AGAIN AT BROADSTAIRS.
1841.
Peel and his Party--Getting very
Radical--Thoughts of colonizing--Political
Squib by C. D.--Fine Old English Tory
Times--Mesmerism--Metropolitan Prisons--Book by
a Workman--An August Day by the Sea--Another
Story in Prospect--_Clock_ Discontents--New
Adventure--Agreement for it signed--The Book
that proved to be _Chuzzlewit_--Peel and Lord
Ashley--Visions of America.
SOON after his return, at the opening of August, he went to Broadstairs;
and the direction in which that last question shows his thoughts to have
been busy was that to which he turned his first holiday leisure. He sent
me some rhymed squibs as his anonymous contribution to the fight the
Liberals were then making against what was believed to be intended by
the return to office of the Tories; ignorant as we were how much wiser
than his party the statesman then at the head of it was, or how greatly
what we all most desired would be advanced by the very success that had
been most disheartening. There will be no harm now in giving one of
these pieces, which will sufficiently show the tone of all of them, and
with what a hearty relish they were written. I doubt indeed if he ever
enjoyed anything more than the power of thus taking part occasionally,
unknown to outsiders, in the sharp conflict the press was waging at the
time. "By Jove, how radical I am getting!" he wrote to me (13th August).
"I wax stronger and stronger in the true principles every day. I don't
know whether it's the sea, or no, but so it is." He would at times even
talk, in moments of sudden indignation at the political outlook, of
carrying off himself and his household gods, like Coriolanus, to a world
elsewhere! "Thank God there is a Van Diemen's Land. That's my comfort.
Now, I wonder if I should make a good settler! I wonder, if I went to a
new colony with my head, hands, legs, and health, I should force myself
to the top of the social milk-pot and live upon the cream! What do you
think? Upon my word, I believe I should."
His political squibs during the Tory interregnum comprised some capital
subjects for pictures after the manner of Peter Pindar; but that which I
select has no touch of personal satire in it, and he would himself, for
that reason, have least objected to its revival. Thus ran his new
version of "The Fine Old English Gentleman, to be said or sung at all
conservative dinners:"
I'll sing you a new ballad, and I'll warrant it first-rate,
Of the days of that old gentleman who had that old estate;
When they spent the public money at a bountiful old rate
On ev'ry mistress, pimp, and scamp, at ev'ry noble gate.
In the fine old English Tory times;
Soon may they come again!
The good old laws were garnished well with gibbets, whips, and chains,
With fine old English penalties, and fine old English pains,
With rebel heads and seas of blood once hot in rebel veins;
For all these things were requisite to guard the rich old gains
Of the fine old English Tory times;
Soon may they come again!
This brave old code, like Argus, had a hundred watchful eyes,
And ev'ry English peasant had his good old English spies,
To tempt his starving discontent with fine old English lies,
Then call the good old Yeomanry to stop his peevish cries,
In the fine old English Tory times;
Soon may they come again!
The good old times for cutting throats that cried out in their need,
The good old times for hunting men who held their fathers' creed,
The good old times when William Pitt, as all good men agreed,
Came down direct from Paradise at more than railroad speed. . . .
Oh, the fine old English Tory times;
When will they come again?
In those rare days, the press was seldom known to snarl or bark,
But sweetly sang of men in pow'r, like any tuneful lark;
Grave judges, too, to all their evil deeds were in the dark;
And not a man in twenty score knew how to make his mark.
Oh, the fine old English Tory times;
Soon may they come again! . . .
But tolerance, though slow in flight, is strong-wing'd in the main;
That night must come on these fine days, in course of time was plain;
The pure old spirit struggled, but its struggles were in vain;
A nation's grip was on it, and it died in choking pain,
With the fine old English Tory days,
All of the olden time.
The bright old day now dawns again; the cry runs through the land,
In England there shall be--dear bread! in Ireland--sword and brand!
And poverty, and ignorance, shall swell the rich and grand,
So, rally round the rulers with the gentle iron hand
Of the fine old English Tory days;
Hail to the coming time!
Of matters in which he had been specially interested before he quitted
London, one or two may properly be named. He had always sympathized,
almost as strongly as Archbishop Whately did, with Dr. Elliotson's
mesmeric investigations; and, reinforced as these were in the present
year by the displays of a Belgian youth whom another friend, Mr. Chauncy
Hare Townshend, brought over to England, the subject, which to the last
had an attraction for him, was for the time rather ardently followed up.
The improvement during the last few years in the London prisons was
another matter of eager and pleased inquiry with him; and he took
frequent means of stating what in this respect had been done, since even
the date when his _Sketches_ were written, by two most efficient public
officers at Clerkenwell and Tothill Fields, Mr. Chesterton and
Lieutenant Tracey, whom the course of these inquiries turned into
private friends. His last letter to me before he quitted town
sufficiently explains itself. "Slow rises worth by poverty deprest" was
the thought in his mind at every part of his career, and he never for a
moment was unmindful of the duty it imposed upon him: "I subscribed for
a couple of copies" (31st July) "of this little book. I knew nothing of
the man, but he wrote me a very modest letter of two lines, some weeks
ago. I have been much affected by the little biography at the beginning,
and I thought you would like to share the emotion it had raised in me. I
wish we were all in Eden again--for the sake of these toiling
creatures."
In the middle of August (Monday, 16th) I had announcement that he was
coming up for special purposes: "I sit down to write to you without an
atom of news to communicate. Yes, I have,--something that will surprise
you, who are pent up in dark and dismal Lincoln's Inn Fields. It is the
brightest day you ever saw. The sun is sparkling on the water so that I
can hardly bear to look at it. The tide is in, and the fishing-boats
are dancing like mad. Upon the green-topped cliffs the corn is cut and
piled in shocks; and thousands of butterflies are fluttering about,
taking the bright little red flags at the mast-heads for flowers, and
panting with delight accordingly. [Here the Inimitable, unable to resist
the brilliancy out of doors, breaketh off, rusheth to the machines, and
plungeth into the sea. Returning, he proceedeth:] Jeffrey is just as he
was when he wrote the letter I sent you. No better, and no worse. I had
a letter from Napier on Saturday, urging the children's-labor subject
upon me. But, as I hear from Southwood Smith that the report cannot be
printed until the new Parliament has sat at the least six weeks, it will
be impossible to produce it before the January number. I shall be in
town on Saturday morning and go straight to you. A letter has come from
little Hall begging that when I _do_ come to town I will dine there, as
they wish to talk about the new story. I have written to say that I will
do so on Saturday, and we will go together; but I shall be by no means
good company. . . . I have more than half a mind to start a bookseller of
my own. I could; with good capital too, as you know; and ready to spend
it. _G. Varden beware!_"
Small causes of displeasure had been growing out of the _Clock_, and
were almost unavoidably incident to the position in which he found
himself respecting it. Its discontinuance had become necessary, the
strain upon himself being too great without the help from others which
experience had shown to be impracticable; but I thought he had not met
the difficulty wisely by undertaking, which already he had done, to
begin a new story so early as the following March. On his arrival,
therefore, we decided on another plan, with which we went armed that
Saturday afternoon to his publishers, and of which the result will be
best told by himself. He had returned to Broadstairs the following
morning, and next day (Monday, the 23d of August) he wrote to me in very
enthusiastic terms of the share I had taken in what he calls "the
development on Saturday afternoon; when I thought Chapman very manly and
sensible, Hall morally and physically feeble though perfectly well
intentioned, and both the statement and reception of the project quite
triumphant. Didn't you think so too?" A fortnight later, Tuesday, the
7th of September, the agreement was signed in my chambers, and its terms
were to the effect following. The _Clock_ was to cease with the close of
_Barnaby Rudge_, the respective ownerships continuing as provided; and
the new work in twenty numbers, similar to those of _Pickwick_ and
_Nickleby_, was not to begin until after an interval of twelve months,
in November, 1842. During its publication he was to receive two hundred
pounds monthly, to be accounted as part of the expenses; for all which,
and all risks incident, the publishers made themselves responsible,
under conditions the same as in the _Clock_ agreement; except that out
of the profits of each number they were to have only a fourth,
three-fourths going to him, and this arrangement was to hold good until
the termination of six months from the completed book, when, upon
payment to him of a fourth of the value of all existing stock, they were
to have half the future interest. During the twelve months' interval
before the book began, he was to be paid one hundred and fifty pounds
each month; but this was to be drawn from his three-fourths of the
profits, and in no way to interfere with the monthly payments of two
hundred pounds while the publication was going on.[41] Such was the
"project," excepting only a provision to be mentioned hereafter against
the improbable event of the profits being inadequate to the repayment;
and my only drawback from the satisfaction of my own share in it arose
from my fear of the use he was likely to make of the leisure it afforded
him.
That this fear was not ill founded appeared at the close of the next
note I had from him: "There's no news" (13th September) "since my last.
We are going to dine with Rogers to-day, and with Lady Essex, who is
also here. Rogers is much pleased with Lord Ashley, who was offered by
Peel a post in the government, but resolutely refused to take office
unless Peel pledged himself to factory-improvement. Peel 'hadn't made up
his mind,' and Lord Ashley was deaf to all other inducements, though
they must have been very tempting. Much do I honor him for it. I am in
an exquisitely lazy state, bathing, walking, reading, lying in the sun,
doing everything but working. This frame of mind is superinduced by the
prospect of rest, and the promising arrangements which I owe to you. I
am still haunted by visions of America night and day. To miss this
opportunity would be a sad thing. Kate cries dismally if I mention the
subject. But, God willing, I think it _must_ be managed somehow!"
FOOTNOTES:
[41] "M. was quite aghast last night (9th of September) at the
brilliancy of the C. & H. arrangement: which is worth noting perhaps."