* * * * *
I will dispose here of the question often asked me by correspondents,
and lately renewed in many epistles, _"Was Charles Dickens a believer in
our Saviour's life and teachings?"_ Persons addressing to me such
inquiries must be profoundly ignorant of the works of the great author,
whom they endeavor by implication to place among the "Unbelievers." If
anywhere, out of the Bible, God's goodness and mercy are solemnly
commended to the world's attention, it is in the pages of Dickens. I had
supposed that these written words of his, which have been so extensively
copied both in Europe and America, from his last will and testament,
dated the 12th of May, 1869, would forever remain an emphatic testimony
to his Christian faith:--
"I commit my soul to the mercy of God, through our Lord and Saviour
Jesus Christ, and I exhort my dear children humbly to try to guide
themselves by the teachings of the New Testament."
I wish it were in my power to bring to the knowledge of all who doubt
the Christian character of Charles Dickens certain other memorable words
of his, written years ago, with reference to Christmas. They are not as
familiar as many beautiful things from the same pen on the same subject,
for the paper which enshrines them has not as yet been collected among
his authorized works. Listen to these loving words in which the
Christian writer has embodied the life of his Saviour:--
"Hark! the Waits are playing, and they break my childish sleep! What
images do I associate with the Christmas music as I see them set
forth on the Christmas tree? Known before all others, keeping far
apart from all the others, they gather round my little bed. An
angel, speaking to a group of shepherds in a field; some travellers,
with eyes uplifted, following a star; a baby in a manger; a child in
a spacious temple, talking with grave men; a solemn figure with a
mild and beautiful face, raising a dead girl by the hand; again,
near a city gate, calling back the son of a widow, on his bier, to
life; a crowd of people looking through the opened roof of a chamber
where he site, and letting down a sick person on a bed, with ropes;
the same in a tempest, walking on the water to a ship; again, on a
sea-shore, teaching a great multitude; again, with a child upon his
knee, and other children round; again, restoring sight to the blind,
speech to the dumb, hearing to the deaf, health to the sick,
strength to the lame, knowledge to the ignorant; again, dying upon a
cross, watched by armed soldiers, a thick darkness coming on, the
earth beginning to shake, and only one voice heard,--'Forgive them,
for they know not what they do!'"
The writer of these pages begs to say here, most respectfully and
emphatically, that he will not feel himself bound, in future, to reply
to any inquiries, from however well-meaning correspondents, as to
whether Charles Dickens was an "Unbeliever," or a "Unitarian," or an
"Episcopalian," or whether "he ever went to church in his life," or
"used improper language," or "drank enough to hurt him." He was human,
very human, but he was no scoffer or doubter. His religion was of the
heart, and his faith beyond questioning. He taught the world, said Dean
Stanley over his new-made grave in Westminster Abbey, great lessons of
"the eternal value of generosity, of purity, of kindness, and of
unselfishness," and by his fruits he shall be known of all men.
Let me commend to the attention of my numerous nameless correspondents,
who have attempted to soil the moral character of Dickens, the following
little incident, related to me by himself, during a summer-evening walk
among the Kentish meadows, a few months before he died. I will try to
tell the story, if possible, as simply and naturally as he told it to
me.
"I chanced to be travelling some years ago," he said, "in a railroad
carriage between Liverpool and London. Beside myself there were two
ladies and a gentleman occupying the carriage. We happened to be all
strangers to each other, but I noticed at once that a clergyman was of
the party. I was occupied with a ponderous article in the 'Times,' when
the sound of my own name drew my attention to the fact that a
conversation was going forward among the three other persons in the
carriage with reference to myself and my books. One of the ladies was
perusing 'Bleak House,' then lately published, and the clergyman had
commenced a conversation with the ladies by asking what book they were
reading. On being told the author's name and the title of the book, he
expressed himself greatly grieved that any lady in England should be
willing to take up the writings of so vile a character as Charles
Dickens. Both the ladies showed great surprise at the low estimate the
clergyman put upon an author whom they had been accustomed to read, to
say the least, with a certain degree of pleasure. They were evidently
much shocked at what the man said of the immoral tendency of these
books, which they seemed never before to have suspected; but when he
attacked the author's private character, and told monstrous stories of
his immoralities in every direction, the volume was shut up and
consigned to the dark pockets of a travelling bag. I listened in wonder
and astonishment, behind my newspaper, to stories of myself, which if
they had been true would have consigned any man to a prison for life.
After my fictitious biographer had occupied himself for nearly an hour
with the eloquent recital of my delinquencies and crimes, I very quietly
joined in the conversation. Of course I began by modestly doubting some
statements which I had just heard, touching the author of 'Bleak House,'
and other unimportant works of a similar character. The man stared at
me, and evidently considered my appearance on the conversational stage
an intrusion and an impertinence. 'You seem to speak,' I said, 'from
personal knowledge of Mr. Dickens. Are you acquainted with him?' He
rather evaded the question, but, following him up closely, I compelled
him to say that he had been talking, not from his own knowledge of the
author in question; but he said he knew for a certainty that every
statement he had made was a true one. I then became more earnest in my
inquiries for proofs, which he arrogantly declined giving. The ladies
sat by in silence, listening intently to what was going forward. An
author they had been accustomed to read for amusement had been traduced
for the first time in their hearing, and they were waiting to learn
what I had to say in refutation of the clergyman's charges. I was taking
up his vile stories, one by one, and stamping them as false in every
particular, when the man grew furious, and asked me if I knew Dickens
personally. I replied, 'Perfectly well; no man knows him better than I
do; and all your stories about him from beginning to end, to these
ladies, are unmitigated lies.' The man became livid with rage, and asked
for my card. 'You shall have it,' I said, and, coolly taking out
one, I presented it to him without bowing. We were just then nearing the
station in London, so that I was spared a longer interview with my
_truthful_ companion; but, if I were to live a hundred years, I should
not forget the abject condition into which the narrator of my crimes was
instantly plunged. His face turned white as his cravat, and his lips
refused to utter words. He seemed like a wilted vegetable, and as if his
legs belonged to somebody else. The ladies became aware of the situation
at once, and, bidding them 'good day,' I stepped smilingly out of the
carriage. Before I could get away from the station the man had mustered
up strength sufficient to follow me, and his apologies were so nauseous
and craven, that I pitied him from my soul. I left him with this
caution, 'Before you make charges against the character of any man
again, about whom you know nothing, and of whose works you are utterly
ignorant, study to be a seeker after Truth, and avoid Lying as you would
eternal perdition.'"
I never ceased to wonder at Dickens's indomitable cheerfulness, even
when he was suffering from ill health, and could not sleep more than two
or three hours out of the twenty-four. He made it a point never to
inflict on another what he might be painfully enduring himself, and I
have seen him, with what must have been a great effort, arrange a merry
meeting for some friends, when I knew that almost any one else under
similar circumstances would have sought relief in bed.
One evening at a little dinner given by himself to half a dozen friends
in Boston, he came out very strong. His influenza lifted a little, as he
said afterwards, and he took advantage of the lull. Only his own pen
could possibly give an idea of that hilarious night, and I will merely
attempt a brief reference to it. As soon as we were seated at the table,
I read in his lustrous eye, and heard in his jovial voice, that all
solemn forms were to be dispensed with on that occasion, and that
merriment might be confidently expected. To the end of the feast there
was no let up to his magnificent cheerfulness and humor. J---- B----,
ex-minister plenipotentiary as he was, went in for nonsense, and he, I
am sure, will not soon forget how undignified we all were, and what
screams of laughter went up from his own uncontrollable throat. Among
other tomfooleries, we had an imitation of scenes at an English
hustings, Dickens bringing on his candidate (his friend D----), and I
opposing him with mine (the ex-minister). Of course there was nothing
spoken in the speeches worth remembering, but it was Dickens's _manner_
that carried off the whole thing. D---- necessarily now wears his hair
so widely parted in the middle that only two little capillary scraps are
left, just over his ears, to show what kind of thatch once covered his
jolly cranium. Dickens pretended that _his_ candidate was superior to
the other, _because_ he had no hair; and that mine, being profusely
supplied with that commodity was in consequence disqualified in a marked
degree for an election. His speech, for volubility and nonsense, was
nearly fatal to us all. We roared and writhed in agonies of laughter,
and the candidates themselves were literally choking and crying with the
humor of the thing. But the fun culminated when I tried to get a hearing
in behalf of my man, and Dickens drowned all my attempts to be heard
with imitative jeers of a boisterous election mob. He seemed to have as
many voices that night as the human throat is capable of, and the
repeated interrupting shouts, among others, of a pretended husky old man
bawling out at intervals, "Three cheers for the bald 'un!" "Down vith
the hairy aristocracy!" "Up vith the little shiny chap on top!" and
other similar outbursts, I can never forget. At last, in sheer
exhaustion, we all gave in, and agreed to break up and thus save our
lives, if it were not already too late to make the attempt.
The extent and variety of Dickens's tones were wonderful. Once he
described to me in an inimitable way a scene he witnessed many years ago
at a London theatre, and I am certain no professional ventriloquist
could have reproduced it better. I could never persuade him to repeat
the description in presence of others; but he did it for me several
times during our walks into the country, where he was, of course,
unobserved. His recital of the incident was irresistibly droll, and no
words of mine can give the _situation_ even, as he gave it. He said he
was once sitting in the pit of a London theatre, when two men came in
and took places directly in front of him. Both were evidently strangers
from the country, and not very familiar with the stage. One of them was
stone deaf, and relied entirely upon his friend to keep him informed of
the dialogue and story of the play as it went on, by having bawled into
his ear, word for word, as near as possible what the actors and
actresses were saying. The man who could hear became intensely
interested in the play, and kept close watch of the stage. The deaf man
also shared in the progressive action of the drama, and rated his friend
soundly, in a loud voice, if a stitch in the story of the play were
inadvertently dropped. Dickens gave the two voices of these two
spectators with his best comic and dramatic power. Notwithstanding the
roars of the audience, for the scene in the pit grew immensely funny to
them as it went on, the deaf man and his friend were too much interested
in the main business of the evening to observe that they were noticed.
One bawled louder, and the other, with his elevated ear-trumpet,
listened more intently than ever. At length the scene culminated in a
most unexpected manner. "Now," screamed the hearing man to the deaf one,
"they are going to elope!" "_Who_ is going to elope?" asked the deaf
man, in a loud, vehement tone. "Why, them two, the young man in the red
coat and the girl in a white gown, that's a talking together now, and
just going off the stage!" "Well, then, you must have missed telling me
something they've said before," roared the other in an enraged and
stentorian voice; "for there was nothing in their conduct all the
evening, as you have been representing it to me, that would warrant them
in such a proceeding!" At which the audience could not bear it any
longer, and screamed their delight till the curtain fell.
Dickens was always planning something to interest and amuse his friends,
and when in America he taught us several games arranged by himself,
which we played again and again, he taking part as our instructor. While
he was travelling from point to point, he was cogitating fresh charades
to be acted when we should again meet. It was at Baltimore that he first
conceived the idea of a walking-match, which should take place on his
return to Boston, and he drew up a set of humorous "articles," which he
sent to me with this injunction, "Keep them in a place of profound
safety, for attested execution, until my arrival in Boston." He went
into this matter of the walking-match with as much earnest directness as
if he were planning a new novel. The articles, as prepared by himself,
are thus drawn up:--
"Articles of agreement entered into at Baltimore, in the United
States of America, this third day of February in the year of our
Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-eight, between ----,
British subject, _alias_ the Man of Ross, and ----, American
citizen, _alias_ the Boston Bantam.
"Whereas, some Bounce having arisen between the above men in
reference to feats of pedestrianism and agility, they have agreed to
settle their differences and prove who is the better man, by means
of a walking-match for two hats a side and the glory of their
respective countries; and whereas they agree that the said match
shall come off, whatsoever the weather, on the Mill Dam Road outside
Boston, on Saturday, the 29th day of this present month; and whereas
they agree that the personal attendants on themselves during the
whole walk, and also the umpires and starters and declarers of
victory in the match shall be ---- of Boston, known in sporting
circles as Massachusetts Jemmy, and Charles Dickens of Falstaff's
Gad's Hill, whose surprising performances (without the least
variation) on that truly national instrument, the American catarrh,
have won for him the well-merited title of the Gad's Hill Gasper:--
"1. The men are to be started, on the day appointed, by
Massachusetts Jemmy and The Gasper.
"2. Jemmy and The Gasper are, on some previous day, to walk out at
the rate of not less than four miles an hour by the Gasper's watch,
for one hour and a half. At the expiration of that one hour and a
half they are to carefully note the place at which they halt. On the
match's coming off they are to station themselves in the middle of
the road, at that precise point, and the men (keeping clear of them
and of each other) are to turn round them, right shoulder inward,
and walk back to the starting-point. The man declared by them to
pass the starting-point first is to be the victor and the winner of
the match.
"3. No jostling or fouling allowed.
"4. All cautions or orders issued to the men by the umpires,
starters, and declarers of victory to be considered final and
admitting of no appeal.
"5. A sporting narrative of the match to be written by The Gasper
within one week after its coming off, and the same to be duly
printed (at the expense of the subscribers to these articles) on a
broadside. The said broadside to be framed and glazed, and one copy
of the same to be carefully preserved by each of the subscribers to
these articles.
"6. The men to show on the evening of the day of walking, at six
o'clock precisely, at the Parker House, Boston, when and where a
dinner will be given them by The Gasper. The Gasper to occupy the
chair, faced by Massachusetts Jemmy. The latter promptly and
formally to invite, as soon as may be after the date of these
presents, the following guests to honor the said dinner with their
presence; that is to say [here follow the names of a few of his
friends, whom he wished to be invited].
"Now, lastly. In token of their accepting the trusts and offices by
these articles conferred upon them, these articles are solemnly and
formally signed by Massachusetts Jemmy and by the Gad's Hill Gasper,
as well as by the men themselves.
"Signed by the Man of Ross, otherwise ----.
"Signed by the Boston Bantam, otherwise ----.
"Signed by Massachusetts Jemmy, otherwise ----.
"Signed by the Gad's Hill Gasper, otherwise Charles Dickens.
"Witness to the signatures, ----."
When he returned to Boston from Baltimore, he proposed that I should
accompany him over the walking-ground "at the rate of not less than four
miles an hour, for one hour and a half." I shall not soon forget the
tremendous pace at which he travelled that day. I have seen a great many
walkers, but never one with whom I found it such hard work to keep up.
Of course his object was to stretch out the space as far as possible for
our friends to travel on the appointed day. With watch in hand, Dickens
strode on over the Mill Dam toward Newton Centre. When we reached the
turning-point, and had established the extreme limit, we both felt that
we had given the men who were to walk in the match excellent good
measure. All along the road people had stared at us, wondering, I
suppose, why two men on such a blustering day should be pegging away in
the middle of the road as if life depended on the speed they were
getting over the ground. We had walked together many a mile before this,
but never at such a rate as on this day. I had never seen his full power
tested before, and I could not but feel great admiration for his
walking pluck. We were both greatly heated, and, seeing a little shop by
the roadside, we went in for refreshments. A few sickly-looking oranges
were all we could obtain to quench our thirst, and we seized those and
sat down on the shop door-steps, tired and panting. After a few minutes'
rest we started again and walked back to town. Thirteen miles' stretch
on a brisk winter day did neither of us any harm, and Dickens was in
great spirits over the match that was so soon to come off. We agreed to
walk over the ground again on the appointed day, keeping company with
our respective men. Here is the account that Dickens himself drew up, of
that day's achievement, for the broadside.