One of the remarkable things associated with "Pickwick" is its
autobiographical character, as it might be termed, and the amount of the
author's personal experience which is found in passages. Such are his
sketches of Rochester and Chatham life during his boyhood, his
recollections of Grimaldi's dissolute son, his own poignant sorrow on the
death of Mary Hogarth, and the painful memories of his boyish
apprenticeship to an uncongenial trade more than hinted at. The election
matters were also particular memories of his own, so was the scene of the
ghostly mail coaches. Then there was the hideous recollection of the
life in a debtors' prison, of which he had such sad personal experience,
with much more. He recalled the time when he had a miserable lodging in
Lant Street, Borough, and Lant Street was for him always a fixed point in
his memory, and grew in size and importance. And when he described some
wretched creature hiding himself in London purlieus, he chose some
miserable place like College-street in Camden Town, whither his own
family had retired.
All these things supply a singular vitality and realism, and also a
distinct interest for those who are "in the know," for Boz himself at the
time was a dramatic and interesting figure, and this story of his
struggle out of a state of squalid misery is truly pathetic.
Readers of Forster's interesting "Life" will recall the dismal passage in
the account given by Dickens to his friend, and his agonising experience
when he was employed at the blacking factory. Many at the time thought
that this painful episode might have been spared the reader, but the
uncompromising biographer would not sacrifice it. On the whole, he was
right, as the trial had an important influence on the writer's character.
It will be recollected that he was employed at a place set up in Chandos
Street, just out of the Strand, by one of the firm of Warrens, and his
duties seemed to consist in pasting the labels on the bottles. Many will
still recall the keen rivalry that existed between the famous firms,
Warren and Day and Martin, which brought much amusement to the public
from the arts of "bold advertisement" with which the war was waged. There
were ingenious "Crambos," such as a cat gazing with well-assumed surprise
at her face reflected in one of Day and Martin's well-polished shoes.
These things made a deep impression on the boy, who saw their grotesque
side. They were oddly bound up with his early impressions and sorrows.
Hence, we find in the course of "Pickwick," a few allusions to these
blacking rivals and their ways, which might seem mysterious and uncalled
for to those not in the secret, but which for himself had the highest
significance. When Sam is first introduced at the "White Hart," he is in
the very act of cleaning boots, and we have almost an essay on the
various species of boots and polishing. We are told minutely that he was
engaged in "brushing the dirt off a pair of boots . . . " There were two
rows before him, one cleaned, the other dirty. "There were _eleven_
pair, and one shoe, as belongs to No. 6 with the wooden leg." "The
eleven boots is to be called at half-past eight (an odd consensus in
eleven persons), and the shoe at nine." He set to work upon a top-boot.
The landlady then made her appearance in the opposite gallery and flung
down a pair of shoes to be cleaned for No. 5, first floor. There is a
dramatic action in these calls from the different galleries, which shows
that Boz had the stage before him. Sam then chalked the number on the
sole. When he found that it was for people of consequence in a private
room that the articles were required, he set to work with a will and
produced a polish "that would have struck envy to the soul of _the
amiable Mr. Warren_, _for they used Day and Martin's at the_ '_White
Hart_.'" Here will be noted the compliment to his old employer, though
it was of a conventional sort.
With this very number "Pickwick" was destined to leap into its amazing
popularity, and the advertisement must have been a valuable one. There
may have been another reason, for there was to be a "Pickwick
advertiser," which was patronised by the firms, and it may have been
stipulated as a condition that the author was to give them this "lift."
Another patron was Rowland, whose real name was Rouland, of "Maccassar
oil" and "Kalydor" celebrity. We have a relic of one of these forgotten
nostrums in the familiar "Anti-maccassar" known to every good housewife.
To Rowland or Rouland he later made an allusion in the text.
This method of calling attention to the merits of wares was a French
one--a sort of _reclame_ introduced by Villemessant in his journal _La
Sylphide_. Thus "Pickwick" was quite "up-to-date." After Jingle had
gone off to Doctors Commons for his license, Sam renewed his efforts,
"burnishing a pair of _painted tops_, worn by a farmer." Then,
interrogated by Perker, he described the tenants of the inn by their
boots--a pair of "Hessians" in 13, two pair of "halves," with six "tops."
In chapter xxxiv. we have another allusion to blacking. "No man," said
Sam, "ever talked in poetry 'cept a beadle on Boxin' Day, _or Warren's
blackin'_." This referred to the rhymes--or verses--with which the firm
filled the newspapers in praise of their article. It will be remembered
that Mrs. Jarley, in the "Old Curiosity Shop," employed "a poet" to
celebrate her waxworks in similar fashion, and who was content with a few
shillings for each effort. We may be certain that this was a boyish
recollection, and that he had seen this blacking "poet" making his calls
in Chandos Street or haggling for his miserable wage. The beadle, also
alluded to, was a prominent figure with Boz; but he has disappeared, with
his huge cocked hat, scarlet waistcoat, and uniform. He is to be seen in
Wilkie's brilliant picture in the National Gallery. It is evident from
the passage that he came round on Boxing Day for his _douceur_, reminding
his patrons, as the dustmen now do sometimes, by a copy of verses. Sam
adds that no one did this sort of thing except the persons mentioned--"and
_Rowland's oil_, or some of them low fellows." The perfumer could only
have been half pleased with this uncomplimentary form. Still, such as it
was, it _was_ an advertisement. Boz also makes several allusions to the
inventor, Bramah, mentioning Bramah locks and keys with plugs, &c. Old
Weller talks of being locked up "in a fireproof chest with a patent
_Bramin_." Bramah's hydraulic press was a scientific novelty then, as
were also his "patent safes." Bramah appears to have advertised in
"Pickwick." These _reclames_ are of a rather elaborate kind, as when
Lowten arrived at the office (lii), we are told, he drew "a Bramah key
from his pocket, with a small plug therein to keep the dust out." Then
"comforting himself with this reflection, Mr. Lowten extricated the plug
from the door key; having opened the door, re-plugged and re-pocketed his
Bramah."
NOTE.--The horrors of the Blacking episode were ever present to Dickens'
recollection, and, as if under a sort of fascination, he later seemed
almost impelled to refer to them. Thus, in Copperfield, we find him
describing, but under a disguise, the same incident. As when he was sent
to Murdstone and Grimby's warehouse, it was still the washing and
labelling of bottles--"_not of blacking_," but of wines and spirits.
"When the empty bottles ran short, there were labels to be pasted on the
full ones, or corks to be fitted to them, &c." But there is also another
allusion to the same, but curiously veiled, when he speaks of the carman,
Tipp, who "wore a red jacket." Now, to this day Day and Martin's carmen
wear red jackets, and Warren's men probably did so; but, at all events,
it is clearly an allusion to the costume of the blacking drivers. There
are allusions to blacking in Little Dorrit and Bleak House.