The Pickwick Club discussion
This topic is about
The Battle of Life
The Battle of Life
>
Battle of Life. Part Two
date
newest »
newest »
Thank you, Peter, for once again helping us with our recaps and with opening the threads! Indeed, this year's Christmas book is, to me at least, far, far better than the ones we read last year and the year before, and finally we have also got the Christmas connection, with the homecoming party for Alfred being on Christmas Day.I especially enjoyed Mr. Snitchey and Mr. Craggs as well as their indefatigable wives, who are always warning their husbands not to allow themselves to be taken in by their business partner while at the same time waging conjugal war against the "office". Sentences like "A person with an office has no business to be married at all" have an all-too familiar ring to me ;-)
The more we read on, the more the narrator seems to make it clear to us that Dr. Jeddler and the two attorneys may have their faults but that they still have their hearts in the right place and that there is not one spiteful bone in them. All in all, Mr. Snitchey and Mr. Craggs may seem to have domestic problems but still, if the worst comes to the worst, the Snitcheys and the Craggses can rely on each other and they are just putting on their pet peeves. That's quite a difference to Marion, who is believed to be in love with Alfred - we also learn that when they were younger it was Grace who always wanted to be referred to as Alfred's little wife (might this hint at a possible ending?) - but who actually has not as deep a feeling for her suitor as everyone else suspects.
As to Marion's crying when she is reading from that book, I think that she refers the words she is reading - the reference to a trial of the heart and the comforts of a home - to her own situation: She knows that by following her heart and listening to Mr. Warden's proposal of an elopement she will wreck her own happy home and disappoint not only Alfred but everyone else in her family. And yes, I think that eventually she goes away with Warden, who has come into that family like a snake in the grass, a dissipated man who has nearly ruined himself and is not willing to wait and work his way back into respectability and solid finances before fulfilling his own heart's wish. In listening to Warden, Marion is definitely going to take a wrong decision.
I also wondered at the Doctor's words about crying over a story-book. Here, Dickens breaks through the fourth wall and makes the reader think about the capacity of fiction to affect a reader as though it were reality. Dickens, with his larger-than-life characters, is surely able to create fiction that has such an amount of power as to be able to invade our hearts and minds, and he probably knew it.
Tristram wrote: "Thank you, Peter, for once again helping us with our recaps and with opening the threads! Indeed, this year's Christmas book is, to me at least, far, far better than the ones we read last year and ..."I was very interested to read your comments- as always - but especially drawn to your comment about the fourth wall. It does make sense that Dickens, as much as any other 19C writer, would be very conscious of his audience and want to move his fictional world right into the minds of his readers in the real world.
Two semi-related thoughts. Tristram, you have set my mind working this morning! First, I wonder if in any of Dickens's plays he broke the fourth wall? I would think not, but what a revelation of possibility and style that would open up. Second, your comment of the fourth wall being broken lead me to think of Trollope. Is there any other 19C novelist who will direct more short comments to his readers than he does?
I,too, was thinking of Trollope when I wrote about breaking the fourth wall because that is one of the things I like most about Trollope: Reading his novels always gives me the impression of listening to a genial, avuncular pipe-smoking gentleman who is telling a story at his own leisure. And then Fielding and Sterne come into my mind, the former with his famous opening of Tom Jones, where he presents his menu, and the latter with keeping Mrs. Shandy with her ear to the key-hole for a couple of chapters, as well as with other glorious narrative capers.As to Dickens, I think he hardly ever really breaks the fourth wall - I just remember a scene in Nicholas Nickleby where he introduces Mr. Squeers and says that prejudiced as we are we might prefer people with two eyes. In the Jeddler quotation, the fourth wall is actually kept intact, but still one might read it as a tongue-in-cheek comment on the power of literature and the work of an author.
Unluckily, the intrusive narrator has become discarded in modern literature and people seem to consider this device clumsy and uncouth. Strangely, it is used on the modern stage - although I cannot think of an example of its being used in older plays. The Shakespearean theater, one would think, might have encouraged it, with its groundlings surrounding the stage, but it is rare. Except maybe in Shakespeare's "All the world's a stage" monologue?
It's sometimes used in film - one of my favourite examples is the scene in "Spaceballs" where the bad guys insert a videotape of the film they are in and fast-forward it in order to find out where the good guys are hiding ;-)
Tristram wrote: "I,too, was thinking of Trollope when I wrote about breaking the fourth wall because that is one of the things I like most about Trollope: Reading his novels always gives me the impression of listen..."While it would not technically be breaking the fourth wall, Dickens make much of his written work for years as he read sections from his novels to audiences. Evidently they were more than simple readings. He threw himself into the parts, assumed different voices and relished the responses from his audiences.
As the cliche goes - from page to the stage. Now that would be an evening out for all Pickwickians.
And so begins this week's illustrations, the first is by Richard Doyle:
Part the Second
Richard Doyle
1846
Full-page illustration for Dickens's The Battle of Life
The next is by John Leech:
Snitchey and Craggs
John Leech
1846
Full-page illustration for Dickens's The Battle of Life: Part the Second
And one by Daniel Maclise:
The Secret Interview
Daniel Maclise
1846
Full-page illustration for Dickens's The Battle of Life: Part the Second
Another by John Leech:
The Night of the Return
John Leech
1846
Full-page illustration for Dickens's The Battle of Life: Part the Second
An illustration by Fred Barnard:
"I think it will be better not to hear this, Mr. Craggs?"
Fred Barnard
1878
Text Illustrated:
"Here, nearly three years’ flight had thinned the one and swelled the other, since the breakfast in the orchard; when [the country lawyers Snitchey and Craggs] sat together in consultation at night.
Not alone; but, with a man of about thirty, or that time of life, negligently dressed, and somewhat haggard in the face, but well-made, well-attired, and well-looking, who sat in the armchair of state, with one hand in his breast, and the other in his dishevelled hair, pondering moodily. Messrs. Snitchey and Craggs sat opposite each other at a neighbouring desk. One of the fireproof boxes, unpadlocked and opened, was upon it; a part of its contents lay strewn upon the table, and the rest was then in course of passing through the hands of Mr. Snitchey; who brought it to the candle, document by document; looked at every paper singly, as he produced it; shook his head, and handed it to Mr. Craggs; who looked it over also, shook his head, and laid it down. Sometimes, they would stop, and shaking their heads in concert, look towards the abstracted client. And the name on the box being Michael Warden, Esquire, we may conclude from these premises that the name and the box were both his, and that the affairs of Michael Warden, Esquire, were in a bad way.
"That's all," said Mr. Snitchey, turning up the last paper. "Really there’s no other resource. No other resource."
"All lost, spent, wasted, pawned, borrowed, and sold, eh?" said the client, looking up.
"All," returned Mr. Snitchey.
"Nothing else to be done, you say?"
"Nothing at all."
The client bit his nails, and pondered again.
"And I am not even personally safe in England? You hold to that, do you?"
"In no part of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland," replied Mr. Snitchey.
"A mere prodigal son with no father to go back to, no swine to keep, and no husks to share with them? Eh?" pursued the client, rocking one leg over the other, and searching the ground with his eyes.
Mr. Snitchey coughed, as if to deprecate the being supposed to participate in any figurative illustration of a legal position. Mr. Craggs, as if to express that it was a partnership view of the subject, also coughed.
"Ruined at thirty!" said the client. "Humph!"
"Not ruined, Mr. Warden," returned Snitchey. "Not so bad as that. You have done a good deal towards it, I must say, but you are not ruined. A little nursing — "
"A little Devil," said the client.
"Mr. Craggs," said Snitchey, "will you oblige me with a pinch of snuff? Thank you, sir."
As the imperturbable lawyer applied it to his nose with great apparent relish and a perfect absorption of his attention in the proceeding, the client gradually broke into a smile, and, looking up, said:
"You talk of nursing. How long nursing?"
"How long nursing?" repeated Snitchey, dusting the snuff from his fingers, and making a slow calculation in his mind. "For your involved estate, sir? In good hands? S. and C.'s, say? Six or seven years."
Commentary and comparison:
When The Battle of Life first appeared, it was accompanied by John Leech's illustration of spendthrift aristocrat Michael Warden's consulting the attorneys Snitchey and Craggs. The image is neither proleptic (shown in advance of the text) or analeptic (shown after the passage realized), but embedded in the letterpress so that the reader confronts the image and the passage simultaneously, and therefore studies the expressions and poses of the three characters in two media at once.
Such, however, is not the case in either of the illustrations in the later American or the British Household Editions, both of which capture essentially the same moment, that is, when Michael Warden confesses his plan to elope with Marion Jeddler, with whom a horseback riding accident has brought him into close contact. In the passage below, the lengthy titles of the Abbey (1876) and Barnard (1878) illustrations have been italicized. In Barnard's illustration one finds the likenesses of client and attorneys analytically positioned, forcing the reader to re-evaluate the passage in light of a second "reading" of it in the illustration, which realizes a later moment in Warden's interview than in the Leech plate in the 1846 single-volume edition:
...."There was something naturally graceful and pleasant in the very carelessness of his air. It seemed to suggest, of his comely face and well-knit figure, that they might be greatly better if he chose: and that, once roused and made earnest (but he never had been earnest yet), he could be full of fire and purpose. "A dangerous sort of libertine," thought the shrewd lawyer, "to seem to catch the spark he wants, from a young lady's eyes."
"Now, observe, Snitchey," he continued, rising and taking him by the button, "and Craggs," taking him by the button also, and placing one partner on either side of him, so that neither might evade him. "I don't ask you for any advice. You are right to keep quite aloof from all parties in such a matter, which is not one in which grave men like you could interfere, on any side. I am briefly going to review in half-a-dozen words, my position and intention, and then I shall leave it to you to do the best for me, in money matters, that you can: seeing, that, if I run away with the Doctor's beautiful daughter (as I hope to do, and to become another man under her bright influence), it will be, for the moment, more chargeable than running away alone. But I shall soon make all that up in an altered life."
"I think it will be better not to hear this, Mr. Craggs?" said Snitchey, looking at him across the client.
"I think not," said Craggs. — Both listening attentively.
"Well! You needn't hear it," replied their client. "I'll mention it, however. I don't mean to ask the Doctor's consent, because he wouldn't give it me. But I mean to do the Doctor no wrong or harm, because (besides there being nothing serious in such trifles, as he says) I hope to rescue his child, my Marion, from what I see — I know — she dreads, and contemplates with misery: that is, the return of this old lover. If anything in the world is true, it is true that she dreads his return."
Neither Barnard's nor E. A. Abbey's illustration of this protestation quite captures young Warden's earnestness, but Barnard has particularized the attorneys whereas Abbey has made them similar, giving them both wigs and identical heights. However, other than the box with Michael Warden''s name on it (upper right), Barnard gives the reader no sense of the office, whereas Abbey defines the office by its books, papers, and furnishings, and establishes the time of day by the candle.
As Cohen has remarked, "the 1846 Christmas book, The Battle of Life, contains a minimum of merriment" and its plot is highly improbable. Nevertheless, the original illustrations do enforce a degree of "suspension of disbelief" in terms of the story's events, even as they add depth to the characters. Only at the end of October had Dickens suggested from Switzerland that the illustrations be cast in the fashions of Goldsmith's period, that is the second half of the eighteenth century, undoubtedly causing the team of artists to rethink their conceptions of the characters. With only a month before publication remaining, Forster sent the thirteen illustrations by the four artists to Lausanne for Dickens's approval. When he reviewed Leech's three illustrations, he disapproved of Leech's portrayal of Clemency Newcome in "The Parting Breakfast", for Leech, with a cartoonist's bent for whimsy, had emphasized the servant's awkwardness rather than her attractiveness.
Of Leech's three wood engravings the only one of which Dickens approved was "Snitchey and Craggs", which brilliantly integrates text and image, and combines a realistic interior with a visual symbol: a cornucopia surmounted by a stack of bills, its mouth stopped by a large padlock.
In contrast to the despondent Michael Warden (left, his tricorn hat thrown on the floor) and below a padlocked box bearing the letter "W" in John Leech's illustration, the Wardens of Abbey's and Barnard's illustrations seem much more animated. All three illustrations show a fashionably dressed young man of perhaps thirty, his youth and vigor emphasized by the older men who frame him. Whereas Snitchey and Craggs seem to be in doubt, their expressions glum and their gazes downward, Warden's stance and expression suggestive that he is more optimistic and certain of his course of action — which at this point involves eloping with Marion Jedder to save her from an unhappy marriage to Alfred Heathfield. Barnard depicts his Michael Warden as dressed to travel, with a heavy topcoat and riding boots, whereas Abbey's youth wears an embroidered silk vest and walking shoes. The Household Edition illustrators have chosen a moment with considerably more narrative interest than Leech's scene, but they have not made as much of it, perhaps because their realism prevents them from using the kinds of visual symbols that were Leech's stock and trade.
Thanks Kim for the illustrations, as always.While Dickens used one illustrator per novel (unless, like in PP there was a death of an illustrator) the Christmas Books treat us to multiple illustrators per novella. there is certainly contrasting styles in the artist's work, but with the Leech illustration there is a not so subtle repeat of his front illustration for A Christmas Carol. Leech's celebration dance depicted in the illustration above closely resembles the Fezziwig dance in ACC. If one looks at the top right-of-centre ceiling the same representation of a bunch of holly can be seen. In fact, on the Title Page of ACC Leech also has a representation of bunch of holly. This could, of course, simply reflect a common method of decorating in that time period. Leech did not blunder into putting a Christmas tree into this illustration because the story pre-dates the introduction of the Christmas tree into Victorian traditions.
I really enjoy the multiple illustrators. They, each in their own way, add yet another layer of creativity and a sense of a special time into the novella's publication.
This illustration is by E. A. Abbey:
"'Now, observe, Snitchey,' he continued, rising and taking him by the button, 'and Craggs,' taking him by the button also."
From the Household Edition (1876) of Dickens's Christmas Stories.
E. A. Abbey
Text Illustrated:
"I didn’t live six weeks, some few months ago, in the Doctor's house for nothing; and I doubted that soon," observed the client. "She would have doted on him, if her sister could have brought it about; but I watched them. Marion avoided his name, avoided the subject: shrunk from the least allusion to it, with evident distress."
"Why should she, Mr. Craggs, you know? Why should she, sir?" inquired Snitchey.
"I don’t know why she should, though there are many likely reasons," said the client, smiling at the attention and perplexity expressed in Mr. Snitchey's shining eye, and at his cautious way of carrying on the conversation, and making himself informed upon the subject; "but I know she does. She was very young when she made the engagement — if it may be called one, I am not even sure of that — and has repented of it, perhaps. Perhaps — it seems a foppish thing to say, but upon my soul I don't mean it in that light — she may have fallen in love with me, as I have fallen in love with her."
"He, he! Mr. Alfred, her old playfellow too, you remember, Mr. Craggs," said Snitchey, with a disconcerted laugh; "knew her almost from a baby!"
"Which makes it the more probable that she may be tired of his idea," calmly pursued the client, "and not indisposed to exchange it for the newer one of another lover, who presents himself (or is presented by his horse) under romantic circumstances; has the not unfavourable reputation — with a country girl — of having lived thoughtlessly and gayly, without doing much harm to any body; and who, for his youth and figure, and so forth — this may seem foppish again, but upon my soul I don't mean it in that light — might perhaps pass muster in a crowd with Mr. Alfred himself."
There was no gainsaying the last clause, certainly; and Mr. Snitchey, glancing at him, thought so. There was something naturally graceful and pleasant in the very carelessness of his air. It seemed to suggest, of his comely face and well-knit figure, that they might be greatly better if he chose: and that, once roused and made earnest (but he never had been earnest yet), he could be full of fire and purpose. "A dangerous sort of libertine," thought the shrewd lawyer, "to seem to catch the spark he wants, from a young lady's eyes."
"Now, observe, Snitchey," he continued, rising and taking him by the button, "and Craggs," taking him by the button also, and placing one partner on either side of him, so that neither might evade him. "I don’t ask you for any advice. You are right to keep quite aloof from all parties in such a matter, which is not one in which grave men like you could interfere, on any side. I am briefly going to review in half-a-dozen words, my position and intention, and then I shall leave it to you to do the best for me, in money matters, that you can: seeing, that, if I run away with the Doctor’s beautiful daughter (as I hope to do, and to become another man under her bright influence), it will be, for the moment, more chargeable than running away alone. But I shall soon make all that up in an altered life."
"I think it will be better not to hear this, Mr. Craggs?" said Snitchey, looking at him across the client.
"I think not," said Craggs. — Both listened attentively.
Commentary:
Of Punch cartoonist John Leech's three wood engravings for the 1846 edition of The Battle of Life: A Love Story, the only one of which Dickens approved was "Snitchey and Craggs", which brilliantly integrates text and image, and combines a realistic interior with a visual symbol: a cornucopia surmounted by a stack of bills, its mouth stopped by a large padlock, suggesting that the Warden estate will eventually produce abundance if the spendthrift heir heeds the advice of his financial advisers.
In contrast to the despondent Michael Warden of Leech's equivalent illustration (left, his tricorn hat thrown on the floor) and below a padlocked box bearing the letter "W," the Wardens of Abbey's and Barnard's illustrations seem much more animated. All three illustrations show a fashionably dressed young man of perhaps thirty, his youth and vigor emphasized by the older men who frame him. Whereas Snitchey and Craggs seem to be in doubt, their expressions glum and their gazes downward, Warden's stance and expression suggestive that he is more optimistic and certain of his course of action — which at this point involves eloping with Marion Jedder to save her from an unhappy marriage to Alfred Heathfield. Barnard depicts his Michael Warden as dressed to travel, with a heavy topcoat and riding boots, whereas Abbey's youth wears an embroidered silk vest and walking shoes. The Household Edition illustrators have chosen a moment with considerably more narrative interest than Leech's scene, but they have not made as much of it, perhaps because their realism prevents them from using the kinds of visual symbols that were Leech's stock and trade.
In "Part the Second," aristocratic spendthrift Michael Warden discusses his fiscal plight with his financial planners, the village lawyers, Thomas Craggs and Jonathan Snitchey in the chambers late one night, about three years after Alfred Heathfield's departure for medical studies abroad, a moment signified in the narrative-pictorial sequence by the previous illustration, "'Meat?' said Britain, approaching Mr. Snitchey, with the carving knife and fork in his hands, and throwing the question at him like a missile" . In Leech's illustration, Warden is feeling sorry for himself for being "Ruined at thirty" (American Household Edition), but in the illustrations by Abbey and Barnard (both of which realize a later moment in the interview) Warden seems more dynamic and positive, perhaps because he has accepted the attorneys' judgment that, if he leaves the country and lives frugally abroad for six or seven years, Snitchey and his partner will be able to "nurse" the estate back to health.
According to the logic of Abbey's illustration, Snitchey is to the left (since this figure closely resembles Snitchey in the previous illustration), and Craggs is to the right. An added complication for the legal partners is that Michael Warden has just confessed himself to be in love Marion, the younger of Dr. Jeddler's daughters, Marion, Alfred Heathfield's fiancée. The pair feel that Warden's confession has placed them in a conflict of interest, since they also represent the doctor and his future son-in-law. Warden is convinced of his succeeding in his suit in spite of the engagement because, as a guest in the Jeddler household while recovering from a riding accident, he has detected in Marion an aversion to going through with the marriage. In Leech's "Snitchey and Craggs", Warden, "pondering moodily" (1846 edition) occupies the client's "armchair of state" (left) as his attorneys pour over legal documents at their substantial desk (right). Abbey revitalizes this scene by choosing for illustration a more dramatic moment in Warden's dialogue with his advisers. Leech has fully contextualized the financial discussion by depicting the lawyers' chambers in some detail, including above the mantelpiece a clock whose hands indicating 11:20 P. M. may imply how close the client is to his fiscal midnight. In contrast, Abbey has merely offered the viewer a few salient details, and no symbols such as the padlocked cornucopia at the bottom of Leech's wood engraving. A table laden with documents suggests the lawyers' old-fashioned system of filing; a nondescript painting (left), a tricorn hat on the wall, several chairs, a small bookcase, and a candle burning on a writing desk (right) complete the scene. Abbey distinguishes between the two old lawyers by their period clothing and the style of their wigs, both undoubtedly depicted with archaeological accuracy. Snitchey (left) wears breeches and hose, buckled shoes, and exhibits an embroidered silk waistcoat and chin-lace; Craggs (right) wears a long coat with brocaded cuffs that permits the reader to see nothing of the costume beneath.
On the whole, Abbey's handling of the late-night interview is both more vigorous than Leech's and more satisfactory in its detailing than Barnard's (which, of course, Abbey could not have seen). Recognizing the importance of this scene in the plot the other Household Edition illustrator has convincingly portrayed the old attorneys and their thirty-year-old client economically, as is the fashion of Sixties illustration, through the characters' poses, expressions, and costumes — without much regard for background elements. Abbey's detailism is something of a throw-back to the earlier illustrators of the nineteenth century, despite his modeling of the figures in the manner of the Sixties. In Picture and Text (1893), Henry James provides a pertinent assessment of Abbey's penchant for eighteenth-century costume and character, although he does not allude to Abbey's handling of setting:
The domicile of Mr. Abbey's genius is the England of the eighteenth century; I should add that the palace of art which he has erected there commands — from the rear, as it were — various charming glimpses of the preceding age. The finest work he has yet done is in his admirable illustrations, in Harper's Magazine, to "She Stoops to Conquer," but the promise that he would one day do it was given some years ago in his delightful volume of designs to accompany Herrick's poems; to which we may add, as supplementary evidence, his drawings for Mr. William Black's novel of Judith Shakespeare [a romance published by Macmillan in 1884-85].
Despite their eighteenth-century garb, Barnard's Snitchey, Craggs, and Warden strike us as more ardent Victorian types, substantial and active. The lawyers would be as comfortable and convincing in the black trousers and mourning coats of the late nineteenth-century professional classes. Abbey's figures are more tranquil and reflective, and their chambers are consistent with the stage sets of Oliver Goldsmith's 1776 domestic comedy of manners She Stoops to Conquer, which he illustrated for Harper's Weekly between 1882 and 1887 (and subsequently issued in book form). Abbey does merely sketch his characters in eighteenth-century costume — he shows them as suited by virtue of their poses, carriages, and gestures to such costumes.
The one thing missing in The Battle of Life is the direct presence and participation of a ghost or spirit which is present in the other Christmas books. Dickens does, however, manage to create some sense and feel of the Gothic in this novella.In Part Two, when the rather evil-appearing Michael Martin lurks in the garden, we have an interesting Gothic vignette. Clemency tells Marion that the night is "as quiet as a churchyard." The night is dark and the lantern throws only a pale light into the darkness. There are unexplained noises in the dark and Clemency's mind casts up thoughts of ghosts or "apparitions." Mr Britain goes out to investigate. Clemency begs Marion "Don't cross the door-step to-night" but we read that " Clemency turned the key and opened the door. Into the dark and doubtful night lay beyond the threshold." And so Marion crosses the threshold and meets with the Byronic Michael Martin. The fleeing/disappearance of Marion further adds to the Gothic feel of this section.
There is here, I think, faint echoes of A Christmas Carol. We have the night, we have unexplained noises, we have a threshold being breached, in ACC by Marley's ghost and in The Battle of Life by Marion. In both cases,once the threshold has been crossed, the main character enters into a world that takes them on a journey of discovery and revelation.
Another by Fred Barnard:
"'What is the matter?' he exclaimed. 'I don't know. I — I am afraid to think. Go back. Hark!'"
Fred Barnard's twentieth illustration for Dickens's The Christmas Books
Commentary:
Instead of showing the yuletide dance in progress as Marion departs into the darkness (a moment not actually described in the text), Fred Barnard has simply realized the dramatic moment of Alfred Heathfield's arrival, eschewing speculation about the cause of Marion's disappearance shortly before. Thus, like E. A. Abbey, he is being far more faithful to the text than is John Leech in "The Night of the Return," albeit far less melodramatic than his American counterpart in the Household Edition. The scene begins with Alfred's leaving his carriage and approaching the house on foot, through the orchard:
"Listening for hers: attempting, as he crept on, to detach it from the rest, and half believing that he heard it: he had nearly reached the door, when it was abruptly opened, and a figure coming out encountered his. It instantly recoiled with a half-suppressed cry.
"Clemency," he said, "don't you know me?"
"Don't come in!" she answered, pushing him back. "Go away. Don't ask me why. Don't come in."
"What is the matter?" he exclaimed.
"I don't know. I — I am afraid to think. Go back. Hark!"
There was a sudden tumult in the house. She put her hands upon her ears. A wild scream, such as no hands could shut out, was heard; and Grace — distraction in her looks and manner — rushed out at the door.
"Grace!" He caught her in his arms. "What is it! Is she dead!"
She disengaged herself, as if to recognise his face, and fell down at his feet.
A crowd of figures came about them from the house. Among them was her father, with a paper in his hand.
"What is it!" cried Alfred, grasping his hair with his hands, and looking in an agony from face to face, as he bent upon his knee beside the insensible girl. "Will no one look at me? Will no one speak to me? Does no one know me? Is there no voice among you all, to tell me what it is!"
There was a murmur among them. "She is gone."
"Gone!" he echoed.
"Fled, my dear Alfred!" said the Doctor, in a broken voice, and with his hands before his face. "Gone from her home and us. To-night! She writes that she has made her innocent and blameless choice — entreats that we will forgive her — prays that we will not forget her — and is gone."
"With whom? Where?"
He started up, as if to follow in pursuit; but when they gave way to let him pass, looked wildly round upon them, staggered back, and sunk down in his former attitude, clasping one of Grace's cold hands in his own.
There was a hurried running to and fro, confusion, noise, disorder, and no purpose. Some proceeded to disperse themselves about the roads, and some took horse, and some got lights, and some conversed together, urging that there was no trace or track to follow. Some approached him kindly, with the view of offering consolation; some admonished him that Grace must be removed into the house, and that he prevented it. He never heard them, and he never moved." ["Part The Second," The Household Edition: by Chapman & Hall]
In the entirely new series of illustrations for the fourth Christmas Book, both Abbey and Barnard chose to avoid simply reinterpreting the work of Dickens's original illustrators. In this case, both Household Edition illustrators have corrected Leech's famous misstep in the original edition, and in a somewhat theatrical manner have focused on the family's discovery of Marion's clandestine departure.
Whereas Leech in his choice of simultaneous actions ignores the figure of Alfred, both Abbey and Barnard depict scenes in which Alfred is intimately involved, so that their work forms a more suitable complement to the events unfolding at the close of "Part the Second" and in the consciousness of the long-absent lover.
Leech's dual scene is certainly graceful, and the tree stump in the orchard behind the house serves as a telling symbol for Marion's severing not merely her engagement but also her remaining with everything safe and familiar. However, Leech fails to suggest the bitter cold of the snowstorm in which Marion departs, and thereby misses an opportunity to heighten the drama of the moment. Perhaps it was the graceful nature of the double scene that persuaded Dickens not to suppress it; and perhaps, as Jane Rabb Cohen speculates based on a letter he sent to Forster, Dickens did not want to offend the "kindhearted" illustrator by demanding that the plate be amended.
Barnard realizes the exact moment of Alfred's arrival at the door, just as a frantic Clemency opens it, aware that Marion has just disappeared from the dance. Too late to catch the girl, by coincidence she runs into Alfred, well muffled against the cold, windy night, suggested by the swirling skirts of Clemency (an older woman in respectable eighteenth-century attire who looks nothing like the awkward servant of the original series) and the agitated leaves in the tree by the door. Barnard has her look to the left, rather than at Alfred directly, as she grabs him with her left hand. She raises her right hand in agitation, as if to call out and make herself heard above the wind. A nice bit of detailing is Alfred's fitted travelling coat and small-brimmed hat, both consistent with the fashions of the late eighteenth century, signifying the passage of time since he Left the village for medical school, and perhaps even the current fashions of the Continent. Alfred is alarmed, but looks to Clemency for an answer, rather than in the direction of her earnest glance. Thus, the illustration reflects a moment several pages earlier, and analytically focuses the reader's attention on Alfred's initial reaction to Marion's disappearance.
Abbey realizes the subsequent "group" moment when Grace has fainted and Alfred begins to comprehend that Marion has fled rather than confront him about their engagement. The distraught doctor (left) has evidently read the note that she has left, and vainly calls out, while Alfred has sunk down, crying as he holds Grace's hand; in total, this is a memorable tableau to close the second part, the darkness engulfing the orchard in the background, and the chiaroscuro created by the unseen, open doorway (the reader's vantage point) highlighting Grace's period dress — with a rose representative of her innocence in the bodice. Rereading the illustration is insufficient to determine which of the sisters lies senseless on the ground, so that the reader must mediate between the text on page 130 and the image, which occupies the central half of page 131 facing. The former scenes of domestic bliss recalled by the denuded fruit tree (a presence shrouded by the darkness in the background, in the field between Dr. Jeddler and Alfred) have been exploded by anarchic feelings, but whether of passion, self-sacrifice, or utter willfulness the reader cannot at this point determine, and must read on.
Accordingly, the scenes presented in the Household Edition volumes published in New York and London would have made effective "curtains" in the serial novel that Dickens had at one point contemplated The Battle of Life might have become, had he not been so focused on the composition of Dombey and Son.
And another by E. A. Abbey:
"And sunk down in his former attitude, clasping one of Grace's cold hands in his own."
by E. A. Abbey
From the Household Edition (1876) of Dickens's Christmas Stories
Text Illustrated:
"There was a sudden tumult in the house. She put her hands upon her ears. A wild scream, such as no hands could shut out, was heard; and Grace — distraction in her looks and manner — rushed out at the door.
"Grace!" He caught her in his arms. "What is it! Is she dead!"
She disengaged herself, as if to recognise his face, and fell down at his feet.
A crowd of figures came about them from the house. Among them was her father, with a paper in his hand.
"What is it!" cried Alfred, grasping his hair with his hands, and looking in an agony from face to face, as he bent upon his knee beside the insensible girl. "Will no one look at me? Will no one speak to me? Does no one know me? Is there no voice among you all, to tell me what it is!"
There was a murmur among them. "She is gone."
"Gone!" he echoed.
"Fled, my dear Alfred!" said the Doctor, in a broken voice, and with his hands before his face. "Gone from her home and us. To-night! She writes that she has made her innocent and blameless choice — entreats that we will forgive her — prays that we will not forget her — and is gone."
"With whom? Where?"
He started up, as if to follow in pursuit; but when they gave way to let him pass, looked wildly round upon them, staggered back, and sunk down in his former attitude, clasping one of Grace's cold hands in his own.
There was a hurried running to and fro, confusion, noise, disorder, and no purpose. Some proceeded to disperse themselves about the roads, and some took horse, and some got lights, and some conversed together, urging that there was no trace or track to follow. Some approached him kindly, with the view of offering consolation; some admonished him that Grace must be removed into the house, and that he prevented it. He never heard them, and he never moved.
The snow fell fast and thick. He looked up for a moment in the air, and thought that those white ashes strewn upon his hopes and misery, were suited to them well. He looked round on the whitening ground, and thought how Marion's foot-prints would be hushed and covered up, as soon as made, and even that remembrance of her blotted out. But he never felt the weather and he never stirred."
Comparison on the Three Illustrations of the Shocked Reaction to Marion's Disappearance:
In the entirely new series of illustrations for the fourth Christmas Book, both E. A. Abbey and Fred Barnard chose different strategies for providing visual adjuncts to Dickens's description of the melodramatic disappearance of Marion Jeddler, originally realized in "Part the Second" and "The Night of the Return". Abbey reacts to and Barnard rejects the work of Dickens's 1846 illustrators. In this case, both Household Edition illustrators in a somewhat theatrical manner have focused on the family's and guests' varying responses to Marion's clandestine departure and explanatory note.
Barnard realizes the exact moment of Alfred's arrival at the doctor's door, just as a frantic Clemency opens it, aware that Marion has just disappeared from the dance (shown in the panel above in Leech's illustration). Too late to catch the girl, by coincidence she runs into Alfred, well muffled against the cold, windy night, suggested by the swirling skirts of Clemency (an older woman in respectable eighteenth-century attire who looks nothing like the awkward servant of the original publication) and the agitated leaves in the tree by the door. Barnard has her look to the left, rather than at Alfred directly, as she grabs him with her left hand. She raises her right hand in agitation, as if to call out and make herself heard above the wind. A nice bit of detailing is Alfred's fitted travelling coat and small-brimmed hat, both consistent with the fashions of the late eighteenth century, signifying the passage of time since he left the village for medical school, and perhaps even the current fashions of the Continent. Alfred is alarmed, but looks to Clemency for an answer, rather than in the direction of her earnest glance. Thus, Barnard's illustration reflects a moment several pages earlier, and analeptically focuses the reader's attention on Alfred's initial reaction to Marion's disappearance.
In a stage managed scene worthy of Dion Boucicault's spectacular melodramas, E. A. Abbey realizes the subsequent atmospheric and emotionally charged "group" tableau, just after Grace's fainting. Having incorrectly at first surmised that Marion has died, Alfred begins to comprehend that Marion has fled rather than confront him about their engagement, and the merrymakers search in vain in the darkness for any trace of the doctor's daughter. In essence, Abbey has revitalized Doyle's earlier illustration, "Part the Second" by making the reactions of the characters more consistent with Dickens's text and eliminating Clemency. In Doyle's 1846 picture, Alfred bends over a Jeddler daughter (as yet unidentified), and Dr. Jeddler holds aloft a candle and scans the night for any trace of Marion. Dickens's supporting this choice of opening illustration for the second part of the story in that her supported telegraphing to the reader than one of the daughters would disappear by the end of the chapter. In Abbey's reworking of Doyle's illustration (which also includes a thumbnail of Warden's earlier riding accident), the distraught Dr. Jeddler (left) has evidently read the note that she has left, and vainly calls out, while Alfred has sunk down, crying as he holds Grace's hand; in total, this is a memorable tableau to close the second part, the darkness engulfing the orchard in the background, and the chiaroscuro created by the unseen, open doorway (the reader's vantage point) highlighting Grace's period dress — with a rose representative of her innocence in the bodice.
Reading the illustration is insufficient to determine which of the sisters lies senseless on the ground, so that the reader must mediate between the text and the image on the next page. The former scenes of domestic bliss recalled by the denuded fruit tree (a presence shrouded by the darkness in the background, in the field between Dr. Jeddler and Alfred) have been exploded by anarchic feelings, but whether of passion, self-sacrifice, or utter willfulness the reader cannot at this point determine, and must read on. The springtime idyll of the opening scene in the orchard is recalled by the tree in the background, which now spreads barren limbs in the background as an emotionally overwrought Alfred collapses over the senseless body of Grace (right) and the doctor (hardly the tower of masculine presence of mind holding a candle aloft, as in Doyle's illustration), holds his own head in his hands (left).
In eliminating the lively interior scene of the Christmas dance Abbey has missed an opportunity to contrast the joy of the communal gathering with the clandestine departure of Marion into the outer darkness — but to do so would have required the artist to give up part of the mystery of Marion's disappearance. Although neither Leech in "The Night of the Return" nor Doyle in "Part the Second" nor Abbey here realizes the wintry backdrop as effectively as Fred Barnard, Abbey's treatment of the composition is highly effective in his juxtaposing seven figures in individualized poses to suggest the range of emotions, from shock and grief (the Doctor, Alfred, and Grace) to the curiosity of less emotionally engaged onlookers (right). In this regard, Leech's handling of the physical setting seems particularly inept since, in order to show Marion's youthful figure to advantage, Leech has her depart into a cold winter's night without a coat or even a hooded cloak, and he has omitted the snow and wind that Barnard so ably suggests.
Accordingly, the scenes presented in the Household Edition volumes published in New York and London are an improvement on the original realizations by Richard Doyle and John Leech in the first edition.
Kim wrote: "And another by E. A. Abbey:"And sunk down in his former attitude, clasping one of Grace's cold hands in his own."
by E. A. Abbey
From the Household Edition (1876) of Dickens's Christmas Stor..."
I really enjoyed the comparisons and the commentary offered above. It makes one appreciate not only the work and attention to detail of such things as dress, posture, symbol and body alignment, but also points out how different illustrators envisioned and then created their work.
There is a whole world of study available to anyone who wants to move from the typescript of a page to the paratext of illustration and design of the page in this, or any illustrated novel.
From a letter to John Forster:"I send you in twelve letters, counting this as one, the first two parts (thirty-five slips) of the Christmas book. I have two present anxieties respecting it. One to know that you have received it safely; and the second to know how it strikes you. Be sure you read the first and second parts together. . . . There seems to me to be interest in it, and a pretty idea; and it is unlike the others. . . . There will be some minor points for consideration: as, the necessity for some slight alterations in one or two of the Doctor's speeches in the first part; and whether it should be called 'The Battle of Life. A Love Story'—to express both a love story in the common acceptation of the phrase, and also a story of love; with one or two other things of that sort. We can moot these by and by. I made a tremendous day's work of it yesterday and was horribly excited—so I am going to rush out, as fast as I can: being a little used up, and sick. . . . But never say die! I have been to the glass to look at my eye. Pretty bright!"
Another from John Forster's book, The Life of Charles Dickens:"I wonder whether you foresaw the end of the Christmas book! There are two or three places in which I can make it prettier, I think, by slight alterations. . . . I trust to Heaven you may like it. What an affecting story I could have made of it in one octavo volume. Oh to think of the printers transforming my kindly cynical old father into Doctor Taddler!" (28 October.) Here may be interposed extracts from letters of two years' later date to Sir Edward Lytton. "What you said of the Battle of Life gave me great pleasure. I was thoroughly wretched at having to use the idea for so short a story. I did not see its full capacity until it was too late to think of another subject; and I have always felt that I might have done a great deal with it, if I had taken it for the groundwork of a more extended book." (10 April, 1848.) "But for an insuperable aversion I have to trying back in such a case, I should certainly forge that bit of metal again, as you suggest. One of these days perhaps." . . . . (4 August, 1848.)
Kim wrote: "From a letter to John Forster:"I send you in twelve letters, counting this as one, the first two parts (thirty-five slips) of the Christmas book. I have two present anxieties respecting it. One t..."
Great letters, Kim. They let us look behind the scenes into the thinking process that went into the story. I think a very important phrase from the first letter occurs when Dickens writes "The Battle of Life. A Love Story - to express both a love story in the common acceptation of the phrase, and also a story of love; with one or two things of that sort. We can moot these by and by." The phrase "a story of love" is a broad and wide-sweeping one. As we may see in part three, it is also an accurate one.
And one by Harry Furniss:
Clemency and Britain
Harry Furniss
Dickens's Christmas Books, Charles Dickens Library Edition
Text Illustrated:
"Well, Clemmy,'" said Britain, "how are you by this time, and what's the news?"
Clemency told him the news, which he received very graciously. A gracious change had come over Benjamin from head to foot. He was much broader, much redder, much more cheerful, and much jollier in all respects. It seemed as if his face had been tied up in a knot before, and was now untwisted and smoothed out.
"There'll be another job for Snitchey and Craggs, I suppose," he observed, puffing slowly at his pipe. "More witnessing for you and me, perhaps, Clemmy!"
"Lor!" replied his fair companion, with her favourite twist of her favourite joints. "I wish it was me, Britain!"
"Wish what was you?"
"A-going to be married," said Clemency.
Benjamin took his pipe out of his mouth and laughed heartily. "Yes! you're a likely subject for that!" he said. "Poor Clem!" Clemency for her part laughed as heartily as he, and seemed as much amused by the idea. "Yes," she assented, "I'm a likely subject for that; an't I?"
"You'll never be married, you know," said Mr. Britain, resuming his pipe.
"Don't you think I ever shall though?" said Clemency, in perfect good faith.
Mr. Britain shook his head. "Not a chance of it!"
"Only think!" said Clemency. "Well! — I suppose you mean to, Britain, one of these days; don't you?"
Commentary
Although Furniss may well not have been aware of the original lead artist's own concern about how he could coordinate his conception of the comic woman of the melodrama, Clemency Newcome, with that embodied in the more elegant servant provided John Forster, manager of the enterprise, by Daniel Maclise, Harry Furniss elected to follow Dickens's description of the gangly, awkward servant rather than the models afforded him by previous illustrators, while retaining a phlegmatic Benjamin Britain. Furniss probably recalled the picture of the "proposal scene" in the Illustrated London News of Mr. and Mrs. Keeley playing these parts in the Albert Smith (and Dickens sanctioned) adaptation in the 26 December 1846 number; certainly, his composition bears considerable resemblance to "Scene from The Battle of Life, at London's Lyceum Theatre: Clemency, Mrs. Keeley; Britain, Mr. Keeley" (page 413). The figures, although reversed in Furniss's version, have identical postures, facial features, and costumes — even Clemency's easy-chair in Furniss's illustration seems to be based directly on the one depicted in the weekly newspaper, which in turn was a direct translation of the piece of furniture used by the Keeleys for their stage set, endorsed as authentic by their unofficial stage manager, Charles Dickens himself. Although Benjamin is prominent in Leech's "The Parting Breakfast" in that he stands at the foot of the table, wielding a carving knife and fork as he addresses Snitchey and Craggs, Clemency appears in a supporting role in that Leech illustration (only one of three for this fourth Christmas Book), as well as in Richard Doyle's "Part the Second" and Daniel Maclise's "The Secret Interview". The smiling, youthful Clemency of the newspaper depiction of Mary Anne Keeley in the role is the basis for Harry Furniss's cheerful middle-aged woman, but both are in total contrast to the serious, elderly companion of Fred Barnard's "'What is the matter?' he exclaimed. 'I don't know. I — I am afraid to think. Go back. Hark!'", so that the modern reader must applaud Furniss's decision to abandon the figures of the Household Edition volumes in favor of the stage moment conveyed in the Illustrated London News.
As has been noted, the Household Edition illustrators of the 1870s contributed little to Furniss's visualization of Dickens's odd couple, who are stereotypical publicans in eighteenth-century garb in Abbey's realization of the scene in which Michael Warden returns to the village after years abroad, and equally undistinguished servants in period costume in Barnard's version of "The Parting Breakfast." Thus, in choosing the proposal scene and in focusing on the comic servants as individuals rather than mere types in their own romantic plot, Furniss made the working-class couple who join the ranks of the middle class over the course of the story worthy of the reader's interest in the realization of their own dreams. Furniss has realized their role as comic foils to the main plot, has broadened the cast of characters socially — and probably reflected something of the appeal of these comic figures to theatre audiences over sixty years.
Although Furniss's impressionist style does not customarily include visual symbols, the circumstances of the discussion — the laden supper table — and in particular the cat sleeping at Clemency's feet, below her footstool, suggest her desire for domestic comfort. The gleaming pots and pans, in which in the text, Britain sees himself reflected would have imparted a nice "below stairs" touch, but Furniss again reveals himself not generally interested in providing such contextual details as the pot of beer at Britain's elbow.
Scene from The Battle of Life, at the Lyceum Theatre: Clemency, Mrs. Keeley; Britain, Mr. Keeley.The Illustrated London News Saturday, 26 December 1846
The positions of the Furniss illustration is a near mirror one of The Illustrated London News. Even the wing chair in which Clemency sits has the same vertical strips and the table settings match. Britain, himself, is a duplicate in clothes, posture and pipe.
Just finished part 2. I found it interesting that the characters (chiefly the doctor and Grace) worded certain statements in such a way that Marion could respond honestly without giving away her plans, e.g. when Grace talked about Alfred and "his wife" having a happy home, without naming Marion, specifically. It has been obvious to me throughout that Marion doesn't love Alfred. Why, then, doesn't she just declare it? The doctor doesn't seem like the type who's going to force his daughter into a loveless marriage. And it's also obvious that Grace does love him. So, while I'm enjoying the story, I'm having a bit of trouble getting over this small point which is, of course, pivotal to the plot. Perhaps this is the sort of thing Dickens was thinking of when he said he wished he'd had the time to extend the story.
As always, the minor characters, poor but happy, are proving to be my favorite characters. I just love Clemency and her cheery outlook. I am curious why Dickens had her act as a witness to Marion and Michael's secret meeting, but did not extend that privilege to the reader. Why didn't Clemency just observe the meeting from afar (as we did) without actually being there to hear the conversation? I assume that question will be answered in part 3.
I do hope there are more yuletide references and imagery in part 3 -- yes, the party in this section took place around Christmas, but it was truly a party for Alfred's homecoming. The Battle of Life hasn't, so far, conveyed to me the things one expects from a Christmas story.
I didn't finish this section until after Christmas… like Peter, I found the homecoming party reminiscent of Fezziwig's. But my favourite part was the opening description of Snitchey's and Craggs' office, and the comparison of their legal practice to the old battleground, especially the smoke screen created by the law, and bewildered clients pulling the brass nails out of the chairs! I wondered if this was a precursor to his treatment of the law in Bleak House. I agree Mary Lou, the sisters are puzzling -- very close to one another, but seemingly unaware of each other's feelings. When Dr. Jeddler recalls the child Grace wishing to marry Alfred, her humming sounds like a cover-up. But is she so preoccupied with denying her own feelings that she doesn't notice her sister's? More self-sacrificing female characters, I'm afraid…! And I had trouble suspending my disbelief when Marion holds Clemency's hand during her 'secret' meeting with Warden. He didn't notice? :)
Vanessa wrote: "I didn't finish this section until after Christmas… like Peter, I found the homecoming party reminiscent of Fezziwig's. But my favourite part was the opening description of Snitchey's and Craggs' o..."I agree - the description of the office was very well done. One of the things Dickens does so masterfully is throw in little details like the brass nails, or Clemency rubbing her elbows, etc. He really creates a mental image for the reader that puts them there in the scene. In contrast, I read a contemporary author recently whose best attempt at the same thing, like so many others writers today, was talking about the food. Future generations will think that the late 20th century was obsessed with food! But so many of today's authors seem incapable of imagining any other details.
When it comes to food, though, I must say that Dickens also had a very soft spot for describing food, and this is no criticism at all: Just think of when little David Copperfield is trying to enjoy his meal in the presence of the wily waiter, or when Mrs. Gamp invites her colleague Mrs. Prig over for dinner. Then there is that other scene in David Copperfield where our hero invites some of his friends when he is still residing at Mrs. Crupps's place. Of course, there are also less luxurious meals like Scrooge's bowl of gruel on Christmas Eve ... but there is quite a lot of food described in Dickens. Nevertheless, this was only one of Dickens's ways of creating atmosphere, and this is exactly where many modern writers are less successful.
The Pickwick Club
Books mentioned in this topic
The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling (other topics)Nicholas Nickleby (other topics)
Well, as we move closer to Christmas, we also encounter more magic, so Kim has magically been transformed into Peter. The elves claim this was done so Kim can enjoy the rather coolish temperatures of the west coast and the snow that insists on falling here, much to the chagrin of most of the adult population, but equally much to the delight of the children.
Dickens delights in creating lawyers for his stories and in this story the role is taken by Snitchey and Craggs whose office just happens to be "on the old Battle Grounds." One is tempted to notice how those names suggest somewhat unpleasant characters. With the lawyers is a seemingly unpleasant character by the name of Michael Warden whose affairs, we are told, "were in a bad way." Warden is assured by the lawyers, however, that with six or seven years of care his affairs could be nursed back to health. It seems that the best way to nurse his affairs is to go abroad to live. It also seems that the only thing Warden has an abundance of is love for Marion Jeddler, who, of course, is engaged. According to Michael Warden, Marion is not as besotted with Alfred as everyone thinks, but that could be because Michael Warden is prejudiced.
Dickens then takes us to the quiet study of Doctor Jeddler and his daughters where they are spending s quiet night reading. As Marion reads about a character who "now began to know that the great trial of her heart must soon come on, and could not be delayed" she begins to cry. Her father, in response, comments ""What! Overcome by a story-book! Print and Paper!" Lots of exclamation marks.
Dickens uses their maid Clemency as a foil to this rather somber scene. Her good and positive nature, blended with her practical knowledge and life skills, acts as a good foil to the evening's events. The good Doctor announces that Alfred is coming home after his protracted time away from Marion. With another flourish of exclamation marks Marion comes to terms with this surprising news. Meanwhile, it seems that Clemency also has a suitor in Mr. Britain. Hmmm. In any case, there are noises heard outside, and Marion tells Clemency that it is Michael Warden. Despite Clemency's begging, Marion goes to meet with Warden.
Dickens draws this section to a close with a party that is celebrating the return of Alfred. All our characters are there from Snitchey to Marion, all dancing and anticipating the arrival of Alfred. Dickens and dancing and Christmas books. The Jeddler party has echoes of the Fezziwig party. There is one major difference, however. At the Jeddler party tragedy occurs. As Alfred, the man of the evening arrives his sweetheart Marion disappears. And thus, as the snow falls "fast and thick" the party ends, hearts are broken, and Marion has disappeared.
Questions
Why would Marion burst into tears reading a book?
How has Dickens framed this part's action to create suspense?
Can it be possible that Marion has gone away with Warden?