In a letter to Wilkie Collins, 6th June 1856, d.i.c.kens relates that he began "to write fugitive pieces for the old _Monthly Magazine_" when he was in "the gallery" for the _Mirror of Parliament_. His _op. 1_ was _Mrs Joseph Porter over the Way_; and when it appeared in the glory of print "I walked down," he wrote, "to Westminster Hall and turned into it for half an hour, because my eyes were so dimmed with joy and pride that they could not bear the street, and were not fit to be seen."

This was followed by several other articles in the _Monthly Magazine_, the last in February 1835 was the first to bear the immortal signature of Boz, {206} and in 1836 the series of _Sketches by Boz_ was published.

In the same year, 1836, a notice appeared in the _Times_ of 26th March "that on the 31st would be published the first shilling number of the _Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club_." The original plan had been to make Pickwick an essentially sporting book, but to this d.i.c.kens demurred on account of his ignorance of such matters, and poor Mr Winkle remains as a sacrifice to the idea.

It is curious how important the ill.u.s.trations of his books seemed to d.i.c.kens; there are constant references to the subject in his _Letters_, nor does he seem to have been generally satisfied.

Ill.u.s.trations in fiction are in my judgment only tolerable when a book is read for the first time in an ill.u.s.trated edition, _e.g._ Du Maurier's _Trilby_. But when a reader has formed his own idea of a character, those of the artist jar on preconceived impressions. Seymour was selected to ill.u.s.trate _Pickwick_, but he committed suicide between the appearance of the first and second numbers; then a single number was ill.u.s.trated by Mr Buss; and finally Hablot Browne was selected, and he was, in Forster's words, "not unworthily a.s.sociated with the masterpieces of d.i.c.kens' genius."

Personally I feel nothing but astonishment that the ill.u.s.trations should have been liked by anybody. d.i.c.kens was, however, saved from a worse fate-that of being ill.u.s.trated by Thackeray, who, in speaking of d.i.c.kens at a Royal Academy dinner, said, "I recollect walking up to his chambers in Furnival's Inn with two or three drawings in my hand, which strange to say, he did not find suitable."

Forster's chapter on the writing of _Pickwick_ contains some personal recollections of the author which may find a place here. "Very different was his face in those days, _circa_ 1837, from that which photography has made familiar to the present generation. A look of youthfulness first attracted you, and then a candour and openness of expression which made you sure of the qualities within. The features were very good. He had a capital forehead . . . eyes wonderfully beaming with intellect and running over with humour and cheerfulness, and a rather prominent mouth strongly marked with sensibility." He speaks, too, of the beardless face and rich brown hair in "most luxuriant abundance." What remained to the last was the expression of "keenness and practical power," and the "eager, restless, energetic outlook" which suggested a man of action rather than a writer of books. Leigh Hunt said of it, "What a face . . .

to meet in a drawing-room! . . . It had the life and soul in it of fifty human beings."

A touching proof of d.i.c.kens' sensibility is given by the fact that the writing of _Pickwick_ was interrupted for two months by the death of his wife's younger sister Mary.

The _Quarterly Review_, Oct. 1837, referring to the fact that _Pickwick_ and _Oliver Twist_ were appearing at the same time, said, "Indications are not wanting that the particular vein of humour which has. .h.i.therto yielded so much attractive metal, is worked out. . . . The fact is, Mr d.i.c.kens writes too often and too fast. . . . If he persists much longer in this course it requires no gift of prophecy to foretell his fate-he has risen like a rocket, and he will come down like the stick"-a singularly incorrect prediction.

The success of _Pickwick_ {208} was enormous, but the profits reaped by the author can hardly share in that adjective. There was no agreement about its publication, except a verbal one. For each number d.i.c.kens was to receive fifteen guineas, and the publishers paid him at once for the first two numbers "as he required the money to go and get married with."

Besides these payments he seems at the time to have received only 2500.

In 1839 d.i.c.kens wrote to Forster of "the immense profits which _Oliver_ has realised to its publisher, and is still realising," and "the paltry, wretched sum it brought to me." . . .

His friends made an important part of d.i.c.kens' life. One of the earliest was Macready, {209} the actor, to whom he first wrote apparently in 1837, inviting him to a Pickwick dinner. He here addresses him as "My dear Sir," but in 1838 he becomes "My dear Macready."

In that year d.i.c.kens wrote a farce for Macready, which, however, had to be withdrawn, and its author wrote characteristically, "Believe me that I have no other feeling of disappointment . . . but that arising from the not having been able to be of use to you." Macready remained a close friend as long as he lived, and d.i.c.kens does not seem to have suffered from the churlishness referred to in the _Dictionary of National Biography_.

In 1851 Macready appeared on the stage for the last time in public.

d.i.c.kens wrote (27th Feb. 1851):-"No light portion of my life arose before me when the quiet vision to which I am beholden, in I don't know how great a degree, or for how much-who does?-faded so n.o.bly from my bodily eyes last night."

There must have been a certain innocence in Macready or the following letter (May 24, 1851) would not have been appropriate: "Always go into some respectable shop or apply to a policeman. You will know him by his being dressed in blue, with very dull silver b.u.t.tons, and by the top of his hat being made of sticking plaster. . . . I would recommend you to see X at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. Anybody will show it to you. It is near the Strand, and you may know it by seeing no company whatever at any of the doors. Cab fares are eighteen-pence a mile. A mile London measure is half a Dorsetshire mile, recollect. Porter is two pence per pint. . . . The Zoological Gardens are in the Regent's Park and the price of admission is one shilling."

Another artist who became a close friend of d.i.c.kens was Stanfield, of whom we first hear as making one of a trip to Cornwall in 1842. His friendship with Cattermole, the painter, began in 1839 and suffered no diminution. His early letters to this correspondent are on the ill.u.s.trations for the _Old Curiosity Shop_, where we find minute instruction about the drawing of Mrs Jarley's Wax Work cart and other detailed points.

d.i.c.kens speaks of being nearly dead with grief at the loss of little Nell. He says he looks at Cattermole's beautiful ill.u.s.trations with a pleasure he cannot describe in words.

He seems, too, to have been in 1840 on familiar terms with Daniel Maclise. Only two letters to this friend exist, whom Miss d.i.c.kens describes as a "much-loved friend and most intimate companion" of her father.

In January 1842 d.i.c.kens started for America, and on 31st January he writes-"I can give you no conception of my welcome here. There never was a king or emperor upon the earth so cheered and followed by crowds."

Reference to Miss Martineau meets with showers of abuse. "She told us of some of our faults, and Americans can't bear to be told of their faults."

"In respect of not being left alone, and of being horribly disgusted by tobacco-chewing and tobacco spittle, I have suffered considerably" (i., p. 67).

"In every town where we stay, though it be only for a day, we hold a regular levee or drawing-room, where I shake hands on an average with five or six hundred people. . . Think of two hours of this every day, and the people coming by hundreds, all fresh, and piping hot, and full of questions, when we are literally exhausted and can hardly stand."

One of the few entirely satisfactory occurrences was the gift of a dog called Boz, who was re-named Mr Snittle Timbery after a character in _Nicholas Nickleby_. He lived to be very old and went everywhere with his master (i., p. 70, _note_).

At Niagara he got some peace, which was much needed because of "the incessant persecutions of the people, by land and water, on stage-coach, railway car, and steamer, which exceeds anything you can picture to yourself by the utmost stretch of your imagination" (i., p. 71).

And on the copyright scandal he writes in the same letter: "Is it not a horrible thing that scoundrel book-sellers should grow rich here from publishing books, the authors of which do not reap one farthing from their issue by scores of thousands; and that every vile blackguard, and detestable newspaper, so filthy and b.e.s.t.i.a.l that no honest man would admit one into his house for a scullery door-mat, should be able to publish these same writings, side by side, cheek by jowl, with the coa.r.s.est and most obscene companions?" Not that he had much hope of reform, but he could not help crying, "_Stop_, _thief_!"

On his return he wrote to Longman: "I have fought the fight across the Atlantic with the utmost energy I could command; have never been turned aside by any consideration for an instant; am fresher for the fray than ever; will battle it to death, and die game to the last." He was soon entangled in dinners; of his trials at a hospital dinner he wrote of listening to speeches and sentiments such "as any moderately intelligent dustman" would have blushed to have thought of. "Sleek, s...o...b..ring, bow-paunched, over-fed, apoplectic, snorting cattle, and the auditory leaping up in their delight."

In November 1843, he speaks of an opera he did in "d.a.m.nable good nature for Hullah," who wrote "some very pretty music to it." He also did a farce "as a sort of practical joke." "It was funny-adapted from one of the published sketches called the 'Great Winglebury Duel,' and was published by Chapman and Hall." He devoutly wished these productions forgotten.

In a letter to Macready of 3rd January 1844, he speaks of sending him a little book which had been published 17th December 1843, and describes it as the greatest success, "I think, I have ever achieved." It seems to be the _Christmas Carol_, as on 4th January 1844 he wrote to Leman Blanchard in regard to a review of the _Carol_. "I _must_ thank you because you have filled my heart up to the brim, and it is running over." In the summer of 1844 he started for a holiday abroad, but in November he travelled back to London to see _The Chimes_ through the press, of which he wrote, 5th November 1844:-

"I believe I have . . . knocked the _Carol_ out of the field. It will make a great uproar, I have no doubt." He adds (i., p. 145): "If you had seen Macready, last night, undisguisedly sobbing and crying on the sofa as I read _The Chimes_, you would have felt, as I did, what a thing it is to have power."

In 1845 we hear of private theatricals for the first time, when d.i.c.kens writes to Cattermole about taking a part in _Every Man in his Humour_.

On a similar occasion in 1850 a master carpenter from one of the theatres said, "Ah, sir, it's a universal observation in the profession, sir, that it was a great loss to the public when you took to writing books."

In 1847 we hear of more acting, _Every Man in his Humour_ being given again for the benefit of Leigh Hunt, with the help of George Cruickshank, George Henry Lewes, and Augustus Egg, as new members of the Company (i., p. 177).

In 1846 he gave up all connection with the _Daily News_, which he had rashly agreed to edit. He went to Switzerland, taking a villa (Rosemount) there, from May till November. Here he wrote _The Battle of Life_ and began _Dombey_. It was here that he made friends of M. de Cerjat, Mr Haldimand, and of Hon. Richard and Mrs Watson of Rockingham Castle, to whom he afterwards dedicated his favourite book, _David Copperfield_.

It was at this time, too, that was founded his friendship with W. H.

Wills, who became an a.s.sistant in editing _All the Year Round_, and in other ways.

In March 1846 he wrote to Wills:-"Tell Powell . . . that he needn't 'deal with' the American notices of the _Cricket_. I never read one word of their abuse, and I should think it base to read their praises."

He wrote, 27th November 1846, to Mr Watson (from Paris):-"We are lodged at last in the most preposterous house in the world. . . . The bedrooms are like opera-boxes. The dining-rooms, stair-cases, and pa.s.sages, quite inexplicable. . . . There is a gleam of reason in the drawing-room. But it is approached through a series of small chambers, like the joints of a telescope, which are hung with inscrutable drapery."

Later impressions of Paris (185556) may find a place here. "A man who brought some little vases home last night said, 'On connait bien en France, que Monsieur d.i.c.k-in prend sa position sur la dignite de la litterature. Ah! c'est grande chose! Et ces caracteres sont si spirituellement tournees! Cette Madame Tojare (Todgers), ah! qu'elle est drole et precis.e.m.e.nt comme une dame que je connais a Calais.'"

In the winter of 1856 he wrote:-"I met Madame Georges Sands the other day at a dinner got up by Madame Viardot. . . . The human mind cannot conceive anyone more astonishing opposed to all my preconceptions. If I had been shown her in a state of repose, and asked what I thought her to be, I should have said: 'The Queen's monthly nurse.' _Au reste_, she has nothing of the _bas bleu_ about her, and is very quiet and agreeable."

On 20th May 1855, he wrote to Stanfield about the scenery of a play by Wilkie Collins which was in preparation.

"There is only one scene in the piece, and that, my tarry lad, is the inside of a light-house. Will you come and paint it for us one night, and we'll all turn to and help." And again to the same friend (22nd May 1855): "The great ambition of my life will be achieved at last, in the wearing of a pair of very coa.r.s.e petticoat trousers."

He wrote to Stanfield about the performance-"Lemon and I did every conceivable absurdity, I think, in the farce; and they never left off laughing. . . . Then Scotch reels till 5 A.M."

d.i.c.kens could appreciate other actors, and he writes in 1862 of Fechter's Hamlet as a "performance of extraordinary merit; by far the most coherent, consistent, and intelligible Hamlet I ever saw."

On the same subject he wrote to Macready: "Fechter doing wonders over the way here, with a picturesque French drama. Miss Kate Terry, in a small part in it, perfectly charming. . . . She has a tender love-scene in this piece, which is a really beautiful and artistic thing. . . . I told Fechter: 'That this is the very best piece of womanly tenderness I have ever seen on the stage, and you'll find that no audience can miss it.'"

{216}

_Dombey_ was published early in 1848, and during the whole of 1849 and the summer and autumn of 1850 he was writing _David Copperfield_. In Sir Walter Raleigh's _Shakespeare_, 1907, p. 31, it is suggested that "if the father of Charles d.i.c.kens lent his likeness to Mr Micawber, it is at least possible that some not unkindly memories of the paternal advice of John Shakespeare have been preserved for us in the sage maxims of Polonius."

In March 1852 the first number of _Bleak House_ appeared, and he wrote to Mary Boyle, 22nd July 1852:-"I am not quite sure that I ever did like, or ever shall like, anything quite so well as _Copperfield_. But I foresee, I think, some very good things in _Bleak House_." In November he records that the sale is half as large again as _Copperfield_. In the winter of 1850 he showed his appreciation of Mrs Gaskell by writing to her (31st January 1850): "I do honestly know that there is no living English writer whose aid I would desire to enlist in preference to the auth.o.r.ess of _Mary Barton_ (a book that most profoundly affected and impressed me)." .

In September 1857, he writes to Miss Hogarth from Allonby, telling her of the homage he receives in the North-station-masters help him to alight, deputations await him at hotels, crowds see him off. The landlady at Allonby was immensely fat, and her husband said that once on a time he could tuck his arm round her waist. "'And can't you do it now,' I said, 'you insensible dog? Look at me! Here's a picture!' Accordingly, I got round as much of her as I could; and this gallant action was the most successful I have ever performed, on the whole."

In 1853 he took the Chateau des Moulineaux at Boulogne, whence he wrote asking a friend to visit him. He described his chateau:-"Excellent light wines on the premises, French cookery, millions of roses, two cows (for milk punch), vegetables cut for the pot, and handed in at the kitchen window; five summer-houses, fifteen fountains (with no water in 'em), and thirty-seven clocks (keeping, as I conceive, Australian time)."

In September of the same year (1853) he writes to Walter Savage Landor:-"I may now write to thank you for the happiness you have given me by honouring my name with such generous mention on (? in) such a n.o.ble place, in your great book. . . . Believe me, I receive the dedication like a great dignity, the worth of which I hope I thoroughly know."