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Outlines of English and American Literature
Charles Dickens
by Long, William J.
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Among the Victorian novelists were two men who were frequent rivals in the
race for fame and fortune. Thackeray, well born and well bred, with
artistic tastes and literary culture, looked doubtfully at the bustling
life around him, found his inspiration in a past age, and tried to uphold
the best traditions of English literature. Dickens, with little education
and less interest in literary culture, looked with joy upon the struggle
for democracy, and with an observation that was almost microscopic saw all
its picturesque details of speech and character and incident. He was the
eye of the mighty Victorian age, as Tennyson was its ear, and Browning its
psychologist, and Carlyle its chronic grumbler.
Life
In the childhood of Dickens one may see a forecast of his
entire career. His father, a good-natured but shiftless man
(caricatured as Mr. Micawber in David Copperfield), was a
clerk in the Navy Pay Office, at Portsmouth. There Dickens was born
in 1812. The father's salary was £80 per year, enough at that time
to warrant living in middle-class comfort rather than in the
poverty of the lower classes, with whom Dickens is commonly
associated. The mother was a sentimental woman, whom Dickens, with
questionable taste, has caricatured as Mrs. Micawber and again as
Mrs. Nickleby. Both parents were somewhat neglectful of their
children, and uncommonly fond of creature comforts, especially of
good dinners and a bowl of punch. Though there is nothing in such a
family to explain Dickens's character, there is much to throw light
on the characters that appear in his novels.
The Stage
The boy himself was far from robust. Having no taste for sports, he
amused himself by reading romances or by listening to his nurse's
tales,--beautiful tales, he thought, which "almost scared him into
fits." His elfish fancy in childhood is probably reflected in Pip,
of Great Expectations. He had a strong dramatic instinct to
act a story, or sing a song, or imitate a neighbor's speech, and
the father used to amuse his friends by putting little Charles on a
chair and encouraging him to mimicry,--a dangerous proceeding,
though it happened to turn out well in the case of Dickens.
This stagey tendency increased as the boy grew older. He had a
passion for private theatricals, and when he wrote a good story was
not satisfied till he had read it in public. When Pickwick
appeared (1837) the young man, till then an unknown reporter, was
brought before an immense audience which included a large part of
England and America. Thereafter he was never satisfied unless he
was in the public eye; his career was a succession of theatrical
incidents, of big successes, big lecture tours, big
audiences,--always the footlights, till he lay at last between the
pale wax tapers. But we are far ahead of our story.
The London Streets
When Dickens was nine years old his family moved to London. There
the father fell into debt, and by the brutal laws of the period was
thrown into prison. The boy went to work in the cellar of a
blacking factory, and there began that intimate acquaintance with
lowly characters which he used later to such advantage. He has
described his bitter experience so often (in David
Copperfield for instance) that the biographer may well pass
over it. We note only this significant fact: that wherever Dickens
went he had an instinct for exploration like that of a farm dog,
which will not rest in a place till he has first examined all the
neighborhood, putting his nose into every likely or unlikely spot
that may shelter friend or enemy. So Dickens used his spare hours
in roaming the byways of London by night, so he gained his
marvelous knowledge of that foreign land called The Street, with
its flitting life of gamins and nondescripts, through which we pass
daily as through an unknown country.
The Scramble for Place
A small inheritance brought the father from prison, the family was
again united, and for two years the boy attended the academy which
he has held up to the laughter and scorn of two continents. There
the genius of Dickens seemed suddenly to awaken. He studied little,
being given to pranks and theatricals, but he discovered within him
an immense ambition, an imperious will to win a place and a name in
the great world, and a hopeful temper that must carry him over or
under all obstacles.
No sooner was his discovery made than he left school and entered a
law office, where he picked up enough knowledge to make court
practices forever ridiculous, in Bleak House and other
stories. He studied shorthand and quickly mastered it; then
undertook to report parliamentary speeches (a good training in
oratory) and presently began a prosperous career as a reporter.
This had two advantages; it developed his natural taste for odd
people and picturesque incidents, and it brought him close to the
great reading public. To please that public, to humor its whims and
prejudices, its love for fun and tears and sentimentality, was
thereafter the ruling motive in Dickens's life.
Literary Ventures
His first literary success came with some short stories contributed
to the magazines, which appeared in book form as Sketches by
Boz (1835). A publisher marked these sketches, engaged Dickens
to write the text or letterpress for some comic pictures, and the
result was Pickwick, which took England and America by
storm. Then followed Oliver Twist, Nicholas Nickleby,
Old Curiosity Shop,--a flood of works that made readers rub
their eyes, wondering if such a fountain of laughter and tears were
inexhaustible.
There is little else to record except this: that from the time of
his first triumph Dickens held his place as the most popular writer
in English. With his novels he was not satisfied, but wrote a
history of England, and edited various popular magazines, such as
Household Words. Also he gave public readings, reveling in
the applause, the lionizing, which greeted him wherever he went. He
earned much money; he bought the place "Gadshill," near Rochester,
which he had coveted since childhood; but he was a free spender,
and his great income was less than his fancied need. To increase
his revenue he "toured" the States in a series of readings from his
own works, and capitalized his experience in American Notes
and parts of Martin Chuzzlewit.
A question of taste must arise even now in connection with these
works. Dickens had gone to a foreign country for just two things,
money and applause; he received both in full measure; then he bit
the friendly hand which had given him what he wanted. [Footnote:
The chief source of Dickens's irritation was the money loss
resulting from the "pirating" of his stories. There was no
international copyright in those days; the works of any popular
writer were freely appropriated by foreign publishers. This custom
was wrong, undoubtedly, but it had been in use for centuries.
Scott's novels had been pirated the same way; and until Cooper got
to windward of the pirates (by arranging for foreign copyrights)
his work was stolen freely in England and on the Continent. But
Dickens saw only his own grievance, and even at public dinners was
apt to make his hosts uncomfortable by proclaiming his rights or
denouncing their moral standards. Moreover, he had a vast conceit
of himself, and, like most visitors of a week, thought he knew
America like a book. It was as if he looked once at the welter cast
ashore by mighty Lake Superior in a storm, and said, "What a dirty
sea!"] Thackeray, who followed him to America, had a finer sense of
the laws of hospitality and good breeding.
The Price of Popularity
In 1844 Dickens resolved to make both ends meet, and carried out
his resolve with promptness and precision. To decrease expenses he
went to the Continent, and lived there, hungry for the footlights,
till a series of stories ending with Dombey and Son put his
finances on a secure basis. Then he returned to London, wrote more
novels, and saved a fortune for his descendants, who promptly spent
it. Evidently it was a family trait. More and more he lived on his
nerves, grew imperious, exacting, till he separated from his wife
and made wreck of domestic happiness. The self-esteem of which he
made comedy in his novels was for him a tragedy. Also he resumed
the public readings, with their false glory and nervous wear and
tear, which finally brought him to the grave.
He died, worn out by his own exertions, in 1870. He had steadily
refused titles and decorations, but a grateful nation laid his body
to rest in the Poets' Corner at Westminster Abbey. It is doubtful
whether he would have accepted this honor, which was forced upon
him, for he had declared proudly that by his works alone he would
live in the memory of his countrymen.
Works of Dickens
In the early stories of Dickens is a promise of all the
rest. His first work was called Sketches by Boz, and "Boz" was
invented by some little girl (was it in The Vicar of Wakefield?) who
could not say "Moses"; also it was a pet name for a small brother of
Dickens. There was, therefore, something childlike in this first title, and
childhood was to enter very largely into the novelist's work. He could
hardly finish a story without bringing a child into it; not an ordinary
child, to make us smile, but a wistful or pathetic child whose sorrows,
since we cannot help them, are apt to make our hearts ache.
The Pathetic Element
Dickens is charged with exaggerating the woes of his children, and the
charge is true; but he had a very human reason for his method. In the first
place, the pathetic quality of his children is due to this simple fact,
that they bear the burden and the care of age. And burdens which men or
women accept for themselves without complaint seem all wrong, and are
wrong, when laid upon a child's innocent shoulders. Again, Dickens sought
to show us our error in thinking, as most grown-ups do, that childish
troubles are of small account. So they are, to us; but to the child they
are desperately real. Later in life we learn that troubles are not
permanent, and so give them their proper place; but in childhood a trouble
is the whole world; and a very hopeless world it is while it lasts. Dickens
knew and loved children, as he knew the public whom he made to cry with his
Little Nell and Tiny Tim; and he had discovered that tears are the key to
many a heart at which reason knocks in vain.
Pickwickian Humor
The second work, Pickwick, written in a harum-scarum way, is even
more typical of Dickens in its spirit of fun and laughter. He had been
engaged, as we have noted, to furnish a text for some comic drawings, thus
reversing the usual order of illustration. The pictures were intended to
poke fun at a club of sportsmen; and Dickens, who knew nothing of sport,
bravely set out with Mr. Winkle on his rook-shooting. Then, while the story
was appearing in monthly numbers, the illustrator committed suicide;
Dickens was left with Mr. Pickwick on his hands, and that innocent old
gentleman promptly ran away with the author. Not being in the least
adventurous, Mr. Pickwick was precisely the person for whom adventures were
lying in wait; but with his chivalrous heart within him, and Sam Weller on
guard outside, he was not to be trifled with by cabman or constable. So
these two took to the open road, and to the inns where punch, good cheer
and the unexpected were awaiting them. Never was such another book! It is
not a novel; it is a medley of fun and drollery resulting from high animal
spirits.
The Motive of Horror
In his next novel, Oliver Twist, the author makes a new departure by
using the motive of horror. One of his heroes is an unfortunate child, but
when our sympathies for the little fellow are stretched to the point of
tears, Dickens turns over a page and relieves us by Pickwickian laughter.
Also he has his usual medley of picturesque characters and incidents, but
the shadow of Fagin is over them all. One cannot go into any house in the
book, and lock the door and draw the shades, without feeling that somewhere
in the outer darkness this horrible creature is prowling. The horror which
Fagin inspires is never morbid; for Dickens with his healthy spirit could
not err in this direction. It is a boyish, melodramatic horror, such as
immature minds seek in "movies," dime novels, secret societies, detective
stories and "thrillers" at the circus.
In the fourth work, Nicholas Nickleby, Dickens shows that he is
nearing the limit of his invention so far as plot is concerned. In this
novel he seems to rest a bit by writing an old-fashioned romance, with its
hero and villain and moral ending. But if you study this or any subsequent
work of Dickens, you are apt to find the four elements already noted;
namely, an unfortunate child, humorous interludes, a grotesque or horrible
creature who serves as a foil to virtue or innocence, and a medley of
characters good or bad that might be transferred without change to any
other story. The most interesting thing about Dickens's men and women is
that they are human enough to make themselves at home anywhere.
What to Read
Whether one wants to study the method of Dickens or to enjoy
his works, there is hardly a better plan for the beginner than to read in
succession Pickwick, Oliver Twist and Nicholas
Nickleby, which are as the seed plot out of which grow all his stories.
For the rest, the reader must follow his own fancy. If one must choose a
single work, perhaps Copperfield is the most typical. "Of all my
books," said Dickens, "I like this the best; like many parents I have my
favorite child, and his name is David Copperfield." Some of the heroines of
this book are rather stagey, but the Peggotys, Betsy Trotwood, Mrs.
Gummidge, the Micawbers,--all these are unrivaled. "There is no writing
against such power," said Thackeray, who was himself writing
Pendennis while Dickens was at work on his masterpiece.
Tale of Two Cities
Opinion is divided on the matter of A Tale of Two Cities. Some
critics regard it as the finest of Dickens's work, revealing as it does his
powers of description and of character-drawing without his usual
exaggeration. Other critics, who regard the exaggeration of Dickens as his
most characteristic quality, see in Two Cities only an evidence of
his weakening power. It has perhaps this advantage over other works of the
author, that of them we remember only the extraordinary scenes or
characters, while the entire story of Two Cities remains with us as
a finished and impressive thing. But there is also this disadvantage, that
the story ends and is done with, while Pickwick goes on forever. We
may lose sight of the heroes, but we have the conviction, as Chesterton
says, that they are still on the road of adventure, that Mr. Pickwick is
somewhere drinking punch or making a speech, and that Sam Weller may step
out from behind the next stable and ask with a droll wink what we are up to
now.
It is hardly necessary to add that our reading of Dickens must not end
until we are familiar with some of his Yuletide stories, in which he gladly
followed the lead of Washington Irving. The best of all his short stories
is A Christmas Carol, which one must read but not criticize. At best
it is a farce, but a glorious, care-lifting, heart-warming farce. Would
there were more of the same kind!
A Criticism of Dickens
The first quality of Dickens is his extravagant
humor. This was due to the fact that he was alive, so thoroughly,
consciously alive that his vitality overflowed like a spring. Here, in a
word, is the secret of that bubbling spirit of prodigality which occasions
the criticism that Dickens produced not characters but caricatures.
His Exaggeration
The criticism is true; but it proclaims the strength of the novelist rather
than his weakness. Indeed, it is in the very exaggeration of Dickens that
his astonishing creative power is most clearly manifest. There is something
primal, stupendous, in his grotesque characters which reminds us of the
uncouth monsters that nature created in her sportive moods. Some readers,
meeting with Bunsby, are reminded of a walrus; and who ever saw a walrus
without thinking of the creature as nature's Bunsby? So with Quilp, Toots,
Squeers, Pumblechook; so with giraffes, baboons, dodoes, dromedaries,--all
are freaks from the ęsthetic viewpoint, but think of the overflowing energy
implied in creating them!
The same sense of prodigality characterized Dickens even in his sober
moods, when he portrayed hundreds of human characters, and not a dead or
dull person among them. To be sure they are all exaggerated; they weep too
copiously, eat or drink too intemperately, laugh too uproariously for
normal men; but to criticize their superabundant vitality is to criticize
Beowulf or Ulysses or Hiawatha; nay, it is to criticize life itself, which
at high tide is wont to overflow in heroics or absurdity. The exuberance of
Pickwick, Micawber, Pecksniff, Sairey Gamp, Sam Weller and a host of others
is perhaps the most normal thing about them; it is as the rattling of a
safety valve, which speaks not of stagnant water but of a full head of
steam. For Dickens deals with life, and you can exaggerate life as much as
you please, since there is no end to either its wisdom or foolishness.
Nothing but a question can be added to the silent simplicity of death.
His Motive And Method
Aside from his purpose of portraying life as he saw it, in all its strange
complexity, Dickens had a twofold object in writing. He was a radical
democrat, and he aimed to show the immense hopefulness and compassion of
Democracy on its upward way to liberty. He was also a reformer, with a
profound respect for the poor, but no respect whatever for ancient laws or
institutions that stood in the way of justice. The influence of his novels
in establishing better schools, prisons, workhouses, is beyond measure; but
we are not so much interested in his reforms as in his method, which was
unique. He aimed to make men understand the oppressed, and to make a
laughing stock of the oppressors; and he succeeded as no other had ever
done in making literature a power in the land. Thus, the man or the law
that stands defiantly against public opinion is beaten the moment you make
that man or that law look like a joke; and Dickens made a huge joke of the
parish beadle (as Mr. Bumble) and of many another meddlesome British
institution. Moreover, he was master of this paradox: that to cure misery
you must meet it with a merry heart,--this is on the principle that what
the poor need is not charity but comradeship. By showing that humble folk
might be as poor as the Cratchits and yet have the medicine of mirth, the
divine gift of laughter, he made men rejoice with the poor even while they
relieved the poverty.
His Faults
As for the shortcomings of Dickens, they are so apparent that he who runs
may read. We may say of him, as of Shakespeare, that his taste is
questionable, that he is too fond of a mere show, that his style is often
melodramatic, that there is hardly a fault in the whole critical category
of which he is not habitually guilty. But we may say of him also that he is
never petty or mean or morbid or unclean; and he could not be dull if he
tried. His faults, if you analyze them, spring from precisely the same
source as his virtues; that is, from his abundant vitality, from his excess
of life and animal spirits. So we pardon, nay, we rejoice over him as over
a boy who must throw a handspring or raise a whillilew when he
breaks loose from school. For Dickens, when he started his triumphal
progress with Pickwick, had a glorious sense of taking his cue from
life and of breaking loose from literary traditions. In comparison with
Ruskin or Thackeray he is not a good writer, but something more--a
splendidly great writer. If you would limit or define his greatness, try
first to marshal his array of characters, characters so vital and human
that we can hardly think of them as fictitious or imaginary creatures; then
remember the millions of men and women to whom he has given pure and
lasting pleasure.
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