Place for Liverpool, I received a letter from Glasgow, saying, "Your
little Emily has been woo'd and married and a'! since you last saw her;"
and describing her house within a mile or two of the city, and asking
me to stay there. I wrote the usual refusal, and supposed Mrs. ---- to
be some romantic girl whom I had joked with, perhaps at Allison's or
where not. On the first night at Glasgow I received a bouquet from ----,
and wore one of the flowers. This morning at the Glasgow station, ----
appeared, and proved to be the identical Miss Emily, of whose marriage
Dolby had told me on our coming through Preston. She was attired in
magnificent raiment, and presented the happy ----.
[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]
LIVERPOOL, _Thursday, April 26th, 1866._
We noticed between London and Rugby (the first stoppage) something very
odd in our carriage yesterday, not so much in its motion as in its
sound. We examined it as well as we could out of both windows, but could
make nothing of it. On our arrival at Rugby, it was found to be on fire.
And as it was in the middle of the train, the train had to be broken to
get it off into a siding by itself and get another carriage on. With
this slight exception we came down all right.
My voice is much better, I am glad to report, and I mean to try Beard's
remedy after dinner to-day. This is all my present news.
[Sidenote: The same.]
DOWN HOTEL, CLIFTON, _Friday, May 11th, 1866._
I received your note before I left Birmingham this morning. It has been
very heavy work getting up at half-past six each morning after a heavy
night, and I am not at all well to-day. We had a tremendous hall at
Birmingham last night--two thousand one hundred people. I made a most
ridiculous mistake. Had "Nickleby" on my list to finish with, instead of
"Trial." Read "Nickleby" with great go, and the people remained. Went
back again at ten and explained the accident, and said if they liked, I
would give them the "Trial." They _did_ like, and I had another
half-hour of it in that enormous place.
This stoppage of Overend and Gurney in the City will play the ---- with
all public gaieties, and with all the arts.
My cold is no better. John fell off a platform about ten feet high
yesterday, and fainted. He looks all the colours of the rainbow to-day,
but does not seem much hurt beyond being puffed up one hand, arm, and
side.
[Sidenote: Miss Lily Benzon.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Monday, June 18th, 1866._
MY DEAR LILY,
I am sorry that I cannot come to read to you "The Boots at the Holly
Tree Inn," as you ask me to do; but the truth is, that I am tired of
reading at this present time, and have come into the country to rest and
hear the birds sing. There are a good many birds, I daresay, in
Kensington Palace Gardens, and upon my word and honour they are much
better worth listening to than I am. So let them sing to you as hard as
ever they can, while their sweet voices last (they will be silent when
the winter comes); and very likely after you and I have eaten our next
Christmas pudding and mince-pies, you and I and Uncle Harry may all meet
together at St. James's Hall; Uncle Harry to bring you there, to hear
the "Boots;" I to receive you there, and read the "Boots;" and you (I
hope) to applaud very much, and tell me that you like the "Boots." So,
God bless you and me, and Uncle Harry, and the "Boots," and long life
and happiness to us all!
Your affectionate Friend.
P.S.--There's a flourish!
[Sidenote: Mr. B. W. Procter.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Monday, Aug. 13th, 1866._
MY DEAR PROCTER,
I have read your biography of Charles Lamb with inexpressible pleasure
and interest. I do not think it possible to tell a pathetic story with a
more unaffected and manly tenderness. And as to the force and vigour of
the style, if I did not know you I should have made sure that there was
a printer's error in the opening of your introduction, and that the word
"seventy" occupied the place of "forty."
Let me, my dear friend, most heartily congratulate you on your
achievement. It is not an ordinary triumph to do such justice to the
memory of such a man. And I venture to add, that the fresh spirit with
which you have done it impresses me as being perfectly wonderful.
Ever affectionately yours.
[Sidenote: Sir James Emerson Tennent.]
GAD'S HILL, _Monday, Aug. 20th, 1866._
MY DEAR TENNENT,
I have been very much interested by your extract, and am strongly
inclined to believe that the founder of the Refuge for Poor Travellers
meant the kind of man to which it refers. Chaucer certainly meant the
Pardonere to be a humbug, living on the credulity of the people. After
describing the sham reliques he carried, he says:
But with these relikes whawne that he found
A poure personne dwelling up on lond
Upon a day he gat him more monnie
Than that the personne got in monthes time,
And thus, with fained flattering and japes
He made the personne, and the people, his apes.
And the worthy Watts (founder of the charity) may have had these very
lines in his mind when he excluded such a man.
When I last heard from my boy he was coming to you, and was full of
delight and dignity. My midshipman has just been appointed to the
_Bristol_, on the West Coast of Africa, and is on his voyage out to join
her. I wish it was another ship and another station. She has been
unlucky in losing men.
Kindest regard from all my house to yours.
Faithfully yours ever.
[Sidenote: M. Charles Fechter.]
GAD'S HILL, _Tuesday, Sept. 4th, 1866._
MY DEAR FECHTER,
This morning I received the play to the end of the telegraph scene, and
I have since read it twice.
I clearly see the _ground_ of Mr. Boucicault's two objections; but I do
not see their _force_.
First, as to the writing. If the characters did not speak in a terse and
homely way, their idea and language would be inconsistent with their
dress and station, and they would lose, as characters, before the
audience. The dialogue seems to be exactly what is wanted. Its
simplicity (particularly in Mr. Boucicault's part) is often very
effective; and throughout there is an honest, straight-to-the-purpose
ruggedness in it, like the real life and the real people.
Secondly, as to the absence of the comic element. I really do not see
how more of it could be got into the story, and I think Mr. Boucicault
underrates the pleasant effect of his own part. The very notion of a
sailor, whose life is not among those little courts and streets, and
whose business does not lie with the monotonous machinery, but with the
four wild winds, is a relief to me in reading the play. I am quite
confident of its being an immense relief to the audience when they see
the sailor before them, with an entirely different bearing, action,
dress, complexion even, from the rest of the men. I would make him the
freshest and airiest sailor that ever was seen; and through him I can
distinctly see my way out of "the Black Country" into clearer air. (I
speak as one of the audience, mind.) I should like something of this
contrast to be expressed in the dialogue between the sailor and Jew, in
the second scene of the second act. Again, I feel Widdicomb's part
(which is charming, and ought to make the whole house cry) most
agreeable and welcome, much better than any amount in such a story, of
mere comicality.
It is unnecessary to say that the play is done with a master's hand. Its
closeness and movement are quite surprising. Its construction is
admirable. I have the strongest belief in its making a great success.
But I must add this proviso: I never saw a play so dangerously depending
in critical places on strict natural propriety in the manner and
perfection in the shaping of the small parts. Those small parts cannot
take the play up, but they can let it down. I would not leave a hair on
the head of one of them to the chance of the first night, but I would
see, to the minutest particular, the make-up of every one of them at a
night rehearsal.
Of course you are free to show this note to Mr. Boucicault, and I
suppose you will do so; let me throw out this suggestion to him and you.
Might it not ease the way with the Lord Chamberlain's office, and still
more with the audience, when there are Manchester champions in it, if
instead of "Manchester" you used a fictitious name? When I did "Hard
Times" I called the scene Coketown. Everybody knew what was meant, but
every cotton-spinning town said it was the other cotton-spinning town.
I shall be up on Saturday, and will come over about mid-day, unless you
name any other time.
Ever heartily.
[Sidenote: Mr. Walter Thornbury]
"ALL THE YEAR ROUND" OFFICE, _Saturday, Sept. 15th, 1866._
MY DEAR THORNBURY,
Many thanks for your letter.
In reference to your Shakespeare queries, I am not so much enamoured of
the first and third subjects as I am of the Ariosto enquiry, which
should be highly interesting. But if you have so got the matter in your
mind, as that its execution would be incomplete and unsatisfactory to
you unless you write all the three papers, then by all means write the
three, and I will most gladly take them. For some years I have had so
much pleasure in reading you, that I can honestly warrant myself as what
actors call "a good audience."
The idea of old stories retold is decidedly a good one. I greatly like
the notion of that series. Of course you know De Quincey's paper on the
Ratcliffe Highway murderer? Do you know also the illustration (I have it
at Gad's Hill), representing the horrible creature as his dead body lay
on a cart, with a piece of wood for a pillow, and a stake lying by,
ready to be driven through him?
I don't _quite_ like the title, "The Social History of London." I should
better like some title to the effect, "The History of London's Social
Changes in so many Years." Such a title would promise more, and better
express your intention. What do you think of taking for a first title,
"London's Changes"? You could then add the second title, "Being a
History," etc.
I don't at all desire to fix a limit to the series of old stories
retold. I would state the general intention at the beginning of the
first paper, and go on like Banquo's line.
Don't let your London title remind people, by so much as the place of
the word "civilisation," of Buckle. It seems a ridiculous caution, but
the indolent part of the public (a large part!) on such points tumble
into extraordinary mistakes.
Faithfully yours always.
[Sidenote: Mr. Percy Fitzgerald.]
GAD'S HILL, _Tuesday, Nov. 6th, 1866._
MY DEAR FITZGERALD,
It is always pleasant to me to hear from you, and I hope you will
believe that this is not a mere fashion of speech.
Concerning the green covers, I find the leaves to be budding--on
unquestionable newspaper authority; but, upon my soul, I have no other
knowledge of their being in embryo! Really, I do not see a chance of my
settling myself to such work until after I have accomplished forty-two
readings, to which I stand pledged.
I hope to begin this series somewhere about the middle of January, in
Dublin. Touching the details of the realisation of this hope, will you
tell me in a line as soon as you can--_Is the exhibition room a good
room for speaking in?_
Your mention of the late Sultan touches me nearly. He was the finest dog
I ever saw, and between him and me there was a perfect understanding.
But, to adopt the popular phrase, it was so very confidential that it
"went no further." He would fly at anybody else with the greatest
enthusiasm for destruction. I saw him, muzzled, pound into the heart of
a regiment of the line; and I have frequently seen him, muzzled, hold a
great dog down with his chest and feet. He has broken loose (muzzled)
and come home covered with blood, again and again. And yet he never
disobeyed me, unless he had first laid hold of a dog.
You heard of his going to execution, evidently supposing the procession
to be a party detached in pursuit of something to kill or eat? It was
very affecting. And also of his bolting a blue-eyed kitten, and making
me acquainted with the circumstance by his agonies of remorse (or
indigestion)?
I cannot find out that there is anyone in Rochester (a sleepy old city)
who has anything to tell about Garrick, except what is not true. His
brother, the wine merchant, would be more in Rochester way, I think. How
on earth do you find time to do all these books?
You make my hair stand on end; an agreeable sensation, for I am charmed
to find that I have any. Why don't you come yourself and look after
Garrick? I should be truly delighted to receive you.
My dear Fitzgerald, always faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Friday, Dec. 28th, 1866._
MY DEAREST MACREADY,
I have received your letter with the utmost pleasure and we all send our
most affectionate love to you, Mrs. Macready, Katie, Johnny, and the boy
of boys. All good Christmas and New Year greetings are to be understood
as included.
You will be interested in knowing that, encouraged by the success of
summer cricket-matches, I got up a quantity of foot-races and rustic
sports in my field here on the 26th last past: as I have never yet had a
case of drunkenness, the landlord of The Falstaff had a drinking-booth
on the ground. All the prizes I gave were in money, too. We had two
thousand people here. Among the crowd were soldiers, navvies, and
labourers of all kinds. Not a stake was pulled up, or a rope slackened,
or one farthing's-worth of damage done. To every competitor (only) a
printed bill of general rules was given, with the concluding words: "Mr.
Dickens puts every man upon his honour to assist in preserving order."
There was not a dispute all day, and they went away at sunset rending
the air with cheers, and leaving every flag on a six hundred yards'
course as neat as they found it when the gates were opened at ten in the
morning. Surely this is a bright sign in the neighbourhood of such a
place as Chatham!
"Mugby Junction" turned, yesterday afternoon, the extraordinary number
of two hundred and fifty thousand!
In the middle of next month I begin a new course of forty-two readings.
If any of them bring me within reach of Cheltenham, with an hour to
spare, I shall come on to you, even for that hour. More of this when I
am afield and have my list, which Dolby (for Chappell) is now
preparing.
Forster and Mrs. Forster were to have come to us next Monday, to stay
until Saturday. I write "were," because I hear that Forster (who had a
touch of bronchitis when he wrote to me on Christmas Eve) is in bed.
Katie, who has been ill of low nervous fever, was brought here yesterday
from London. She bore the journey much better than I expected, and so I
hope will soon recover. This is my little stock of news.
I begin to discover in your riper years, that you have been secretly
vain of your handwriting all your life. For I swear I see no change in
it! What it always was since I first knew it (a year or two!) it _is_.
This I will maintain against all comers.
Ever affectionately, my dearest Macready.
1867.
NARRATIVE.
As the London and provincial readings were to be resumed early in the
year and continued until the end of March, Charles Dickens took no house
in London this spring. He came to his office quarters at intervals, for
the series in town; usually starting off again, on his country tour, the
day after a London reading. From some passages in his letters to his
daughter and sister-in-law during this country course, it will be seen
that (though he made very light of the fact) the great exertion of the
readings, combined with incessant railway travelling, was beginning to
tell upon his health, and he was frequently "heavily beaten" after
reading at his best to an enthusiastic audience in a large hall.
During the short intervals between his journeys, he was as constantly
and carefully at work upon the business of "All the Year Round" as if he
had no other work on hand. A proof of this is given in a letter dated
"5th February." It is written to a young man (the son of a friend), who
wrote a long novel when far too juvenile for such a task, and had
submitted it to Charles Dickens for his opinion, with a view to
publication. In the midst of his own hard and engrossing occupation he
read the book, and the letter which he wrote on the subject needs no
remark beyond this, that the young writer received the adverse criticism
with the best possible sense, and has since, in his literary profession,
profited by the advice so kindly given.
At this time the proposals to Charles Dickens for reading in America,
which had been perpetually renewed from the time of his first abandoning
the idea, became so urgent and so tempting, that he found at last he
must, at all events, give the subject his most serious consideration. He
took counsel with his two most confidential friends and advisers, Mr.
John Forster and Mr. W. H. Wills. They were both, at first, strongly
opposed to the undertaking, chiefly on the ground of the trial to his
health and strength which it would involve. But they could not deny the
counterbalancing advantages. And, after much deliberation, it was
resolved that Mr. George Dolby should be sent out by the Messrs.
Chappell, to take an impression, on the spot, as to the feeling of the
United States about the Readings. His report as to the undoubted
enthusiasm and urgency on the other side of the Atlantic it was
impossible to resist. Even his friends withdrew their opposition (though
still with misgivings as to the effect upon his health, which were but
too well founded!), and on the 30th September he telegraphed "Yes" to
America.
The "Alfred" alluded to in a letter from Glasgow was Charles Dickens's
fourth son, Alfred Tennyson, who had gone to Australia two years
previously.
We give, in April, the last letter to one of the friends for whom
Charles Dickens had always a most tender love--Mr. Stanfield. He was
then in failing health, and in May he died.
Another death which affected him very deeply happened this summer. Miss
Marguerite Power died in July. She had long been very ill, but, until it
became impossible for her to travel, she was a frequent and beloved
guest at Gad's Hill. The Mrs. Henderson to whom he writes was Miss
Power's youngest sister.
Before he started for America it was proposed to wish him God-speed by
giving him a public dinner at the Freemasons' Hall. The proposal was
most warmly and fully responded to. His zealous friend, Mr. Charles
Kent, willingly undertook the whole work of arrangement of this banquet.
It took place on the 2nd November, and Lord Lytton presided.
On the 8th he left London for Liverpool, accompanied by his daughters,
his sister-in-law, his eldest son, Mr. Arthur Chappell, Mr. Charles
Collins, Mr. Wilkie Collins, Mr. Kent, and Mr. Wills. The next morning
the whole party took a final leave of Charles Dickens on board the
_Cuba_, which sailed that day.
We give a letter which he wrote to Mr. J. L. Toole on the morning of the
dinner, thanking him for a parting gift and an earnest letter. That
excellent comedian was one of his most appreciative admirers, and, in
return, he had for Mr. Toole the greatest admiration and respect.
The Christmas number for this year, "No Thoroughfare," was written by
Charles Dickens and Mr. Wilkie Collins. It was dramatised by Mr. Collins
chiefly. But, in the midst of all the work of preparation for departure,
Charles Dickens gave minute attention to as much of the play as could be
completed before he left England. It was produced, after Christmas, at
the Adelphi Theatre, where M. Fechter was then acting, under the
management of Mr. Benjamin Webster.
[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_New Year's Day, 1867._
MY DEAR CERJAT,
Thoroughly determined to be beforehand with "the middle of next summer,"
your penitent friend and remorseful correspondent thus addresses you.
The big dog, on a day last autumn, having seized a little girl (sister
to one of the servants) whom he knew, and was bound to respect, was
flogged by his master, and then sentenced to be shot at seven next
morning. He went out very cheerfully with the half-dozen men told off
for the purpose, evidently thinking that they were going to be the death
of somebody unknown. But observing in the procession an empty
wheelbarrow and a double-barrelled gun, he became meditative, and fixed
the bearer of the gun with his eyes. A stone deftly thrown across him by
the village blackguard (chief mourner) caused him to look round for an
instant, and he then fell dead, shot through the heart. Two posthumous
children are at this moment rolling on the lawn; one will evidently
inherit his ferocity, and will probably inherit the gun. The pheasant
was a little ailing towards Christmas Day, and was found dead under some
ivy in his cage, with his head under his wing, on the morning of the
twenty-seventh of December, one thousand eight hundred and sixty-six. I,
proprietor of the remains of the two deceased, am working hard, getting
up "Barbox" and "The Boy at Mugby," with which I begin a new series of
readings in London on the fifteenth. Next morning I believe I start into
the country. When I read, I _don't_ write. I only edit, and have the
proof-sheets sent me for the purpose. Here are your questions answered.
As to the Reform question, it should have been, and could have been,
perfectly known to any honest man in England that the more intelligent
part of the great masses were deeply dissatisfied with the state of
representation, but were in a very moderate and patient condition,
awaiting the better intellectual cultivation of numbers of their
fellows. The old insolent resource of assailing them and making the most
audaciously wicked statements that they are politically indifferent,
has borne the inevitable fruit. The perpetual taunt, "Where are they?"
has called them out with the answer: "Well then, if you _must_ know,
here we are." The intolerable injustice of vituperating the bribed to an
assembly of bribers, has goaded their sense of justice beyond endurance.
And now, what they would have taken they won't take, and whatever they
are steadily bent upon having they will get. Rely upon it, this is the
real state of the case. As to your friend "Punch," you will find him
begin to turn at the very selfsame instant when the new game shall
manifestly become the losing one. You may notice his shoes pinching him
a little already.
My dear fellow, I have no more power to stop that mutilation of my books
than you have. It is as certain as that every inventor of anything
designed for the public good, and offered to the English Government,
becomes _ipso facto_ a criminal, to have his heart broken on the
circumlocutional wheel. It is as certain as that the whole Crimean story
will be retold, whenever this country again goes to war. And to tell the
truth, I have such a very small opinion of what the great genteel have
done for us, that I am very philosophical indeed concerning what the
great vulgar may do, having a decided opinion that they can't do worse.
This is the time of year when the theatres do best, there being still
numbers of people who make it a sort of religion to see Christmas
pantomimes. Having my annual houseful, I have, as yet, seen nothing.
Fechter has neither pantomime nor burlesque, but is doing a new version
of the old "Trente Ans de la Vie d'un Joueur." I am afraid he will not
find his account in it. On the whole, the theatres, except in the
articles of scenery and pictorial effect, are poor enough. But in some
of the smaller houses there are actors who, if there were any dramatic
head-quarters as a school, might become very good. The most hopeless
feature is, that they have the smallest possible idea of an effective
and harmonious whole, each "going in" for himself or herself. The
music-halls attract an immense public, and don't refine the general
taste. But such things as they do are well done of their kind, and
always briskly and punctually.
The American yacht race is the last sensation. I hope the general
interest felt in it on this side will have a wholesome interest on that.
It will be a woeful day when John and Jonathan throw their caps into the
ring. The French Emperor is indubitably in a dangerous state. His
Parisian popularity wanes, and his army are discontented with him. I
hear on high authority that his secret police are always making
discoveries that render him desperately uneasy.
You know how we have been swindling in these parts. But perhaps you
don't know that Mr. ----, the "eminent" contractor, before he fell into
difficulties settled _one million of money_ on his wife. Such a good and
devoted husband!