Inimitable, you would be scarcely prepared for the proportions it
assumes in this northern country. Station-masters assist him to alight
from carriages, deputations await him in hotel entries, innkeepers bow
down before him and put him into regal rooms, the town goes down to the
platform to see him off, and Collins's ankle goes into the newspapers!!!
It is a great deal better than it was, and he can get into new hotels
and up the stairs with two thick sticks, like an admiral in a farce. His
spirits have improved in a corresponding degree, and he contemplates
cheerfully the keeping house at Doncaster. I thought (as I told you) he
would never have gone there, but he seems quite up to the mark now. Of
course he can never walk out, or see anything of any place. We have done
our first paper for H. W., and sent it up to the printer's.
The landlady of the little inn at Allonby lived at Greta Bridge, in
Yorkshire, when I went down there before "Nickleby," and was smuggled
into the room to see me, when I was secretly found out. She is an
immensely fat woman now. "But I could tuck my arm round her waist then,
Mr. Dickens," the landlord said when she told me the story as I was
going to bed the night before last. "And can't you do it now," I said,
"you insensible dog? Look at me! Here's a picture!" Accordingly, I got
round as much of her as I could; and this gallant action was the most
successful I have ever performed, on the whole. I think it was the
dullest little place I ever entered; and what with the monotony of an
idle sea, and what with the monotony of another sea in the room
(occasioned by Collins's perpetually holding his ankle over a pail of
salt water, and laving it with a milk jug), I struck yesterday, and came
away.
We are in a very remarkable old house here, with genuine old rooms and
an uncommonly quaint staircase. I have a state bedroom, with two
enormous red four-posters in it, each as big as Charley's room at Gad's
Hill. Bellew is to preach here to-morrow. "And we know he is a friend of
yours, sir," said the landlord, when he presided over the serving of the
dinner (two little salmon trout; a sirloin steak; a brace of partridges;
seven dishes of sweets; five dishes of dessert, led off by a bowl of
peaches; and in the centre an enormous bride-cake--"We always have it
here, sir," said the landlord, "custom of the house.") (Collins turned
pale, and estimated the dinner at half a guinea each.)
This is the stupidest of letters, but all description is gone, or going,
into "The Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices."
Kiss the darling Plorn, who is often in my thoughts. Best love to
Charley, Mamey, and Katie. I will write to you again from Doncaster,
where I shall be rejoiced to find another letter from you.
Ever affectionately, my dearest Georgy.
[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]
ANGEL HOTEL, DONCASTER, _Tuesday, Sept. 15th, 1857._
MY DEAR GEORGY,
I found your letter here on my arrival yesterday. I had hoped that the
wall would have been almost finished by this time, and the additions to
the house almost finished too--but patience, patience!
We have very good, clean, and quiet apartments here, on the second
floor, looking down into the main street, which is full of horse
jockeys, bettors, drunkards, and other blackguards, from morning to
night--and all night. The races begin to-day and last till Friday, which
is the Cup Day. I am not going to the course this morning, but have
engaged a carriage (open, and pair) for to-morrow and Friday.
"The Frozen Deep's" author gets on as well as could be expected. He can
hobble up and down stairs when absolutely necessary, and limps to his
bedroom on the same floor. He talks of going to the theatre to-night in
a cab, which will be the first occasion of his going out, except to
travel, since the accident. He sends his kind regards and thanks for
enquiries and condolence. I am perpetually tidying the rooms after him,
and carrying all sorts of untidy things which belong to him into his
bedroom, which is a picture of disorder. You will please to imagine
mine, airy and clean, little dressing-room attached, eight water-jugs (I
never saw such a supply), capital sponge-bath, perfect arrangement, and
exquisite neatness. We breakfast at half-past eight, and fall to work
for H. W. afterwards. Then I go out, and--hem! look for subjects.
The mayor called this morning to do the honours of the town, whom it
pleased the Inimitable to receive with great courtesy and affability. He
propounded invitation to public _dejeuner_, which it did _not_ please
the Inimitable to receive, and which he graciously rejected.
That's all the news. Everything I can describe by hook or by crook, I
describe for H. W. So there is nothing of that sort left for letters.
Best love to dear Mamey and Katey, and to Charley, and to Harry. Any
number of kisses to the noble Plorn.
Ever affectionately.
[Sidenote: Mr. Arthur Ryland.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, _Saturday Evening, Oct. 3rd, 1857._
MY DEAR SIR,
I have had the honour and pleasure of receiving your letter of the 28th
of last month, informing me of the distinction that has been conferred
upon me by the Council of the Birmingham and Midland Institute.
Allow me to assure you with much sincerity, that I am highly gratified
by having been elected one of the first honorary members of that
establishment. Nothing could have enhanced my interest in so important
an undertaking; but the compliment is all the more welcome to me on that
account.
I accept it with a due sense of its worth, with many acknowledgments and
with all good wishes.
I am ever, my dear Sir, very faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Yates.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Monday Night, Nov. 16th, 1857._
MY DEAR YATES,
I retain the story with pleasure; and I need not tell you that you are
not mistaken in the last lines of your note.
Excuse me, on that ground, if I say a word or two as to what I think (I
mention it with a view to the future) might be better in the paper. The
opening is excellent. But it passes too completely into the Irishman's
narrative, does not light it up with the life about it, or the
circumstances under which it is delivered, and does not carry through
it, as I think it should with a certain indefinable subtleness, the
thread with which you begin your weaving. I will tell Wills to send me
the proof, and will try to show you what I mean when I shall have gone
over it carefully.
Faithfully yours always.
[Sidenote: Mr. Frank Stone, A.R.A.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Wednesday, Dec. 13th, 1857._
MY DEAR STONE,
I find on enquiry that the "General Theatrical Fund" has relieved
non-members in one or two instances; but that it is exceedingly
unwilling to do so, and would certainly not do so again, saving on some
very strong and exceptional case. As its trustee, I could not represent
to it that I think it ought to sail into those open waters, for I very
much doubt the justice of such cruising, with a reference to the
interests of the patient people who support it out of their small
earnings.
Affectionately ever.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The part played in "The Frozen Deep" by its author, Mr. Wilkie
Collins.
[2] The Earl of Carlisle was at this time Viceroy of Ireland.
Book III.
1858 TO 1870.
1858.
NARRATIVE.
All through this year, Charles Dickens was constantly moving about from
place to place. After much and careful consideration, he had come to the
determination of, for the future, giving readings for his own benefit.
And although in the spring of this year he gave one reading of his
"Christmas Carol" for a charity, all the other readings, beginning from
the 29th April, and ever after, were for himself. In the autumn of this
year he made reading tours in England, Scotland, and Ireland, always
accompanied by his friend and secretary, Mr. Arthur Smith. At Newcastle,
Charles Dickens was joined by his daughters, who accompanied him in his
Scotch tour. The letters to his sister-in-law, and to his eldest
daughter, are all given here, and will be given in all future reading
tours, as they form a complete diary of his life and movements at these
times. To avoid the constant repetition of the two names, the beginning
of the letters will be dispensed with in all cases where they follow
each other in unbroken succession. The Mr. Frederick Lehmann mentioned
in the letter written from Sheffield, had married a daughter of Mr.
Robert Chambers, and niece of Mrs. Wills. Coming to settle in London a
short time after this date, Mr. and Mrs. Lehmann became intimately known
to Charles Dickens and his family--more especially to his eldest
daughter, to whom they have been, and are, the kindest and truest of
friends. The "pretty little boy" mentioned as being under Mrs. Wills's
care, was their eldest son.
We give the letter to Mr. Thackeray, not because it is one of very great
interest, but because, being the only one we have, we are glad to have
the two names associated together in this work.
The "little speech" alluded to in this first letter to Mr. Macready was
one made by Charles Dickens at a public dinner, which was given in aid
of the Hospital for Sick Children, in Great Ormond Street. He afterwards
(early in April) gave a reading from his "Christmas Carol" for this same
charity.
The Christmas number of "Household Words," mentioned in a letter to Mr.
Wilkie Collins, was called "A House to Let," and contained stories
written by Charles Dickens, Mr. Wilkie Collins, and other contributors
to "Household Words."
[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Sunday, Jan. 17th, 1858._
MY DEAR WILKIE,
I am very sorry to receive so bad an account of the foot. But I hope it
is all in the past tense now.
I met with an incident the other day, which I think is a good deal in
your way, for introduction either into a long or short story. Dr.
Sutherland and Dr. Monro went over St. Luke's with me (only last
Friday), to show me some distinctly and remarkably developed types of
insanity. Among other patients, we passed a deaf and dumb man, now
afflicted with incurable madness too, of whom they said that it was only
when his madness began to develop itself in strongly-marked mad actions,
that it began to be suspected. "Though it had been there, no doubt, some
time." This led me to consider, suspiciously, what employment he had
been in, and so to ask the question. "Aye," says Dr. Sutherland, "that
is the most remarkable thing of all, Mr. Dickens. He was employed in the
transmission of electric-telegraph messages; and it is impossible to
conceive what delirious despatches that man may have been sending about
all over the world!"
Rejoiced to hear such good report of the play.
Ever faithfully.
[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Yates.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Tuesday, Feb. 2nd, 1858._
MY DEAR YATES,
Your quotation is, as I supposed, all wrong. The text is _not_ "which
his 'owls was organs." When Mr. Harris went into an empty dog-kennel, to
spare his sensitive nature the anguish of overhearing Mrs. Harris's
exclamations on the occasion of the birth of her first child (the
Princess Royal of the Harris family), "he never took his hands away from
his ears, or came out once, till he was showed the baby." On
encountering that spectacle, he was (being of a weakly constitution)
"took with fits." For this distressing complaint he was medically
treated; the doctor "collared him, and laid him on his back upon the
airy stones"--please to observe what follows--"and she was told, to ease
her mind, his 'owls was organs."
That is to say, Mrs. Harris, lying exhausted on her bed, in the first
sweet relief of freedom from pain, merely covered with the counterpane,
and not yet "put comfortable," hears a noise apparently proceeding from
the back-yard, and says, in a flushed and hysterical manner: "What 'owls
are those? Who is a-'owling? Not my ugebond?" Upon which the doctor,
looking round one of the bottom posts of the bed, and taking Mrs.
Harris's pulse in a reassuring manner, says, with much admirable
presence of mind: "Howls, my dear madam?--no, no, no! What are we
thinking of? Howls, my dear Mrs. Harris? Ha, ha, ha! Organs, ma'am,
organs. Organs in the streets, Mrs. Harris; no howls."
Yours faithfully.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. M. Thackeray.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Tuesday, Feb. 2nd, 1858._
MY DEAR THACKERAY,
The wisdom of Parliament, in that expensive act of its greatness which
constitutes the Guild, prohibits that corporation _from doing anything_
until it shall have existed in a perfectly useless condition for seven
years. This clause (introduced by some private-bill magnate of official
might) seemed so ridiculous, that nobody could believe it to have this
meaning; but as I felt clear about it when we were on the very verge of
granting an excellent literary annuity, I referred the point to counsel,
and my construction was confirmed without a doubt.
It is therefore needless to enquire whether an association in the nature
of a provident society could address itself to such a case as you
confide to me. The prohibition has still two or three years of life in
it.
But, assuming the gentleman's title to be considered as an "author" as
established, there is no question that it comes within the scope of the
Literary Fund. They would habitually "lend" money if they did what I
consider to be their duty; as it is they only give money, but they give
it in such instances.
I have forwarded the envelope to the Society of Arts, with a request
that they will present it to Prince Albert, approaching H.R.H. in the
Siamese manner.
Ever faithfully.
[Sidenote: Mr. John Forster.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Wednesday Night, Feb. 3rd, 1858._
MY DEAR FORSTER,
I beg to report two phenomena:
1. An excellent little play in one act, by Marston, at the Lyceum;
title, "A Hard Struggle;" as good as "La Joie fait Peur," though not at
all like it.
2. Capital acting in the same play, by Mr. Dillon. Real good acting, in
imitation of nobody, and honestly made out by himself!!
I went (at Marston's request) last night, and cried till I sobbed again.
I have not seen a word about it from Oxenford. But it is as wholesome
and manly a thing altogether as I have seen for many a day. (I would
have given a hundred pounds to have played Mr. Dillon's part).
Love to Mrs. Forster.
Ever affectionately.
[Sidenote: Dr. Westland Marston.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Wednesday, Feb. 3rd, 1858._
MY DEAR MARSTON,
I most heartily and honestly congratulate you on your charming little
piece. It moved me more than I could easily tell you, if I were to try.
Except "La Joie fait Peur," I have seen nothing nearly so good, and
there is a subtlety in the comfortable presentation of the child who is
to become a devoted woman for Reuben's sake, which goes a long way
beyond Madame de Girardin. I am at a loss to let you know how much I
admired it last night, or how heartily I cried over it. A touching idea,
most delicately conceived and wrought out by a true artist and poet, in
a spirit of noble, manly generosity, that no one should be able to study
without great emotion.
It is extremely well acted by all concerned; but Mr. Dillon's
performance is really admirable, and deserving of the highest
commendation. It is good in these days to see an actor taking such
pains, and expressing such natural and vigorous sentiment. There is only
one thing I should have liked him to change. I am much mistaken if any
man--least of all any such man--would crush a letter written by the hand
of the woman he loved. Hold it to his heart unconsciously and look about
for it the while, he might; or he might do any other thing with it that
expressed a habit of tenderness and affection in association with the
idea of her; but he would never crush it under any circumstances. He
would as soon crush her heart.
You will see how closely I went with him, by my minding so slight an
incident in so fine a performance. There is no one who could approach
him in it; and I am bound to add that he surprised me as much as he
pleased me.
I think it might be worth while to try the people at the Francais with
the piece. They are very good in one-act plays; such plays take well
there, and this seems to me well suited to them. If you would like
Samson or Regnier to read the play (in English), I know them well, and
would be very glad indeed to tell them that I sent it with your sanction
because I had been so much struck by it.
Faithfully yours always.
[Sidenote: Monsieur Regnier.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, LONDON, W.C., _Thursday, Feb. 11th, 1858._
MY DEAR REGNIER,
I want you to read the enclosed little play. You will see that it is in
one act--about the length of "La Joie fait Pour." It is now acting at
the Lyceum Theatre here, with very great success. The author is Mr.
Westland Marston, a dramatic writer of reputation, who wrote a very
well-known tragedy called "The Patrician's Daughter," in which Macready
and Miss Faucit acted (under Macready's management at Drury Lane) some
years ago.
This little piece is so very powerful on the stage, its interest is so
simple and natural, and the part of Reuben is such a very fine one, that
I cannot help thinking you might make one grand _coup_ with it, if with
your skilful hand you arranged it for the Francais. I have communicated
this idea of mine to the author, "_et la-dessus je vous ecris_." I am
anxious to know your opinion, and shall expect with much interest to
receive a little letter from you at your convenience.
Mrs. Dickens, Miss Hogarth, and all the house send a thousand kind loves
and regards to Madame Regnier and the dear little boys. You will bring
them to London when you come, with all the force of the Francais--will
you not?
Ever, my dear Regnier, faithfully your Friend.
[Sidenote: Monsieur Regnier.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Saturday, Feb. 20th, 1858._
MY DEAR REGNIER,
Let me thank you with all my heart for your most patient and kind
letter. I made its contents known to Mr. Marston, and I enclose you his
reply. You will see that he cheerfully leaves the matter in your hands,
and abides by your opinion and discretion.
You need not return his letter, my friend. There is great excitement
here this morning, in consequence of the failure of the Ministry last
night to carry the bill they brought in to please your Emperor and his
troops. _I_, for one, am extremely glad of their defeat.
"Le vieux P----," I have no doubt, will go staggering down the Rue de la
Paix to-day, with his stick in his hand and his hat on one side,
predicting the downfall of everything, in consequence of this event. His
handwriting shakes more and more every quarter, and I think he mixes a
great deal of cognac with his ink. He always gives me some astonishing
piece of news (which is never true), or some suspicious public prophecy
(which is never verified), and he always tells me he is dying (which he
never is).
Adieu, my dear Regnier, accept a thousand thanks from me, and believe
me, now and always,
Your affectionate and faithful Friend.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _March 15th, 1858._
MY DEAREST MACREADY,
I have safely received your cheque this morning, and will hand it over
forthwith to the honorary secretary of the hospital. I hope you have
read the little speech in the hospital's publication of it. They had it
taken by their own shorthand-writer, and it is done verbatim.
You may be sure that it is a good and kind charity. It is amazing to me
that it is not at this day ten times as large and rich as it is. But I
hope and trust that I have happily been able to give it a good thrust
onward into a great course. We all send our most affectionate love to
all the house. I am devising all sorts of things in my mind, and am in a
state of energetic restlessness incomprehensible to the calm
philosophers of Dorsetshire. What a dream it is, this work and strife,
and how little we do in the dream after all! Only last night, in my
sleep, I was bent upon getting over a perspective of barriers, with my
hands and feet bound. Pretty much what we are all about, waking, I
think?
But, Lord! (as I said before) you smile pityingly, not bitterly, at this
hubbub, and moralise upon it, in the calm evenings when there is no
school at Sherborne.
Ever affectionately and truly.
[Sidenote: Mrs Hogge.[3]]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,
_Wednesday, April 14th, 1858._
MY DEAR MRS. HOGGE,
After the profoundest cogitation, I come reluctantly to the conclusion
that I do not know that orphan. If you were the lady in want of him, I
should certainly offer _myself_. But as you are not, I will not hear of
the situation.
It is wonderful to think how many charming little people there must be,
to whom this proposal would be like a revelation from Heaven. Why don't
I know one, and come to Kensington, boy in hand, as if I had walked (I
wish to God I had) out of a fairy tale! But no, I do _not_ know that
orphan. He is crying somewhere, by himself, at this moment. I can't dry
his eyes. He is being neglected by some ogress of a nurse. I can't
rescue him.
I will make a point of going to the Athenaeum on Monday night; and if I
had five hundred votes to give, Mr. Macdonald should have them all, for
your sake.
I grieve to hear that you have been ill, but I hope that the spring,
when it comes, will find you blooming with the rest of the flowers.
Very faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Yates.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,
_Wednesday, April 28th, 1858._
MY DEAR YATES,
For a good many years I have suffered a great deal from charities, but
never anything like what I suffer now. The amount of correspondence they
inflict upon me is really incredible. But this is nothing. Benevolent
men get behind the piers of the gates, lying in wait for my going out;
and when I peep shrinkingly from my study-windows, I see their
pot-bellied shadows projected on the gravel. Benevolent bullies drive up
in hansom cabs (with engraved portraits of their benevolent institutions
hanging over the aprons, like banners on their outward walls), and stay
long at the door. Benevolent area-sneaks get lost in the kitchens and
are found to impede the circulation of the knife-cleaning machine. My
man has been heard to say (at The Burton Arms) "that if it was a
wicious place, well and good--_that_ an't door work; but that wen all
the Christian wirtues is always a-shoulderin' and a-helberin' on you in
the 'all, a-tryin' to git past you and cut upstairs into master's room,
why no wages as you couldn't name wouldn't make it up to you."
Persecuted ever.
[Sidenote: Mrs Yates.]
(THE CHARMING ACTRESS, THE MOTHER OF MR. EDMUND YATES.)
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, W.C.,
_Saturday Evening, May 15th, 1858._
MY DEAR MRS. YATES,
Pray believe that I was sorry with all my heart to miss you last
Thursday, and to learn the occasion of your absence; also that, whenever
you can come, your presence will give me a new interest in that evening.
No one alive can have more delightful associations with the lightest
sound of your voice than I have; and to give you a minute's interest and
pleasure, in acknowledgment of the uncountable hours of happiness you
gave me when you were a mysterious angel to me, would honestly gratify
my heart.
Very faithfully and gratefully yours.
[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]
GAD'S HILL, _Wednesday, July 7th, 1858._
MY DEAR CERJAT,
I should vainly try to tell you--so I _won't_ try--how affected I have
been by your warm-hearted letter, or how thoroughly well convinced I
always am of the truth and earnestness of your friendship. I thank you,
my dear, dear fellow, with my whole soul. I fervently return that
friendship and I highly cherish it.
You want to know all about me? I am still reading in London every
Thursday, and the audiences are very great, and the success immense. On
the 2nd of August I am going away on a tour of some four months in
England, Ireland, and Scotland. I shall read, during that time, not
fewer than four or five times a week. It will be sharp work; but
probably a certain musical clinking will come of it, which will mitigate
the hardship.