. 210; French, iii. 127-134. Adams (John Quincey), i. 214, 349. Adelphi theatre, _Carol_ dramatized at the, ii. 96. Africa, memorials of dead children in, iii. 293. Agassiz (M. ), iii. 389 note. Agreements, literary, ii. 87, 88, iii. 240. Ainsworth (Harrison), i. 118, 163, 181. Alamode beef-house (Johnson's), i. 54. Albany (U. S. ), reading at, iii. 436 (and see 441). Albaro, Villa Bagnerello at, ii. 113, 120; the sirocco at, ii. 114; Angus Fletcher's sketch of the villa, ii. 121; English servants at, ii. 123; tradespeople at, ii. 124, 125; dinner at French consul's, ii. 130-132; reception at the Marquis di Negri's, ii. 132. Albert (Prince), i. 322 note; at Boulogne, iii. 108. Alison (Dr. ), i. 258, 260. Alison (Sheriff), ii. 391. _All the Year Round_, titles suggested for, iii. 241-243; first number of, iii. 244; success of, iii. 244; difference between _Household Words_ and, iii. 245; tales in, by eminent writers, iii. 245; sale of Christmas numbers of, iii. 246; Dickens's detached papers in, iii. 247-249, 528; Charles Collins's papers in, iii. 257; projected story for, iii. 310, 462; new series of, iii. 462 note; change of plan in, iii. 462 note; Dickens's last paper in, iii. 528. Allan (Sir William), i. 258, 260; ii. 475. Allonby (Cumberland), iii. 173; landlady of inn at, iii. 173. Allston (Washington), i. 331. Amateur theatricals, i. 413-417; ii. 481; iii. 62-64. Ambigu (Paris), _Paradise Lost_ at the, iii. 130, 131. America, visit to, contemplated by Dickens, i. 195; wide-spread knowledge of Dickens's writings in, i. 215, 216, iii. 384-386; eve of visit to, i. 284-291; visit to, decided, i. 285; proposed book about, i. 286; arrangements for journey, 286; rough passage to, i. 292-298; first impressions of, i. 299-309; hotels in, i. 304, iii. 390, 396, 412, 435; inns in, i. 344, 366 note, 393, 395, 400, 401, iii. 432; Dickens's popularity in, i. 307, iii. 388; second impressions of, i. 310-334; levees in, i. 312, 347, 365, 373, 386, 397; outcry against Dickens in, i. 319; slavery in, i. 327, 352-354, 395, ii. 103; international copyright agitation in, i. 329, 351, 408, 409; railway travelling in, i. 336, 368, iii. 398, 405, 435, 436; trying climate of, i. 347; "located" Englishmen in, i. 350; Dickens's dislike of, i. 351; canal-boat journeys in, i. 358-380; Dickens's real compliment to, i. 361; deference paid to ladies in, i. 374; duelling in, i. 396; Dickens's opinion of country and people of, in 1842, i. 350, 351 (and see 401, 402); in 1868, ii. 38, iii. 413-416; effect of _Martin Chuzzlewit_ in, ii. 76, 77; desire in, to hear Dickens read, iii. 319; Mr. Dolby sent to, iii, 320; result of Dolby's visit, iii. 322, 323 note; revisited by Dickens, iii. 387-443; old and new friends in, iii. 389; profits of readings in, iii. 392; Fenianism in, iii. 397; newspapers in, iii. 400; planning the readings in, iii. 401; nothing lasts long in, iii. 401, 429; work of Dickens's staff in, iii. 410; the result of 34 readings in, iii. 415; Dickens's way of life in, iii. 416, 434, 437 note; value of a vote in, iii. 420; objection to coloured people in, iii. 420; female beauty in, iii. 432; total expenses of reading tour, and profits from readings, iii. 446 (and see 441, 442); Dickens's departure from, iii. 443; effect of Dickens's death in, iii. 384. Americanisms, i. 303, 327, 370, 387, 410, 414, 415. _American Notes_, choicest passages of, i. 362, 363; less satisfactory than Dickens's letters, i. 358, 359; in preparation, ii. 23, 24; proposed dedication of, ii. 27; rejected motto for, ii. 30; suppressed introductory chapter to, ii. 34-37; Jeffrey's opinion of, ii. 38; large sale of, 37, 38. Americans, friendly, ii. 177; deaths of famous, since 1842, iii. 389 note; homage to Dickens by, iii. 465 note; French contrasted with, ii. 322. Andersen (Hans), iii. 167. Anniversary, a birthday, i. 113, 150, iii. 308, 508; a fatal, iii. 304, 376, 384. Arnold (Dr. ), Dickens's reverence for, ii. 150. Arras (France), a religious Richardson's show at, iii. 273. Art, conventionalities of, ii. 169; limitations of, in England, iii. 331; inferiority of English to French, iii. 146, 147. Artists' Benevolent Fund dinner, iii. 236. Ashburton (Lord), i. 329, 387. Ashley (Lord) and ragged schools, i. 283; ii. 58, 493, 494. Astley's, a visit from, iii. 164, 165; _Mazeppa_ at, iii. 302 note. _As You Like It_, French version of, iii. 132. Atlantic, card-playing on the, i. 295, 296. Auber and Queen Victoria, iii. 135. Austin (Henry), i. 182; iii. 244; secretary to the Sanitary Commission, ii. 385; death of, iii. 261, 262. Australia, idea of settling in, entertained by Dickens, iii. 185; scheme for readings in, iii. 270 note (idea abandoned, iii. 272). Austrian police, the, iii. 94, 95. Authors, American, i. 319. Authorship, disquietudes of, ii. 288, 289. BABBAGE (CHARLES) ii. 108. Bagot (Sir Charles), i. 412. Balloon Club at Twickenham, i. 182 note. Baltimore (U. S. ), women of, iii. 418; readings at, iii. 418, 419, 427 (and see 441); white and coloured prisoners in Penitentiary at, iii. 419. Bancroft (George), i. 305, ii. 467. Banquets, Emile de Girardin's superb, iii. 139-141. Bantams, reduced, iii. 251. Barham (Rev. Mr. ), ii. 175, 476. _Barnaby Rudge_, agreement to write, i. 135 (and see 147, 148, 161-163, 177, 225); Dickens at work on, i. 186, 232-234, 239-244; agreement for, transferred to Chapman and Hall, i. 223-226; the raven in, i. 233-240; constraints of weekly publication, i. 243; close of, i. 244; the story characterised, i. 244-248. Bartlett (Dr. ) on slavery in America, i. 389. Bath, a fancy about, iii. 451, 452. Bathing, sea, Dickens's love of, ii. 28, 56, 138. _Battle of Life_ title suggested for the, ii. 251 (and see 295); contemplated abandonment of, ii. 289; writing of, resumed, ii. 293; finished, ii. 295; points in the story, 296; Jeffrey's opinion of the, ii. 303, 304; sketch of the story, ii. 304, 305; Dickens's own comments on, ii. 306; date of the story, 306; reply to criticism on, ii. 308; doubts as to third part of, ii. 309; dedication of, ii. 309; illustrated by Stanfield and Leech, 310; grave mistake made by Leech, ii. 311; dramatized, ii. 323. Bayham-street, Camden town, Dickens's early life in, i. 30-42. Beale (Mr. ), a proposal from, iii. 196. Beard (Mr. Carr), ii. 476; on Dickens's lameness, iii. 455; readings stopped by, iii. 456; in constant attendance on Dickens at his last readings, iii. 531 (and see 541). Beard (Thos. ), i. 92. 101, 102, iii. 256. Beaucourt (M. ), described by Dickens, iii. 99-102; his "Property, " iii. 100; among the Putney market-gardeners, iii. 102; goodness of, iii. 120 note. Bedrooms, American, i. 304, 313. Beecher (Ward), iii. 410; readings in his church at Brooklyn, iii. 417. Beer, a dog's fancy for, iii. 217 note. Beggars, Italian, ii. 183, 184. Begging-letter writers, i. 228, ii. 106, 107; in Paris, ii. 327. Belfast, reading at, iii. 229. Benedict (Jules), illness of, ii. 466. Bentley (Mr. ), Dickens's early relations with, i. 134, 135, 141, 147, 148, 161, 163, 224, iii. 240; friendly feeling of Dickens to, in after life, ii 481, iii. 241. _Bentley's Miscellany_, Dickens editor of, i. 121; proposal to write _Barnaby Rudge_ in, i. 148; editorship of, transferred to Mr. Ainsworth, i. 163, 164. Berwick, Mary (Adelaide Procter), iii. 495 Berwick-on-Tweed, reading at, iii. 266. Betting-men at Doncaster, iii. 174-176. Beverley (William), at Wellington-house academy, i. 84. Birds and low company, iii. 251, 252. Birmingham, Dickens's promise to read at, iii. 56; promise fulfilled (first public readings), iii. 59; another reading at, iii. 311; Dickens's speeches at Institute at, ii. 94, 95, iii. 527. Birthday associations, i. 113, 150, iii. 308, 508. Black (Adam), i. 259. Black (Charles), ii. 476. Black (John), i. 100, ii. 104; early appreciation by, of Dickens, i. 106; dinner to, ii. 53. Blacking-warehouse (at Hungerford Stairs), Dickens employed at, i. 50; described, i. 51 (and see iii. 512 note); associates of Dickens at, i. 52; removed to Chandos-street, Covent-garden, i. 67; Dickens leaves, i. 68; what became of the business, i. 70. Blackmore (Edward), Dickens employed as clerk by, i. 87; his recollections of Dickens, i. 87. Blackpool, Dickens at, iii. 455. _Blackwood's Magazine and Little Dorrit_, iii. 163. Blair (General), iii. 424. Blanchard (Laman). Ii. 162, 175 (and see 187); a Literary Fund dinner described by, i. 322 note. _Bleak House_ begun, ii. 441; originals of Boythorn and Skimpole in, iii. 25-28; inferior to _Copperfield_, iii. 32; handling of character in, iii. 40-50; defects of, iii. 44; Dean Ramsay on, iii. 47; originals of Chancery abuses in, iii. 50; proposed titles for, iii. 52 note; completion of, iii. 51; sale of, iii. 53. Blessington (Lady), lines written for, ii. 52 note (and see 93). Blind Institution at Lausanne, inmates of, ii. 235, 240, iii. 78. Bonchurch, Dickens at, ii. 425-436; effect of climate of, ii. 431-433; entertainment at, iii. 111, 112 note. Books, written and unwritten, hints for, iii. 275-297; suggested titles in Memoranda for new, iii. 293, 294; a complete list of Dickens's, iii. 547-560. Booksellers, invitation to, ii. 100 note. Boots, absurdity of, i. 314. Boots, a gentlemanly, at Calais, i. 136; a patriotic Irish, iii. 227. _Boots at the Holly-tree Inn_, iii. 154; reading of, at Boston (U. S. ), iii. 410. Bores, American, i. 375, 376, 383, 384, 385. Boston (U. S. ), first visit to, i. 300-309; enthusiastic reception at, i. 301; dinner at, i. 312; changes in, since 1842, iii. 390; first reading in, iii. 391; a remembrance of Christmas at, iii. 399; walking-match at, iii. 427; audiences at, iii. 429; last readings at, iii. 440. _Bottle_ (Cruikshank's), Dickens's opinion of, ii. 384, 411. Boulogne, an imaginary dialogue at, ii. 328, 329; Dickens at, iii. 55, 56, 59, 96-120; the Pier at, iii. 115; Dickens's liking for, iii. 56; M. Beaucourt's "Property" at, iii. 97-106, 115-120; sketch of M. Beaucourt, iii. 99-103; prices of provisions at, iii. 102 note; Shakespearian performance at, iii. 103; pig-market at, iii. 104; Thackeray at, iii. 105 note; camp at, iii. 106, 107, 116; Prince Albert at, iii. 107, 108; illuminations at, iii. 109; epidemic at, iii. 119. _Boulogne Jest Book_, iii. 65 note. Bouquets, serviceable, iii. 137. Bourse, victims of the, iii. 142. Boxall (William), ii. 475, iii. 126. Boxing-match, a, ii. 224. Boyle (Mary), ii. 481, iii. 524. Boys, a list of Christian names of, iii. 294, 295. Boz, origin of the word, i. 104; facsimile of autograph signature, i. 276. Bradbury & Evans (Messrs. ), ii. 66, 67, 68, 105, 250; a suggestion by, ii. 71; Dickens's agreements with, ii. 88 (and see 289), iii. 56. Bradford, Dickens asked to read at, iii. 61 note. Brighton, Dickens's first visit to, i. 138; other visits, ii. 421, 422, 455; theatre at, i. 138; reading at, iii. 263. _Bride of Lammermoor_ (Scott's), composition of the, iii. 339, 340. British Museum reading-room, frequented by Dickens, i. 90. Broadstairs, Dickens at, i. 136, 137, 176, 204, 277-283, ii. 55, 214 note, 387-389, 405-421, 422-424, 436-441; _Nickleby_ completed at, i. 176; Dickens's house at, i. 205; writing _American Notes_ at, ii. 23; pony-chaise accident, ii. 418, 419; smuggling at, ii. 439. Brobity's (Mr. ) snuff-box, iii. 297. Brooklyn (New York), scene at, iii. 411; readings in Mr. Ward Beecher's chapel, iii. 417. Brougham (Lord), in Paris, ii. 316, 317; the "_Punch_ people" and, ii. 469. Browne (H. K. ) chosen to illustrate _Pickwick_, i. 115; accompanies Dickens and his wife to Flanders, i. 135; failure of, in a _Dombey_ illustration, ii. 354, 355 (but see 348, 349); sketch by, for Micawber, ii. 435; his sketch of Skimpole, iii. 53. Browning's (R. B. ) _Blot on the 'Scutcheon_, Dickens's opinion of, ii. 46. Bruce (Knight), ii. 97. Brunel (Isambard), ii. 469. Buckingham Palace, Dickens at, iii. 508. Buffalo (U. S. ), reading at, iii. 432. Buller (Charles), ii. 53. Burdett (Sir Francis), advocacy of the poor, i. 250. Burns festival, Prof. Wilson's speech at the, ii. 136. Buss (Mr. ), _Pickwick_ illustrations by, i. 115. Byron's (Lord) Ada, ii. 469. ÇA IRA, the revolutionary tune of, iii. 129. Cambridge, reading at, iii. 317. Cambridge (U. S. ) and Boston contrasted, iii. 390; the Webster murder at, iii. 402, 403. Camden-town, Dickens with Mrs. Roylance at, i. 55. Campbell (Lord), i. 322 note; on the writings of Dickens, iii. 72 and note; death of, iii. 247 note. Canada, emigrants in, ii. 28, 29. Canal-boat journeys in America, i. 358-380; a day's routine on, i. 366, 367; disagreeables of, i. 367; a pretty scene on board, i. 390-392. Cannibalism, an approach to, ii. 326. Cannon-row, Westminster, incident at public-house in, i. 63. Canterbury, reading at, iii. 264. Car-driver, an Irish, iii. 225, 226 note. Carlyle (Lord), ii. 469. Carlisle (Bishop of) and Colenso, iii. 248 note. Carlyle (Thomas), ii. 110, 135, 160, 162, 174; a strange profane story, i. 130; on international copyright, i. 332-334; Dickens's admiration of, i. 334 (and see ii. 470); a correction for, ii. 440; on Dickens's acting, iii. 72; grand teaching of, iii. 204; inaugural address of, at Edinburgh University, iii. 308; hint by, to common men, iii. 326; on humour, iii. 342; a hero to Dickens, iii. 520; on Dickens's death, iii. 514, 515 (and see ii. 110). Carlyle (Mrs. ), on the expression in Dickens's face, i. 119; death of, iii. 308; Dickens's last meeting, iii. 309. Carriage, an unaccommodating, ii. 232; a wonderful, ii. 270. Carrick Fell (Cumberland), ascent of, iii. 170, 171; accident on, iii. 171. _Castle Spectre_, a judicious "tag" to the, ii. 471. Catholicism, Roman, the true objection to, ii. 299. Cattermole (George), i. 181, 197, ii. 113 note; imitation of a cabstand waterman by, ii. 423 note. _Caudle Lectures_, a suggestion for the, ii. 136 note. Cerjat (Mr. ), ii. 232 (and see iii. 567), 252. Chalk (Kent), Dickens's honeymoon spent at, i. 108; revisited, i. 119. Chambers, contemplated chapters on, i. 194. Chamounix, Dickens's trip to, ii. 253-256; revisited, iii. 76, 77; narrow escape of Egg at, iii. 77. Chancery, Dickens's experience of a suit in, ii. 97-99; originals of the abuses exposed in _Bleak House_, iii. 49, 50. Channing (Dr. ) on Dickens, i. 302, 308, 309. Chapman and Hall, overtures to Dickens by, i. 109; advise purchase of the _Sketches_ copyright from Mr. Macrone, i. 124; early relations of Dickens with, i. 144, 145; share of copyright in _Pickwick_ conceded by, i. 145; payments by, for _Pickwick_ and _Nicholas Nickleby_, i. 145; outline of _Master Humphrey's Clock_ submitted to, i. 192-197; purchase of _Barnaby Rudge_ by, i. 225; Dickens's earliest and latest publishers, iii. 240. Chapman (Mr. Thomas), not the original of Mr. Dombey, ii. 107 (and see 108). Chappell (Messrs. ), agreements with, iii. 306, 309, 310; arrangement with, for course of final readings, iii. 437 note (and see 445); amount received from, on account of readings, iii. 446; Dickens's tribute to, iii. 531 note (and see 315). _Charles Dickens as a Reader_ (Charles Kent's), iii. 236 note. Chatham, Dickens's early impressions of, i. 23, 34; day-school in Rome-lane, i. 27 note; Mr. Giles's school at, i. 32, 33. Cheeryble (Brothers) in _Nickleby_, originals of, i. 181. Chester, readings at, iii. 268, 313. Chesterton (Mr. ), i. 280, ii. 23. Chicago (U. S. ), monomania respecting, iii. 418. Chigwell, inn at, i. 239. Children, powers of observation in, i. 23, 27; mortality of young, in London, iii. 192 note, 293; old, iii. 292. Children-farming, Dickens on, iii. 287, 288 note. _Child's History_, the, finished, iii. 59. Child's night-lights, wonders of, iii. 172. Chillon, Castle of, ii. 229, 257, 258. _Chimes_, a title found for the, ii. 143; design for, ii. 144; Dickens hard at work on, ii. 150; first outline of the, ii. 152-155; effect of, on Dickens's health, ii. 156, 157; objections to, ii. 160; finished, ii. 161; private readings of, at Lincoln's-inn fields, ii. 162, 174, 175; Jeffrey's opinion of the, ii. 179. Chimneys, the smoky, i. 221. Chinese Junk, ii. 405-408. Chorley (Henry), iii. 256. Christmas, Dickens's identity with, ii. 90. Christmas-eve and day, Dickens's accustomed walk on, iii. 517. _Christmas Carol_, origin of, ii. 60; preparation of, ii. 71, 72; sale and accounts of, ii. 85-87; Jeffrey and Thackeray on, ii. 89; message of the, ii. 89; the story characterized, ii. 91; dramatized at the Adelphi, ii. 96; reading of, for the Hospital for Sick Children, iii. 200; reading of, in Boston (U. S. ), iii. 429, 430; Thackeray's copy of, purchased by her Majesty, iii. 506 note. _Christmas Sketches_, Dickens's, iii. 370, 371. Christmas sports, ii. 47 note. Cicala, the, ii. 118. Cincinnati (U. S. ), i. 378; described, i. 379, 380; temperance festival at, i. 383; bores at, i. 385. Circumlocution Office, the, iii. 159. Clay (Henry), i. 348, 349; on international copyright, i. 323. Clennam (Mrs. ), in _Little Dorrit_, original of, iii. 277. Cleveland (U. S. ), rude reception of mayor of, i. 403. Coachman, a Paris, ii. 332 note. Cobham-park, i. 224, 288; Dickens's last walk in, iii. 540. Cockburn (Sir Alexander), iii. 126. Coffee-shops frequented by Dickens, i. 56. Cogswell (Mr. ), ii. 476, 477. Coincidence, marvels of, iii. 174, 175, 524. Col de Balme Pass, ii. 253. Colden (David), i. 315, 316, ii. 192 note, 476. Colenso (Bishop) and the Bishop of Carlisle, iii. 248 note. Coleridge (Sara) on Little Nell, iii. 345 note; on _Chuzzlewit_, iii. 345 note. Collier (Payne) and Dickens in Hungerford Market, iii. 512 note. Collins (Charles Alston), marriage of, to Kate Dickens, iii. 255; books by, iii. 257; on Dickens's accompaniments of work, iii. 211 note; cover designed by, for _Edwin Drood_, iii. 466; death of, iii. 258. Collins (Wilkie), Dickens's regard for, ii. 402; holiday trip of, with Dickens and Egg, iii. 76-95; at Boulogne, iii. 106; in Paris, iii. 126; in Cumberland, iii. 170-173; accident to, on Carrick Fell, iii. 171; tales by, in _All the Year Round_, iii. 245; at his brother's wedding, iii. 256. Colquhoun (Mr. ), i. 258. Columbus (U. S. ), levee at, i. 398. Commercial Travellers' schools, admired by Dickens, iii. 247. Commons, House of, Dickens's opinion of, i. 103, iii. 499. Conjuror, a French, iii. 110-115. Consumption, hops a supposed cure for, iii. 208. Conversion, a wonderful, ii. 180 note. Cooke, Mr. (of Astley's), iii. 164, 165. Cooling Castle, ruins of, iii. 206, 220. Cooling churchyard, Dickens's partiality for, iii. 221. Copyright, international, Dickens's views on, i. 311, 318, 322, 332, 349, 360, ii. 50; Henry Clay on, i. 323; petition to American Congress on, i. 328, 351; Carlyle on, i. 332-334; two obstacles to, i. 408, 409 (and see ii. 26); result of agitation, i. 322. Corduroy-road, a, i. 398, 399. Cornwall (Barry), ii. 187, iii. 27 (and see 495, 530). Cornwall, Dickens's trip to, ii. 40-43. Costello (Dudley), fancy sketch of, ii. 383. Coutts, Miss (Baroness Burdett-Coutts), great regard for, ii. 58; true friendship of, ii. 323; generosity of, ii. 109 note, 488, iii. 300 (and see ii. 179). Covent-garden theatre, Macready at, i. 140, 185; farce written by Dickens for, i. 183; dinner at the close of Mr. Macready's management, i. 185; the editor of the _Satirist_ hissed from stage of, ii. 50; Dickens applies for an engagement at, ii. 206. Coventry, gold repeater presented to Dickens by watchmakers of, iii. 237 (and see 562). Crawford (Sir George), ii. 172. _Cricket on the Hearth_, origin of the, ii. 201-204; Dickens busy on, ii. 215; reading of, in Ary Scheffer's studio, iii. 148. Crimean war, unpopular in France, iii. 110, 127, 143. Cruikshank (George), illustrations by, to _Sketches_, i. 113; claim by, to the origination of _Oliver Twist_, i. 154-156, ii. 347, 348, 350, 351 note (and see autograph letter of Dickens, ii. 349, 350, and p. Vii. Of vol. Ii. ); fancy sketch of, ii. 379, 381; Dickens's opinion of his _Bottle_ and _Drunkard's Children_, ii. 384, 410, 411. _Cruize on Wheels_ (Charles Collins's), iii, 257. Cumberland, Dickens's trip in, iii. 170-173. Cunningham, Peter, character and life, iii. 73, 74. Curry (Mr. ), ii. 125, 158, 172. Custom-house-officers (continental), ii. 172, 173, 315. _Daily News_ projected, ii. 203; misgiving as to, ii. 215-217; first number of, ii. 218; Dickens's short editorship, ii. 215-219; succeeded by author of this book, ii. 220, 302, 303. Dana (R. H. ), i. 304. Danson (Dr. Henry), recollections by, of Dickens at school, i. 81-85; letter from Dickens to, i. 85 note. Dansons (the), at work, iii. 166. _David Copperfield_, identity of Dickens with hero of, i. 50-69; iii. 33-36; characters and incidents in, iii. 21-40; original of Dora in, i. 93; name found for, ii. 422; dinners in celebration of, ii. 438, 439, 470; sale of, ii. 447; titles proposed for, ii. 463-465; progress of, ii. 483-487; Lord Lytton on, iii. 21; popularity of, iii. 22; original of Miss Moucher in, iii. 23; original of Mr. Micawber in, iii. 30-32; _Bleak House_ inferior to, iii. 32; a proposed opening of, iii. 155; fac-simile of plan prepared for first number of, iii. 157. De Foe (Daniel), Dickens's opinion of, iii. 135 note; his _History of the Devil_, i. 139. Delane (John), ii. 469. Denman (Lord), ii. 108. Devonshire (Duke of) and the Guild of Literature and Art, ii. 397. Devonshire-terrace, Dickens removes from Doughty-street into, i. 186; Maclise's sketch of Dickens's house in, iii. 41. Dick, a favourite canary, iii. 117. Dickens (John), family of, i. 22; small but good library of, i. 29; money embarrassments of, i. 36, 42; character of, described by his son, i. 37; arrested for debt, i. 43; legacy to, i. 64; leaves the Marshalsea, i. 66; on the education of his son, i. 89; becomes a reporter, i. 90; Devonshire home of, described, i. 186-189; death of, ii. 489; his grave at Highgate, ii. 490; sayings of, iii. 31, 32; respect entertained by his son for, iii. 31. Dickens (Fanny), ii. 206, 456, 459; elected a pupil to the Royal Academy of Music, i. 39; obtains a prize thereat, i. 66; illness of, ii. 319, 320; death of, ii. 460; her funeral, i. 67. Dickens (Alfred), i. 223, 288; death of, iii. 258. Dickens, Augustus, (died in America), ii. 385. Dickens (Frederick), i. 182, 261, 288 (and see ii. 476); narrow escape from drowning in the bay at Genoa, ii. 137; death of, iii. 450. DICKENS, CHARLES, birth of, at Portsea, i. 21. Reminiscences of childhood at Chatham, i. 23-36. Relation of David Copperfield to, i. 28, 48, 92; iii. 33-35. His wish that his biography should be written by the author of this book, i. 40 note. First efforts at description, i. 42. Account by himself of his boyhood, i. 50-69 (and see ii. 205-207; iii. 247). Illnesses of, i. 60, 130, 244, 288; ii. 216, 297, 312 note; iii. 304, 305, 306, 311, 312, 313, 315, 321, 355, 375, 404, 410, 412, 416, 426, 427, 437, 441, 450. Clerk in an attorney's office, i. 87. Hopeless love of, i. 92, 93. Employed as a parliamentary reporter, i. 96 (and see iii. 512 note). His first attempts in literature, i. 97. His marriage, i. 108. Writes for the stage, i. 116 (and see 140, 183). Predominant impression of his life, i. 120, 405; ii. 147-150; iii. 524, 525. Personal habits of, i. 132, 133, 224, 368, 376, 377, 400; ii. 216, 225, 324; iii. 215-218, 513. Relations of, with his illustrators, i. 154-156; ii. 347, 348. Portraits of, i. 178 note; iii. 148-150, 238. Curious epithets given by, to his children, i. 182 note; ii. 248 note, 266 note, 314, 315, 324 note; iii. 100 (and see i. 261, 306, 331, 356, 418). His ravens, i. 233-239; ii. 215. Adventures in the Highlands, i. 263-276. First visit to the United States, i. 284. Domestic griefs of, i. 289. An old malady of, i. 288; iii. 314, 534. An admirable stage manager, i. 414-417; ii. 210, 212-214, 370, 371, 393 note, 400, 401. His dogs, ii. 24, 25, 134 note; iii. 144 note, 217-220, 222. His Will, ii. 59, 60 (and see iii. 561). His accompaniments of work, ii. 48, 121, 240; iii. 211, 212 note. Religious views of, ii. 59, 60, 147-150; iii. 484-486. Turning-point of his career, ii. 72. Writing in the _Chronicle_, ii. 105. Fancy sketch of his biographer, ii. 383. Sea-side holidays of, ii. 403-441; iii. 96-120. Italian travels, ii. 111-200; iii. 78-95. Craving for crowded streets, ii. 144, 151, 277, 281, 313. Political opinions of, ii. 146; iii. 498-503 (and see 528). Wish to become an actor, ii. 205. His long walks, ii. 158, 230 note, 312 note; iii. 249, 515-517. First desire to become a public reader, ii. 174, 284; iii. 60, 61. Edits the _Daily News_, ii. 218. His home in Switzerland, ii. 225, 226. Residence in Paris, ii. 316-336, iii. 121-153. Underwriting numbers, ii. 335 note, 362; iii. 377, 466. Overwriting numbers, ii. 342, 343, 356. First public readings, iii. 60. Revisits Switzerland and Italy, iii. 76-95. His birds, iii. 117, 118. Home disappointments, iii. 177-201 (and see 512). Separation from his wife, iii. 200. Purchases Gadshill-place, iii. 205. First paid Readings, iii. 223-238. Second series of Readings, iii. 255-274. Third series of Readings, iii. 298-324. Revisits America, iii. 387-443. Memoranda for stories first jotted down by, iii. 180 (and see 275-297). His "violated letter, " iii. 201, 231. Favourite walks of, iii. 209, 220-222. His mother's death, iii. 300. His first attack of lameness, iii. 304 (and see 312, 321, 376, 437, 442 note, 453, 455, 456, 509, 514, 530, 537). General review of his literary labours, iii. 325-386, 380-386. Effect of his death in America, iii. 384. Last readings of, iii. 444-460. Noticeable changes in, iii. 447, 455, 534. Comparison of his early and his late MSS. , iii. 466, 468, 469. Personal characteristics of, iii. 478-526. His interview with the Queen, iii. 507, 508. Strain and excitement at the final readings at St. James's Hall, iii. 532. Last days at Gadshill, iii. 539, 543. A tribute of gratitude to, for his books, iii. 538, 539. General mourning for, iii. 542. Burial in Westminster Abbey, iii. 544. Unbidden mourners at grave, iii. 544. Dickens (Mrs. ), i. 108, 135, 252, 264, 273, 287, 290, 294, 299, 304, 313, 318, 336, 344, 348, 349, 373, 375, 387, 397, 403, 404, 411, 413-415, ii. 140, 149, 163, 165, iii. 113; reluctance to leave England, i. 287; an admirable traveller, i. 397; Maclise's portrait of, ii. 44; the separation, iii. 200 (and see 562, 564. ) Dickens (Charles, jun. ), i. 257, 331, ii. 179; birth of, i. 119; illness of, ii. 335; education of, ii. 323, iii. 57 note; marriage of, iii. 262. Dickens (Mary), birth of, i. 149 (and see ii. 471, iii. 561). Dickens (Kate), birth of, i. 186 (and see ii. 470); illness of, ii. 122; marriage of, iii. 255. Dickens (Walter Landor), death of, i. 250 (and see iii. 300, 301). Dickens (Francis Jeffrey), birth of, ii. 61. Dickens (Alfred Tennyson), ii. 215. Dickens (Lieut. Sydney), death of, at sea, ii. 369 note. Dickens (Henry Fielding), birth of, ii. 462; acting of, iii. 63; scholarship at Cambridge won by, iii. 529 (and see iii. 562). Dickens (Edward Bulwer Lytton), birth of, iii. 54. Dickens (Dora Annie), birth of, ii. 487; death of, ii. 492; her grave at Highgate, ii. 493, iii. 52. _Dickens in Camp_ (Bret Harte's), i. 215, 216. Dilke (Charles Wentworth), i. 47, 48; death of, iii. 303 note. Dilke (Sir Charles), ii. 437. Disraeli (Mr. ), iii. 537. Doctors, Dickens's distrust of, ii. 433. Doctors' Commons, Dickens reporting in, i. 92 (and see ii. 219, iii. 39). _Doctor Marigold's Prescriptions_, large sale of, ii. 87 note; Dickens's faith in, iii. 307; how written, iii. 379; success of the reading of, at New York, iii. 409, 410. Dogs, Dickens's, ii. 24, 25, 134 note, iii. 144 note, 217-220, 222; effect of his sudden lameness upon, iii. 518. Dolby (Miss), ii. 475. Dolby, Mr. (Dickens's manager) sent to America, iii. 320; troubles of, iii. 394, 400, 408, 411, 412; the most unpopular man in America, iii. 394; care and kindness of, iii. 441; commission received by, iii. 446. _Dombey and Son_, original of Mrs. Pipchin in, i. 55, ii. 355; begun at Rosemont, ii. 241; Dickens at work on, ii. 249, 250, 266, 297, 314; general idea for, ii. 250; hints to artist, ii. 250; a reading of first number of, ii. 283; large sale of, ii. 296, 353 (and see 447); a number under written, ii. 335 note; charwoman's opinion of, ii. 335, 336; plan of, ii. 337-341; progress of, ii. 341-367; artist-fancies for Mr. Dombey, ii. 345, 346; passage of original MS. Omitted, ii. 343, 344 note; a reading of second number of, ii. 353 (and see 257, 281); Jeffrey on, ii. 358, 359 and note, 358; characters in, and supposed originals of, ii. 362-367 (and see 107); profits of, ii. 384; translated into Russian, ii. 448. Doncaster, the race-week at, iii. 174-176; a "groaning phantom" at, iii. 174. Dora, a real, i. 92, 93; changed to Flora in _Little Dorrit_, i. 94. D'Orsay (Count) and Roche the courier, ii. 204 note; death of, iii. 55. Doughty-street, Dickens removes to, i. 119; incident of, iii. 252. Dover, Dickens at, iii. 54, 55; reading at, iii. 264; storm at, iii. 264. Dowling (Vincent), i. 101. Dramatic College, Royal, Dickens's interest in the, iii. 236. Dream, a vision in a, ii. 148-150 (and see iii. 522-524); President Lincoln's, iii. 423. _Drunkard's Children_ (Cruikshank's), Dickens's opinion of, ii. 410, 411. Drury-lane theatre, opening of, ii. 30. Dublin, Dickens's first impressions of, iii. 225; humorous colloquies at Morrison's hotel in, iii. 227, 228; reading in, iii. 317 (and see 226 note, 228). Duelling in America, i. 396. Dumas (Alexandre), tragedy of _Kean_ by, ii. 127 (and see iii. 491 note); his _Christine_, ii. 176; a supper with, ii. 331. Dundee, reading at, iii. 233. Du Plessis (Marie), death of, ii. 333. Dyce (Alexander), ii. 473. EDEN in _Martin Chuzzlewit_, original of, i. 363, 369; a worse swamp than, ii. 77. Edinburgh, public dinner in, to Dickens, i. 249-262; presentation of freedom of, i. 257 (and see iii. 197); wassail-bowl presented after _Carol_ reading, iii. 197; readings at, iii. 233, 267, 451, and 450 note; Scott monument at, ii. 392. Editorial troubles and pleasures, iii. 493. Editors, American, incursion of, i. 300. Education, two kinds of, i. 89; Dickens's speeches on, ii. 95. _Edwin Drood_, clause inserted in agreement for, iii. 461 note; sale of, iii. 461 note; amount paid for, iii. 461 note; first fancy for, iii. 462; the story as planned in Dickens's mind, iii. 463, 464; Longfellow on, iii. 464; merits of, iii. 464, 465; facsimile of portion of final page of, iii. 466 (and see 468); an unpublished scene for, iii. 467-476; original of the opium-eater in, iii. 528; a reading of a number of, iii. 530. Egg (Augustus), fancy sketch of, ii. 383; holiday trip of, with Dickens and Wilkie Collins, iii. 76-95; narrow escape at Chamounix, iii. 77. Electric message, uses for an, iii. 282. Eliot (George), Dickens's opinion of her first book, ii. 47. Elliotson (Dr. ), i. 270, ii. 109, 313. Elton (Mr. ), Dickens's exertions for family of, ii. 55. Elwin (Rev. Whitwell), allusion to, ii. 462. Emerson (Ralph Waldo), ii. 476. Emigrants in Canada, ii. 28, 29. Emigration schemes, Dickens's belief in, ii. 262. Emmanuel (Victor), visit of, to Paris, iii. 127. Englishmen abroad, ii. 223, 252, 266-271. Engravings, Dickens on, ii. 167, 168 note. _Evening Chronicle_, sketches contributed by Dickens to, i. 105. _Evenings of a Working-man_ (John Overs'), ii. 109. _Every Man in his Humour_, private performances of, at Miss Kelly's theatre, ii. 209, 211 (and see iii. 537). _Examiner_, articles by Dickens in the, i. 185. Executions, public, letter against, ii. 479. Exeter, reading at, iii. 224. Eye-openers, iii. 409. FACSIMILES: of letter written in boyhood by Dickens, i. 79; of the autograph signature "Boz, " i. 276; of New York invitations to Dickens, i. 308-309; of letter to George Cruikshank, ii. 349, 350; of plan prepared for first numbers of _Copperfield_ and _Little Dorrit_, iii. 157, 158; of portion of last page of _Edwin Drood_, iii. 468 (and see 488); of _Oliver Twist_, iii. 469. Fairbairn (Thomas), letter of Dickens to, on posthumous honours, iii. 487. _Fatal Zero_ (Percy Fitzgerald's), iii. 495. Faucit (Helen), ii. 475. Fechter (Mr. ), châlet presented by, to Dickens, iii. 211, 212; Dickens's friendly relations with, iii. 302. Feline foes, iii. 117, 118. Felton (Cornelius C. ), i. 304, 315, 320, ii. 192 note; death of, iii. 269 note. Fenianism in Ireland, iii. 316, 317 note; in America, iii. 397 (and see 508). Fermoy (Lord), iii. 522. Fêtes at Lausanne, ii. 246, 258. Fiction, realities of, iii. 346-363. Field (Kate), _Pen Photographs_ by, iii. 236 note. Fielding (Henry), real people in novels of, iii. 22; episodes introduced by, in his novels, iii. 161; Dr. Johnson's opinion of, iii. 346; M. Taine's opinion of, iii. 348. Fields (James T. ), _Yesterdays with Authors_ by, ii. 42 note; on Dickens's health in America, iii. 404, 405; at Gadshill, iii. 527, 528. Fiesole, Landor's villa at, ii. 189 note. Fildes (S. L. ), chosen to illustrate _Edwin Drood_, iii. 467. Finality, a type of, ii. 408. Finchley, cottage at, rented by Dickens, ii. 51. _Fine Old English Gentleman_, political squib by Dickens, i. 278, 279. Fireflies in Italy, ii. 196, and note. Fires in America, frequency of, iii. 399, 400. Fitzgerald (Percy), iii. 218; a contributor in _All the Year Round_, iii. 245; personal liking of Dickens for, iii. 495. "Fix, " a useful word in America, i. 370. Flanders, Dickens's trip to, i. 135. Fletcher, (Angus), i. 254, 263, 274; stay of, with Dickens at Broadstairs, i. 228; anecdotes of, i. 262, 263, 264 note, 269 (and see ii. 113, 120, 144, 182, 193, 194 note); pencil sketch by, of the Villa Bagnerello at Albaro, ii. 121; death of, ii. 194 note. Flies, plague of, at Lausanne, ii. 244, 245 note. Fonblanque (Albany), i. 113, ii. 53, 162; wit of, ii. 175, 467, iii. 349. Footman, a meek, ii. 194. Fortescue (Miss), ii. 96. _Fortnightly Review_, Mr. Lewes's critical essay on Dickens in, iii. 332-338. Fowls, eccentric, iii. 251, 252. Fox (William Johnson), ii. 53. Fox-under-the-hill (Strand), reminiscence of, i. 62. Franklin (Lady), iii. 519. Fraser (Peter), ii. 475. Freemasons' Hall, banquet to Dickens at, iii. 324. Freemasons' secret, a, ii. 440. Free-trade, Lord "Gobden" and, ii. 312. French and Americans contrasted, ii. 322. Frescoes, perishing, ii. 119; at the Palazzo Peschiere, ii. 140 note, 141; Maclise's, for the Houses of Parliament, iii. 536 note. Friday, important incidents of Dickens's life connected with, ii. 441, iii. 205, 419, &c. Frith (W. P. ), portrait of Dickens by, iii. 238. Funeral, scene at a, ii. 31-33; an English, in Italy, ii. 193. Furnival's inn, room in, where the first page of _Pickwick_ was written, iii, 528. GADSHILL PLACE, a vision of boyhood at, i. 24 (and see iii. 204); Dick's tomb at, iii. 117 note; first description of, iii. 202; sketch of porch at, iii. 204; purchase of, iii. 205; antecedents of, iii. 207; improvements and additions at, iii. 208-215; sketch of Châlet at, iii. 212; nightingales at, iii. 212; Dickens's daily life at, iii. 215-222; sketch of house and conservatory, iii. 216; Study at, iii. 222; games at, for the villagers, iii. 510, 511; Dickens's last days at, iii. 539-542. _Gambler's Life_, Lemaitre's acting in the, iii. 122-124. Gamp (Mrs. ), original of, ii. 51; a masterpiece of English humour, ii. 83, 84; with the Strollers, ii. 376-384. Gaskell (Mrs. ), ii. 454, 470, iii. 54. Gasman's compliment to Dickens, iii. 265 (and see 441). Gautier (Théophile), ii. 331. Geneva, Dickens at, ii. 288; revolution at, ii. 298-301; aristocracy of, ii. 299. Genoa described, ii. 125-128; theatres at, ii. 127, 128 (and see iii. 491 note); religious houses at, ii. 128; rooms in the Palazzo Peschiere hired by Dickens, ii. 129; view over, ii. 141; Governor's levee at, ii. 144; an English funeral at, ii. 193; nautical incident at, ii. 195; revisited by Dickens, iii. 78-80. _George Silverman's Explanation_, iii. 380 (and see 253 note). Gibson (Milner), ii. 468. _Gilbert Massenger_ (Holme Lee's) remarks of Dickens on, iii. 493, 494. Giles (William), i. 23; Dickens at the school kept by, i. 32, 33; snuff box presented to "Boz" by, i. 33. Gipsy tracks, iii. 250. Girardin (Emile de), iii. 142; banquets given by, in honour of Dickens, iii. 139-141. Girls, American, i. 384, 385 note; Irish, iii. 226 note; list of Christian names of, iii. 294, 295. Gladstone (Mr. ), and Dickens, i. 103, iii. 537. Glasgow, proposed dinner to Dickens at, i. 276; reading at, iii. 234; Dickens at meeting of Athenæum, ii. 390. Glencoe, Pass of, i. 268, 271; effect of, on Dickens, i. 270. Goldfinch, the, and his friend, iii. 252. Gondoliers at Venice, habits of, iii. 90. Gordon (Lord George), character of, i. 241. Gordon (Sheriff), ii. 475. Gore-house, a party at, ii. 334 note. Gower-street-north, school in, opened by Dickens's mother, i. 43; a dreary home, i. 45, iii. 218; home broken up, i. 54. Graham (Sir James), ii. 109. Graham (Lady), ii. 468. Grant (James), recollections of Dickens by, i. 101 (and see 108). Graves, town, iii. 49, 52 note; Dickens's dislike to speech-making at, iii. 488. _Great Expectations_, original of Satis-house in, iii. 220; germ of, iii. 361; the story characterized, iii. 362-369; close of, changed at Bulwer Lytton's suggestion, iii. 369, and note. Great Malvern, cold-waterers at, ii. 487. Greek war-ship, a, iii. 82. Greeley (Horace), iii. 400, 442; on the effect in America of Dickens's death, iii. 384; on Dickens's fame as a novelist, iii. 388; a suggestion from, iii. 417. Grey (Lord), recollection of, ii. 264, 265. _Grimaldi, Life of_, edited by Dickens, i. 142; the editor's modest estimate of it, i. 142; criticisms on, i. 142, 143. Grip, Dickens's raven, i. 220; death of, i. 234, 235; apotheosis, by Maclise, i. 237; a second Grip, i. 239. Grisi (Madame), ii. 176. Guild of Literature and Art, origin of, ii. 395; princely help of the Duke of Devonshire to, ii. 397 (and see iii. 488, 489). HACHETTE (MM. ), agreement with, for French translation of Dickens's works, iii. 125 note. Haghe (Louis), iii. 85. Haldimand (Mr. ), seat of, at Lausanne, ii, 232. Halévy (M. ), dinner to, ii. 469. Halifax, the "Britannia" aground off, i. 297; the house of assembly at, i. 299. Hall (Mr. And Mrs. S. C. ), ii. 475. Hall (William), funeral of, ii. 369. Hallam (Henry), loquacity of, ii. 251. Halleck (Fitz-Greene) on Dickens, iii. 482 note. Halliday (Andrew), iii. 529. _Hamlet_, an emendation for, ii. 389; performance of, at Preston, iii. 70. Hampstead Heath, Dickens's partiality for, i. 133, ii. 101. Hampstead-road, Mr. Jones's school in the, i. 74. Hansard (Mr. ), letter from, concerning Mr. Macrone, ii. 442, 443 note. Hardwick (John), ii. 468. _Hard Times_, proposed names for, iii. 65, and note; title chosen, iii. 65; written for _Household Words_, iii. 66; Ruskin's opinion of, iii. 66, 67. Harley (Mr. ), ii. 475. Harness (Rev. Wm. ), ii. 162, 175, 473. Harrogate, reading at, iii. 230. Harte (Bret), Dickens on, i. 214; tribute by, to Dickens, i. 215, 216. Hartford (U. S. ) levee at, i. 313. Harvard and Oxford crews, the, iii. 527. Hastings, reading at, iii. 264. Hatton-garden, Dickens at, iii. 25. _Haunted Man_, first idea of, ii. 280; large sale of, ii. 443; dramatized, ii. 443; teachings and moral of the story, ii. 443-446; the christening dinner, ii. 468. Hawthorne (N. ), Dickens on, ii. 440. Hayes (Catherine), ii. 468. Heaven, ambition to see into, ii. 477. Helps (Arthur), iii. 245; _In Memoriam_ by, iii. 509. Hereditary transmission, iii. 179 note (and see 493). Highgate, Dora's grave at, ii. 493, iii. 52. Highlands, Dickens's adventures in the, i. 263-276. Hogarth, Dickens on, ii. 413, 414. Hogarth (George), i. 105; Dickens marries eldest daughter of, i. 108. Hogarth (Georgina), ii. 120, iii. 540, 541, 561, 563; sketch taken from, ii. 48, iii. 287; Maclise's portrait of, ii. 48, 49. Hogarth (Mary), death of, i. 120; epitaph on tomb of, i. 120 note (and see ii. 458); Dickens's loving memory of, i. 120, 144, 289, 405, ii. 147-150, 458, iii. 525. _Holiday Romance and George Silverman's Explanation_, high price paid for, iii. 380 (and see 253 note, and 321). Holland (Lady), a remembrance of, ii. 194. Holland (Lord), ii. 190. Holland (Captain), the _Monthly Magazine_ conducted by, i. 104. Holyhead, a Fenian at, iii. 316 note. Hone of the _Every Day Book_, scene at funeral of, ii. 31-33 (but see iii. 568, 569). Honesty under a cloud, ii. 112. Hood (Thomas), ii. 190; his _Tylney Hall_, ii. 264. Hop-pickers, iii. 208. Horne (R. H. ), ii. 475. Hospital for Sick Children, Dickens's exertions on behalf of, iii. 192-200; a small patient at, iii. 194; _Carol_ reading for, iii. 200. Hotels American, i. 304, iii. 390, 395, 412, 435; extortion at, i. 331, 344. Houghton (Lord), ii. 472, iii. 509, 538. _Household Words_ in contemplation, ii. 449-453; title selected for, ii. 454; names proposed for, ii. 453; first number of, ii. 454; early contributors to, ii. 454; Mrs. Gaskell's story in, iii. 54; unwise printed statement in, iii. 200; discontinued, iii. 239 (and see 37). Hudson (George), glimpse of, in exile, iii. 274. Hugo (Victor), an evening with, ii. 331, 332. Hulkes (Mr. ), iii. 206 note, 256. Hull, reading at, iii. 232. Humour, Americans destitute of i. 401; a favourite bit of, ii. 102; the leading quality of Dickens, iii. 341, 342; Lord Lytton on the employment of, by novelists, iii. 350 note; Dickens's enjoyment of his own, iii. 350-352; the true province of, iii. 382. Hungerford-market, i. 50 (and see iii. 512 note). Hunt (Holman), iii. 257. Hunt (Leigh), saying of, i. 119; on _Nicholas Nickleby_, i. 169; Civil-list pension given to, ii. 369; theatrical benefit for, ii. 369-373; result of performances, ii. 373; last glimpse of, iii. 26 note; letter of Dickens to, in self-defence, iii. 28; the original of Harold Skimpole in _Bleak House_, iii. 26-29; inauguration of bust of, at Kensal-green, iii. 487. _Hunted Down_, high price paid for, iii. 253; original of, iii. 279. IMAGINATIVE life, tenure of, iii. 187. Improprieties of speech, ii. 269. Incurable Hospital, patients in the, iii. 287. Inimitable, as applied to Dickens, origin of the term, i. 33. Inn, a log-house, i. 400. Innkeeper, a model, i. 365. Inns, American, Miss Martineau on, i. 344 (and see 366 note, 393, 395, 400, iii. 432); Highland, i. 265, 267, 275; Italian, ii. 158, 170, 171, 181. International boat-race dinner, Dickens at, iii. 527. Ireland, a timely word on, ii. 260. Irving (Washington), i. 287, 315, 330, 351, 352, 357 note; letter from Dickens to, i. 284; a bad public speaker, i. 320-322; at Literary Fund dinner in London, i. 321; at Richmond (U. S. ), i. 351. Italians hard at work, ii. 197. Italy, art and pictures in, ii. 167-169, iii. 91, 92; private galleries in, ii. 168 note; cruelty to brutes in, ii. 187 note; wayside memorials in, ii. 188, 189 note; best season in, ii. 191; fire-flies in, ii. 195; Dickens's trip to, iii. 76-95; the noblest men of, in exile, iii. 93. JACK STRAW'S-CASTLE (Hampstead-heath), i. 133, 299, 346, ii. 101, 117. Jackson (Sir Richard), i. 413. Jeffrey (Lord), i. 260; praise of Little Nell by, i. 251; presides at Edinburgh dinner to Dickens, i. 252; on the _American Notes_, ii. 38; praise by, of the _Carol_, ii. 88; on the _Chimes_, ii. 179; his opinion of the _Battle of Life_, ii. 303, 304; forecaste of _Dombey_ by, ii. 358 note; on Paul's death, ii. 361 note; on the character of Edith in Dombey, ii. 362-364; James Sheridan Knowles and, ii. 392; touching letter from, ii. 428; death of, ii. 483. Jerrold (Douglas), ii. 136, 162, 175, 200; at Miss Kelly's theatre, ii. 209, 210; fancy sketch of, ii. 282, iii. 63 note; last meeting with Dickens, iii. 167; death of, iii. 168; proposed memorial tribute to, and result, iii. 168. Jesuits at Geneva, rising against the, ii. 297-301 (and see 179-180). Johnson (President), interview of Dickens with, iii. 423; impeachment of, iii. 429. Johnson (Reverdy), at Glasgow art-dinner, iii. 453 note. Jonson (Ben), an experience of, ii. 352. Jowett (Dr. ), on Dickens, iii. 525, 526. KARR (ALPHONSE), ii. 331. Keeley (Mrs. ), ii. 475; in _Nicholas Nickleby_, i. 175, ii. 96. Kelly (Fanny), theatre of, in Dean-street, Soho, ii. 208-214; whims and fancies of, ii. 209. Kemble (Charles) and his daughters, ii. 473. Kemble (John), ii. 473. Kensal-green, Mary Hogarth's tomb at, i. 120 note, ii. 458 note. Kent (Charles), _Charles Dickens as a Reader_ by, iii. 235 note; letter to, iii. 541. _Kissing the Rod_ (Edmund Yates'), iii. 495. Knebworth, private performances at, ii. 396, 397; Dickens at, iii. 245, 246. Knight (Charles), ii. 475. Knowles (James Sheridan), bankruptcy of, ii. 392; civil-list pension granted to, ii. 393; performances in aid of, ii. 394, 395. LADIES, American, i. 327; eccentric, ii. 291-293. Laing (Mr. ), of Hatton Garden, iii. 25. Lamartine (A. , de), ii. 331, iii. 135. Lameness, strange remedy for, i. 22. Lamert (James), private theatricals got up by, i. 31; takes young Dickens to the theatre, i. 32; employs Dickens at the blacking-warehouse, i. 51; quarrel of John Dickens with, i. 68 (and see 228). _Lamplighter_, Dickens's farce of the, i. 183, ii. 207; turned into a tale for the benefit of Mrs. Macrone, i. 241. Landor (Walter Savage), Dickens's visit to, at Bath, i. 200; mystification of, i. 218; villa at Fiesole, ii. 189, 190 (and see 486 note); the original of Boythorn in _Bleak House_, iii. 26; a fancy respecting, iii. 451; Forster's _Life_ of, ii. 189 note, iii. 528. Landport (Portsea), birth of Dickens at, i. 21. Landseer (Charles), ii. 475. Landseer (Edwin), i. 181, ii. 162, 470, 475, iii. 63 note, 126; and Napoleon III. , iii. 147 note (and see iii. 238). Land's-end, a sunset at, ii. 40. Lankester (Dr. ), ii. 430. Lant-street, Borough, Dickens's lodgings in, i. 59; the landlord's family reproduced in the Garlands in _Old Curiosity Shop_, i. 60. Lausanne, Dickens's home at, ii. 225, 226; booksellers' shops at, ii. 227; the town described, ii. 227; view of Rosemont, ii. 229; girl drowned in lake at, ii. 232, 233; theatre at, ii. 233, 234 note; fêtes at, ii. 246, 247, 258, 259; marriage at, ii. 248; revolution at, ii. 259; prison at, ii. 234, 235; Blind Institution at, ii. 236-240, iii. 78; English colony at, ii. 242 note; plague of flies at, ii. 244, 245 note; earthquake at, ii. 283 note; feminine smoking party, ii. 292; the town revisited, iii. 77, 78. Lawes (Rev. T. B. ), club established by, at Rothamsted, iii. 244. Layard (A. H. ), iii. 83; at Gadshill, iii. 510, 523. Lazy Tour projected, iii. 170 (and see 351). Lazzaroni, what they really are, ii. 187. Leech (John) at Miss Kelly's theatre, ii. 210; grave mistake by, in _Battle of Life_ illustration, ii. 310, 311; fancy sketch of, ii. 381; Dickens's opinion of his _Rising Generation_, ii. 414-418; what he will be remembered for, ii. 417; accident to, at Bonchurch, ii. 435; at Boulogne, iii. 105; death of, iii. 303 (and see 375). Leeds, reading at, iii. 232. Leeds Mechanics' Society, Dickens at meeting of the, ii. 390, 391. _Legends and Lyrics_ (Adelaide Procter's), iii. 495 note. Legerdemain in perfection, iii. 112-114 (and see 111, 112 note). Leghorn, Dickens at, iii. 80, 81. Legislatures, local, i. 365. Lehmann (Frederic), iii. 218, 256. Leigh (Percival), ii. 210. Lemaitre (Frédéric), acting of, iii. 122-124 (and see 521). Lemon (Mark), ii. 210, 211, 263; fancy sketch of, ii. 382; acting with children, iii. 62; death of, iii. 538. Lemon (Mrs. ), ii. 263. Leslie (Charles Robert), iii. 126. Letter-opening at the General Post-Office, ii. 108, 109. Levees in the United States, i. 313, 347, 365, 373, 386, 398; queer customers at, i. 373; what they are like, i. 398. Lever (Charles), tale by, in _All the Year Round_, iii. 245. Lewes (George Henry), Dickens's regard for, ii. 475; critical essay on Dickens, in the _Fortnightly Review_, noticed, iii. 333-339. Library, a gigantic, ii. 272, 273. _Life of Christ_, written by Dickens for his children, ii. 241 note. Life-preservers, i. 376. _Lighthouse_, Carlyle on Dickens's acting in the, iii. 72. Lincoln (President), curious story respecting, iii. 422, 423 (and see 508). Lincoln's-inn-fields, a reading of the _Chimes_ in, ii. 162, 174, 175. Linda, Dickens's dog, iii. 218, 219; burial-place of, iii. 222. Liston (Robert), ii. 475. Literary Fund dinner, i. 321 (and see iii. 488). Literature, too much "patronage" of, in England, iii. 488. Littérateur, a fellow, ii. 325. _Little Dorrit_, fac-simile of plan prepared for first number of, iii. 158; sale of, iii. 159; general design of, iii. 159; weak points in, iii. 160, 161; Von Moltke and, iii. 164; original of Mrs. Clennam in, iii. 277; notions for, iii. 278. Little Nell, Florence Dombey and, ii. 362; Sara Coleridge on, iii. 345 note. Liverpool, readings at, iii. 225, 268, 311, 313; Dickens's speech at Mechanics' Institution at, ii. 94, 95; Leigh Hunt's benefit at, ii. 372, 373; public dinner to Dickens, iii. 454, 500, 501. Loch-earn-head, postal service at, i. 269. Locock (Dr. ), ii. 468. Lodi, Dickens at, ii. 166-173. Logan Stone, Stanfield's sketch of, ii. 42. London, pictures of, in Dickens's books, i. 171; readings in, iii. 223, 235, 258, 269. Longfellow (Henry Wadsworth), i. 304, 331, iii. 447; among London thieves and tramps, ii. 22 (and see 57); at Gadshill, iii. 216; on Dickens's death, iii. 384. Longman (Thomas), ii. 469. Louis Philippe, a glimpse of, ii. 320; dethronement of, ii. 403. Lovelace (Lord), ii. 468. Lowther, Mr. (chargé d'affaires at Naples), difficulty in finding house of, iii. 83-85. Lytton (Lord), ii. 188 (and see iii. 246); prologue written by, for Ben Jonson's play, ii. 372, 373 note; Dickens's admiration for, ii. 472, 488; his opinion of _Copperfield_, iii. 21, 22; _Strange Story_ contributed to _All the Year Round_, iii. 245; Dickens's reply to remonstrance from, iii. 341, 342; defence by, of humourists, iii. 350 note; suggestion as to close of _Great Expectations_, iii. 369; letter of Dickens to, from Cambridge (U. S. ), iii. 402, 403. Lytton (Robert), iii. 127. MACKENZIE (Dr. SHELTON) and Cruikshank's illustrations to _Oliver Twist_, i. 155 note; rigmarole by, concerning Dickens and Her Majesty, iii. 503, 504 note. Maclise (Daniel), i. 261, ii. 160, 175, 200; portrait of Dickens by, i. 178 note; social charm of, i. 180, 181; his apotheosis of Grip, i. 237; his play-scene in _Hamlet_, i. 355; among London tramps, ii. 23; sketches in Cornwall by, ii. 42, 43; letter from, on the Cornwall trip, 42, 43; his "Girl at the Waterfall, " ii, 43; paints Mrs. Dickens's portrait, ii. 44; pencil drawing of Charles Dickens, his wife, and her sister, ii. 49; Dickens's address to, ii. 116-119; sketch of the private reading in Lincoln's-inn-fields, ii. 174; house in Devonshire-terrace sketched by, iii. 41; death of, iii. 535; tribute of Dickens to, iii. 536. _Macmillan's Magazine_, paper in, on Dickens's amateur theatricals, iii. 63 note. Macrae (David), _Home and Abroad_ by, iii. 483 note. Macready (William Charles), i. 261, 287, 288, ii. 160, 177; at Covent-garden, i. 140; dinner to, on his retirement from management, i. 185; dinner to, prior to American visit, ii. 53, 54; an apprehended disservice to, ii. 54; in New Orleans, ii. 103; in Paris, ii. 176, 177, iii. 126; strange news for, ii. 207; anecdote of, ii. 372, 373 note; Dickens's affection for, ii. 467; farewell dinner to, ii. 488; at Sherborne, iii. 185; his opinion of the _Sikes and Nancy_ scenes, iii. 451; misgiving of Dickens respecting, iii. 481, 529. Macready (Mrs. ), death of, iii. 55. Macrone (Mr. ), copyright of _Sketches by Boz_ sold to, i. 107; scheme to reissue _Sketches_, i. 122; exorbitant demand by, i. 124, ii. 442, 443 note; close of dealings with, i. 125; a friendly plea for, ii. 443 note. Magnetic experiments, i. 375, 376. Malleson (Mr. ), iii. 256. Malthus philosophy, ii. 262. Managerial troubles, ii. 210, 370, 400-402. Manby (Charles), pleasing trait of, iii. 273. Manchester, Dickens's speech at opening of Athenæum, ii. 56 (and see iii. 237); Leigh Hunt's benefit at, ii. 372; Guild dinner at, ii. 401; readings at, iii. 231, 268, 307, 311, 314. Manchester (Bishop of) on Dickens's writings, iii. 383, 384 note. Manin (Daniel), iii. 126. Mannings, execution of the, ii. 479. _Manon Lescaut_, Auber's opera of, iii. 136. Mansion-house dinner to "literature and art, " ii. 477; doubtful compliment at, ii. 478; suppressed letter of Dickens respecting, ii. 478. Marcet (Mrs. ), ii. 231, 252. Margate theatre, burlesque of classic tragedy at, ii. 26 (and see ii. 387). Mario (Signor), ii. 176. Marryat (Captain) on the effect in America of the _Nickleby_ dedication, ii. 54; fondness of, for children, ii. 472 (and see ii. 268, iii. 567). Marshalsea prison, Dickens's first and last visits to the, i. 44, 45, iii. 162; an incident in, described by Dickens, i. 64-66 (and see iii. 163). Marston's (Mr. Westland) _Patrician's Daughter_, prologue to, ii. 45. Martineau (Harriet) on American inns, i. 344, 366 note. _Martin Chuzzlewit_, agreement for, i. 282 (and see ii. 24, 65); original of Eden in, i. 362, 370; fancy for opening of, ii. 24 (and see i. 282, 283); first year of, ii. 40-62; names first given to, ii. 44; Sydney Smith's opinion of first number of, ii. 45; origin of, ii. 45; original of Mrs. Gamp in, ii. 51; sale of, less than former books, ii. 63, 64 (and see 447); unlucky clause in agreement for, ii. 65; Dickens's own opinion of, ii. 69, 70; the story characterized, ii. 74-84; Thackeray's favourite scene in, ii. 79; intended motto for, ii. 81; M. Taine on, ii. 78; christening dinner, ii. 109; Sara Coleridge on, iii. 345 note. _Master Humphrey's Clock_, projected, i. 193-199; first sale of, i. 202; first number published, i. 222; original plan abandoned, i. 223; dinner in celebration of, i. 240; _Clock_ discontents, i. 281. Mazzini (Joseph), Dickens's interest in his school, ii. 474. Mediterranean, sunset on the, ii. 117. _Mémoires du Diable_, a pretty tag to, iii. 133, 134. Memoranda, extracts from Dickens's book of, iii. 275-297; available names in, iii. 293-296. Mendicity Society, the, ii. 106. Mesmerism, Dickens's interest in, i. 279, 280, 375, ii. 436. Micawber (Mr. ), in _David Copperfield_, original of, iii. 30-32; comparison between Harold Skimpole and, iii. 32; Mr. G. H. Lewes on, iii. 338, 348; on corn, iii. 349. Middle Temple, Dickens entered at, i. 183, 186. _Midsummer Night's Dream_ at the Opera Comique, Boulogne, iii. 103. Milnes (Monckton), ii. 472. _Mirror of Parliament_, Dickens reporting for, i. 97. Mississippi, the, i. 386. Mitton (Thomas), i. 182, ii. 476. Moltke (Von) and _Little Dorrit_, iii. 164. _Money_ (Lord Lytton's), a performance of, at Doncaster, iii. 175 note. Mont Blanc, effect of, on Dickens, ii. 254. Montreal, private theatricals in, i. 414, 417; facsimile of play-bill at, i. 415. Moore (George), business qualities and benevolence, iii. 248. Moore (Thomas), i. 251, 321. Morgue at Paris, ii. 321; a tenant of the, ii. 327. _Morning Chronicle_, Dickens a reporter for the, i. 97; liberality of proprietors, i. 98; change of editorship of, ii. 53, 104; articles by Dickens in the, ii. 104, 105. Morris (Mowbray), ii. 468. Moulineaux, Villa des, iii. 97-105, 115-119. Mountain travelling, ii. 253. _Mr. Nightingale's Diary_, the Guild farce of, ii. 397, iii. 72. _Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings_, iii. 370. _Mugby Junction_, germ of, in Memoranda, iii. 290. Mule-travelling in Switzerland, ii. 253. Mulgrave (Lord), i. 297, 300, 305, 413, ii. 469. Mumbo Jumbo, ii. 440. Murray (Lord), i. 260, ii. 475. Music, effect of, on a deaf, dumb, and blind girl, ii. 239; vagrant, ii. 387, 438. NAMES, available, iii. 295, 296. Naples, burial place at, ii. 186 note; filth of, ii. 186 (and see iii. 95); Dickens at, iii. 83-85. Napoleon III. At Gore-house, ii. 334 note; at Boulogne, iii. 108; at Paris, iii. 108 note; Edwin Landseer and, iii. 147 note. Nautical incident at Genoa, ii. 195. Neaves (Mr. ), i. 258. Negri (Marquis di), ii. 130-132. New Bedford (U. S. ), reading at, iii. 437. Newcastle, readings at, iii. 264, 315; alarming scene at, iii. 265. Newhaven (U. S. ), levee at, i. 313. _New Sentimental Journey_ (Collins's), iii. 257. Newspaper express, a, i. 101. Newspapers, American, iii. 400. Newsvendors' dinner, Dickens at, iii. 535. New-year's day in Paris, iii. 145. New York, fac-similes of invitations to Dickens, i. 308, 309; the Carlton hotel in, i. 315 (and see iii. 361); ball at, i. 316-318; life in, i. 324; hotel bills in, i. 331 (and see 345); public institutions ill-managed at, i. 339; prisons in, i. 339-344; capital punishment in, i. 342; sale of tickets for the readings, iii. 391, 392-394; first reading in, iii. 393; fire at the Westminster-hotel, iii. 395, 399; prodigious increase since Dickens's former visit, iii. 395; Niblo's theatre at, iii. 396; sleigh-driving at, iii. 397; police of, iii. 398 (and see i. 339); the Irish element in, iii. 413; farewell readings in, iii. 441; public dinner to Dickens at, iii. 442. _New York Herald_, i. 320, iii. 400. _New York Ledger_, high price paid for tale by Dickens in, iii. 253. _New York Tribune_, Dickens's "violated letter" in the, iii. 201, 231. Niagara Falls, effect of, on Dickens, i. 404, 405 (and see iii. 433). _Nicholas Nickleby_, agreement for, i. 145; first number of, i. 150, 165; sale of, i. 150; the _Saturday Review_ on, i. 166; characters in, i. 167-171; opinions of Sydney Smith and Leigh Hunt on, i. 168, 169; Dickens at work on, i. 172-176; dinner-celebration of, i. 177, 178; originals of the Brothers Cheeryble in, i. 181; proclamation on the eve of publication, ii. 99, 100 note; effect of, in establishing Dickens, iii. 344 (and see 386). Nicolson (Sir Frederick), ii. 194. Nightingales at Gadshill, iii. 212. _Nobody's Fault_, the title first chosen for _Little Dorrit_, iii. 155. No-Popery riots, description of the, i. 246. Normanby (Lord), ii. 108, 109, 320. Norton (Charles Eliot), iii. 215, 447. Norwich, reading at, iii. 262. _No Thoroughfare_, i. 140. Novels, real people in, iii. 22-33; episodes in, iii. 161. Novelists, old, design for cheap edition of, ii. 385. Nugent (Lord), ii. 473. "OCEAN SPECTRE, " the, ii. 369 note. O'Connell (Daniel), ii. 135. Odéon (Paris), Dickens at the, iii. 128, 129. Ohio, on the, i. 377. _Old Curiosity Shop_, original of the Marchioness in, i. 59; originals of the Garland family, i. 60; original of the poet in Jarley's wax-work, i. 70; the story commenced, i. 200; disadvantages of weekly publication, i. 203; changes in proofs, i. 206; Dick Swiveller and the Marchioness, i. 207; effect of story upon the writer, i. 208; death of Little Nell, i. 210; close of the tale, i. 210; success of, i. 211; characterized, i. 212-214; a tribute by Bret Harte, i. 215, 216; characters in, iii. 345. _Old Monthly Magazine_, Dickens's first published piece in, i. 97; other sketches in, i. 104. _Oliver Twist_, commenced in _Bentley's Miscellany_, i. 121; characters in, real to Dickens, i. 125, 139; the story characterized, i. 146, 147, 158, 160; Dickens at work on, i. 149; the last chapter of, i. 153; the Cruikshank illustrations to, 154-157; reputation of, i. 156; reply to attacks against, i. 160-162; teaching of, i. 161; "adapted" for the stage, i. 174, 175; noticed in the _Quarterly Review_, i. 184; copyright of, repurchased, i. 224; original of Mr. Fang, iii. 25; character-drawing in, iii. 343; proposed reading from, iii. 448; facsimile of portion of MS. Of, iii. 469. Opium-den, an, iii. 528 (and see 464 note). Osnaburgh-terrace, Dickens in, ii. 106. _Our Mutual Friend_, title chosen for, iii. 271; hints for, in Memoranda, iii. 280, 281; first notion for, iii. 371; original of Mr. Venus in, iii. 374; Marcus Stone chosen as illustrator, iii. 373; the story reviewed, iii. 377-379. Ouvry (Frederic), iii. 434, 539; clause inserted by, in agreement for _Edwin Drood_, iii. 461 note; humorous letter of Dickens to, iii. 522. Overs (John), Dickens's interest in, ii. 109; death of, ii. 109 note. Over-work, remains of, ii. 297. Owen (Prof. ), ii. 477. PAINTINGS, Dickens on, ii. 167-169. _Paradise Lost_ at the Ambigu, Paris, iii. 130, 131. Paris, Dickens's first day in, ii. 316; Sunday in, ii. 317; Dickens's house in, described, ii. 317-319; unhealthy political symptoms at, ii. 321, 334; the Morgue at, ii. 321; incident in streets of, ii. 321; hard frost at, ii. 324; Dickens's alarming neighbour, ii. 325; begging-letter writers in, ii. 327; sight-seeing at, ii. 330; theatres at, ii. 331; Bibliothèque Royale, ii. 333; the Praslin tragedy in, ii. 386; Dickens's life in, iii. 121-153; Dickens's house in, iii. 124; personal attentions to Dickens, iii. 124; theatres of, iii. 126-134; illumination of, iii. 144; New-year's day in, iii. 144, 145; results of imperial improvement in, iii. 145 note; Art Exposition at, iii. 146-148; a Duchess murdered in, iii. 150, 151. Parliament, old Houses of, inconvenience of the, i. 100. Parr (Harriet), iii. 494 note. Parry (John), ii. 475. Pawnbrokers, Dickens's early experience of, i. 46. Peel (Sir Robert) and his party, i. 277; Lord Ashley and, i. 283; the Whigs and, ii. 261. _Pen Photographs_ (Miss Field's) iii. 235 note. Perth, reading at, iii. 234. Peschiere, Palazzo (Genoa), rooms in the, hired by Dickens, ii. 129; a fellow-tenant in, ii. 129; described, ii. 139-142; view of the, ii. 141; revisited, iii. 79; dinner-party at, ii. 172; owner of the, iii. 79. Petersham, athletic sports at, i. 183. Phelps (Mr. ), ii. 475. Philadelphia, Dickens at, i. 335-344; penitentiary at, i. 345-347; letters from, iii. 413-415 (and see ii. 38, 39). _Pickwick Papers_, materials for, i. 66; first number of, i. 108; origin of, i. 110; Seymour's illustrations to, i. 111 note; Thackeray's offer to illustrate, i. 115, 116; the debtor's prison in, i. 128, 129; popularity of, i. 129 (and see iii. 385, 386); reality of characters in, i. 130, 131; inferior to later books, i. 131; Mr. Pickwick an undying character, i. 131 (and see 112); piracies of, i. 137; completion of, i. 143; payments for, i. 145; a holy brother of St. Bernard and, ii. 276; characters in, iii. 343; where it was begun, iii. 528. _Pictures from Italy_, original of the courier in, ii. 171-173; publication commenced in the _Daily News_, ii. 219. _Pic Nic Papers_ published, i. 241. "Piljians Projiss, " a new, ii. 376-384. Pig-market at Boulogne, iii. 104. Pipchin (Mrs. ) in _Dombey_, original of, i. 55, ii. 355, 356; various names proposed for, ii. 355 note. Pirates, literary, ii. 97; proceedings in Chancery against, ii. 97-99; warning to, ii. 100 note. Pisa, a jaunt to, iii, 81. Pittsburg (U. S. ), description of, i. 373; solitary prison at, i. 378. Poets, small, iii. 489. Pollock (Chief Baron) on the death of Dickens, iii. 247 note. Poole (John), aid rendered to, by Dickens, ii. 370; civil-list pension granted to, ii. 393. Poor, Dickens's sympathy with the, i. 167, 168 (and see 250), ii. 146, 147, 240. Popularity, distresses of, i. 324. Porte St. Martin (Paris), Dickens at the, iii. 129. Portland (U. S. ) burnt and rebuilt, iii. 438. Portrait painter, story of a, iii. 523. Portsea, birth of Dickens at, i. 21. Prairie, an American, i. 393, 394; pronunciations of the word, i. 396. Praslin tragedy in Paris, ii. 386. Prayer, Dickens on personal, iii. 485. Preston, a strike at, iii. 69, 70; _Hamlet_ at, iii. 70. Primrose (Mr. ), i. 258. Printers' Pension fund dinner, presided over by Dickens, ii. 55. Prisons, London, visits to, i. 280; American, i. 339-344, 345-347, 378; comparison of systems pursued in, ii. 234. Procter (Bryan Waller), iii. 27, 28; Dickens's affection for, ii. 467. Procter (Adelaide), Dickens's appreciation of poems by, iii. 495. Publishers, hasty compacts with, i. 121; Dickens's agreements with, ii. 88, iii. 56 (and see 240-243). Publishers, authors and, ii. 64, 72, iii. 489, 490. Puddings, a choice of, i. 55, 56. "_Punch_ people, " Lord Brougham and the, ii. 469; at Mansion-house dinner, ii. 477. Q, Dickens's secretary in the United States, i. 303, 315, 322, 328, 344, 348, 366, 370, 374, 375, 393, 397, 400, 411; described, i. 410-412 (and see iii. 389 note). _Quarterly Review_, prophecy in not fulfilled, i. 139 note; notice of _Oliver Twist_ in, i. 184; on Cruikshank and Leech, ii. 418. Queen (Her Majesty the) and Auber, iii. 134, 135; alleged offers to Dickens, iii. 503, and 503, 504 note; desire of, to see Dickens act, iii. 506; Thackeray's copy of the _Carol_ purchased by, iii. 506, 507 note; Dickens's interview with, iii. 507, 508; grief at Dickens's death, iii. 542. RACHEL (Madame), caprice of, iii. 137. Ragged schools, Dickens's interest in, ii. 57; results of, ii. 57 note (and see ii. 494); proposed paper on, by Dickens, declined by _Edinburgh Review_, ii. 58. Railroads, American, ladies' cars on, i. 338. Railway travelling, effect on Dickens, iii. 450; in America, i. 336-338, 368, iii. 398, 405, 435, 436. Ramsay (Dean) on _Bleak House_ and Jo, iii. 47, 48. Ramsgate, entertainments at, ii. 214 note. Raven, death of Dickens's first, i. 235-239; of second, ii. 215. Raymond (George), ii. 476. Reade (Charles), _Hard Cash_ contributed by, to _All the Year Round_, iii. 245. Readings, gratuitous, iii. 61 note; private, in Scheffer's atelier, iii. 148; in Lincoln's-inn-fields, ii. 162, 174, 175. Public, Dickens's first thoughts of, ii. 174, 284, iii. 60; argument against paid, iii. 61, 189; idea of, revived, iii. 189; opinions as to, asked and given, iii. 189, 190 note; disadvantages of, iii. 191; proposal from Mr. Beale respecting, iii. 196; first rough notes as to, iii. 198, 199 note; various managers employed by Dickens, iii. 223; hard work involved by, iii. 224, 445; study given to, iii. 318. First series of, iii. 223-238; sale of books of, iii. 232 note; subjects of, iii. 235. Second series of, iii. 255-274; what it comprised, iii. 259; new subjects for, iii. 260. Third series of, iii. 298-324; Messrs. Chappell's connection with, iii. 306-310. American, iii. 388-443; result of, iii. 415, 441. Readings given by Dickens: Australian, contemplated, iii. 270 note (but see 272); Bulwer's opinion of, iii. 271 note. Last series of, iii. 444-460 (and see 437 note). Readings (alphabetical list of): Aberdeen, iii. 234. Albany (U. S. ), iii. 435; receipts at, iii. 441. Baltimore (U. S. ), iii. 418, 419, 427; receipts at, iii. 441. Belfast, iii. 229. Berwick-on-Tweed, iii. 266. Birmingham, iii. 311. Boston (U. S. ), iii. 391, 403, 440; receipts at, iii. 441. Brighton, iii. 263. Brooklyn (New York), iii. 416; receipts at, iii. 442. Buffalo (U. S. ), iii. 431; receipts at, iii. 441. Cambridge, iii. 317. Canterbury, iii. 264. Chester, iii. 268, 313. Dover, iii. 264. Dublin, iii. 220-228, 317. Dundee, iii. 233. Edinburgh, iii. 233, 267, 451, and 450 note. Exeter, iii. 224, 268. Glasgow, iii. 234. Harrogate, iii. 230. Hartford (U. S. ), iii. 441. Liverpool, iii. 225, 268, 311, 313, 314. London, iii. 223, 234, 258, 269. Manchester, iii. 232, 268, 308, 311, 314. New Bedford (U. S. ), iii. 437; receipts at, iii. 441. Newcastle, iii. 265, 315. Newhaven (U. S. ), iii. 428; receipts at, iii. 441. New York, iii. 393, 410, 441; receipts at, iii. 441. Norwich, iii. 262. Paris, iii. 272. Perth, iii. 234. Philadelphia (U. S. ), iii. 414, 418, 427; receipts at, iii. 441. Portland (U. S. ), iii. 438; receipts at, iii. 441. Providence (U. S. ), iii. 428; receipts at, iii. 441. Rochester (U. S. ), iii. 431; receipts at, iii. 441. Springfield (U. S. ), iii. 441. Syracuse (U. S. ), iii. 431; receipts at, iii. 441. Torquay, iii. 268, 451. Washington (U. S. ), iii. 421, 425, 426; receipts at, iii. 441. Worcester (U. S. ), iii. 441. York, iii. 231, 454. Reeves (Sims), ii, 475. Reformers, administrative, iii. 70, 71 note. Regiments in the streets of Paris, iii. 143 note. Regnier (M. ) of the Français, ii. 330, 429, iii. 127, 137. Rehearsals, troubles at, ii. 371. Religion, what is the true, ii. 149. Reporters' gallery, Dickens enters the, i. 96; ceases connection with, i. 116. Reporter's life, Dickens's own experience of a, i. 99-101 (and see ii. 265). Revolution at Geneva, ii. 298-301; traces left by, ii. 300; abettors of, ii. 301. Rhine, Dickens on the, ii. 222, 223; travelling Englishmen on the, ii. 223. _Richard Doubledick, story of_, iii. 154. Richardson (Sir John), iii. 519. Richardson's show, a religious, iii. 273. Richmond (U. S. ), levees at, i. 354. Rifle-shooting, Lord Vernon's passion for, ii. 270; at Lausanne, ii. 247, 298, 299. _Rising Generation_ (Leech's), Dickens on, ii. 414-418. Ristori (Mad. ) in _Medea_, iii. 137. Roberts (David), iii. 85. Robertson (Peter), i. 259, ii. 135, 475; sketch of, i. 253, 254. Robertson (T. W. ), iii. 530, 531. _Robinson Crusoe_, Dickens's opinion of, iii. 135 note (and see i. 264 note). Roche (Louis), employed by Dickens as his courier in Italy, ii. 106; resources of, ii. 172, 196, 199 (and see 111, 325); Count d'Orsay and, ii. 204 note; illness of, ii. 421; death of, ii. 255 note. Rochester, early impressions of, i. 28 (and see iii. 213); Watts's Charity at, iii. 154 note. Rochester Castle, adventure at, ii. 22. Rochester Cathedral, brass tablet in, to Dickens's memory, iii. 154 note. Rochester (U. S. ), alarming incident at, iii. 431. Rockingham-castle, Dickens's visit to, ii. 481-483; private theatricals at, ii. 481, iii. 83. Rocky Mountain Sneezer, a, iii. 409. Rogers (Samuel), i. 251, ii. 190; sudden illness of, ii. 466 (and see 486 note). Rome, Dickens's first impressions of, ii. 185; Dickens at, iii. 85-89; a "scattering" party at Opera at, iii. 86, 87; marionetti at, iii. 87, 88; malaria at, iii. 88, 89. Rosemont (Lausanne), taken by Dickens, ii. 225; view of, ii. 229; Dickens's neighbours at, ii. 231, 242 note, 252; _Dombey_ begun at, ii. 241; the landlord of, ii. 246 note. Rothamsted, Rev. Mr. Lawes's club at, iii. 244. Royal Academy dinner, Dickens's last public words spoken at, iii. 537. Roylance (Mrs. ), the original of Mrs. Pipchin in _Dombey_, i. 55, ii. 355. Ruskin (Mr. ) on _Hard Times_, iii. 66, 67. Russell (Lord J. ), a friend of letters, ii. 369, 393; on Dickens's letters, iii. 481; dinner with, ii. 483; Dickens's tribute to, iii. 501, and note. Ryland (Arthur), letter of Dickens to, iii. 56 note. SALA (G. A. ), Dickens's opinion of, ii. 454 note; tribute by, to Dickens's memory, iii. 516. Salisbury Plain, superiority of, to an American prairie, i. 394; a ride over, ii. 461. Sand (Georges), iii. 138, 139. Sandusky (U. S. ), discomforts of inn at, i. 400. Sardinians, Dickens's liking for, iii. 92. _Satirist_, editor of, hissed from the Covent-garden stage, ii. 50. _Saturday Review_ on the realities of Dickens's characters, i. 166. Scene-painting, iii. 166. Scheffer (Ary), portrait of Dickens by, iii. 148, 149; reading of _Cricket on the Hearth_ in atelier of, iii. 149. Scheffer (Henri), iii. 150. Schools, public, Dickens on, iii. 236. Scotland, readings in, iii. 232-235. Scott (Sir W. ), real people in novels of, iii. 22, 29. Scott monument at Edinburgh, ii. 392. Scribe (M. ), dinner to, ii. 469; social intercourse of Dickens with, iii. 134, 135; author-anxieties of, iii. 136; a fine actor lost in, iii. 138. Scribe (Madame), iii. 136. Sea-bathing and authorship, ii. 28. Seaside holidays, Dickens's, ii. 403-441, iii. 97-120. Sebastopol, reception in France of supposed fall of, iii. 110. Serenades at Hartford and Newhaven (U. S. ), i. 314. Servants, Swiss, excellence of, ii. 246. Seven Dials, ballad literature of, i. 230. Seymour (Mr. ) and the _Pickwick Papers_, i. 111 note; death of, i. 115. Shaftesbury (Lord) and ragged schools, i. 283, ii. 57, 58 note, 493, 494 (and see 494). Shakespeare Society, the, i. 185. Shakespeare on the actor's calling, iii. 191. Shakespeare's house, purchase of, ii. 392. Sheffield, reading at, iii. 232. Sheil (Richard Lalor), ii. 53. Shepherd's-bush, the home for fallen women at, ii. 488. Sheridans (the), ii. 468. Ship news, i. 296. Short-hand, difficulties of, i. 91. Shows, Saturday-night, i. 61. Siddons (Mrs. ), genius of, ii. 473, 474. Sierra Nevada, strange encounter on the, iii. 385, 386. _Sikes and Nancy_ reading, proposed, iii. 448; at Clifton, iii. 451; Macready on the, iii. 451; at York, iii. 454, and note; Dickens's pulse after, iii. 532. Simplon, passing the, ii. 174. "Six, " Bachelor, iii. 124. _Sketches by Boz_, first collected and published, i. 113; characterized, i. 114. Slavery in America, i. 327, 352-354, 388-390; the ghost of, iii. 419. Slaves, runaway, i. 389. Sleeplessness, Dickens's remedy for, iii. 249. Sleighs in New York, iii. 397. "Slopping round, " iii. 432. "Smallness of the world, " i. 372, ii. 222, iii. 204. Small-pox, American story concerning, iii. 305 note. Smith (Albert), _Battle of Life_ dramatized by, ii. 323. Smith (Arthur), iii. 168; first series of Dickens's readings under management of, iii. 199, 200 (and see 263 note); distresses of, iii. 225 note; first portion of second series planned by, iii. 258; serious illness of, iii. 260, 261; death of, iii. 261; touching incident at funeral, iii. 261 note. Smith (Bobus), ii. 190. Smith (O. ), acting of, i. 174, ii. 96. Smith (Porter), ii. 476. Smith (Southwood), ii. 53, 108. Smith (Sydney), i. 311, ii. 108; on _Nicholas Nickleby_, i. 168, 176 note; death of, ii. 190. Smithson (Mr. ), i. 182; death of, ii. 93. Smoking party, a feminine, ii. 292, 293. Smollett (Tobias), a recollection of, i. 128; real people in novels of, iii. 22. Snuff-shop readings, ii. 336. Solitary confinement, effects of, i. 345, 346, ii. 234, 235. _Somebody's Luggage_, the Waiter in, iii. 351, 370. Sortes Shandyanæ, ii. 242. Sparks (Jared), i. 304. Speculators, American, iii. 391, 393, 408, 409, 411, 428. Spiritual tyranny, ii. 231 note. Spittoons in America, i. 338. _Squib Annual_, the, i. 109, 110. St. Bernard, Great, proposed trip to, ii. 271; ascent of the mountain, ii. 274; the convent, ii. 274; scene at the top, ii. 274, 275; bodies found in the snow, ii. 275; the convent a tavern in all but sign, ii. 276; Dickens's fancy of writing a book about the, iii. 184. St. George (Madame), ii. 176. St. Giles's, Dickens's early attraction of repulsion to, i. 39; original of Mr. Venus found in, iii. 374. St. Gothard, dangers of the, ii. 198, 199. St. James's Hall, Dickens's final readings at, iii. 532, 533. St. Leger, Dickens's prophecy at the, iii. 175. St. Louis (U. S. ), levee at, i. 386; slavery at, i. 388; pretty scene at, i. 390, 392; duelling in, i. 396. Stage-coach, queer American, i. 363, 364. Stage, training for the, ii. 213, 214, (and see iii. 191). Stanfield (Clarkson), i. 181, ii. 47 note, 160, 162, 175, iii. 521; sketches in Cornwall by, ii. 42; illustrations by, to _Battle of Life_, ii. 310; price realized at the Dickens sale for the Lighthouse scenes, iii. 71 note (and see ii. 296, iii. 164, 243); at work, iii. 166; death of, iii. 320. Stanfield Hall, Dickens at, ii. 462 Stanley (Dr. A. P. ), Dean of Westminster, compliance with general wish, iii. 543; letter and sermon iii. 544. Stanton (Secretary), curious story told by, iii. 422, 423 (and see 508). Staplehurst accident, iii. 304; effect on Dickens, iii. 376. Staples (J. V. ), letter from Dickens to, ii. 90 note. Statesmen, leading American, i. 349, 350. State Trials, story from the, iii. 283, 284. Stealing, Carlyle's argument against, i. 333. Steamers, perils of, i. 293, 305, 326, 331 (and see iii. 80-83). Stevenage, visit to the hermit near, iii. 246. Stirling (Mr. ), a theatrical adapter, i. 174. Stone (Frank), ii. 385. Iii. 105; sketch of Sydney Dickens by, ii. 368, 369 note; fancy sketch of, ii. 383; death of, iii. 256 note. Stone (Marcus), designs supplied by, to _Our Mutual Friend_, iii. 373 note. Streets, Dickens's craving for crowded, ii. 144, 151, 277, 281, 282, 283, 287, iii. 515. _Strange Gentleman_, a farce written by Dickens, i. 116. Stuart (Lord Dudley), ii. 472. Sue (Eugène), ii. 331. Sumner (Charles), i. 305, iii. 421, 426. Sunday, a French, ii. 317, 485 note. Swinburne (Algernon), ii. 428. Switzerland; splendid scenery of, ii. 198; villages in, ii. 199; Dickens resolves to write new book in, ii. 220; early impressions of, ii. 226, 227; climate of, ii. 244 note; the people of, ii. 245, 246, 259; mule-travelling in, ii. 253; Protestant and Catholic cantons in, ii. 260; Dickens's last days in, ii. 311-315; pleasures of autumn in, ii. 313; revisited, iii. 76-95. Syme (Mr. ), opinion of, as to Dickens's lameness, iii. 453, 454. Syracuse (U. S. ), reading at, iii. 431. TAGART (EDWARD), ii. 59, 470. Taine (M. ), on _Martin Chuzzlewit_, ii. 78; criticisms by, on Dickens, ii. 102 (and see 251 note, iii. 326-331); a hint for, ii. 419; on Hard Times, iii. 67 note; Fielding criticized by, iii. 348. _Tale of Two Cities_, titles suggested for, iii. 279; first germ of Carton in, iii. 280 (and see 360); origin of, iii. 354; the story reviewed, iii. 354-360; titles suggested for, iii. 354, 355. Talfourd (Judge), i. 180, ii. 97, 98, 293, 294, 427, 470 (and see iii. 509); Dickens's affection for, ii. 427. _Tatler_ (Hunt's), sayings from, iii. 26 note. Tauchnitz (Baron), letter from, iii. 57 note; intercourse of, with Dickens, iii. 462 note (and see 125 note). Tavistock-house, sketch of, iii. 54; a scene outside, iii. 165; Stanfield scenes at, iii. 243; sale of, iii. 257; startling message from servant at, iii. 276. Taylor (Tom), ii. 472. Taylor (the Ladies), ii. 271. Telbin (William), at work, iii. 166. Temperance agitation, Dickens on the, ii. 409, 410. Temperature, sudden changes of, in America, i. 347. Temple (Hon. Mr. ), ii. 190. Tennent (Sir Emerson), ii. 476, iii. 80; death and funeral of, iii. 454. Tennyson (Alfred), Dickens's allegiance to, ii. 25, 136, 472, iii. 357 note. Ternan (Ellen Lawless), iii. 561. Tête Noire Pass, ii. 255; accident in, ii. 256, 257. Thackeray (W. M. ), ii. 188; offers to illustrate _Pickwick_, i. 115, 116; on Maclise's portrait of Dickens, i. 178 note; on the _Carol_, ii. 89 (and see ii. 53, 470); dinner to, iii. 73; at Boulogne, iii. 105 note; in Paris, iii. 126; tribute to, by Dickens, iii. 236; death of, iii. 298-300; estrangement between Dickens and, iii. 298 note. Thanet races, Dickens at the, ii. 24. Théâtre Français (Paris), conventionalities of the, iii. 128. Theatres, Italian, ii. 182; French, ii. 330, 331. Theatrical Fund dinner, Dickens's speech at, ii. 491, 492 (and see 221, iii. 537). Theatricals, private, at Montreal, i. 413-415; at Rockingham, ii. 481; at Tavistock House, iii. 62-64 (and see ii. 108). Thomas (Owen P. ), recollections of Dickens at school, i. 76-81. Thompson (Mr. T. I. ), ii. 476. Thompson (Sir Henry), consulted by Dickens, iii. 321; a reading of Dickens's stopped by, iii. 452; opinion as to Dickens's lameness, iii. 453, 454. Ticknor (George), i. 304, 308. Ticknor & Fields (Messrs. ), commission received by, on the American readings, iii. 446. Timber Doodle (Dickens's dog), ii. 24, 25, 28, ii. 134 note; death of, iii. 144 note. _Times_, the, on Dickens's death, iii. 542, 543 note. Tintoretto, Dickens on the works of, ii. 168, iii. 92. Titian's Assumption, effect of, on Dickens, ii. 168. Tobin (Daniel), a schoolfellow of Dickens, i. 76; assists Dickens as amanuensis, but finally discarded, i. 81. Toole (J. L. ), encouragement given to in early life, by Dickens, iii. 54 (and see iii. 302 note). Topping (Groom), i. 220, 221, 234, 235, 413. Toronto, toryism of, i. 412. Torquay, readings at, iii. 268, 451. Torrens (Mrs. ), ii. 476. _Tour in Italy_ (Simond's), ii. 116 note. Townshend (Chauncy Hare), iii. 256; death and bequest of, iii. 417. Tracey (Lieut. ), i. 280, ii. 23. Tramps, ways of, iii. 210 note, 249, 250. Tremont House (Boston, U. S. ), Dickens at, i. 300. Trossachs, Dickens in the, i. 264. _True Sun_, Dickens reporting for the, i. 96. Turin, Dickens at, iii. 92, 93. Turner (J. M. W. ), ii. 110. Tuscany, wayside memorials in, ii. 188 note. Twickenham, cottage at, occupied by Dickens, i. 180-182; visitors at, i. 180-182; childish enjoyments at, i. 182 note. Twiss (Horace), ii. 468. Tyler (President), i. 350. Tynemouth, scene at, iii. 315, 316. _Uncommercial Traveller_, Dickens's, iii. 247-253. _Uncommercial Traveller Upside Down_, contemplated, iii. 270. Undercliff (Isle of Wight), Dickens's first impressions of, ii. 426; depressing effect of climate of, ii. 431-433. Unitarianism adopted by Dickens for a short time, ii. 59. Upholsterer, visit to an, i. 189; visit from an, i. 190. _Up the Rhine_ (Hood's), Dickens on, i. 185. Utica (U. S. ), hotel at, iii. 435. VAUXHALL, the Duke and party at, ii. 470. Venice, Dickens's impressions of, ii. 163-166, iii. 90; habits of gondoliers at, iii. 90; theatre at, iii. 91. Verdeil (M. ), ii. 233. Vernet (Horace), iii. 147 note. Vernon (Lord), eccentricities of, ii. 270, 271, 298. Vesuvius, Mount, iii. 83. Viardot (Madame) in _Orphée_, iii. 138 note. _Village Coquettes_, the story and songs for, written by Dickens, i. 116. Vote, value of a, in America, iii. 420. WALES, Prince of, and Dickens, iii. 509. Wainewright (the murderer), recognized by Macready in Newgate, i. 184 (and see ii. 334 note); made the subject of a tale in the _New York Ledger_, iii. 253; portrait of a girl by, ii. 334 note (and see ii. 468, iii. 279). Wales, North, tour in, i. 184. Ward (Professor) on Dickens, iii. 352, 353 note. Washington (U. S. ), hotel extortion at, i. 345; climate of, i. 347; Congress and Senate at, i. 349; a comical dog at reading at, iii. 425; readings at, iii. 424, 425. Wassail-bowl presented to Dickens at Edinburgh, iii. 197. _Waterloo, Battle of_, at Vauxhall, ii. 470. Watson, Mr. (of Rockingham), ii. 231, 264, 479; death of, iii. 55. Watson (Sir Thomas), note by, of Dickens's illness in April, 1869, iii. 457-459; readings stopped by, iii. 458; guarded sanction given to additional readings, iii. 458 (and see 466, 531 note); Dickens's letter to, iii. 459 note. Watts's Charity at Rochester, iii. 154 note. Webster (Daniel), Dickens on, i. 308. Webster (Mr. ), ii. 475. Webster murder at Cambridge (U. S. ), iii. 402, 403. Well-boring at Gadshill, iii. 209. Weller (Sam) a pre-eminent achievement in literature, i. 131. Wellington, Duke of, fine trait of, ii. 264. Wellington House Academy (Hampstead-road), Dickens a day-scholar at, i. 74-84; described in _Household Words_, i. 75; Dickens's schoolfellows at, i. 76-84; Beverley painting scenes at, i. 84; revisited after five-and-twenty years, i. 76. Weyer (M. Van de), ii. 477. Whig jealousies, i. 250 (and see ii. 261). Whitechapel workhouse, incident at, iii. 75. White-conduit-house, reminiscence of, ii. 132. Whitefriars, a small revolution in, ii. 302. White (Rev. James), character of, ii. 424-426 (and see ii. 426, iii. 126). White (Grant) on the character of Carton in the _Tale of Two Cities_, iii. 359, 360. Whitehead (Charles), i. 109. Whitworth (Mr. ), ii. 475. Wieland the clown, death of, iii. 166 note. Wig experiences, ii. 380. Wilkie (Sir David), on the genius of Dickens, i. 178; death of, i. 252. Willis (N. P. ), fanciful description of Dickens by, i. 107 note. Wills (W. H. ), ii. 453, iii. 256, 493. Wilson (Professor), i. 259; sketch of, i. 253, 254; speeches of, i. 255 note, ii. 136. Wilson (Mr. ) the hair-dresser, fancy sketch of, ii. 379-383. Wilton (Marie) as Pippo in the _Maid and Magpie_, iii. 236, 237 note. Women, home for fallen, ii. 488 (and see iii. 286). Wordsworth, memorable saying of, iii. 381. Worms, the city of, ii. 223. YARMOUTH first seen by Dickens, ii. 462. Yates (Edmund), tales by, in _All the Year Round_, iii. 245; Dickens's interest in, iii. 495. Yates (Mr. ), acting of, i. 174, ii. 96. _Yesterdays with Authors_ (Fields'), ii. 42 note. York, readings at, iii. 231, 454. Yorkshire, materials gathered in, for _Nickleby_, i. 172. _Young Gentlemen_ and _Young Couples_, sketches written by Dickens for Chapman & Hall, i. 149 note. ZOOLOGICAL Gardens, feeding the serpents at, iii. 169 note. Zouaves, Dickens's opinion of the, iii. 143, 144. * * * * * Volume III Page xi, "a" changed to "at" (Scene at Tynemouth) Page 46, "inpressed" changed to "impressed" (impressed on the better) Page 108, "Gore-House" changed to "Gore-house" to match rest of usage(often at Gore-house) Page 129, "Ca" changed to "Ça" (the Ça Ira!) Page 130, "Ca" changed to "Ça" (memory--Ça Ira) Page 137, "entertaiments" changed to "entertainments" (the dayentertainments) Page 141, "diner" changed to "dîner" (Le dîner que) Page 166, "hereon" changed to "thereon" (thereon may be beheld) Page 166, "under aking" changed to "undertaking" (of the littleundertaking) Page 175, "Th" changed to "The" (The landlord came up) Page 214, "chesnuts" changed to "chestnuts" (limes and chestnuts) Footnote 224, "chalet" changed to "châlet" ("The châlet, " he wrote) Page 241, "cap ble" changed to "capable" (might be capable) Page 241, "Sha espeare" changed to "Shakespeare" (a line fromShakespeare) Page 245, "alled" changed to "called" (it called for) Illustration entitled THE CHÂLET, "CHALÊT" changed to "CHÂLET". Page 324, "hi" changed to "his" (interval of his) Footnote 259, "counils" changed to "councils" (held several councils) Footnote 260, "nett" changed to "net" (out the net profit) Page 339, "delf" changed to "delft" (worked in delft) Page 404, "diner" changed to "dîner" (dîner à tout) Page 539, "for" changed to "four" (four figures representing) Page 581, "iii. " inserted into text (storm at, iii. 264. ) Page 581, "Duplessis" changed to "Du Plessis" (Du Plessis (Marie)) Page 581, "iii. " inserted into text (amount paid for, iii. 461 note) Page 582, "chalet" changed to "châlet" (châlet presented by) Page 583, "Hill" changed to "hill" (Fox-under-the-hill) Page 583, "Chalet" changed to "Châlet" (sketch of Châlet at) Page 583, "christian" changed to "Christian" (list of Christian) Page 584, "Halevy" changed to "Halévy" (Halévy (M. )) The volume number was added to the following entries in the index: the editor's modest estimate of it, i. 142 death of, i. 234, 235; To retain the integrity of the original text, varied hyphenations, capitalizations, and, at times, spellings were retained. For example: Varied hyphenation and capitalization of Devonshire Terrace wasretained. Also fac-simile and facsimile. Varied spelling ofA'Beckett/A'Becket was retained.