Pickwickian Manners and Customs by Fitzgerald, Percy Hethrington, 1834-1925
Pickwickian Manners and Customs by Fitzgerald, Percy Hethrington, 1834-1925
Pickwickian Manners and Customs by Fitzgerald, Percy Hethrington, 1834-1925
PERCY FITZGERALD.
the
ROXBURGHE PRESS,
Limited,
FIFTEEN, VICTORIA STREET,
westminster.
Inscribed
to
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL, M.P.
There seems to be some mystery, almost p. 8miracle, here. A young fellow of four-and-twenty throws off, or
rather “rattles off,” in the exuberance of his spirits, a never-flagging series of incidents and characters. The
story is read, devoured, absorbed, all over the world, and now, sixty years after its appearance, new and yet
newer editions are being issued. All the places alluded to and described in the book have in their turn been
lifted into fame, and there are constantly appearing in magazines illustrated articles on “Rochester and
Dickens,” “Dickens Land,” “Dickens’ London,” and the rest. Wonderful! People, indeed, seem never to tire
of the subject—the same topics are taken up over and over again. The secret seems to be that the book was a
living thing, and still lives. It is, moreover, perhaps the best, most accurate picture of character and manners
that are quite gone by: in it the meaning and significance of old buildings, old inns, old churches, and old
towns are reached, and interpreted in most interesting p. 9fashion; the humour, bubbling over, and never
forced, and always fresh, is sustained through some six hundred closely-printed pages; all which, in itself, is a
marvel and unapproached. It is easy, however, to talk of the boisterousness, the “caricature,” the unlicensed
recklessness of the book, the lack of restraint, the defiance of the probabilities. It is popular and acceptable all
the same. But there is one test which incontestably proves its merit, and supplies its title, to be considered all
but “monumental.” This is its prodigious fertility and suggestiveness.
At this moment a review is being made of the long Victorian Age, and people are reckoning up the wonderful
changes in life and manners that have taken place within the past sixty years. These have been so
imperceptibly made that they are likely to escape our ken, and the eye chiefly settles on some few of the more
striking and monumental kind, such as the introduction of railways, of ocean steamships, electricity, p. 10and
the like. But no standard of comparison could be more useful or more compendious than the immortal
chronicle of Pickwick, in which the old life, not forgotten by some of us, is summarised with the completeness
of a history. The reign of Pickwick, like that of the sovereign, began some sixty years ago. Let us recall some
of these changes.
To begin: We have now no arrest for debt, with the attendant sponging-houses, Cursitor Street, sheriffs’
officers, and bailiffs; and no great Fleet Prison, Marshalsea, or King’s Bench for imprisoning debtors. There
are no polling days and hustings, with riotous proceedings, or “hocussing” of voters; and no bribery on a
splendid scale.
Drinking and drunkenness in society have quite gone out of fashion. Gentlemen at a country house rarely or
never come up from dinner, or return from a cricket match, in an almost “beastly” state of intoxication; and
“cold punch” is not very constantly drunk p. 11through the day. There are no elopements now in
chaises and four, like Miss Wardle’s, with headlong pursuit in other chaises and four; nor are special
licenses issued at a moment’s notice to help clandestine marriages. There is now no frequenting of
taverns and “free and easies” by gentlemen, at the “Magpie and Stump” and such
places, nor do persons of means take up their residence at houses like the “George and Vulture”
in the City. No galleried inns (though one still lingers on in Holborn), are there, at which travellers put up:
there were then nearly a dozen, in the Borough and elsewhere. There are no coaches on the great roads, no
guards and bulky drivers; no gigs with hoods, called “cabs,” with the driver’s seat next
his fare; no “hackney coaches,” no “Hampstead stages,” no
“Stanhopes” or “guillotined cabriolets”—whatever they were—or
“mail-carts,” the “pwettiest thing” driven by gentlemen. And there are no
“sedan chairs” to take Mrs. Dowler home. p. 12There are no “poke” or
“coal-scuttle” bonnets, such as the Miss Wardles wore; no knee-breeches and gaiters; no
“tights,” with silk stockings and pumps for evening wear; no big low-crowned hats, no striped
Then for the professional classes, which p. 14are described in the chronicle with such graphic power and
vivacity. As at this time “Boz” drew the essential elements of character instead of the more
superficial ones—his later practice—there is not much change to be noted. We have the medical
life exhibited by Bob Sawyer and his friends; the legal world in Court and chambers—judges, counsel,
and solicitors—are all much as they are now. Sir Frank Lockwood has found this subject large enough
for treatment in his little volume, “The Law and Lawyers of Pickwick.” It may be thought that
no judge of the pattern of Stareleigh could be found now, but we could name recent performances in which
incidents such as, “Is your name Nathaniel Daniel or Daniel Nathaniel?” have been repeated.
Neither has the blustering of Buzfuz or his sophistical plaintiveness wholly gone by. The
“cloth” was represented by the powerful but revolting sketch of Stiggins, which, it is strange,
was not resented by the Dissenters of the p. 15day, and also by a more worthy specimen in the person of the
clergyman at Dingley Dell. There are the mail-coach drivers, with the “ostlers, boots, countrymen,
gamekeepers, peasants, and others,” as they have it in the play-bills. Truly admirable, and excelling
the rest, are “Boz’s” sketches—actually “living
pictures”—of the fashionable footmen at Bath, beside which the strokes in that diverting piece
“High Life below Stairs” seem almost flat. The simperings of these gentry, their airs and
conceit, we may be sure, obtain now. Once coming out of a Theatre, at some fashionable performance,
through a long lane of tall menials, one fussy aristocrat pushed one of them out of his way. The menial
contemptuously pushed him back. The other in a rage said, “How dare you? Don’t you know,
I’m the Earl of ---” “Well,” said the other coldly, “If you be a Hearl,
can’t you be’ave as sich?”
After the wedding at Manor Farm we find p. 16that bride and bridegroom did not set off from the house on a
wedding tour, but remained for the night. This seemed to be the custom. Kissing, too, on the Pickwickian
principles, would not now, to such an extent, be tolerated. There is an enormous amount in the story. The
amorous Tupman had scarcely entered the hall of a strange house when he began osculatory attempts on the
lips of one of the maids; and when Mr. Pickwick and his friends called on Mr. Winkle, sen., at Birmingham,
Bob Sawyer made similar playful efforts—being called an “odous creetur” by the lady.
In fact, the custom seemed to be to kiss when and wherever you could conveniently. Getting drunk after any
drinking, and at any time of the day, seemed to be common enough. There was a vast amount of open fields,
&c., about London which engendered the “Cockney sportsman.” He disappeared as the fields
But Mr. Bantam’s costume at the Bath Assembly, shows the most startling change. Where is now the
“gold eye glass?”—we know that eye glass, which was of a solid sort, not fixed on the
nose, but held to the eye—a “quizzing glass,” and folding up on a
hinge—“a broad black ribbon” too; the “gold snuffbox;” gold rings
“innumerable” on the fingers, and “a diamond pin” on his “shirt
frill,” a “curb chain” with large gold seals hanging from his waistcoat—(a
“curb chain” proper was then a little thin chain finely wrought, of very close links.) Then there
was the “pliant ebony cane, with a heavy gold top.” Ebony, however, is not pliant, but the
reverse—black was the word intended. Then those “smalls” and stockings to match.
Mr. Pickwick, a privileged man, appeared on this occasion, indeed always, in his favourite white breeches and
gaiters. In fact, on no occasion save one, p. 18when he wore a great-coat, does he appear without them.
Bantam’s snuff was “Prince’s mixture,” so named after the Regent, and his scent
“Bouquet du Roi.” “Prince’s mixture” is still made, but “Bouquet
du Roi” is supplanted.
Perker’s dress is also that of the stage attorney, as we have him now, and recognize him. He would not
be the attorney without that dress. He was “all in black, with boots as shiny as his eyes, a low white
neckcloth, and a clean shirt with a frill to it.” This, of course, meant that he put on one every day, and
is yet a slight point of contact with Johnson, who described someone as being only able to go out “on
clean shirt days;” a gold watch and seals depended from his Fob. “Depended” is a
curious use of the word, and quite gone out.
Another startling change is in the matter of duels. The duels in Pickwick come about quite as a matter of
course, and as a common social incident. In the “forties” I recall a p. 19military uncle of my
own—a gentleman, like uncle Toby—handing his card to some one in a billiard room, with a
view to “a meeting.” Dickens’ friend Forster was at one time “going out”
with another gentleman. Mr. Lang thinks that duelling was prohibited about 1844, and “Courts of
Honour” substituted. But the real cause was the duel between Colonel Fawcett and Lieut. Munro,
brothers-in-law, when the former was killed. This, and some other tragedies of the kind, shocked the public.
The “Courts of Honour,” of course, only affected military men.
Mr. Pickwick, himself, had nearly “gone out” on two or three occasions, once with Mr.
Slammer, once with Mr. Magnus; while his scuffle with Tupman would surely have led to one. Winkle,
presumed to be a coward, had no less than three “affairs” on his hands: one with Slammer, one
with Dowler, and one with Bob Sawyer. At Bob Sawyer’s Party, the two medical students, p.
20tendered their cards. For so amiable a man, Mr. Pickwick had some extraordinary failings. He seems to
have had no restraint where drink was in the case, and was hopelessly drunk about six times—on three
occasions, at least, he was preparing to assault violently. He once hurled an inkstand; he once struck a
person; once challenged his friend to “come on.” Yet the capital comedy spirit of the author
carries us over these blemishes.
When Sam was relating to his master the story of the sausage maker’s disappearance, Mr. Pickwick,
horrified, asked had he been “Burked?” There Boz might have repeated his apologetic footnote,
on Jingle’s share in the Revolution of 1830. “A remarkable instance of his force of prophetic
imagination, etc.” For the sausage story was related in the year of grace 1827, and Burke was
executed in 1829, some two years later.
“Hot elder wine, well qualified with brandy and spice,” is a drink that would not now be
accepted with enthusiasm at the humblest wedding, even in the rural districts: we are assured that sound
“was the sleep and pleasant were the dreams that followed.” Which is not so certain. The cake
was cut and “passed through the ring,” also an exploded custom, whatever its meaning was. In
what novel now-a-days would there be an allusion to “Warren’s blacking,” or to
“Rowland’s oil,” which was, of course, their famous “Macassar.” These
articles, however, may still be procured, and to that oil we owe the familiar interposing towel or piece of
embroidery the “antimacassar,” devised to protect the sofa or easy chair from the p. 22unguent
of the hair. “Moral pocket handkerchiefs,” for teaching religion to natives of the West Indies,
combining amusement with instruction, “blending select tales with woodcuts,” are no longer
used.
Old Temple Bar has long since disappeared, so has the Holborn Valley. The Fleet was pulled down about ten
years after Pickwick, but imprisonment for debt continued until 1860 or so. Indeed Mr. Lang seems to think it
still goes on, for he says it is now “disguised as imprisonment for contempt of Court.” This is a
mistake. In the County Courts when small debts under £3 10s. are sued for, the judge will order a small
weekly sum to be paid in discharge; in case of failure to pay, he will punish the disobedience by duress not
exceeding fifteen days—a wholly different thing from imprisonment for debt.
Where now are the Pewter Pots, and the pot boy with his strap of “pewters?”—we would
have to search for them now. Long p. 23cut glasses have taken their place. Where, too, is the invariable
Porter, drunk almost exclusively in Pickwick? Bass had not then made its great name. There is no mention of
Billiard tables, but much about Skittles and Bagatelle, which were the pastimes at Taverns.
Then the Warming Pan! Who now “does trouble himself about the Warming
Pan?”—which is yet “a harmless necessary and I will add a comforting article of
domestic furniture.” Observe necessary, as though every family had it as an article of their
“domestic furniture.” It is odd to think of Mary going round all the beds in the house, and
deftly introducing this “article” between the sheets. Or was it only for the old people: or in
chilly weather merely? On these points we must be unsatisfied. The practice, however, points to a certain
effeminacy—the average person of our day would not care to have his bed so treated—with
invalids the “Hot Water Bottle” has p. 24“usurped its place.” We find this
superannuated instrument in the “antique” dealers’ shops, at a good figure—a
quaint old world thing, of a sort of old-fashioned cut and pattern. There only do people appear to trouble
themselves about it.
“Chops and tomato sauce.” This too is superannuated also. A more correct taste is now chops
au naturel, and relying on their own natural juices; but we have cutlets, with tomatos.
Again, are little boys no longer clad in “a tight suit of corduroy, spangled with brass buttons of very
considerable size:” indeed corduroy is seldom seen save on the figures of some chic ladies. And how
fortunate to live in days when a smart valet could be secured for twelve pounds a year, and two suits; [24] and
not less.
Surprising too was the valet’s accustomed dress. “A grey coat, a black hat, with a p. 25cockade
on it, a pink striped waistcoat, light breeches and gaiters.” What too were “bright basket
Gone too are the simple games of childhood. Marbles for instance. We recall Serjeant Buzfuz’s
pathetic allusion to little Bardell’s “Alley Tors and Commoneys; the long familiar cry of
‘knuckle down’ is neglected.” Who sees a boy playing marbles now in the street or
elsewhere? Mr. Lang in his edition gives us no lore about this point. “Alley Tors” was short
for “Alabaster,” the material of which the best marbles were made.
“Flying the garter” is another of the Pickwickian boy games. Talking with a very old
gentleman, lately, I thought of asking him concerning “Flying the garter:” he at once
enlightened me. It was a familiar thing he remembered well “when a boy.” It was a sort of
“Leap Frog,” exercise—only with a greater and longer spring: he p. 27spoke also of a
shuffle of the feet during the process.
And again. There is a piquant quaintness in the upside-down turning of every thing in this wonderful Book.
Such as Perker’s eyes, which are described as playing with his “inquisitive nose” a
“perpetual game of”—what, think you? Bo-Peep? not at all: but
“peep-bo.” How odd and unaccountable! We all knew the little “Bo-peep,” and
her sheep—but “peep-bo” is quite a reversal.
Gas was introduced into London about the year 1812 and was thought a prodigiously “brilliant
illuminant.” But in the Pickwickian days it was still in a crude state—and we can see in the first
print—that of the club room—only two attenuated jets over the table. In many of the prints we
find the dip or mould candle, which was used to light Sam as he sat in the coffee room of the Blue Boar. Mr.
Nupkins’ kitchen was not lit by gas.
p. 28As to this matter of light—it all depends on habit and accommodating. When a boy I have
listened to “Ivanhoe” read out—O enchantment! by the light of two
“mould” candles—the regular thing—which required “snuffing”
about every ten minutes, and snuffing required dexterity. The snuffers—laid on a long
tray—were of ponderous construction; it was generally some one’s regular duty to
snuff—how odd seems this now! The “plaited wicks” which came later were thought a
triumph, and the snuffers disappeared. They also are to be seen in the Curio Shops.
How curious, too, the encroachment of a too practical age on the old romance. “Fainting” was
the regular thing in the Pickwickian days, in any agitation; “burnt feathers” and the “sal
volatile” being the remedy. The beautiful, tender and engaging creatures we see in the annuals, all
fainted regularly—and knew how to faint—were perhaps taught it. Thus when Mr. Pickwick p.
29was assumed to have “proposed” to his landlady, she in business-like fashion actually
At this moment there is to be seen in the corner of many an antique Hall—Sedan chair laid up in
ordinary—of black leather, bound with brass-nails. We can well recall in our boyish days, mamma in
full dress and her hair in “bands,” going out to dine in her p. 30chair. On arriving at the house
the chair was taken up the steps and carried bodily into the Hall—the chair men drew out their poles,
lifted the head, opened the door and the dame stepped out. The operation was not without its state.
Gone too are the “carpet bags” which Mr. Pickwick carried and also Mr. Slurk—(why he
brought it with him into the kitchen is not very clear). [30]
A “1000 horse-power” was Jingle’s idea of extravagant speed by steam agency. Now
we have got to 4, 5, and 10 thousand horsepower. Gentlemen’s “frills” in the daytime
are never seen now. Foot gear took the shape of “Hessians’” “halves,”
“painted tops,” “Wellington’s” or “Bluchers.” There are
many other trifles which will evidence these changes. We are told of the “common eighteen-penny
French skull cap.” Note common—it is exhibited on Mr. Smangle’s head—a
rather smartish thing with a tassel. Nightcaps, too, they are surely gone by now: though a few old people may
wear them, but then boys and young men all did. It also had a tassel. There is the “Frog
Hornpipe,” whatever dance that was: the “pousette;” while “cold srub,”
which p. 33is not in much vogue now, was the drink of the Bath Footmen. “Botany Bay ease, and
New South Wales gentility,” refer to the old convict days. This indeed is the most startling
Then for Sam’s “Profeel machine.” Mr. Andrew Lang in his notes wonders what this
“Profeel machine” was, and fancies it was the silhouette process. This had nothing to do with
the “Profeel machine”—which is described in “Little Pedlington,” a
delightful specimen of Pickwickian humour, and which ought to be better known than it is. “There
now,” said Daubson, the painter of “the all but breathing Grenadier,” (alas! rejected by
the Academy). “Then get up and sit down, if p. 34you please, mister.” “He pointed to a
narrow high-backed chair, placed on a platform; by the side of the chair was a machine of curious
construction, from which protruded a long wire. ‘Heady stiddy, mister.’ He then slowly drew
the wire over my head and down my nose and chin.” Such was the “Profeel machine.”
There are many antiquated allusions in Pickwick—which have often exercised the ingenuity of the
curious. Sam’s “Fanteegs,” has been given up in despair—as though there were
no solution—yet, Professor Skeat, an eminent authority, has long since furnished it. [34]
“Through the button hole”—a slang term for the mouth, has been well “threshed
out”—as it is called. Of “My Prooshian Blue,” as his son affectedly styled his
parent, Mr. Lang correctly suggests the solution, that the term came of George IV’s intention of
changing p. 35the uniform of the Army to Blue. But this has been said before.
Boz in his Pickwickian names was fond of disguising their sense to the eye, though not to the ear. Thus Lady
Snuphanuph, looks a grotesque, but somewhat plausible name—snuff-enough—a further
indication of the manners and customs. So with Lord Mutanhed, i.e. “Muttonhead.” Mallard,
Serjeant Snubbin’s Clerk, I have suspected, may have been some Mr. Duck—whom
“Boz” had known—in that line.
Mere panegyric of one’s favourite is idle. So I lately took a really effective way of proving the
surprising fertility of the work and of its power of engendering speculation and illustration. p. 37I set about
collecting all that has been done, written, and drawn on the subject during these sixty years past, together with
all those lighter manifestations of popularity which surely indicate “the form and pressure” of
its influence. The result is now before me, and all but fills a small room. When set in proper order and
bound, it will fill over thirty great quartos—“huge armfuls” as Elia has it. In short, it is a
“Monumental Pickwick.”
The basis of The Text is of course, the original edition of 1836. There are specimens of the titles and a few
pages of every known edition; the first cheap or popular one; the “Library” edition; the
“Charles Dickens” ditto; the Edition de Luxe; the “Victoria”:
p. 40Translations: Of these there are some twenty in all, but I have only the French, German, Russian, Dutch,
Norwegian, Swedish, Hungarian.
Criticisms: The Quarterly Review, the Westminster Review, Fraser’s Magazine, Taine’s
estimate, “L’inimitable Boz” by Comte de Heussey, with many more.
Next we refer to the Illustrations themselves: The plates to the original edition are by Seymour (7), Buss (2),
Phiz-Seymour (7), and by “Phiz” (35). Variations, by “Phiz”; variations,
coloured by Pailthorpe; facsimiles of original drawings—altogether about 200. There are Extra Plates
by Heath, Sir John Gilbert, Onwhyn (“Sam Weller”), Sibson, Alfred Crowquill, Antony
(American), Onwhyn (Posthumous) and Frost, Frederick Barnard (to popular p. 43edition); also some folio
plates; C. J. Leslie (a frontispiece). “Phiz” published later a series of six, and also a large
number of coarse woodcuts to illustrate a cheap edition.
There are also a series of clever extra illustrations by Pailthorpe and others, coloured by the same. We have
seen F. Barnard’s illustrations coloured by Pailthorpe. There are here also the original plates re-drawn
in Calcutta. They were also reproduced in Philadelphia, with additional ones by Nast. Others were issued in
Sydney. There are a number of German woodcut illustrations to illustrate the German translations; some rude
woodcuts to illustrate Dicks’ edition: ditto to Penny edition. There is also a set of portraits from
“Pickwick” in Bell’s Life, probably by Kenny Meadows; and coloured figures by
“Kyd.”
There are many pictures in colours—Pickwick, Weller, &c.—to illustrate Christmas calendars,
chiefly “made in Germany.”
p. 44The most curious tribute is the issue by the Phonographic Society of “Pickwick” in
shorthand; and, finally, “Pickwick” in raised characters on the Braille system for the blind.
This odd publication of “Pickwick” for the Blind came about in a quaint way enough. As we
know, the author issued at his own expense one of his works in raised characters, as a present to these afflicted
persons. A rich old gentleman had noticed a blind beggar seated with the Bible open on his knees, droning
out the passages in the usual fashion. Some of the impostor sort learn the lines by heart and “make
believe” to read, as they pass their fingers over the characters. The rich old gentleman’s blind
reader read in the genuine way, and got through about fifty chapters a day. No one, however, is much
improved by the lecture. They merely wonder at the phenomenon and go their way. The rich old gentleman
presently spoke to the blind reader: “Why don’t you read ‘Pickwick’ p. 45or
some other book that the public will listen to?” “Sir,” he replied—he must have
been of the stock of Silas Wegg—“give me ‘Pickwick’ in raised characters and I
will read it.”
The rich old gentleman went his way and inquired at the proper places, but the work was not known. He gave
an order for a hundred copies of “Pickwick” in “Wait’s Improved Braille
Type,” and in about six months it was delivered to him—not the whole work, but a selection of
the more effective episodes. The blind reader was pleased; the old gentleman insisted on a private rehearsal;
I have often wondered how it was that “the inimitable Boz,” took so little interest in his great
Book. It always seemed to me p. 48that he did not care for praise of it, or wish much that it should be alluded
to. But he at once became interested, when you spoke of some of his artful plots, in Bleak House, or Little
Dorrit—then his eye kindled. He may have fancied, as his friend Forster also did, that Pickwick was a
rather jejune juvenile thing, inartistically planned, and thrown off, or rather rattled off. His penchant, as was
the case with Liston and some of the low comedians, was for harrowing tragedy and pathos.
Once when driving with him on a jaunting car in Dublin, he asked me, did I know so-and-so, and I answered
promptly in Mr. Winkle’s words, “I don’t know him, but I have seen him.” This
apropos made him laugh heartily. I am now inclined to think that the real explanation of his distaste was, that
the Book was associated with one of the most painful and distracting episodes of his life, which affected him
so acutely, that he actually flung aside his work in the full p. 49tumult of success, and left the eager public
without its regular monthly number. “I have been so unnerved” he writes, in an unpublished
letter to Harrison Ainsworth, “and hurt by the loss of the dear girl whom I loved, after my wife, more
dearly and fervently than anyone on earth, that I have been compelled for once to give up all idea of my
monthly work, and to try a fortnight’s rest and quiet.”
In this long book, there are found allusions to only two or three other works. What these are might form one
of the questions “set” at the next Pickwick examination. Fielding is quoted once. In the
dedication allusion is made to Talfourd’s three speeches in Parliament, on the copyright question;
these were published in a little volume, and make, fairly enough, one of the illustrative documents of
“Pickwick.” In the first number of the first edition there is an odd note, rather out of place, but
it was withdrawn later—meant to ridicule Mr. p. 50Jingle’s story of
“Ponto’s” sagacity; it states that in Mr. Jesse’s gleanings, there are more
amazing stories than this.
Mr. Jesse was a sort of personage living at Richmond—where I well remember him, when I was there
as a boy. “Jesse’s gleanings” was then a well-known and popular book; and his stories
“Sir,” as Dr. Johnson would have said, “if it be not irrational in a man to
count his feathered bipeds before they are hatched, we will conjointly astonish them next
year.” Boswell. “Sir, I hardly understand you.” Johnson. “You
never understood anything.” Boswell (in a sprightly manner). “Perhaps, sir, I
am all the better for it.” Johnson. “I do not know but that you are. There is
Lord Carlisle (smiling)—he never understands anything, and yet the dog is well
enough. Then, sir, there is Forster—he understands many things, and yet the fellow is
fretful. Again, sir, there is Dickens, with a facile way with him—like Davy, sir, like
Davy—yet I am told that the man is lying at a hedge alehouse by the seashore in Kent
as long as they will trust him.” Boswell. “But there are no hedges by the sea in
Kent, sir.” Johnson. “And why not, sir?” Boswell (at a loss).
“I don’t p. 54know, sir, unless—” Johnson (thundering).
“Let us have no unlesses, sir. If your father had never said unless he would never have
begotten you, sir.” Boswell (yielding). “Sir, that is very true.”
To begin, the Christian names of the two great men were the same. Sam Johnson and Samuel Pickwick.
Johnson had a relation called Nathaniel, and Pickwick had a “follower” also Nathaniel. Both
the great men founded Clubs: Johnson’s was in Essex Street, Strand, to say nothing of the Literary or
Johnson Club; the other in Huggin Lane. Johnson had his Goldsmith, Reynolds, Boswell, Burke, and the rest,
as his members and “followers:” Mr. Pickwick had his Tupman, Snodgrass, Winkle, and
others. These were the “travelling members,” just as Dr. Johnson and Boswell were the
travelling members of their Club. Boswell was the notetaker, so was Snodgrass. When we see the pair
staying at the Three Crowns at Lichfield—calling on friends—waited on by p. 55the manager of
the local Theatre, etc., we are forcibly reminded of the visits to Rochester and Ipswich.
More curious still in Boswell’s life, there is mentioned a friend of Johnson’s who is actually
named—Weller! I leave it as a pleasant crux for the ingenious Pickwickian to find out where.
Johnson had his faithful servant, Frank: Mr. Pickwick his Sam. The two sages p. 56equally revelled in
travelling in post-chaises and staying at inns; both made friends with people in the coaches and commercial
rooms. There are also some odd accidental coincidences which help in the likeness. Johnson was constantly
in the Borough, and we have a good scene with Mr. Pickwick at the White Hart in the same place. Mr.
Pickwick had his widow, Mrs. Bardell; and Johnson his in the person of the fair Thrale. Johnson had his
friend Taylor at Ashbourne, to whom he often went on visits, always going down by coach; while Mr.
Pickwick had his friend Wardle, with whom he stayed at Manor Farm, in Kent. We know of the review at
Rochester which Mr. Pickwick and friends attended, and how they were charged by the soldiery. Oddly
enough Dr. Johnson attended a review also at Rochester, when he was on a visit to his friend Captain
Langton. Johnson, again, found his way to Bath, went to the Assembly Rooms, etc.; and our friend Mr.
Pickwick, we need not say, p. 57also enjoyed himself there. In Boswell’s record we have a character
called Mudge, an “out of the way” name; and in Pickwick we find a Mudge. George Steevens,
who figures so much in Boswell’s work, was the author of an antiquarian hoax played off on a learned
brother, of the same class as “Bill Stumps, his mark.” He had an old inscription engraved on an
unused bit of pewter—it was well begrimed and well battered, then exposed for sale in a
broker’s shop, where it was greedily purchased by the credulous virtuoso. The notion, by the way, of
the Club button was taken from the Prince Regent, who had his Club and uniform, which he allowed
favourites to wear.
“He used to go away to a coffee-house after p. 58his dinner and have a small pot
o’ coffee and four crumpets. He fell ill and sent for the doctor. Doctor comes in a
green fly vith a kind o’ Robinson Crusoe set o’ steps as he could let down ven
he got out, and pull up arter him ven he got in, to perwent the necessity o’ the
coachman’s gettin’ down, and thereby undeceivin’ the public by
lettin’ ’em see that it wos only a livery coat he’d got on, and not the
trousers to match. ‘How many crumpets at a sittin’ do you think ’ud
kill me off at once?’ said the patient. ‘I don’t know,’ says the
doctor. ‘Do you think half a crown’s vurth ’ud do it?’ says the
patient. ‘I think it might,’ says the doctor. ‘Three shillin’
’s vurth ’ud be sure to do it, I s’pose?’ says the patient.
‘Certainly,’ says the doctor. ‘Wery good,’ says the patient;
‘good-night.’ Next mornin’ he gets up, has a fire lit, orders in three
shillin’s’ vurth o’ crumpets, toasts ’em all, eat ’em all,
and blows his brains out.”
“What did he do that for?” inquired Mr. Pickwick abruptly; for he was
considerably startled by this tragical termination of the narrative.
Thus Dickens marvellously enriched this quaint story. It may be found amusing to trace the genesis of the
tale. In Boswell it runs: “Mr. Fitzherbert, who loved buttered muffins, but durst not eat them because
they disagreed with his stomach, resolved to shoot himself, and then eat three buttered muffins for breakfast,
knowing that he should not be troubled with indigestion.” We find that De Quincey, in one of his
essays, reports the case of an officer holding the rank of lieutenant-colonel who could not tolerate a breakfast
without muffins. But he suffered agonies of indigestion. “He would stand the nuisance no longer, but
yet, being a just man, he would give Nature one final chance of reforming her dyspeptic atrocities. Muffins
therefore being laid at one angle of the table and pistols at the other, with rigid equity the p. 60Colonel
awaited the result. This was naturally pretty much as usual; and then the poor man, incapable of retreating
from his word of honour, committed suicide, having left a line for posterity to the effect, “that a
muffinless world was no world for him.”
It will be recollected that, during the Christmas festivities at Manor Farm, after a certain amount of kissing
had taken place under the mistletoe, Mr. Pickwick was “standing under the mistletoe, looking with a
very pleased countenance on all that was passing round him, when the young lady with the black eyes, after a
little whispering with the other young ladies, made a sudden dart forward, and putting her arm round Mr.
Pickwick’s neck, saluted him affectionately on the left cheek, and before he distinctly knew what was
the matter he was surrounded by the whole bevy, and kissed by every one of them.” Compare with
this p. 61what happened to Dr. Johnson in the Hebrides:
“This evening one of our married ladies, a lively, pretty little woman,
good-humouredly sat down upon Dr. Johnson’s knee, and being encouraged by some
of the company, put her hands round his neck and kissed him. “Do it again,”
said he, “and let us see who will tire first.” He kept her on his knee some time
while he and she drank tea. He was now like a buck indeed. All the company were much
entertained to find him so easy and pleasant. To me it was highly comic to see the grave
philosopher—the Rambler—toying with a Highland beauty! But what could he
do? He must have been surly, and weak too, had he not behaved as he did. He would have
been laughed at, and not more respected, though less loved.”
Or, we might fancy this little scene taking place at Dunvegan Castle, on the night of the dance, when Johnson
was in such high good-humour. His faithful henchman might p. 62have come up to him and have said
jocosely, “You, sir, in silk stockings?”
“And why not, sir—why not?” said the Doctor warmly. “Oh, of
course,” I answered, “there is no reason why you should not wear
them.” “I imagine not, sir—I imagine not,” said the Doctor in a
very peremptory tone. I had contemplated a laugh, but found it was a serious matter. I
looked grave, and said they were a pretty pattern. “I hope they are,” said Dr.
Johnson, fixing his eyes upon me. “You see nothing extraordinary in these stockings
as stockings, I trust, sir?” “Certainly not; oh, certainly not,” I replied,
and my revered friend’s countenance assumed its customary benign expression.
Now, is not this Pickwickian all over? Yet it is the exact record of what occurred at Manor Farm, in
“Pickwick,” with a change only in the names, and would pass very fairly as an amiable outburst
Or, again, let us put a bit of “Boz” into p. 63“Bozzy’s” work. The
amiable “Goldy” was partial to extravagant dress, and to showing himself off.
When a masquerade at Ranelagh was talked of, he said to Doctor Johnson, “I shall go
as a Corsican.” “What!” said the Doctor, with a sudden start.
“As a Corsican,” Dr. Goldsmith repeated mildly. “You don’t
mean to say,” said the Doctor to him, gazing at him with solemn sternness,
“that it is your intention to put yourself into a green velvet jacket with a two-inch
tail?” “Such is my intention, sir,” replied Goldsmith warmly;
“and why not, sir?” “Because, sir,” said the Doctor,
considerably excited, “you are too old.” “Too old!” exclaimed
Goldsmith. “And if any further ground of objection be wanting,” said Dr.
Johnson, “You are too fat, sir.” “Sir,” said Dr. Goldsmith, his
face suffused with a crimson glow, “this is an insult.” “Sir,”
said the sage in the same tone, “it is not half the insult to you, that your appearance in
my presence in a green velvet jacket with two-inch tail would be to me.”
“Sir,” said Dr. Goldsmith, “you’re p. 64a fellow.”
“Sir,” said Dr. Johnson, “you’re another!”
Winkle in a very amusing way often suggests Boswell; and Mr. Pickwick treats him with as great rudeness as
did Johnson his Winkle. When that unhappy gentleman, or follower exhibited himself on the ice, Mr.
Pickwick, we are told, was excited and indignant. “He beckoned to Mr. Weller and said in a stern
voice: Take the skates off.” “No, but I had scarcely began,” remonstrated Mr. Winkle.
“Take his skates off,” repeated Mr. Pickwick, firmly. The command was not to be resisted.
“Lift him up,” said Mr. Pickwick—Sam assisted him to rise. Mr. Pickwick retired a few
paces apart from the by-standers and beckoning his friend to approach, fixed a searching look on him and
uttered in a low, but distinct and emphatic tone, these remarkable words: “You’re a humbug,
sir.” “A what?” said Mr. Winkle, starting. “A humbug, sir, I will speak plainer
if you wish it—an impostor, sir.” p. 65With these words Mr. Pickwick turned slowly on his
heel and rejoined his friends. Was not this exactly the Sage’s treatment of his “Bozzy”
on many occasions?
There is yet another odd coincidence. Everyone knows how Bob Sawyer’s party was disturbed by
Mrs. Raddle’s angry expostulations, and the guests had to disperse. Well, Mr. Boswell, who had much
of the Sawyer tone—gave a party at his rooms in Downing Street, and his landlord behaved so
outrageously, that he gave him notice, and the next day quitted his rooms. “I feel I shall have to give
my landlady notice,” said Mr. Sawyer with a ghastly smile. Mr. Boswell had actually to take some of
the invited guests to the Mitre and entertain them there.
There is a pleasant passage connected with Dr. Johnson’s visit to Plymouth, with his old friend Sir
Joshua. He was much pleased with this jaunt and declared he had derived from it a great accession of new
ideas. . . p. 66“The magnificence of the Navy the ship building and all its circumstances afforded him a
grand subject of contemplation.” He contemplated it in fact, as Mr. Pickwick contemplated Chatham
and the Medway. The commissioner of the dockyard paid him the compliment, etc. The characteristic part,
however, was that the Doctor entered enthusiastically into the local politics. “There was a new town
rising up round the dockyard, as a rival to the old one, and knowing from the sagacity and just observation of
human nature, that it is certain if a man hates at all, he will hate his next neighbour, he concluded that this new
and rising town could but excite the envy and jealousy of the old. He therefore set himself resolutely on the
side of the old town, the established town in which he was. Considering it a kind of duty to stand by it. He
Now all this is very like what the amiable Pickwick would have done; in fact like something he did do and
felt, when he repaired to Eatanswill for the election. On entering the town he at once chose his party, and took
it up enthusiastically. “With his usual foresight and sagacity,” like Dr. Johnson, he had chosen
a fortunately desirable moment for his visit. “Slumkey for ever,” roared the honest and
independent. “Slumkey for ever!” echoed Mr. Pickwick, taking off his hat. “No
Fizkin,” roared the crowd. “Certainly not,” shouted Mr. Pickwick. “Who is p.
68Slumkey?” whispered Mr. Tupman. “I don’t know,” said Mr. Pickwick, in the
same tone. “Hush! don’t ask any questions. It’s always best on these occasions to do
what the mob do.” “But suppose there are two mobs,” suggested Mr. Snodgrass.
“Shout with the largest,” replied Mr. Pickwick. Volumes could not have said more. On asking
for rooms at the Town Arms, which was the Great White Horse, Mr. Pickwick was asked “was he
Blue.” Mr. Pickwick in reply, asked for Perker. “He is blue I think.” “O yes,
sir.” “Then we are blue,” said Mr. Pickwick, but observing the man looked rather
doubtful at this accommodating account he gave him his card. Perker arranged everything. “Spirited
contest, my dear sir,” he said, “I am delighted to hear it,” said Mr. Pickwick. “I
like to see sturdy patriotism, on whatever side it is called forth.” Later, we are told, Mr. Pickwick
entered heart and soul into the business, and, like the sage, caught the p. 69prevailing excitement.
“Although no great partisan of either side, Mr. Pickwick was sufficiently fired by Mr. Pott’s
enthusiasm to apply his whole time and attention to the proceedings, etc.” All this, of course, does not
correspond exactly, but the spirit of the selections are the same.
The Doctor it is known, would go out at midnight with his friends Beauclerk and Layton to have what he
called “a rouze,” and Garrick was humorously apprehensive that he would have to bail out his
old friend from the watchhouse. Mr. Pickwick had many a “rouze” with his followers. And
Johnson himself, in the matter of drink, was at one time as bad as Mr. Pickwick, only he had a better head,
and could “carry his liquor discreetly,” like the Baron of Bradwardine. He had actually to give
up drink on account of this tendency to excess.
p. 70PICKWICKIAN ORIGINALS.
There is a shrewd remark of the late Bishop Norwich, Dean Stanley’s father, that to catch and describe
the tone and feeling of a place gives a better idea of it than any minute or accurate description. “Some
books,” he says, “give one ideas of places without descriptions; there is something which
suggests more vivid and agreeable images than distinct words. Would Gil Blas for instance? It opens with a
scene of history, chivalry, Spain, orange trees, fountains, guitars, muleteers; there is the picturesque and the
sense of the picturesque, as distinct as the actual object.” Now this exactly applies to
“Pickwick,” which brings up before us Rochester, Ipswich, Muggleton, Birmingham, and a
dozen other places to the tourist. The night of the arrival at Birmingham for instance, and the going out after
dinner to call on Mr. Winkle, sen., is strangely vivid.
p. 71So real is our Pickwickian Odyssey that it can be followed in all its stages as in a diary. To put it all in
“ship shape” as it were and enhance this practical feeling I have drawn out the route in a little
map. It is wonderful how much the party saw and how much ground they covered, and it is not a far-fetched
idea that were a similar party in our day, good humoured, venturesome and accessible, to visit old-fashioned,
out of the way towns, and look out for fun, acquaintances and characters, they might have a good deal of the
amusement and adventure that the Pickwickians enjoyed.
The Pickwickians first went to Rochester, Chatham, Dingley Dell, and perhaps to Gravesend. Mr. Pickwick
with Wardle then pursued Jingle to town, returning thence to the Dell, which he at once left for Cobham,
where he found his friend Tupman. The party then returned to town. Next we have the first visit to
Ipswich—called Eatanswill—from which town Mr. Pickwick and Sam p. 72posted to Bury St.
Edmunds; thence to London. Next came their third expedition to Dingley Dell for the Christmas festivities.
Then the second visit to Ipswich. Then the journey to Bath, and that from Bath to Bristol. Later a second
journey to Bristol—another from Bristol to Birmingham, and from Birmingham to London, Mr.
Pickwick’s final junketing before retiring to Dulwich.
Yet another interesting side of the Pickwick story is its almost biographical character. Boz seems to take us
with him from his very boyhood. During the old days when his father was at Chatham he had seen all the
Rochester incidents, sat by the old Castle and Bridge, noted with admiring awe the dockyard people, the Balls
at “The Bull,” the Reviews on the Lines. The officers—like Dr. Slammer, all the
figures—fat boy included—were drawn from this stage of his life. The Golden Cross, which
figures also in Copperfield, he had constantly stopped at. He knew, too, the inns in the Boro’. The
large legal element p. 73and its odd incidents and characters he had learned and studied during his brief
apprenticeship to the Law. The interior economy of the Fleet Prison he had learned from his family’s
disastrous experiences; the turnkeys, and blighted inhabitants he had certainly taken from life. But he shifted
the scene from the Marshalsea to the King’s Bench Prison—the former place would have been
too painful a reminiscence for his father. To his reporting expeditions we owe the Election scenes at Ipswich,
and to another visit for the same object, his Bath experiences. Much of the vividness and reality of his
touchings, particularly in the case of Rochester and its doings, is the magnifying, searching power resulting
Boz, if he drew his characters from life, did not draw wholesale; he would take only a portion of a character
that pleased him and work it up in combination with another distinct character. It was thus he dealt with
Leigh Hunt, borrowing his amusing, airy frivolity, and combining it with the meanness and heartlessness of
Skimpole. I have always fancied that Dowler in “Pickwick” was founded—after this
composite principle—on his true-hearted but imperious friend, Forster. Forster was indeed also a
perfect reproduction of Dr. Johnson and had the despotic intolerance—in conversation
certainly—of that great man. Like him “if his pistol missed fire, he knocked you down with the
p. 75butt end of it.” He could be as amiable and tender-hearted as “old Sam” himself.
Listening to Dowler at the coach office in Piccadilly we—who knew Forster well—seemed to
hear his very voice. “It was a stern-eyed man of about five-and-forty, who had large black whiskers.
He was buttoned up to the chin in a brown coat and had a large seal-skin cap and a cloak beside him. He
looked up from his breakfast as Mr. Pickwick entered with a fierce and peremptory air, which was very
dignified, and which seemed to say that he rather expected somebody wanted to take advantage of him, but it
wouldn’t do” . . . “Are you going to Bath?” said the strange man. “I am,
sir,” replied Mr. Pickwick. “And these other gentleman?” “They are going
also,” said Mr. Pickwick. “Not inside—I’ll be damned if you’re going
inside,” said the strange man. “Not all of us,” said Mr. Pickwick.
“No—not all of you,” said the strange man, emphatically. “We take two places.
If they try and squeeze six people p. 76into an infernal box that only holds four I’ll take a post-chaise
and bring an action. It won’t do,” etc. This recalls the pleasant story about Forster and the
cabman who summoned him. The latter was adjudged to be in the wrong and said he knew it, but “that
he was determined to show him up, he were such a harbitrary cove.” None enjoyed this story more
than Forster himself, and I have heard him say to a lady humorously, “Now you must. You know I am
‘such a harbitrary cove.’” Dear good old Forster!
I must confess all Pickwickians would like to know biographical details, as one might call them, about the
personages engaged in the trial. I need not repeat that Judge Stareleigh was drawn from Mr. Justice Gazalee,
or that Buzfuz was founded on Mr. Serjeant Bompas, or Bumpus. Charles Carpenter Bompas was his full
designation. He was made a Serjeant in 1827, the very year of the memorable trial. He obtained a Patent of
Precedence in 1834. “Buzfuz’s son”—Mr. p. 77W. Bompas, Q.C., who will
pardon the freedom of the designation—was born in the year of the celebrated trial. He was the
youngest son and had a very distinguished career both at College and at the Bar, being a
“leader” on his circuit, revising barrister, bencher, recorder, and was last year appointed a
County Court judge.
Who were Serjeant Snubbin, Skimpin, and Phunkey? No traditions have come to us as to these gentlemen.
Skimpin may have been Wilkins, and Snubbin a Serjeant Arabin, a contemporary of Buzfuz. But we are
altogether in the dark.
We should have liked also to have some “prehistoric peeps” at the previous biography of Mr.
Pickwick before the story began. We have but a couple of indications of his calling: the allusion by Perker at
the close of the story—“The agent at Liverpool said he had been obliged to you many times
when you were in business.” He was therefore a merchant or in trade. Snubbin at the trial p. 78stated
that “Mr. Pickwick had retired from business and was a gentleman of considerable independent
property.”
In the original announcement of the “Pickwick Papers” there are some scraps of information
about Mr. Pickwick and the Club itself. This curious little screed shows that the programme was much larger
than the one carried out:—
EDITED BY “BOZ.”
p. 79“The Pickwick Club, so renowned in the annals of Huggin Lane, and so closely
entwined with the thousand interesting associations connected with Lothbury and Cateaton
Street, was founded in the year one thousand eight hundred and twenty-two, by Samuel
Pickwick—the great traveller—whose fondness for the useful arts prompted his
celebrated journey to Birmingham in the depth of winter; and whose taste for the beauties of
nature even led him to penetrate to the very borders of Wales in the height of summer.
“This remarkable man would appear to have infused a considerable portion of his
restless and inquiring spirit into the breasts of other members of the Club, and to have
awakened in their minds the same insatiable thirst for travel which so eminently characterized
his own. The whole surface of Middlesex, a part of Surrey, a portion of Essex, and several
square miles of Kent were in their turns examined and reported on. In a rapid steamer they
smoothly navigated the placid Thames; and in an open boat they fearlessly crossed the turbid
Medway. High-roads p. 80and by-roads, towns and villages, public conveyances and their
passengers, first-rate inns and road-side public houses, races, fairs, regattas elections,
meetings, market days—all the scenes that can possibly occur to enliven a country
place, and at which different traits of character may be observed and recognized, were alike
visited and beheld by the ardent Pickwick and his enthusiastic followers.
“From the present appearance of these important documents and the probable extent of
the selections from them, it is presumed that the series will be completed in about twenty
numbers.”
From this it will be seen that it was intended to exhibit all the humours of the social amusements with which
the public regaled itself. Mr. Pickwick and friends were to be shown on board a steamer; at races, fairs,
regattas, market days, meetings—“at all the scenes that can possibly occur to enliven a p.
82country place, and at which different traits of character may be observed and recognized.” This was
a very scientific and well drawn scheme; and it was, on the whole, most faithfully and even brilliantly carried
out. But with infinite art Boz emancipated himself from the formal hide-bound trammels of Syntax tours and
the like, when it was reckoned that the hero and his friends would be exhibited like “Bob
Logic” and “Tom and Jerry” in a regular series of public places. “Mr. Pickwick
has an Adventure at Vauxhall,” “Mr. Pickwick Goes to Margate,” etc.: we had a narrow
escape, it would seem, of this conventional sort of thing, and no doubt it was this the publishers looked for.
But “Boz” asserted his supremacy, and made the narrative the chief element.
It was interesting thus to know that Mr. Pickwick had visited the borders of Wales—I suppose,
Chester—but what was his celebrated journey to Birmingham, prompted by his “fondness for
the useful arts”? This p. 83could hardly refer to his visit to Mr. Winkle, sen. The Club, it will be seen,
was founded in 1822, and its place of meeting would appear to have been this Huggin Lane, City, “so
intimately associated with Lothbury and Cateaton Street.” The picture of the meeting of the Club
shows us that it consisted of the ominous number of thirteen. There is not room for more. They seem like a
set of well-to-do retired tradesmen; the faces are such as we should see on the stage in a piece of low comedy:
for the one on the left Mr. Edward Terry might have sat. The secretary sits at the bottom of the table, with his
back to us, and the chairman, with capacious stomach, at the top. Blotton, whom Mr. Pickwick rather
unhandsomely described as a “vain and disappointed haberdasher,” may have followed this
business. He is an ill-looking fellow enough, with black, bushy whiskers. The Pickwickians are decidedly the
most gentlemanly of the party. But why was it necessary for Mr. Pickwick to stand upon a chair? p. 84This,
however, may have been a custom of the day at free and easy meetings.
“Posthumous papers”—moreover, did not correctly describe the character of the Book,
for the narrative did not profess to be founded on documents at all. He was, however, committed to this title
by his early announcement, and indeed intended to carry out a device of using Snodgrass’s
“Note Books,” whose duty it was during the course of the adventures to take down diligently all
that he observed. But this cumbrous fiction was discarded after a couple of numbers. “Posthumous
papers” had been used some ten years before, in another work.
Almost every page—save perhaps a dismal story or two—in the 609 pages of Pickwick is good;
but there are two or three passages which are obscure, if not forced in humour. Witness Mr. Bantam’s
recognition of Mr. Pickwick, as the gentleman residing on Clapham Green—not yet
Common—“who p. 85lost the use of his limbs from imprudently taking cold after port wine,
who could not be moved in consequence of acute suffering, and who had the water from the King’s
Bath bottled at 103 degrees, and sent by waggon to his bedroom in Town; when he bathed, sneezed, and same
day recovered.” This is grotesque enough and farcical, but without much meaning. On another
Why is there no “Pickwick Club” in London? It might be worth trying, and would be more
successful than even the Johnson Club. There is surely genuine “stuff” to work on. Our friends
in America, who are Pickwickian quand même, have established the “All-Around Dickens
Club.” The members seem to be ladies, though there are a number of honorary members of the other
sex, which include members p. 86of “Boz’s” own family, with Mr. Kitton, Mr. W.
Hughes, Mr. Charles Kent, myself, and some more. The device of the club is “Boz’s”
own book-plate, and the “flower” of the club is his favourite geranium. The President is Mrs.
Adelaide Garland; and some very interesting papers, to judge from their titles, have been read, such as
“Bath and its Associations with Landor,” “The City of Bristol with its Literary
Associations,” “The Excursion to the Tea Gardens of Hampstead,” prefaced by a
description of the historic old inn, “Poem by Charles Kent,” “Dickens at Gad’s
Hill,” “A Description of Birmingham, its Institutions, and Dickens’ Interest
therein”; with a “Reading of Mr. Pickwick’s Mission to Birmingham, Coventry and the
adjacent Warwickshire Country,” etc. There is also a very clever series of examination questions by
the President in imitation of Calverley’s.
“Had Mr. Pickwick loved?” Mr. Lang asks; “it is natural to believe that he had never
proposed, never. His heart, however p. 87bruised, was neither broken nor embittered.” His
temperament was certainly affectionate—if not absolutely amatory: he certainly never missed an
opportunity where a kiss was practicable.
But stay! has anyone noted that on the wall of his room at Dulwich, there hangs the portrait of a
lady—just over this might seem to mean something. But on looking close, we see it is the dear filial
old fellow’s mother. A striking likeness, and she has spectacles like her celebrated son.
As all papers connected with the Pickwick era are scarce and meagre—for the reason that no one was
then thinking of “Boz”; any that have come down to us are specially interesting. Here are a few
“pieces,” which will be welcomed by all Pickwickians. The first is a letter of our author to his
publishers.
“Furnival’s Inn,
“Friday Morning.
“Dear Sir,—I am very glad to find I shall have the pleasure of celebrating Mr.
Pickwick’s p. 88success with you on Sunday. When you have sufficiently recovered
from the fatigues of publication, will you just let me know from your books how we stand.
Drawing £10 one day, and £20 another, and so forth, I have become rather mystified, and
jumbled up our accounts in my brain, in a very incomprehensible state.
“Faithfully yours,
“Charles Dickens.”
This must have been written at the conclusion of the story in 1837, and is in a very modest tone considering
how triumphant had been the success. Connected with this is a paper of yet more interest, a receipt for
payment for one of the early numbers.
For this Pickwickian Banquet, he had reluctantly to give up one at the home of his new friend Forster. In an
unpublished letter, he writes to him as “Dear Sir”—the beginning of a four-and-thirty
years’ friendship—“I have been so much engaged in the pleasing occupation of
moving.” He was unable to go to his new friend to dinner p. 89because he had been “long
engaged to the Pickwick publishers to a dinner in honour of that hero, which comes off to-morrow.”
page 91p. 91CONCERNING THE PLATES AND EXTRA PLATES AND “STATES” OF PICKWICK
22
Pickwickian Manners and Customs
This large treatment was exactly “Phiz’s.” He seems to “act”
“Boz’s” drama, yet he did not introduce anything that was not warranted by the spirit of
the text. He found himself present at the scene, and felt how it must have occurred. He had a wonderful
power of selecting what was essential and what should be essential. Nor did he make a minute inventory of
such details as were mentioned in the text. Hence the extraordinary p. 93vitality and spirit of his work. There
is action in all, and each picture tells its own story. To see the merit of this system, we have only to contrast
with it such attempts as we find in modern productions, where the artist’s method is to present to us
figures grouped together, apparently talking but not acting—such things as we have week by week in
Punch. The late Sir John Millais and other artists of almost equal rank used to furnish illustrations to serial
stories, and all their pictures were of this kind—two or three figures—well drawn,
certainly—one standing, the others sitting down, it may be, engaged in conversation. This brought us
“no forrarder” and supplied no dramatic interest.
It should be said, however, that it is only to “Pickwick” that this high praise can be extended.
With every succeeding story the character of the work seemed to fall off, or rather the methods of the artist to
change. It may have been, too, the inspiration from a p. 94dramatic spirited story also failed, for
“Boz” had abandoned the free, almost reckless style of his first tale. There was a living
distinctness, too, in the Pickwickian coterie, and every figure, familiar and recognizable, seemed to have
infinite possibilities. The very look of them would inspire.
In this spirit of vitality and reality also, “Phiz” rather suggests a famous foreign illustrator,
Chodowiecki, who a century ago was in enormous request for the illustration of books of all kinds, and whose
groups and figures, drawn with much spirit and roundness, arrested the eye at once and told the situation.
Later “Phiz” fell off in his work and indeed adopted quite new and more commercial methods,
such as would enable him to get through the vast amount of work that came to him. There were no longer
these telling situations to limn which spoke for themselves, and without straw, bricks are not to be made. In
this later manner we seem to have bid adieu to the inspiration—to p. 95the fine old round style of
drawing—where the figures “stand out” completely. He adopted a sort of sketchy
fashion; his figures became silhouettes and quite flat. There was also a singular carelessness in
finish—a mere outline served for a face. The result was a monotony and similarity of treatment, with a
certain unreality and grotesqueness which are like nothing in life. In this, however, he may have been
inspired by the grotesque personages he was put to illustrate—the Smallweeds and the like.
It would be an interesting speculation to consider what would have become of “Pickwick” had
this artist not been forthcoming. Would we have really known our Mr. Pickwick and his
“followers” as we do now, or, indeed, would we have so keenly appreciated the humorous
situations? I believe not. It was the graven figures of these personages, and the brilliant way in which the
situations were concentrated, as it were, into a point, that produced such striking p. 96effect: without these
adjuncts the Head of the Club and his friends would have been more or less abstractions, very much what the
characters in Theodore Hook’s “Gilbert Gurney” are. Take Mr. Pickwick. The author
supplied only a few hints as to his personal appearance—he was bald, mild, pale, wore spectacles and
gaiters; but who would have imagined him as we have him now, with his high forehead, bland air, protuberant
front. The same with the others. Mr. Thackeray tried in many ways to give some corporeal existence to his
own characters to “Becky,” Pendennis, and others; but who sees them as we do Mr. Pickwick?
So with his various “situations”—many most dramatic and effective, but no one would
guess it from the etchings. The Pickwick scenes all tell a story of their own; and a person—say a
foreigner—who had never even heard of the story would certainly smile over the situations, and be
piqued into speculating what could be the ultimate meaning.
p. 97At the exhibition “illustrating a century and a half of English humorists,” given by the
Fine Art Society—under the direction of Mr. Joseph Grego—in October, 1896, there was a
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collection of original Pickwick drawings no less than fifty-six in number. There were three by Seymour, two
by Bass and thirty-four by Phiz, all used in the book; while of those unused—probably found
unsuitable, there were five by Buss, including a proposed title-page, and two of the Fat Boy “awake on
this occasion only.” There were also five by Phiz, which were not engraved, and one by Leech. The
drawing of the dying clown, Seymour was engaged upon when he committed suicide. Of Buss’ there
were two of Mr. Pickwick at the Review, two of the cricket match, two of the Fat Boy “awake,”
“the influence of the salmon”—unused, “Mr. Winkle’s first
shot”—unused, studies of character in Pickwick, and a study for the title-page. The poor,
discarded Buss took a vast deal of pains therefore to accomplish p. 98his task. Of Phiz’s unused
designs there was “Mr. Winkle’s first shot” and two for the Gabriel Grub story, also one
for “the Warden’s room.” Most interesting of all was his “original study”
for the figure of Mr. Pickwick.
Mr. Grego, himself an excellent artist, placed at the door of the society a very telling figure of Mr. Pickwick
displayed on a poster and effectively coloured. It was new to find our genial old friend smiling an invitation
to us—in Bond Street. This—which I took for a lithographed
“poster”—was Mr. Grego’s own work, portrayed in water colours.
There have been many would-be illustrators of the chronicle, some on original lines of their own; but these
must be on the whole pronounced to be failures. On looking at them we somehow feel that the figures and
situations are wholly strange to us; that we don’t know them or recognize them. The reason is possibly
that the artists are not in perfect sympathy or intelligence with the p. 99story; they do not know every turning,
corner and cranny of it, as did “Phiz”—and indeed as did everyone else living at that
time; they were not inspired, above all, by its author. But there was a more serious reason still for the failure.
It will be seen that in Phiz’s wonderful plates the faces and figures are more or less generalized. We
cannot tell exactly, for instance, what were Mr. Winkle’s or even Sam Weller’s features.
Neither their mouths, eyes, or noses, could be put in distinct shape. We have only the general air and tone and
suggestion—as of persons seen afar off in a crowd. Yet they are always recognizable. This is art, and
it gave the artist a greater freedom in his treatment. Now when an illustrator like the late Frederick Barnard
came, he drew his Jingle, his Pickwick, Weller, and Winkle, with all their features, in quite a literal and
particular fashion—the features were minutely and carefully brought out, with the result that they seem
almost strange to us. Nor do they express p. 100the characters. There is an expression, but it seems not the
one to which we are accustomed. Mr. Pickwick is generally shown as a rather “cranky” and
testy old gentleman in his expressions, whereas the note of all “Phiz’s” faces is a good
softness and unctuousness even. Now this somewhat philosophical analysis points to a principle in art
illustration which accounts in a great measure for the unsatisfactory results where it is attempted to illustrate
familiar works—such as those of Tennyson, Shakespeare, etc. The reader has a fixed idea before him,
which he has formed for himself—an indistinct, shapeless one it might be, but still of sufficient outline
to be disturbed. Among the innumerable presentments of Shakespeare’s heroines no one has ever seen
any that satisfied or that even corresponded. They are usually not generalized enough. Again, the readers of
“Pickwick” grew month by month, or number by number, more and more acquainted with the
characters: p. 101for the figures and faces appeared over and over and yet over again.
The most diverting, however, of all these imitators and extra-illustrators is assuredly the artist of the German
edition. The series is admirably drawn, every figure well finished, but figures, faces, and scenes are
unrecognizable. It is the Frenchman’s idea of Hamlet. Mr. Pickwick and his friends are stout
Germans, dressed in German garments, sitting in German restaurants with long tankards with lids before
them. The incidents are made as literal and historical as possible. The difficulty, of course, was that none of
their adventures could have occurred in a country like Germany, or if they did, would have become an affair
of police. No German could see humour in that. Notwithstanding all this, the true Pickwickian will welcome
them as a pleasant contribution to the Pickwickian humour, and no one would have laughed so loudly at them
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as Boz himself.
p. 102The original illustrations form a serious and important department of Pickwickian lore, and entail an
almost scientific knowledge. Little, indeed, did the young “Boz” dream, when he was settling
with his publishers that the work was to contain forty-two plates—an immense number it might
seem—that these were to fructify into such an enormous progeny. We, begin, of course, with the
regular official plates that belong strictly to the work. Here we find three artists at work—each
succeeding the other—the unfortunate Robert Seymour coming first with his seven spirited pictures;
next the unlucky Buss, with his two condemned productions, later to be dismissed from the book altogether;
and finally, “Phiz,” or Hablot K. Browne, who furnished the remaining plates to the end. As is
well known, so great was the run upon the book that the plates were unequal to the duty, and
“Phiz” had to re-engrave them several times—often duplicates on the one
plate—naturally not copying them p. 103very closely. Hence we have the rather interesting
“variations.” He by-and-bye re-engraved Seymour’s seven, copying them with
wonderful exactness, and finally substituted two of his own for those of the condemned Buss. The volume,
therefore, was furnished with seven Seymours, and their seven replicas, the two Buss’s, their two
replicas, and the thirty-three “Phiz” pictures, each with its “variation.”
These variations are very interesting, and even amusing. On an ordinary careless glance one would hardly
detect much difference—the artist, who seemed to wish to have a certain freedom, made these changes
either to amuse himself or as if resenting the monotony of copying. In any case they represent an amount of
patient labour that is quite unique in such things.
The Pickwickian “student” may be glad to go with us through some of the plates and have an
account of these differences. We must premise that the first state of the plates p. 104may be considered
“proofs before letters”—the descriptive titles being only found in the later editions.
1. “The Frontispiece.” (We shall call the second state b, the first a.) In a the signature
“Phiz,” “fct.” or “fecit” is on the left, in b it is divided half on each
side. The harlequin painting has a full face in a, a side face in b. The face at the apex of the picture has a
mouth closed in b, and open in a. There are variations in nearly all the grotesque faces; and in b the faces of
Mr. Pickwick and Sam are fuller and more animated. In b the general treatment of the whole is richer.
2. “The Title-page.” In a the sign has Veller, in b Weller. Old Weller’s face in b is
more resolved and animated; in a water is flowing from the pail.
3. “Mr. Pickwick Addressing the Club.” Mr. Pickwick in b is more cantankerous than in
a—all the faces scarcely correspond in expression, though the outlines are the same. The work,
shading, etc., is much bolder in b.
p. 1054. “Scene with the Cabman.” Very little difference between the plates, save in the
spectacles lying on the ground. These are trivialities.
5. “The Sagacious Dog.” b is more heavily shaded, but a is much superior in the dog and face
of the sportsman. Trees in b more elaborate.
6. “Dr. Slammer’s Defiance.” The figures on the top of the stairs are much darker and
bolder in b. Jingle’s and Tupman’s faces are better in b than in a, and Jingle’s legs are
better drawn in b.
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7. “The Dying Clown.” A most dramatic and tragic conception, which shows that Seymour
would have been invaluable later on for Dickens’ more serious work. The chief differences are in the
face of the man at his bedside and the candle.
8. “Mr. Pickwick in Search of his Hat.” The drawing of Mr. Pickwick’s legs is rather
strange. The right leg could hardly be so much twisted back while Mr. Pickwick runs p. 106straight forward;
his left hand or arm is obscure in both. All the faces differ—the hat in b has much more the look of
being blown along than that in a.
10. “The Cricket Match.” First Buss plate. He introduced a farcical incident not in the
text—the ball knocking off the fielder’s hat, who is quite close to the batsman. A very poor
production. Observe the “antediluvian” shape of the bat—no paddings on the legs. The
sketch is valuable as showing how not to interpret Dickens’ humour, or rather how to interpret it in a
strictly literal way—that is, without humour.
12. The same subject by “Phiz.” A remarkable contrast in treatment; there is the suggestion of
the pair being surprised. We see how the fat boy came on them. The old Manor Farm in the background,
with its gables, etc., is a pleasing addition, and like all “Phiz’s” landscapes, delicately
touched in. The scared alarm on the two faces is first-rate—even Miss Wardle’s foot as well as
Tupman’s is expressive. There appears to be no “variation” of this plate.
13. “The Influence of the Salmon.” A truly dramatic group overflowing with humour. Note
no fewer than ten faces in the background, servants, etc., all expressing interest according to their class and
degree. The five chief characters express drunkenness in five different fashions: the hopeless, combative,
despairing, affectionate, etc. Wardle’s stolid calm is good.
p. 10915. “First Appearance of Mr. S. Weller.” In the first issue a faint “Nemo”
can be made out in the corner, and it is said the same signature is on the preceding plate, though I have never
been able to trace it clearly. This plate, as is well known, represents the court of the Old White Hart Inn in the
Borough, which was pulled down some years ago. On this background—the galleries, etc., being
picturesquely indicated—stand out brilliantly the four figures. The plate was varied in important ways.
In the b version some fine effects of light and shade are brought out by the aid of the loaded cart and
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Wardle’s figure. Wardle’s hat is changed from a common round one to a low broad-leafed one,
his figure made stouter, and he is clothed with dark instead of white breeches, his face broadened and made
more good-humoured. Sam’s face in b is made much more like the ideal Sam; that in a is grotesque.
Perker’s face and attitude are altered in b, where he is made more interrogative. Mr. Pickwick in b is
p. 110much more placid and bland than in a, and he carries his hat more jauntily. Top-boots in b are
introduced among those which Sam is cleaning. He, oddly, seems to be cleaning a white boot. A capital dog
in b is sniffing at Mr. Pickwick’s leg; in a there is a rather unmeaning skulking animal. All the smaller
figures are altered.
16. “Mrs. Bardell Faints.” The first plate is feeble and ill-drawn, though Mrs. Bardell’s
and Tupman’s faces are good, the latter somewhat farcical; the boy “Tommy” is
decidedly bad and too small. Mr. Pickwick’s face in a is better than in b. In the second attempt all is
bolder and more spirited. The three Pickwickians are made to express astonishment, even in their legs. There
is a table-desk in a, not in b. A clock and two vases are introduced, and a picture over the mirror representing
a sleeping beauty with a cupid.
17. “The Election at Eatanswill.” The first plate represents an election riot in front p. 111of the
hustings, which is wild and fairly spirited. But no doubt it appeared somewhat confused to the artist. In his
second he made it quite another matter. Over the hustings he introduced a glimpse of the old Ipswich gables.
He changed the figure and dress of Fizkin, the rival candidate. He had Perker sitting on the rail, but
substituted a standing-up figure, talking—presumably Perker, but taller than that gentleman. In b, Mr.
Pickwick’s face expresses astonishment at the disorder; in a he is mildly placid. In b the figure behind
Mr. Pickwick is turned into Sam by placing a cockade on his hat. Next to Fizkin is a new portly figure
introduced. The figures in the crowd are changed in wholesale fashion, and yet the “root idea”
in both is the same. An artist, we fancy, would learn much from these contrasts, seeing how strikingly
“Phiz” could shift his characters. In the first draft there was not sufficient movement. To the
left there was a stout sailor in a striped jacket who was thrusting a pole into the chest of a thin p. 112man in
check trousers. This, as drawn, seemed too tranquil, and he substituted a stouter, more jovial figure with
gymnastic action—the second was made more contrasted. Next him was a confused group—a
man with a paper cap, in place of which he supplied a stout man on whom the other was driven back, and who
was being pushed from behind. The animation of the background is immensely increased by hats, and arms,
and sticks being waved. Everything is bolder and clearer. The second trombone player, however, is not so
spirited as the first, and the drum-beater becomes rather a “Punch and Judy” showman. An
artistic effect of light is produced by this drum. There are a great many more boards, too, introduced in b.
“Mrs. Leo Hunter’s Fancy dress Déjeuné.” In b the finish and treatment are infinitely
improved. Mr. Pickwick’s face and figure is more refined and artistic. The way he holds his hat in his
right hand and his left also are improved; both are more extended. Mr. p. 113Snodgrass’s left leg is
brought behind Mr. Pickwick’s in b. Water—a pond perhaps—is in front.
Tupman’s hat is altered in b, and feathers added; his face is more serious and less grotesque. Mrs. Pott
is more piquant, as the author suggested to the artist. The birdcage, instead of being high in the tree, is
lowered and hangs from it. The most curious change is that of Pott, who in a is out of all scale, seeming to be
about seven feet high. He was lowered in b, and given a beard and a more hairy cap. It was said, indeed, that
the original face was too like Lord Brougham’s, but the reason for the change was probably what I
have given.
“The Young Ladies’ Seminary.” All details are changed. The rather
“cranky” face of Mr. Pickwick, utterly unlike him, was improved and restored to its natural
benevolence; more detail put into the faces, notably the cook’s. The girls are made more distinct and
attractive—the lady principal at the back made effective; all the foliage treated p. 114differently, a tree
on the left removed. In a there is a sort of hook on the inside of the door to hold a bell, which is absent; in b it
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“Mr. Pickwick in the Pound.” b is more brilliant and vastly improved; the smaller donkey is
removed, the three reduced to two; the sweep’s cap is made white; the faces are altered, and made
more animated. Mr. Pickwick’s figure in the barrow is perhaps not improved, but his face is.
“Mr. Pickwick in the Attorney’s Office.” Sam’s face in a was quite unlike, and
was improved; the position of his legs altered. The other points are much the same.
“The Double-bedded Room.” In b the lady’s face is refined, and made less of the
“nut-cracker” type. The comb is removed, her feet are separated, and the figure becomes not
ungraceful. A white night-gown in b is introduced; in a it is her day-gown, and dark; the back of the chair in
b is treated more ornamentally; in a a plain frilled nightcap is hung on the chair, changed in b to a more
grotesque and “Gamp-like” headgear. Nothing can be better in a than the effect of light from
the rushlight on the floor. This is helped by the lady’s figure, which is darkened in a, and thrown out
by the white curtains behind. Mr. Pickwick’s face in a is not good, and much improved in b. It will be
noted that the artist often thus failed in his hero’s face—“missing his tip,” as it
were. This picture admirably illustrates the artist’s power of legitimately emphasizing
details—such as p. 116the night-cap—to add to the comic situation.
“Mr. Weller Attacks the Executive of Ipswich.” There is scarcely any alteration worth notice.
“Job Trotter Encounters Sam.” The two plates are nearly the same, except that Mary’s
face is made prettier. Sam’s is improved, and Job Trotter’s figure and face more marked and
spirited.
“Christmas Eve at Mr. Wardle’s.” The changes here are a cat and dog introduced in the
foreground in b, instead of the dog which in a is between Mr. Pickwick and the old lady.
“Gabriel Grubb.” A face is introduced into a branch or knot of the tree—an odd, rather
far-fetched effect. The effectively outlined church in the background is St. Albans Abbey.
“Mr. Pickwick Slides.” In b Mr. Winkle’s skates are introduced. In one version there
are five stakes instead of four, and Miss p. 117Allen’s fur boots and feet are depicted differently in
each.
“Mr. Pickwick Sits for his Portrait.” Slight alterations in the faces and in the bird-cage. The
arrangement of the panes in the window is also different. Mr. Pickwick’s face is made more
intelligent. A handle is supplied to a pewter pot on the floor.
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“The Warden’s Room.” Almost exactly the same in both. But why has Mr. Pickwick
his spectacles on when just roused from sleep? There is a collar to the shirt hanging from the cord.
“The Meeting with Jingle.” Very slight changes in the faces. The child’s face in b is
admirable, and, like one of Cruikshank’s miniatures, it conveys alarm and grief. The face of the
woman watering her plant is improved. Note the Hogarthian touch of the p. 118initials carved on the window,
sufficiently distinct and yet not intrusively so. This is a most skilfully grouped and dramatic picture, and
properly conveys the author’s idea.
“The Ghostly Passenger.” This illustration of what is one of the best tales of mystery is equally
picturesque and original. The five figures in front are truly remarkable. The elegant interesting figure of the
woman, the fop with his hat in the air, the bully with the big sword, the man with the blunderbuss, and the
bewildered rustic, to say nothing of the muffled figures on the coach, make up a perfect play. There seems a
flutter over all; it is like, as it was intended to be, a scene in a dream.
“Mr. Winkle Returns under Extraordinary Circumstances.” There is little difference between
the plates, save as to the details of the objects in the cupboard. In b some bottles have been introduced on the
top shelf. Mrs. Winkle’s is a pleasing, graceful figure in both, and improved and refined in b. More p.
119spirit, too, is put into Mr. Pickwick’s figure as he rises in astonishment. It may be noted what a
graceful type of womanhood then prevailed, the face being thrown out by “bands” of hair and
ringlets, the large spreading bonnets and white veils. Mary wears an enormous bonnet or hat like her mistress.
“Mr. Sawyer’s Mode of Travelling.” The amazing spirit and movement of this picture
cannot be too much praised. The chaise seems whirling along, so that the coach, meeting it, seems
embarrassed and striving to get out of the way. The Irish family, struggling to keep up with the chaise, is
inimitable. There are some changes in b. The man with the stick behind has a bundle or bag attached. The
mother with her three children is a delightful group, and much improved in the second plate. The child
holding up flowers is admirably drawn. The child who has fallen is given a different p. 120attitude in b. The
dog, too, is slightly altered.
“The Rival Editors.” There is little change made, save that more plates, jugs, etc., are
introduced. The “row” is shown with extraordinary spirit. Note the grotesque effect of
Pott’s face, shown through the cloth that Sam has put over his head. The onions have got detached
from the hank hung to the ceiling, and are tumbling on the combatants, and—a capital touch
this—the blackbird, whose cage has been covered over to secure its repose, is shown in b dashing
against the bars. We might ask, however, what does the cook there, and why does she “trouble herself
about the warming-pan”?
“Mary and the Fat Boy.” Both plates nearly the same, the languishing face of the Fat Boy
admirable. Mary’s figure, as she draws the chair, charming, though somewhat stout at the back. The
cook is present, and a plate laid for her, which is contrary to the text.
p. 121“Mr. Weller and his Friends Drinking to Mr. Pell.” Plates almost the same, save for a
slight alteration in the faces, and a vinegar cruet introduced next to Mr. Pell’s oysters. Admirable and
most original and distinct are the figures of the four coachmen, even the one of whom we have only a back
view.
Perhaps no one of the plates displays Phiz’s vivid power so forcibly as the one of the trial
“Bardell v. Pickwick.” Observe the dramatic animation, with the difficulty of treating a
number of figures seated in regular rows. The types of the lawyers are truly admirable. In this latter piece
there are no less than thirty-five faces, all characteristic, showing the peculiar smug and pedantic cast of the
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barristerial lineaments. Note specially the one at the end of the third bench who is engrossed in his brief, the
pair in the centre who are discussing something, the two standing up. But what is specially excellent is the
selection of faces for the four counsel concerned in the case. Nothing could be more appropriate p. 122or
better suit the author’s description. What could excel, or “beat” Buzfuz with his puffed,
coarse face and hulking form? His brother Serjeant has the dried, “peaked” look of the
overworked barrister, and though he is in his wig we recognize him at once, having seen him before at his
chambers. Mr. Phunkey, behind, is the well-meaning but incapable performer to be exhibited in his
examination of Winkle; and Mr. Skimpin is the alert, unscrupulous, wide-awake practitioner who
“made such a hare” of Mr. Winkle. The composition of this picture is indeed a work of high
art.
In “Mr. Pickwick sliding,” how admirably caught is the tone of a genial, frosty day at a
country-house, with the animation of the spectators—the charming landscape. In the scene of
“Under the Mistletoe” at Manor Farm, the Fat Boy, by some mistake of size, cannot be more
than five or six years old, and Tupman is shown on one knee “making up” to one of the young
ladies. p. 123Beaux seemed to have been very scarce in the district where stout, elderly gentlemen were thus
privileged.
The curious thing is that hardly a single face of Mr. Pickwick’s corresponds with its fellows, yet all are
sufficiently like and recognizable. In the first picture of the club he is a cantankerous, sour, old fellow, but the
artist presently mellowed him. The bald, benevolent forehead, the portly little figure, the gaiters, eye-glass
and ribbon always put on expressively, seem his likeness. The “Mr. Pickwick sliding” and the
“Mr. Pickwick sitting for his portrait in the Fleet” have different faces.
There has always been a sort of fascination in tracing out and identifying the Pickwickian localities. It is
astonishing the number of persons that have been engrossed with this pursuit. Take Muggleton for instance,
which seems to have hitherto defied all attempts at discovery. The younger Charles Dickens fancied that
town, Malling, which lies to the p. 124south of Rochester. Mr. Frost, Mr. Hughes, and other
“explorers” all have their favourite town. I, myself, had fixed on Maidstone as fulfilling the
necessary conditions of having a Mayor and Corporation; as against this choice and that of all the towns that
were south of Rochester there was always this fact, that Boz describes the party going up the street as they left
Rochester, a route that led them north-east. But the late Miss Dickens—“Mamie” as she
was affectionately called—in her pleasing and very natural little book, “My Father as I Recall
Him,” has casually dropped a hint which puts us on the right track. When driving with her on the
“beautiful back road to Cobham once, he pointed out a spot. There it was, he said, where Mr.
Pickwick dropped his whip.” The distressed travellers had to walk some twelve or fourteen
miles—about the distance of Muggleton—which was important enough to have a Mayor and
Corporation, etc. We ourselves have walked this road, and it led us to—Gravesend. p. 125Gravesend
we believe to be Muggleton—against all competitors. Further, when chasing Jingle, Wardle went
straight from Muggleton to town, as you can do from Gravesend; from which place there is a long walk to
Cobham.
For abundance of editions the immortal Pickwick can hold its own with any modern of its “weight,
age, and size.” From the splendid yet unwieldy edition de luxe, all but Bible-like in its proportions, to
the one penny edition sold on barrows in Cheapside, every form and pattern has been supplied.
The Gadshill Edition, with Introduction by Andrew Lang, has recently been issued by Messrs. Chapman and
Hall, and is all that can be desired. Print, paper, and size are excellent, perfect, even captivating. The old
illustrations, from the original plates, are bright and clear, unworn and unclogged with ink. The editor has
been judiciously reserved in his introduction and annotations. While Mr. Lang’s lack of sympathy
with Dickens is well-known, p. 126and, like Sam Weller after leaving the witness-box, he has said just as
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little respecting Mr. Pickwick as might be, “which was precisely the object he had in view all
along.” But it almost seems as though one required to be “brought up” in Pickwick, so
to speak, thoroughly to understand him. No true Pickwickian would ever have called Tuckle the Bath
Footman, “Blazer,” or Jingle, “Jungle.” It were better, too, not to adopt a
carping tone in dealing with so joyous and irresponsible a work. “Dickens,” we are told,
“knew nothing of cricket.” Yet in his prime the present writer has seen him
“marking” all day long, or acting as umpire, with extraordinary knowledge and enthusiasm. In
Pickwickian days the game was not what it is now; it was always more or less irregular and disorderly. As
proof of “Boz’s” ignorance, Mr. Lang says it is a mystery why Podder “missed
the bad balls, blocked the doubtful ones, took the good ones, and sent them flying, etc.” Surely
nothing could be plainer. p. 127He “missed”—that is, did not strike—the balls of
which nothing could be made, blocked the dangerous ones, and hit the good ones all over the field. What
more or what better could Dr. Grace do?
*****
The original agreement for “Pickwick” I have not seen, though it is probably in existence, but
there is now being shown at the Earl’s Court Victorian Era Exhibition a very interesting Pickwickian
curio. When the last number had appeared, a deed was created between the two publishers, Edward Chapman
and William Hall, giving them increased control over the book. It is dated November 18th, 1837, and sets out
that the property consisted of three shares held by the two publishers and author. It was contracted that the
former should purchase for a period of five years the author’s third share. And it was further stipulated
that at the end of that term, they, and no one else, should have the benefit of any new arrangement. There was
p. 128also an arrangement about purchasing the “stock,” etc., at the end of the term. No
mention, however, is made of the terms or “consideration,” for which reference is made to
another deed. The whole is commendably short and intelligible.
Footnotes:
[24] As I write it is mentioned in some “society case” that the valet received £63 a year, and
30s. a month “beer money.”
[30] Not long since, we noticed the general merriment at the Victoria Station on the apparition of one of these
curios carried by a rural looking man.
[47] Note—We have even in London the regular Pickwickian publisher, whose work is stimulated by a
generous ardour and prepared knowledge of “States,” Curios of all kinds associated with Boz in
general, and Pickwick in particular. Among these is Mr. Spencer, of High Holborn—“who will
get you up a Pickwick” with all the advertisements, wrappers, etc., within a reasonable
period—and who will point out to you some mysterious error in the paging, which has escaped
previous commentators. There is also Mr. Robson, of Coventry Street, and Mr. Harvey, of St. James’
Street.
Footnotes: 31
Pickwickian Manners and Customs
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