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The Battle of Life
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TristramThank you for the thorough summary. I, too, felt some relief with the opening of Part Three. That, and the fact that The Battle of Life is a Christmas story, told me all would be well. The question was how was Dickens going to resolve his story.
In Part Three Alfred offers his own philosophy when he says "there were victories gained everyday, in struggling hearts, to which these fields of battle were as nothing." When we look back to Part One Marion cried at a story of struggle and love. Now, through sacrifice and each individual's battle of life in the story, Part Three offers us the resolution to the various battle for hearts. Consider the hearts that are healed or joined in Part Three. We have Aunt Martha and Doctor Jeddler, Michael Warden and Marion, Alfred and Grace and Britain and Clemency. There is even a trans generational link to love in that Grace and Alfred's child was named Marion.
Dickens has in this Christmas story shown how humans can, quite literally, build upon ancient fields of battle and death to create a place of care, family and love. The ending of this story is comedic, as is appropriate for a Christmas tale.
Even though The Battle of Life is the only Christmas tale of Dickens that does not contain ghosts or spirits it still haunts its readers.
Tristram wrote: "Dear Pickwickians,I am actually quite surprised that our Christmas read is already at an end with Part III of the novella because it has always been one of my unspoken assumptions – and I don’t n..."
Tristram
I don't know why Michael Warden is in mourning either. I'll go back to the story and hunt for some clues.
Michael Warden's mourning garments are surely a way of creating suspense by showing the reader a red herring - because we, like Clemency, at first believe that Marion has died. Nevertheless, there must be some reason in the story why he is in mourning. It couldn't just be because Dickens needed something to increase suspense.
You mentioned that there are no ghosts or other supernatural beings in that story, Peter, and I must say that I quite enjoyed this because with the exception of A Christmas Carol the ghosts or supernatural beings in the preceding Christmas Tales seemed quite contrived to me. I had the overall impression that The Battle of Life is a more "adult" tale than the Chimes and the Cricket.
The first illustration for this illustration is by Richard Doyle:
Part the Third
Richard Doyle
1846
Full-page illustration for Dickens's The Battle of Life: Part the Third
Text Illustrated:
Ah! what was that, emerging from its shadow; standing on its threshold! That figure, with its white garments rustling in the evening air; its head laid down upon her father's breast, and pressed against it to his loving heart! O God! was it a vision that came bursting from the old man's arms, and with a cry, and with a waving of its hands, and with a wild precipitation of itself upon her in its boundless love, sank down in her embrace!
'Oh, Marion, Marion! Oh, my sister! Oh, my heart's dear love!
Oh, joy and happiness unutterable, so to meet again!'
It was no dream, no phantom conjured up by hope and fear, but Marion, sweet Marion! So beautiful, so happy, so unalloyed by care and trial, so elevated and exalted in her loveliness, that as the setting sun shone brightly on her upturned face, she might have been a spirit visiting the earth upon some healing mission.
Clinging to her sister, who had dropped upon a seat and bent down over her—and smiling through her tears—and kneeling, close before her, with both arms twining round her, and never turning for an instant from her face—and with the glory of the setting sun upon her brow, and with the soft tranquility of evening gathering around them—Marion at length broke silence; her voice, so calm, low, clear, and pleasant, well-tuned to the time.
'When this was my dear home, Grace, as it will be now again—'
'Stay, my sweet love! A moment! O Marion, to hear you speak again.'
She could not bear the voice she loved so well, at first.
This next is by Clarkson Stanfield
The Nutmeg Grater
Clarkson Stanfield
Full-page illustration for Dickens's The Battle of Life: Part the Third
Text Illustrated:
At such a time, one little roadside Inn, snugly sheltered behind a great elm-tree with a rare seat for idlers encircling its capacious bole, addressed a cheerful front towards the traveller, as a house of entertainment ought, and tempted him with many mute but significant assurances of a comfortable welcome. The ruddy sign- board perched up in the tree, with its golden letters winking in the sun, ogled the passer-by, from among the green leaves, like a jolly face, and promised good cheer. The horse-trough, full of clear fresh water, and the ground below it sprinkled with droppings of fragrant hay, made every horse that passed, prick up his ears. The crimson curtains in the lower rooms, and the pure white hangings in the little bed-chambers above, beckoned, Come in! with every breath of air. Upon the bright green shutters, there were golden legends about beer and ale, and neat wines, and good beds; and an affecting picture of a brown jug frothing over at the top. Upon the window-sills were flowering plants in bright red pots, which made a lively show against the white front of the house; and in the darkness of the doorway there were streaks of light, which glanced off from the surfaces of bottles and tankards.
On the door-step, appeared a proper figure of a landlord, too; for, though he was a short man, he was round and broad, and stood with his hands in his pockets, and his legs just wide enough apart to express a mind at rest upon the subject of the cellar, and an easy confidence—too calm and virtuous to become a swagger—in the general resources of the Inn. The superabundant moisture, trickling from everything after the late rain, set him off well. Nothing near him was thirsty. Certain top-heavy dahlias, looking over the palings of his neat well-ordered garden, had swilled as much as they could carry—perhaps a trifle more—and may have been the worse for liquor; but the sweet-briar, roses, wall- flowers, the plants at the windows, and the leaves on the old tree, were in the beaming state of moderate company that had taken no more than was wholesome for them, and had served to develop their best qualities. Sprinkling dewy drops about them on the ground, they seemed profuse of innocent and sparkling mirth, that did good where it lighted, softening neglected corners which the steady rain could seldom reach, and hurting nothing.
This village Inn had assumed, on being established, an uncommon sign. It was called The Nutmeg-Grater. And underneath that household word, was inscribed, up in the tree, on the same flaming board, and in the like golden characters, By Benjamin Britain.
The third illustration is by Daniel Maclise
The Sisters
Daniel Maclise
1846
Full-page illustration for Dickens's The Battle of Life: Part the Third
I don't understand this illustration, the text that it is in the middle of all takes place in the garden (I think), this doesn't look like a garden to me. And what is going on out the window? Here's the text anyway.
Text Illustrated:
'And let me,' said a voice behind them; it was the stranger's - Michael Warden's; 'let me claim the benefit of those inscriptions. Mr. Heathfield and Dr. Jeddler, I might have deeply wronged you both. That I did not, is no virtue of my own. I will not say that I am six years wiser than I was, or better. But I have known, at any rate, that term of self-reproach. I can urge no reason why you should deal gently with me. I abused the hospitality of this house; and learnt by my own demerits, with a shame I never have forgotten, yet with some profit too, I would fain hope, from one,' he glanced at Marion, 'to whom I made my humble supplication for forgiveness, when I knew her merit and my deep unworthiness. In a few days I shall quit this place for ever. I entreat your pardon. Do as you would be done by! Forget and Forgive!'
TIME—from whom I had the latter portion of this story, and with whom I have the pleasure of a personal acquaintance of some five- and-thirty years' duration—informed me, leaning easily upon his scythe, that Michael Warden never went away again, and never sold his house, but opened it afresh, maintained a golden means of hospitality, and had a wife, the pride and honour of that countryside, whose name was Marion. But, as I have observed that Time confuses facts occasionally, I hardly know what weight to give to his authority.
Here is an illustration by Fred Barnard
"Guessed half aloud 'milk and water,' 'monthly warning,' 'mice and walnuts' — and couldn't approach her meaning."
Fred Barnard's twenty-first illustration for Dickens's The Christmas Books
Commentary:
"Barnard's final illustration for The Battle of Life picks up the story's comic thread as it, like its counterpart in the American Household Edition wood-engravings by E. A. Abbey, depicts Benjamin Britain and his wife Clemency in "A Gentleman Attired in Mourning, and Cloaked and Booted like a Rider on Horseback, Who Stood at the Bar-door" hosting a tanned, fit-looking stranger who has just alighted from his horse at portal of their inn, The Nutmeg Grater, seeking news of the Jeddlers. As a domestic melodrama, the novella requires the antiphonal comic note provided by the quirky Jeddler servants, Benjamin being the stock type known as the Comic Man and Clemency the Comic Woman of the melodrama, whose class, topics of conversation, and mode of dress contrast those of the principal, bourgeois characters.
Although Dickens had asked his London agent, John Forster, to make the decision about "having coats and gowns of dear old Goldsmith's day" (cited in Gibson, 43) to enhance the visual element, a certain "picturesqueness" may be found in the scenes involving an architectural or natural backdrop. There is little such "picturesqueness" in the Barnard and Abbey Household Edition illustrations, which tend instead to focus on the chief characters. Instead of showing the picturesque exterior of the roadside inn as Clarkson Stanfield has done in the original volume, for example, Barnard has moved the reader inside the village public house to witness Britain's puzzlement at his wife's attempting to tell him sotto voce that their visitor is none other than squire Michael Warden, last seen in Leech's "The Night of the Return" in the original volume (even though, in fact, he was not present just before midnight to assist Marion in her escape) and consulting with Snitchey and Craggs about how to repair his fortunes in the two Household Edition illustrations, Barnard's and Abbey's. The scene, set six years after events of the previous chapter, begins with Warden's arrival on horseback about tea time (late afternoon); as Dickens wished to maintain some suspense as to the visitor's identity, he narrates the scene from the perspective of the publicans and designates Warden "the stranger" throughout until Clemency suddenly makes the connection, but fails to communicate to her husband in a whisper:
.....She raised her head as with a sudden attention to the circumstances under which she was recalling these events, and looked quickly at the stranger. Seeing that his face was turned toward the window, and that he seemed intent upon the prospect, she made some eager signs to her husband, and pointed to the bill, and moved her mouth as if she were repeating with great energy, one word or phrase to him over and over again. As she uttered no sound, and as her dumb motions like most of her gestures were of a very extraordinary kind, this unintelligible conduct reduced Mr. Britain to the confines of despair. He stared at the table, at the stranger, at the spoons, at his wife — followed her pantomime with looks of deep amazement and perplexity — asked in the same language, was it property in danger, was it he in danger, was it she — answered her signals with other signals expressive of the deepest distress and confusion — followed the motions of her lips — guessed half aloud "milk and water," "monthly warning," "mice and walnuts" — and couldn't approach her meaning. ["Part The Third," The Household Edition: by Chapman & Hall, p. 148; by Harper & Bros.]
In the entirely new series of illustrations for the fourth Christmas Book, both Abbey and Barnard chose to do more than describe the quaint exterior of Benjamin and Clemency's roadside inn, the subject of marine- and landscape painter Stanfield's third and final contribution to the original program. Both Household Edition plates capture the striking moment when Warden returns to clear up the mystery of Marion's "elopement," but Barnard's illustration involves considerably more humor as he places Clemency, struggling to make herself understood, at the center of the composition, relegating Warden to a half-seen figure in the doorway to the bar-room (upper left). On the other hand, Abbey makes the rider, just alighted from his horse (upper right), the focal point of his final illustration for the novella, framing him in the open doorway. Whereas both Household Edition illustrators show Benjamin Britain in profile, Barnard gives greater prominence to Clemency, as is appropriate since her speech is the essence of the caption. Visual continuity suffers somewhat, however, as this Clemency does not much resemble the character opening the door to Alfred Heathfield in the previous illustration. Whereas Abbey's costuming of the figures is still mid-eighteenth century (note Benjamin's wig, for example), in Barnard's version Warden's riding coat and hat, both similar to Alfred's in Barnard's previous illustration, imply a late eighteenth-century setting. Barnard, too, has more effectively realized the space in which the publicans deal with the visitor, for Abbey's booted-and-caped rider is standing at the couple's parlor door and not, as the text suggests, in the bar-room."
The illustration by E. A. Abbey:
"A gentleman attired in mourning, and cloaked and booted like a rider on horseback, who stood at the bar-door."
E. A. Abbey
From the Household Edition (1876) of Dickens's Christmas Stories
Commentary:
Both Household Edition plates capture the striking moment when Warden returns to clear up for the reader the peculiar circumstances surrounding Marion's supposed "elopement," but Barnard's illustration involves considerably more humor as he places Clemency, struggling to make herself understood, at the center of the composition, relegating Warden to a half-seen figure in the doorway to the bar-room (upper left). On the other hand, Abbey makes the rider, just alighted from his horse (upper right), the focal point of his final illustration for the novella, framing him in the open doorway, and throwing him into a slight shadow against the brightness of the outdoors behind him
Whereas Barnard elects to put Warden in late-eighteenth-century fashions, as exemplified by his hat and topcoat, Abbey has dressed his mysterious rider in the manner of the mid-eighteenth century, with ticornered hat, cloak, and topboots. Abbey even clarifies the stranger's mode of travel by offering the reader a glimpse of the horse, tied to a post (upper right). Normally Abbey does not offer much background detail, but here he includes a number of details to establish the public-house setting: a keg, bottles, pitcher, and bowl (left), as well as a small plant on the window-sill (upper center). Abbey captures the precise moment when Britain grips the arm of his chair and turns to address the stranger.
Here's one I haven't seen before, it's by F.O. C. Darley
Mine Host of "The Nutmeg Grater" — Benjamin Britain & Clemency
Felix O. C. Darley
1888
Dickens's The Battle of Life, as realized in No. 13 of Character Sketches from Dickens (1888).
Text Illustrated:
A chaise-cart, driven by a boy, came clattering along the road: and seated in it, in a chair, with a large well-saturated umbrella spread out to dry behind her, was the plump figure of a matronly woman, with her bare arms folded across a basket which she carried on her knee, several other baskets and parcels lying crowded around her, and a certain bright good nature in her face and contented awkwardness in her manner, as she jogged to and fro with the motion of her carriage, which smacked of old times, even in the distance. Upon her nearer approach, this relish of by-gone days was not diminished; and when the cart stopped at the Nutmeg-Grater door, a pair of shoes, alighting from it, slipped nimbly through Mr. Britain's open arms, and came down with a substantial weight upon the pathway, which shoes could hardly have belonged to any one but Clemency Newcome. . . . — The Battle of Life, "Part the Third," 1846 edition, p. 129-130; Christmas Stories, Household Edition, vol. 2, p.124.
Mr. Britain heaved a sigh, and shook his head, and said he couldn't make it out: he had left off trying long ago. With that remark, he applied himself to putting up the bill just inside the bar window. Clemency, after meditating in silence for a few moments, roused herself, cleared her thoughtful brow, and bustled off to look after the children. — "Part the Third," 1846 edition, p. 133; Christmas Stories, Household Edition, vol. 2, p.127.
Commentary
Whereas many of the story's illustrators have conceived of the comic man and woman of the domestic melodrama (as represented in The Battle of Life by deadpan Benjamin Britain and lively but somewhat scattered Clemency Newcome) as Dr. Jeddler's servants, Darley realizes them as they exist at the close of the story, after they have left Dr. Jeddler's households and set up shop as publicans at The Nutmeg Grater, picturesquely rendered by seascape and landscape painter Clarkson Stanfield in the original edition in 1846, an illustration in which the publican is reduced to a tiny figure in the doorway, center. Indeed, only Fred Barnard in the British Household Edition among the other illustrators whose work Darley might have studied has chosen depict Benjamin and Clemency as husband and wife, and as solid members of the middle class. Darley prefers to realize the couple as comfortably circumstanced inn-keepers, in markedly eighteenth-century garb, with Britain transformed by independence from his dour and sour former self. No longer is his face "remarkably discontented," and his manner curt as he comfortably puffs on his long-stemmed flayed pipe:
......On the door-step, appeared a proper figure of a landlord, too; for though he was a short man, he was round and broad; and stood with his hands in his pockets, and his legs just wide enough apart to express a mind at rest upon the subject of the cellar, and an easy confidence — too calm and virtuous to become a swagger — in the general resources of the Inn. — The Battle of Life. A Love Story, "Part the Third," 1846 edition, p. 126; Christmas Stories, Household Edition, vol. 2, p.122.
Although Darley's title suggests that he is focusing on the innkeeper, the picture conveys both a sense of the inn yard and the character of Benjamin's wife, carrying the "well-saturated umbrella." Both are fashionably dressed bourgeoisie, and the inn in the background looks prosperous and well kept up. While Benjamin Britain is a homely, short, middle-aged, complacent publican, Darley's Clemency is rather attractive, and neither especially "plump" or "matronly," or even "awkward." In other words, while Benjamin has changed somewhat in appearance and considerably in disposition, according to the text, if not the illustrator, Clemency is supposed to look much the same as when Dickens first introduced her:
......She was about thirty years old, and had a sufficiently plump and cheerful face, though it was twisted up into an odd expression of tightness that made it comical. But, the extraordinary homeliness of her gait and manner, would have superseded any face in the world. To say that she had two left legs, and somebody else's arms, and that all four limbs seemed to be out of joint, and to start from perfectly wrong places when they were set in motion, is to offer the mildest outline of the reality. To say that she was perfectly content and satisfied with these arrangements, and regarded them as being no business of hers, and that she took her arms and legs as they came, and allowed them to dispose of themselves just as it happened, is to render faint justice to her equanimity. Her dress was a prodigious pair of self-willed shoes, that never wanted to go where her feet went; blue stockings; a printed gown of many colors, and the most hideous pattern procurable for money; and a white apron. She always wore short sleeves, and always had, by some accident, grazed elbows, in which she took so lively an interest, that she was continually trying to turn them round and get impossible views of them. In general, a little cap placed somewhere on her head; though it was rarely to be met with in the place usually occupied in other subjects, by that article of dress; but, from head to foot she was scrupulously clean, and maintained a kind of dislocated tidiness. Indeed, her laudable anxiety to be tidy and compact in her own conscience as well as in the public eye, gave rise to one of her most startling evolutions, which was to grasp herself sometimes by a sort of wooden handle (part of her clothing, and familiarly called a busk), and wrestle as it were with her garments, until they fell into a symmetrical arrangement. — The Battle of Life. A Love Story, "Part the First," 1846 edition, p. 20-21; Christmas Stories, Household Edition, vol. 2, pp.58-59.
Darley underscores the inward change in Clemency by showing the servant, Harry, prominently as he carries parcels in from the chaise-cart; Dickens mentions that Clemency, although much the same physically, has assumed an administrative position, directing the affairs and paperwork associated with running an inn. That the business is doing well is suggested by the fact that even the servant, Harry, appears to be well-dressed.
Kim. You have outdone yourself with this week's illustration postings. Where do you find the time with all you decorating duties? Thank you.Reading and viewing these illustrations was as much fun as opening up a plump stocking on Christmas morning. There is so much here to look at, wonder about, and enjoy.
I find it very interesting to read and view how various illustrators worked within the bounds of one book, and, indeed, one part of the book. To me, it seems that there was little collaboration among the original illustrators as to how to go about the depiction of the characters and the physical setting. I realize that each illustrator has an individual style, but still there appears to be much difference, and I like viewing and thinking about those differences.
The integration of the text and the illustrations is also fascinating. While Dickens's novels have the illustrations by Cruikshank, Phiz and others on a page by themselves, here we see how the book blends the type set with the image. This makes the reading experience much different. I wonder to what extent this was a conscious decision? It seems that the ""Christmas Books" could have been intended and targeted for children as well as adults. The blend of the text and the illustration gives a greater appreciation for the story. The difference in the size of the physical text, with the Christmas books being markedly smaller in dimension, also suggest that the books had a very different intention and audience in mind than the larger novels. While I realize that the origin all parts of the full-length novels were easier to handle than the novel that followed the parts, the Christmas books remain distinctly different in size, shape, format, illustration and page composition. A Yule-time treat for all.
Kim wrote: "Here is an illustration by Fred Barnard"Guessed half aloud 'milk and water,' 'monthly warning,' 'mice and walnuts' — and couldn't approach her meaning."
Fred Barnard's twenty-first illustration ..."
I loved this little bit of the story and am so glad that Barnard chose to sketch it!
I've just finished The Battle of Life and have to say I was disappointed. I loved: Clemency; the Nutmeg Grater; the "mice and walnuts" scene; Dickens prose in the opening of the book in which he describes the battlefield and its effects on those who lived on it through the generations; the fact that the beloved female character shared my name (with an 'o' instead of an 'a'!). What I didn't like: just about everything else. :-( Without going into gripe mode, I'll just say that this was not a Christmas story, despite one scene taking place in December. So I think that fact alone gave me expectations that weren't met. Had I had Dickens' ear, I would have suggested that he have Part 3 take place at Christmas rather than on Marion's birthday, which has no meaning to the reader and offers nothing to the story (except to illustrate that they all love and miss her, which is shown in dozens of other ways). Had Marion revealed herself at Christmas - much in the way Martha Cratchit revealed herself in ACC - I might have had more patience with the ending as it was revealed, and the gaiety that ensued.
Finally, Dickens did such a masterful job with the battlefield description at the beginning, that I couldn't possibly equate emotional heartbreak with the horrors of actual battle, thus invalidating (for me, at any rate) the whole theme of the story.
Mary Lou wrote: "I've just finished The Battle of Life and have to say I was disappointed. I loved: Clemency; the Nutmeg Grater; the "mice and walnuts" scene; Dickens prose in the opening of the book in which he de..."An interesting set of observations Mary Lou, and I agree with you. The story did not feel Christmas-like, did it? Do you think that we have been spoiled by A Christmas Carol? Carol is a hard act to follow. Since Carol was the first of the Christmas books, I think all the remaining Christmas stories suffer to some degree, and The Battle of Life may well be the least Christmas-like of all.
I think The Battle of Life is best viewed as "a book published at Christmastime" rather than "a Christmas book". All five of the longer Christmas stories are worthwhile, but there was no way that Dickens could repeat the unique success of the Carol.
I can understand your disappointment at finding that Christmas did not play a very big role in the story, Mary Lou, as I also felt a little bit duped at first. Still, all in all, I liked The Battle of Life better than the preceding two Christmas stories because it seemed less silly to me than The Cricket, and I had the impression that it was better balanced as a story than The Chimes. Maybe when writing that story, Dickens could just not for the life of him come up with another Christmas setting? Writing a Christmas story every year, and doing so in the shade of the success of A Christmas Carol must have been quite a mental strain on the author.Do you still feel disappointed in Battle when you see it in comparsion with Cricket and Chimes?
Tristram wrote: "Do you still feel disappointed in Battle when you see it in comparsion with Cricket and Chimes?"To the best of my recollection, I've read neither! A few weeks ago, I did watch a children's dvd that was a claymation adaptation of Chimes that was pretty awful, but one must assume the original was far superior. Perhaps next Christmas I'll make a point of reading both of them. I have such high expectations of Cricket just based on the title (I actually keep a cricket on my hearth), just as I do of Old Curiosity Shop, that I'm a little afraid to read them both as they will undoubtedly let me down.
While reading those, i.e. Chimes and Cricket, may not be a pleasurable experience in itself, it will certainly help a person appreciate the merits of Battle.Hmmm, that was a very caustic remark, and maybe I will stop using irony and sarcasm altogether in 2017. Who knows.
Tristram wrote: "Hmmm, that was a very caustic remark, and maybe I will stop using irony and sarcasm altogether in 2017. ..."
No you won't.
In this section, I enjoyed the portrayal of Clemency and especially, like Mary Lou, the "mice and walnuts" scene during her efforts to tell her husband that Warden has reappeared. When she threw her apron over her face, she instantly brought to mind Peggotty in D. Copperfield -- a prototype perhaps? :) I was also pleasantly surprised that the lawyers turned out to be kind-hearted. (Poor Mrs. Craggs, life was not 'too easy' for her…!) I admit that I was also disappointed in this story, mostly due to the characterization of the two sisters following the pattern of Dickens' self-sacrificing heroines. However, it reminded me of his idealization of his wife's younger sister, who died young in his arms and is believed to be the model of many of his female characters. The first article I came across goes into this comparison at length -- even going so far to suggest the sisters' first-name initials came (perhaps unconsciously) from Mary and Georgina Hogarth. An interesting read on his lifelong love of a young woman he immortalized. So there may well have been a ghost in this story after all!
http://www.victorianweb.org/authors/d...
In some respects I preferred The Chimes, because it tackled a Victorian social issue -- as I recall, the terrible plight of unwed mothers. I'd rather have ghosts than an otherwise contrived plot, and I kept thinking that poor Dr. Jeddler might have a heart attack after Marion flees.
But, like Tristram, I loved the ending note on "Time", especially reaching it by New Year's eve -- may it be a happy one.
Wow, that's really a haunting idea, the ghost inside The Battle of Life being the young woman that Dickens idolized. It certainly shows that it can be helpful to know about a writer's life when you want to understand his writings. Thanks for the link, Vanessa - and a Happy New Year to you.
Kim wrote: "Tristram wrote: "Hmmm, that was a very caustic remark, and maybe I will stop using irony and sarcasm altogether in 2017. ..."
No you won't."
Of course, I won't - because even if I wanted to, I couldn't possibly.
Vanessa wrote: "In this section, I enjoyed the portrayal of Clemency and especially, like Mary Lou, the "mice and walnuts" scene during her efforts to tell her husband that Warden has reappeared. When she threw he..."Vanessa.
What a great link. Dickens certainly keeps us thinking and searching. Thanks.
Glad you enjoyed the link, Peter and Tristram. Dickens does indeed keep us thinking.
Vanessa wrote: "Glad you enjoyed the link, Peter and Tristram. Dickens does indeed keep us thinking."As always, when I read of Dickens' personal life, I think "poor Catherine." I think whoever penned this article was probably on target with his theory of Mary and Georgina being the inspirations for Marion and Grace. What heartache Catherine must have endured being his wife, and having her sisters being put on such pedestals while she was always pregnant and raising his children. Talk about sibling rivalry!
As much as I admire Dickens, I often find myself thinking "poor Catherine" because Dickens must have been quite an egoistic husband. Egoistic even in a worse sense than calculating egoism could go - in that his wife might probably have been able to cope with a husband who would have adored nobody but himself, whereas it must have been hurtful indeed to find him adoring her sisters so much. But Dickens's insipid ideal of womanhood - those angelic, harmless young creatures indeed - made him incapable of creating interesting female heroes. Just look at his Nells, Florences, Ruths, Lizzies ...
I am actually quite surprised that our Christmas read is already at an end with Part III of the novella because it has always been one of my unspoken assumptions – and I don’t normally leave a lot of my assumptions unspoken – that a symmetrical and complete Christmas story would at least have four parts. One for every Sunday in Advent, that is. Somehow, we have arrived at the 4th Sunday in Advent with just three slices of Christmas Story, which is quite an achievement in husbandry.
So, what happens in the third part? First of all, we are told that six years have elapsed since that fateful Christmas when Marion had suddenly disappeared shortly before her plighted (in the double sense of the word) lover’s arrival at home. If we listen to the narrator’s voice carefully enough, we might get a hunch that things will still work out well in the end, when he says,
Does this not mean that one gleam of hope will suffice to light up the whole former battleground with joy? Let’s see. We learn that Benjamin Britain and Clemency Newcome have married and that they are also blessed with children. The couple has opened an inn called “The Nutmeg Grater”, which is a thriving business, especially because of Clemency’s untiring work, even though Ben Britain thinks himself the soul, and the brain, of the enterprise. We also learn that Clemency lost her job at Doctor Jeddler’s after Marion’s disappearance, for the distraught father blamed his servant for not having told him before that Marion had a secret suitor. In the course of the years, though, the Doctor forgave Clemency and is now a frequent guest at her house. We can also guess that Clemency is at peace with herself, generally, from the fact that her elbows are no longer covered with abrasions. On the day our chapter starts, the inn has a strange visitor in mourning who somehow looks familiar to Clemency and who eventually turns out to be Michael Warden, who has come back in order to prepare the sale of his goods preliminary to leaving the country for ever. Snitchey and Craggs have done a very good job looking after Mr. Warden’s affairs, making him a rather wealthy man during his absence. In the course of their conversation, Mr. Snitchey himself arrives, now an old man (Craggs unfortunately died).
We now have a change of scene and are told that it is actually Marion’s birthday, and that it was this very day that Alfred and Grace had chosen for their own wedding day, for they are now a married couple. Alfred seems to have become a doctor, and we learn that he has a modest but very happy life:
Grace had been in contact with Marion through some letters for a while but eventually her younger sister had stopped writing, and so they gave her up for dead. It is now, on their wedding day, that Alfred has a surprise in store for his wife – namely that Marion is not only still alive, but also that she actually never gave in to Michael Warden’s wooing but spent those six years with her aunt Martha, the sister their father got estranged from because of his superficial philosophy. Marion now joins the couple and tells her story of self-sacrifice to her sister, the gist of which is that she sensed that her sister’s love for Alfred was much greater than her own and that she decided to leave her family in order to make Alfred aware of the fact that her sister loved him so dearly. In the course of the years she let in both her father, and later Alfred, on her secret, and now they all thought that the time had come for Grace to know the truth behind her sister’s disappearance. Even Michael Warden, who was intent on eloping with Marion, could not help feeling impressed with her sisterly love and self-sacrifice and therefore helped her with her plan.
The final scene of the novella now sees all the major characters together, Alfred, the two sisters, Doctor Jeddler, his sister Martha, Michael Warden, Britain and Clemency as well as Mr. Snitchey and his slightly cantankerous wife, and we also learn that the Doctor no longer adheres to his philosophy:
Ironically, the ending of the story – everyone being happy and all interests reconciled with each other, even Britain and his wife suddenly finding themselves the proprietors of the inn they had leased before – seems to cry out that life is a comedy after all, but that’s neither here nor there.
I would also like to quote the ending of the tale because it’s just soooo beautifully written:
I must confess that I don’t really know what questions to ask this time, but there is just one thing that does not really make a lot of sense to me, and maybe someone can help me: Why on earth is Michael Warden in mourning?