_Imitations_: "Pickwick Abroad," by G. W. Reynolds; "Pickwick in
America," the "Penny Pickwick," the "Queerfish Chronicles," the "Cadger
Club," and many more.
In the way of _Commentaries_: The "History of Pickwick," "Origin of Sam
Weller": Sir F. Lockwood's "The Law and Lawyers of Pickwick"; Kent's
"Humour and Pathos of Charles Dickens"; accounts from "Forster's Life"
and from the "Letters," "Controversy with Seymour" (Mrs. Seymour's rare
pamphlet is not procurable), "Dickensiana," by F. Kitton;
"Bibliographies" by Herne Shepherd, Cook and also by Kitton.
_Criticisms_: The _Quarterly Review_, the _Westminster Review_, _Fraser's
Magazine_, Taine's estimate, "L'inimitable Boz" by Comte de Heussey, with
many more.
_Topographical_: Hughes' "Tramp in Dickens-Land," "In Kent with Charles
Dickens," by Frost; "Bozland," by Percy Fitzgerald; "The Childhood and
Youth of C. Dickens," by Langton; "Dickens's London," by Allbutt; "About
England with Dickens," by Rimmer; Papers in American and English
Magazines; "A Pickwickian Pilgrimage," by Hassard; "Old Rochester," and
others.
_Commentaries on the Illustrations_: Here is a regular department--Account
of "Phiz," by Kitton; "Life of Hablot K. Browne," by Croal Thomson; "Life
of G. Cruikshank," Mr. Dexter's book, and another by Charles P. Johnson.
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 edition); 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."
The 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' or
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; select passages were chosen which were
calculated to take about twenty minutes each. When he arrived on the
morning fixed for the first attempt, he found his friend at his post with
quite a crowd gathered round him, in convulsions of laughter. The "poor
blind" was reading, or feeling out, old Mr. Weller's ejectment of the red-
nosed man. The hat was overflowing with coppers and even silver. So
things went on prospering for a while. "Pickwick" was a magnificent
success, and the blind man was never without a crowd round him of some
fifteen to fifty persons. But the other blind readers found the demand
for the sacred text vanishing; and people would unfeelingly interrupt
them to inquire the way to the "Pickwick man." Eventually the police
began to interfere, and required him to "move on;" "he was obstructing
the pavement"--not, perhaps, he, but "Pickwick." He _did_ move on to
Hyde Park, but there were others there, performers young and up-to-date,
and with full use of their eyes, who did the same thing with action and
elocution. So he fairly gave the thing up, and returned to his
Scriptures. This tale would have amused "Boz" himself.
Of a more miscellaneous kind are "The Pickwick Songster," "Sam Weller's
Almanac," "Sam Weller's Song Book," "The Pickwick Pen," "Oh, what a boon
and a blessing to men," etc.,--to say nothing of innumerable careless
sheets, and trifles of all kinds and of every degree. Then we have
adapted advertisements. The Proprietors of Beecham's Pills use the scene
of Mr. Pickwick's discovery of the Bill Stumps inscription. Some carpet
cleaners have Sam and the pretty housemaid folding the carpet. Lastly
comes the author, "Boz" himself, with letters, portraits, pictures of his
homes, etc., all more or less connected with the period when he was
writing this book, a facsimile of his receipt for copy money, a copy of
his agreement with Chapman and Hall, and many more items. {47}
I have often wondered how it was that "the inimitable Boz," took so
little interest in his great Book. It always seemed to me that 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 tumult 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. Jingle'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 of dogs are certainly
extraordinary enough to have invoked Boz's ridicule. We are told of the
French poodle, who after rolling himself in the mud of the Seine, would
rub himself against any well-polished boots that he noticed, and would
thus bring custom to his master, who was a shoe black on the _Pont Neuf_.
He was taken to London by an English purchaser, but in a few days
disappeared, and was discovered pursuing his old trade on the Bridge.
Other dogs, we were told, after being transported long distances, would
invariably find their way back. These prodigies, however, do not appear
so wonderful now, after the strange things about dogs and cats that have
been retailed in a well-known "weekly." A third allusion is to Sterne's
_Maria of Moulines_, made, of all people in the world, by Sam Weller.
"BOZ" AND "BOZZY."
It may seem somewhat far-fetched to put "Pickwick" beside Boswell's also
immortal work, but I think really the comparison is not a fanciful one.
No one enjoyed the book so much as "Boz." He knew it thoroughly. Indeed,
it is fitting that "Boz" should relish "Bozzy;" for "Bozzy" would
certainly have relished "Boz" and have "attended him with respectful
attention." It has not been yet shown how much there is in common
between the two great books, and, indeed, between them and a third,
greater than either, the immortal "Don Quixote." All three are
"travelling stories." Sterne also was partial to a travelling story.
Lately, when a guest at the "Johnson Club," I ventured to expound
minutely, and at length, this curious similarity between Boswell and
Dickens. Dickens' appreciation of "Bozzy" is proved by his admirable
parody which is found in one of his letters to Wilkie Collins, and which
is superior to anything of the sort--to Chalmers', Walcot's, or any that
have been attempted:--
"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 know, 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 the manager of the local
Theatre, etc., we are forcibly reminded of the visits to Rochester and
Ipswich.
Boswell one night dropped into a tavern in Butcher Row, and saw his great
friend in a warm discussion with a strange Irishman, who was very short
with him, and the sketch recalls very forcibly Mr. Pickwick at the Magpie
and Stump, where old Jack Bamber told him that he knew nothing about the
mysteries of the old haunted chambers in Clifford's Inn and such places.
The Turk's Head, the Crown and Anchor, the Cheshire Cheese, The Mitre,
may be set beside the Magpie and Stump, the George and Vulture, and White
Horse Cellars.
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 equally 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, also 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.
There is a story in Boswell's Biography which is transferred to
"Pickwick," that of the unlucky gentleman who died from a surfeit of
crumpets; Sam, it will be recollected, describes it as a case of the man
"as killed hisself on principle."
"He used to go away to a coffee-house after his 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.
"Wot did he do it for, sir?" reiterated Sam. "Wy, in support of his
great principle that crumpets was wholesome, and to show that he
vouldn't be put out of his vay for nobody!"
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
Colonel 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 what 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."
Was not this Mr. Pickwick exactly?
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 have 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 of the
redoubtable Doctor's.
Or, again, let us put a bit of "Boz" into "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 a
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." With 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
. . . "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 accordingly entered warmly into its interests, and
upon every occasion talked of _the Dockers_ as "upstarts and aliens." As
they wanted to be supplied with water from the old town, not having a
drop themselves, Johnson affecting to entertain the passions of the
place, was violent in opposition; and half laughing at himself for his
pretended zeal, and where he had no concern, exclaimed: "No! I am
against the _Dockers_; I am a Plymouth man. Rogues! let them die of
thirst; they shall not have a drop. I _hate_ a Docker!"
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 Slumkey?"
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 prevailing 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.