The Old Curiosity Club discussion
The Haunted Man
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The Haunted Man - Part Three
Mod
From THM:
Then, as Christmas is a time in which, of all times in the year, the memory of every remediable sorrow, wrong, and trouble in the world around us, should be active with us, not less than our own experiences, for all good, he laid his hand upon the boy, and, silently calling Him to witness who laid His hand on children in old time, rebuking, in the majesty of His prophetic knowledge, those who kept them from Him, vowed to protect him, teach him, and reclaim him.
From ACC:
But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round -- apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that -- as a good time: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!''
Mod
Memory
Lord, keep my memory green!
Poems by C. E. N.
Lord, keep my memory green!
Let the far past, outstretched before me lie,
That I may on it look with steadfast eye,
And think how kind and gracious Thou has been:
Lord, keep my memory green!
Lord, keep my memory green!
Let happy youthful days come crowding back,
When the full spirit felt of joy no lack,
And hope's bright bow was in the blue sky seen;
Lord, keep my memory green!
Lord, Keep my memory green!
Let friends long lost return the warm caress,
Whilst to my bosom their loved forms I press,
And gaze once more on their familiar mien;
Lord, keep my memory green!
Lord, keep my memory green!
Let the blest hour when first I felt Thy love,
Raising my heart from earth to things above,
Be present with me through each varying scene;
Lord, keep my memory green!
Lord, keep my memory green!
Let me remember how in evil hour,
Thou didst deliver from the tempter's power,
Keeping my soul from dire pollution clean;
Lord, keep my memory green!
Lord, keep my memory green!
Let glad thoughts dwell on Thy surpassing grace-
Suffering a sinner to behold Thy face,
Thy glorious face, without a veil between;
Lord, keep my memory green!
Lord, keep my memory green!
And, when I lay me on my dying bed,
And death's thick films these weary eyes o'erspread,
Lord, keep my memory green!
This poem is from a book with the simple title of "Poems by C. E. N." and that's it. Who C. E. N. is is beyond my ability to find, although my ability is under quite a bit of stress at the moment, I can find no publication date, but it certainly looks old. The only thing it says on that first place below the title is; I hare gathered flowers, and nothing is my own but the string that ties them together." Followed by: London: Book Society, 28, Paternoster row. Bristol: w. Mack, 38, Pake Street. If you want to find more poems by this mysterious person, you now have all the information I do.
Mod
That noble Genius long has passed away
To realms supernal and Love's deathless sway;
But still five genial Spirits play their part,
The best memorials of his kindly heart.
Carol in Prose, old and yet new appears
The bright companion of our earlier years;
How true the lesson and how grand the thought,
With ardent, generous sympathies inwrought.
The Chimes ring out their welcome strains and free,
On earth, goodwill to men of low degree;
Let all enjoy Life's happiness benign,
And share the goodness of the Hand Divine.
Hear, how the Cricket chirps upon the Hearth,
Singing of Home and fond domestic mirth;
While fireside Fairies praise the wifely Dot,
Teaching good John the blessings of his lot.
Life's battle and the strife of sacrifice,
A sister's care,-a blissful, last surprise!
What worldly triumph supersedes the gain,
Where pure affection in the heart shall reign?
The Haunted Soul, perplexed with mournful fears -
The memory of wrong in bygone years; -
Finds peace at last, and victory within,
When, like his Saviour, he forgives the sin.
So may these Christmas Spirits near us roam,
And preach Love's sermon, and the joys of Home;
Patience, forbearance, in this earthly scene,
And prayer to Heaven, "Lord, keep my memory green."
Robert Allbut
Rambles in Dickens' Land
Mod
Thanks for these poems and reminders of Dickens’s words.
Mod
Chapter Three: "The Gift Reversed"
John Tenniel
Commentary:
In Tenniel's sixth and last plate, the feminine forces of light (which have been identified with Milly in the printed text) sweep upward from the horizon, gathering in numbers and intensity as the vaguely apprehended forces of the night (identified by the stars, upper right) retreat. Below, on a headland a lighthouse stands upon a rock (recalling Stanfield's "The Lighthouse," which Tenniel may have seen in the early proofs) above a small cove where the waves, such billowing breakers earlier, gently break. The plate promises an end to the storm, and implies that the Phantom's "gift" will be reversed, just as Redlaw prays it will at the close of Chapter Two. The enclosed text asserts that night is still in the ascendant, and the result of the contest between light and darkness is still "remote and doubtful". This moment will not be realized in the print for a number of pages — "Soon, now, the distant line on the horizon brightened, the darkness faded" — as we move in the text to the exterior of the Tetterbys' shop, with its leafless, potted plant suggestive of anything but the optimistic mood that Plate 13 has established.
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Johnny and Moloch
Chapter 3
John Leech
Text Illustrated:
The Tetterbys were up, and doing. Mr. Tetterby took down the shutters of the shop, and, strip by strip, revealed the treasures of the window to the eyes, so proof against their seductions, of Jerusalem Buildings. Adolphus had been out so long already, that he was halfway on to “Morning Pepper.” Five small Tetterbys, whose ten round eyes were much inflamed by soap and friction, were in the tortures of a cool wash in the back kitchen; Mrs. Tetterby presiding. Johnny, who was pushed and hustled through his toilet with great rapidity when Moloch chanced to be in an exacting frame of mind (which was always the case), staggered up and down with his charge before the shop door, under greater difficulties than usual; the weight of Moloch being much increased by a complication of defences against the cold, composed of knitted worsted-work, and forming a complete suit of chain-armour, with a head-piece and blue gaiters.
Commentary:
The spectre's discussion of the Boy's emotional deprivation precedes Leech's humorous sketch of Johnny struggling to hold his infant-sister as his father removes the shutters from the shop's windows; as the text above proclaims, "The Tetterbys were up, and doing". In contrast to the Tetterby children, the urchin of the street "is the growth of man's indifference". In the plate, Leech has conflated two different moments, for Mr. Tetterby has taken down the shutters before Johnny "staggered up and down with his charge before the shop door". The artist may be implying that the job of children should be to look after and interact socially with other childrenÜrather than labouring in mines and factories, the producers and consumers of coal. To Victorian readers the very modern exterior of the shop and the lamp would have been reminders that this is a contemporary and middle-class fairytale.
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Milly and the Children
Chapter 3
Frank Stone
Text Illustrated:
He saw the children throng about her, and caress her, as he and she went away together thus, out of the house; he heard the ringing of their laughter, and their merry voices; he saw their bright faces, clustering around him like flowers; he witnessed the renewed contentment and affection of their parents; he breathed the simple air of their poor home, restored to its tranquillity; he thought of the unwholesome blight he had shed upon it, and might, but for her, have been diffusing then; and perhaps it is no wonder that he walked submissively beside her, and drew her gentle bosom nearer to his own.
Commentary:
In his third and final plate, Frank Stone again depicts Milly with pictorial consistency (posture, form, costume, and scale) as Dickens had desired him to do, cap and all. This plate is considerably more realistic and less cartoon-like than Leech's final offering, but Stone's high serious is appropriate to his angelic, spiritually renewing subject. The moment captured textually appears right above the plate, synthesizing the two narratives. The tearful reconciliation between the Tetterbys which we have just read about is reinforced by the joy of the children here. Both text and plate proclaim that Redlaw's gift has been revoked. Stone's depiction of Milly recalls pictures of Christ with the children and Catholic Counter-Reformation artists' conceptions of Charity: Milly in the text is "like the spirit of all goodness, affection, gentle consideration, love, and domesticity", those qualities that the Christmas Books consistently celebrate. Owing to the time pressures associated with the publication, we shall now go thirty pages before the next illustration.
The essential tensions in the printed text are between the comic business of the Tetterbys and the melodrama surrounding Redlaw and the student; here, Milly clearly bridges the two plots and harmonizes these disparate elements in the same way that the country dance does at the close of The Chimes. A similar sort of tension exists in the pictorial narrative, between Leech's cartoon whimsy and Stone's Pre-Raphaelite sobriety, reinforced by the natural forces depicted in Stanfield's marinescape and the architectural elements of his final plate. By confining the artists to those subjects which he perceived to be their forté, Dickens attempted to maintain pictorial-narrative continuity, although lapses do occasionally crop up, as in Leech's version of Johnny and the baby versus Stone's in "Milly and the Children."
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The Christmas Dinner in the reat Hall
Chapter 3
Clarkson Stanfield
Commentary:
In the last plate of The Haunted Man Stanfield has emphasized "the Great Hall" at the expense of "The Christmas Party." Architectural elements — Gothic beams and an elegant stained glass window in the rear, overwhelm the diners, a number of whom are obscured or have their backs to the viewer.
Fred Guida's blowup of the final plate corrects the dwarfing of the characters by the architectural setting, and permits the viewer to observe compositional details obscured in the much smaller original vignette, occupying perhaps two-thirds of the page. The largest child playing in the foreground in presumably Johnny Tetterby. The well-dressed diner facing away from us on the left (one is tempted to say "stage right," for the whole composition seems so much like one of Stanfield's theatrical sets) may be Professor Redlaw; Stanfield may have deliberately turned the figure so that we cannot see his face and thereby lose the visual continuity established by Leech and Tenniel. Presumably the woman to the right is Milly, in which case the man seated in front of her is her husband, William, and the old man beside her Philip Swidger, her father-in-law. The table's centrepiece appears to be a multi-layered cake rather than the roast "beef" which Dickens specifically mentions.
Appropriately, given the prominence of the pictorial element throughout the book, the final words of the text, "Lord, keep my memory green," are actually in the plate, thereby synthesizing visual and textual narratives at the final moment of the story. In "Dickens at Work on The Haunted Man," Ruth Glancy notes that Dickens deviated from the manuscript text to accommodate this effect:
for the sake of illustration Dickens removed a reference to the scroll beneath the picture as being in Latin, which, the manuscript said, translates as "Lord! keep my memory green!" As an illustration of the scroll appears on the final page of the book Dickens perhaps felt it would be easier for Stanfield if it were "old English letters" rather than Latin (HM, 326)." (DSA 15: 77)
The translation, of course, makes the motto more accessible to the Common Reader, albeit one who can afford the outlay of five shillings for a very small book, which compels the reader to engage text and illustration simultaneously in twelve of the seventeen plates (and all illustrations after no. 7, "Redlaw and the Boy") which share space with printed text. However, the final plate creates not only a synthesis but a serious divergence between text and illustration: the Swidgers present are a mere handful compared to the legions of Swidgers, who "were so numerous that they might join hands and make a ring round England", "by dozens and scores"), to say nothing of the Tetterby clan. The jollity of Scrooge's Christmas prize-turkey, punch, and polkas has boiled down to "beef" (which Stanfield indicates is something like a multi-layered cake with white icing!), around which perhaps sixteen somber "party-goers" chat, rather than dance as at the close of The Chimes and The Cricket.
The warmth and geniality of the final scene in the old college are a sharp contrast to the dark, icey, and forbidding exterior view of this bastion of male learning in Plate 11. In this final space, the past and present as well as the public and private converge. The Gothic beams support the roof and thereby emphasize the importance of the abiding presence of the past and through memory of its contribution to the individual's and the group's sense of identity. How can we know ourselves unless we retain awareness of our origins? The triple-paned stained-glass window complements the biblical language into which the reclaimed and resurrected Redlaw lapses under the influence of the Mary- like Milly, whose unconditional love is so well communicated in "Milly and the Children". Although she is "the embodiment of his better wisdom", her presence in the great Dinner Hall is not immediately obvious. Like the protagonist himself, she has been absorbed into the figures so that the room with its occupants as depicted by Stanfield is an emblem of society as a whole. Here in an ornate and beautiful space bequeathed by tradition and financed by a benevolent aristocracy (exemplified by the bearded Elizabethan gentleman in the portrait above the diners) the working-class Swidgers and lower-middle-class Tetterbys join with the upper-middle-class professional in communal celebration of Christmas. Here, too, the mundaneöthe teething infant, the rough-housing children, the great fire, and panneled wallsöand the "marvellous" coincide: "shapes and faces on the walls, . . . gradually changing what was real and familiar there, to what was wild and magical". In other words, the child- like faculty of imagination transforms the real into the wonderful. The public and performative space is animated by the presence of young children, elders, the affianced couple, the mentor of young men who are metaphorically his children (Redlaw) and the epitome of domestic, feminine goodness who is a mother to the children of others (Milly).
Redlaw has removed himself from the isolation of his study, and abandoned his academic alienation for the common space of the great Dinner Hall, where people of all conditions and degrees and both genders meet on an equality to share a meal and after-dinner conversation. The "sedate" face from the past, staring benignly down upon the diners, has displaced the sardonic visage of Redlaw's doppelganger, and a cheery communal fireplace of the "Illustrated Page to Chapter I" and of "The Christmas Party in the Great Dinner Hall" has replaced the barren, cheerless hearth of the chemist's study in the frontispiece and the sixth illustration). Redlaw must return to his study as Scrooge to his countinghouse, but he will no longer bear into that confined space the burden of melancholy and the atmosphere of gloom that had hitherto invested it.
The only spirits we are ever to credit fully in the Christmas Books in general and The Haunted Man in particular are those of familial conviviality, charity, forgiveness, and compassion for our fellow man: in short, the Christmas Spirit. Sadly, in part owing to Stanfield's deficiencies and in part to a growing want of something in Dickens's own life, the bonhomie that attends the close of each of the other Christmas Books seems lacking here. We have passed from the obvious allegory of A Christmas Caroland The Chimes to something more subtle. Dickens would construct collaborative framed-tales for Household Words and its successor All the Year Round, a Christmas blend he was certain suited the popular if not the critical taste, but, perhaps in part owing to the influence of Wilkie Collins, realism would predominate over allegory. Another impetus towards realism that Dickens received was delivered to him by his periodical critics, who resented the religious tone and pious sentimentalizing in which he indulges at the close of The Haunted Man.
Although Dickens had originally assigned the closing illustration to John Leech, fearing that Leech, undoubtedly very busy with the Christmas illustrations for the large-scale London magazine of humor, Punch, suggested that this final plate be assigned instead to Clarkson Stanfield.
Stanfield's elegant architectural studies of the exterior and interior of "The Old College" versus Barnard's individual portrait of the Founder of the College.
The original Clarkson Stanfield architectural study of 1848 diminishes the importance of the characters. However, as Parker notes, the elegant beams and ceiling, lit by a stained-glass window to the rear, are entirely consistent with the somber mood of the closing, whose final words are also "Lord Keep my Memory Green."
Together with innumerable Swidgers, the main characters gather for Christmas dinner in the college hall. The mood is pensive rather than jubilant. Strong feelings are indicated, but with restraint. we are offered a measured contrast, deeply soothing in effect, to the naked despondency that has hitherto prevailed. [Parker 259]
It is possible to argue that Stanfield deliberately subordinated the figures in The picture to the physical setting, whose hammer-beams, oak pillars, wainscotted panneling, and triple-stained-glass window are legacies of the past, in order to emphasize the theme on the scroll. The only obvious identifications are Milly and Redlaw (right) and the five children to the left, who are probably Tetterbys. For his part, Barnard has decided to dispense with the characters entirely, and focus on the presiding genius of the seasonal celebration, the figure from three centuries before who is remembered and, as it were, recalled to life every December 25th by the seasonal greenery surrounding him. His portrait is "kept green," and his presence in the feast acknowledged.
As Parker points out, Dickens probably had a specific set of London buildings — and probably two different sets of Renaissance buildings — in mind for the novella's principal setting:
The college is evidently a conflation of the Charterhouse and Gresham College. Originally a Carthusian priory, the Charterhouse, in Clerkenwell, was refounded in 1611 by Thomas Sutton, as a school, and as a refuge for decayed bachelors or widowers. Damaged by bombing in 1941, its buildings in the early nineteenth century included a fifteenth century gatehouse, courts, and cloisters [suggested in Stanfield's "The Exterior of the Old College"], and a splendid sixteenth-century great hall, used by the brethren for dining. Gresham College was established in the City of London in 1579, by the will of Sir Thomas Gresham, for the delivery of public lectures on divinity, astronomy, music, geometry, physic, law, and rhetoric.
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"'You speak to me of what is lying here,' the Phantom interposed."
Fred Barnard
1878
Commentary:
Barnard's emotional study of the man of science, Chemistry Professor Redlaw (left), confronting his psychological double, whom he now begs to "undo" the gift of forgetfulness, realizes the following passage:
They were face to face again, and looking on each other, as intently and awfully as at the time of the bestowal of the gift, across the boy who still lay on the ground between them, at the Phantom's feet.
"Terrible instructor," said the Chemist, sinking on his knee before it, in an attitude of supplication, "by whom I was renounced, but by whom I am revisited (in which, and in whose milder aspect, I would fain believe I have a gleam of hope), I will obey without inquiry, praying that the cry I have sent up in the anguish of my soul has been, or will be, heard, in behalf of those whom I have injured beyond human reparation. But there is one thing —"
"You speak to me of what is lying here," the phantom interposed, and pointed with its finger to the boy.
"I do," returned the Chemist. "You know what I would ask. Why has this child alone been proof against my influence, and why, why, have I detected in its thoughts a terrible companionship with mine?"
"This," said the Phantom, pointing to the boy, "is the last, completest illustration of a human creature, utterly bereft of such remembrances as you have yielded up. No softening memory of sorrow, wrong, or trouble enters here, because this wretched mortal from his birth has been abandoned to a worse condition than the beasts, and has, within his knowledge, no one contrast, no humanising touch, to make a grain of such a memory spring up in his hardened breast. All within this desolate creature is barren wilderness. All within the man bereft of what you have resigned, is the same barren wilderness. Woe to such a man! Woe, tenfold, to the nation that shall count its monsters such as this, lying here, by hundreds and by thousands!"
Redlaw shrank, appalled, from what he heard.
"There is not," said the Phantom, "one of these — not one — but sows a harvest that mankind MUST reap. From every seed of evil in this boy, a field of ruin is grown that shall be gathered in, and garnered up, and sown again in many places in the world, until regions are overspread with wickedness enough to raise the waters of another Deluge. Open and unpunished murder in a city's streets would be less guilty in its daily toleration, than one such spectacle as this."
It seemed to look down upon the boy in his sleep. Redlaw, too, looked down upon him with a new emotion.
"There is not a father," said the Phantom, "by whose side in his daily or his nightly walk, these creatures pass; there is not a mother among all the ranks of loving mothers in this land; there is no one risen from the state of childhood, but shall be responsible in his or her degree for this enormity. There is not a country throughout the earth on which it would not bring a curse. There is no religion upon earth that it would not deny; there is no people upon earth it would not put to shame."
The Chemist clasped his hands, and looked, with trembling fear and pity, from the sleeping boy to the Phantom, standing above him with his finger pointing down.
"Behold, I say," pursued the Spectre, "the perfect type of what it was your choice to be. Your influence is powerless here, because from this child's bosom you can banish nothing. His thoughts have been in 'terrible companionship' with yours, because you have gone down to his unnatural level. He is the growth of man's indifference; you are the growth of man's presumption. The beneficent design of Heaven is, in each case, overthrown, and from the two poles of the immaterial world you come together."
The Chemist stooped upon the ground beside the boy, and, with the same kind of compassion for him that he now felt for himself, covered him as he slept, and no longer shrank from him with abhorrence or indifference. — "Chapter 3: The Gift Reversed," The British Household Edition
In this emotional lesson to the expert from the domain of science, the observations of the "Terrible instructor" about the child recall those of the Spirit of Christmas Present to the man of good business in A Christmas Carol about the societal dangers of those grim twins, Ignorance and Want, so effectively realised by John Leech in the 1843 edition:
"Oh, Man. look here. Look, look, down here." exclaimed the Ghost.
They were a boy and a girl. Yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling, wolfish; but prostrate, too, in their humility. Where graceful youth should have filled their features out, and touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and shrivelled hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twisted them, and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful creation, has monsters half so horrible and dread.
Scrooge started back, appalled. Having them shown to him in this way, he tried to say they were fine children, but the words choked themselves, rather than be parties to a lie of such enormous magnitude.
"Spirit, are they yours." Scrooge could say no more.
"They are Man's," said the Spirit, looking down upon them. "And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased. Deny it." cried the Spirit, stretching out its hand towards the city. "Slander those who tell it ye. Admit it for your factious purposes, and make it worse. And abide the end."
"Have they no refuge or resource." cried Scrooge.
"Are there no prisons." said the Spirit, turning on him for the last time with his own words. "Are there no workhouses." The bell struck twelve. — "Stave Three: The Second of the Three Spirits," The British Household Edition
Even omitting the Christmas feast in the Great Hall that closes "Chapter III, The Gift Reversed," The Haunted Man does possess a number of features reminiscent of A Christmas Carol, in particular, a "Phantom" who like Jacob Marley and the three "Spirits" of the season in Scrooge's spiritual recovery provides the supernatural machinery necessary to effect Redlaw's ephiphany. Ironically, the university science professor — an academic who believes in observation and rational conclusions — addresses his doppelganger as his "terrible instructor," as if Dickens is emphasising what his Benthamite philanthropist Thomas Gradgrind in Hard Times for These Times (1854) refers to as "the wisdom of the head"; Redlaw, rejected by a fiancee in youth, has neglected "the wisdom of the heart," and must now be educated in the latter in order to realise the value of all memories, painful and happy alike, in our relationships with others. Redlaw, an intellectual, must learn how to sympathise with the atavistic street boy who has invaded his personal space and reminded him of the suffering of the Hungry Forties that lies just outside the college's walls.
Since Dickens and his illustrators in "The Gift Bestowed" established the connection between Redlaw and his awful double, readers of the final Bradbury and Evans Christmas Book understood clearly by the third chapter that the Phantom was an extension of Redlaw himself as well as a spirit capable of suppressing painful memories. However, heretofore in The Household Edition volume Barnard has not depicted the Phantom, so that this illustration must do double duty, recalling the opening dialogue in "The Gift Bestowed" between Redlaw and his Doppelganger about his painful upbringing and young adulthood, and pointing towards a resolution of the problem as the Phantom commands Redlaw to seek out Milly. Since the reader cannot see much of Redlaw but his back in this illustration, Barnard makes visual reference to the costume, physiognomy, and form of Redlaw in the opening illustration in the appearance here of the Phantom, who, despite his emaciated face and haunted eye-sockets, resembles Redlaw in every point in the first plate, "'Merry and happy, was it?' asked the Chemist in a low voice".
However, whereas Dickens's orginal illustrators established the presence of the Phantom from the outset in Tenniel's "The Frontispiece" and reinforced this supernatural or metaphysical agent in Leech's "Redlaw and the Phantom", Barnard introduces the nihilistic figure very late in his brief narrative-pictorial program. The subject for Barnard may be a supernatural visitation, but the only signifier of the Phantom's nature is the absence of legs and feet as he hovers rather than stands above the sleeping waif. In other respects, the Phantom , apparently appearing before a blazing fire, is treated realistically. In this illustration there is neither the psychomachia that surrounds Redlaw and his double in Tenniel's frontispiece (in which, moreover, the spirit is sketched in lightly, suggesting transparency) nor the atmospheric shadows and bric-a-brac of Redlaw's study of Leech's version. Marked by deep shading in the foreground which sharply contrasts the bright background, Barnard's study of the tail-coated scientist and his spectral double is much more three-dimensional, emotional (almost operatically so in the case of the hand-wringing Redlaw) and active than the contemplative and static figures caught in profile in the 1848 illustrations. The pleading underscores Redlaw's desire (mirroring Scrooge's posture and attitude with the Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come) for redemption and forgiveness from the Gothic figure who is a psychological projection of himself — and, as Barnard suggests here, something more.
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"'What a wonderful man you are, Father! — And how are you, Father? Are you really pretty hearty, though?' said William, shaking hands with him again, and patting him again, and rubbing him gently down again."
Fred Barnard
1878
Commentary:
Philip Swidger, William's old father, is functionally important in The Haunted Man. He demonstrates how memory can heal, and he makes the connection between memory and Christmas. It is through him that we learn that it is Christmas Eve.
Thus, in depicting the restoration of intergenerational amity in the penultimate illustration Barnard has brought us full circle from the opening illustration, when Milly, the Old Man, and William were decorating on Christmas Eve the college's great Dinner Hall for the Christmas Day dinner that is now about to occur. Over the course of reading the pictures and responding to the text we have come to know something of these characters, so that the gentle smile of the old man and the tenderness of his son have additional significance. The pose itself, suggesting both respect and assistance that should come with age as a recompense for parental care, is not described in the text (although as Milly enters "the old man was sitting in his chair in the chimney-corner," William does not attempt to help him rise from his chair), but is an appropriate extension of the text that Dickens provided his Household Edition illustrator.
Text Illustrated:
"That's what I say myself, father," returned his son. "I have been in an ugly sort of dream, I think. — How are you, father? Are you pretty well?"
"Strong and brave, my boy," returned the old man.
It was quite a sight to see Mr. William shaking hands with his father, and patting him on the back, and rubbing him gently down with his hand, as if he could not possibly do enough to show an interest in him.
"What a wonderful man you are, father! — How are you, father? Are you really pretty hearty, though?" said William, shaking hands with him again, and patting him again, and rubbing him gently down again.
"I never was fresher or stouter in my life, my boy."
"What a wonderful man you are, father! But that's exactly where it is," said Mr. William, with enthusiasm. "When I think of all that my father's gone through, and all the chances and changes, and sorrows and troubles, that have happened to him in the course of his long life, and under which his head has grown grey, and years upon years have gathered on it, I feel as if we couldn't do enough to honour the old gentleman, and make his old age easy. — How are you, father? Are you really pretty well, though?" ["Chapter Three," British Household Edition]
Although Dickens's original illustrators — John Leech, Clarkson Stanfield, John Tenniel, and Frank Stone — were not much interested in "The Old Man," Philip Swidger, father of William and father-in-law of Milly, Fred Barnard in his short series of eight illustrations depicts the old man twice, individualising him and eliciting the reader's sympathy for him. In both the initial illustration and the penultimate wood-engraving, Barnard shows Philip with his son William, whereas Frank Stone in the 1848 edition depicted him just once, with Milly, in the act of decorating the great Dinner Hall of the sixteenth-century college — and gives the reader little insight to the old man with his slightly stooping back and eighteenth-century great-coat towards the viewer.
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"Lord, keep my Memory Green!"
Fred Barnard
1878
Commentary:
As David Parker notes, “his entreaty closes the book . . . , and sustains the heartfelt calm of its ending, by containing layer upon layer of meaning beneath a surface of folksy piety”. Parker also points out that the motto has, in fact, at least two meanings, for the Renaissance "benefactor" undoubtedly wished to be remembered by succeeding generations for his endowment; however, for so many characters in the book, not the least Philip Swidger and Professor Redlaw, the aphorism would suggest, "Do not let me forget."
The story, we are reminded, is about keeping the faculty of memory itself "green," in order to preserve an outlook upon the world and its inhabitants, healthy morally and spiritually.
Ambiguity and association make the prayer that ends The Haunted Man rich in meaning, despite superficial simplicity. One further meaning, more overt at the end of Dickens's next text about Christmas, is perhaps hinted at here. On Christmas Day, Christians decorate their homes with holly to evoke one memory above all others. For such readers, the inscription beneath the portrait is, not least, a reminder of the incarnation of Christ, whose example in spires Redlaw's redemption. [Parker 260-61]
The portrait, like its caption, is alluded to both at the beginning of the novella, and at the conclusion; in fact, the Gothic letters of the subtitle on the Bradbury and Evans title-page, "A Fancy for Christmas-Time," may constitute our first clue to the thematic significance of the other phrase set in Gothic type at the very conclusion. The first allusion to the portrait and its homiletic caption appears early on in "The Gift Bestowed."
"— It was quite a pleasure to know that one of our founders — or, more correctly speaking," said the old man, with a great glory in his subject and his knowledge of it, "one of the learned gentlemen that helped endow us in Queen Elizabeth's time, for we were founded afore her day — left in his will, among the other bequests he made us, so much to buy holly, for garnishing the walls and windows, come Christmas. There was something homely and friendly in it. Being but strange here, then, and coming at Christmas time, we took a liking for his very picter that hangs in what used to be, anciently, afore our ten poor gentlemen commuted for an annual stipend in money, our great Dinner Hall. A sedate gentleman in a peaked beard, with a ruff round his neck, and a scroll below him, in old English letters, 'Lord! keep my memory green!' You know all about him, Mr. Redlaw?"
"I know the portrait hangs there, Philip."
"Yes, sure, it’s the second on the right, above the panelling. I was going to say — he has helped to keep my memory green, I thank him; for going round the building every year, as I’m a doing now, and freshening up the bare rooms with these branches and berries, freshens up my bare old brain." [Chapter 1, British Household Edition]
However, the seventh and final Barnard illustration for The Haunted Man and the Ghost's Bargain — Barnard has dispensed with the subtitle in Gothic letters — is also the closing image for the entire volume. The second passage which it realises comes directly before it.
Deepened in its gravity by the fire-light, and gazing from the darkness of the paneled wall like life, the sedate face in the portrait, with the beard and ruff, looked down at them from under its verdant wreath of holly, as they looked up at it; and, clear and plain below, as if a voice had uttered them, were the words:
"Lord keep my Memory Green!"
Barnard then repeats these words, omitting the vocative comma after "Lord," in The caption under the portrait of a substantial, bearded Elizabethan gentleman, with fur collar, staff, and chain of office.
It is perfectly reasonable to conjecture as to whether Fred Barnard had a actual portrait of Thomas Sutton or Sir Thomas Gresham in mind, or whether the late nineteenth century illustrator has, as it were, synthesised a number of Elizabethan and Jacobean portraits, as Dickens and Stanfield had synthesised Charterhouse and Gresham College. In fact, the luxurious, forking beard of the gentleman in Barnard's idealised portrait are highly reminiscent of Gresham's own in maturity, while the costume that Barnard has given his figure resembles both that in "Portrait of Thomas Sutton" (prominently featuring a starched ruff of the sort mentioned by Dickens) at Charterhouse, and that in the "Portrait of Sir Thomas Gresham (c. 1519-79) from Memoirs of the Court of Queen Elizabeth after the portrait by Antonio Mor, published in 1825. Compare, for example, the portrait of Gresham in the National Portrait Gallery, London, "Sir Thomas Gresham by Unknown Anglo-Netherlandish artist circa 1565," a three-quarter-length portrait of a distinguished nobleman in his mid-forties. Barnard, academically trained and a Londoner, would probably have seen both the National Portrait Gallery portrait of Sutton and this and other portraits of Gresham, and would have made the connection to "The Old College" of Dickens's final Christmas Book. Moreover, The London Illustrated News published a study of Gresham together with his portrait in 1866, commemorating his founding of the Royal Exchange, modelled on the Antwerp bourse, in 1565.
Mod
The Tetterby's Baby —
Harry Furniss
1910
Text Illustrated:
The tempers of the little Tetterbys had sadly changed with a few hours. Mr. and Mrs. Tetterby themselves were not more altered than their offspring. Usually they were an unselfish, good-natured, yielding little race, sharing short commons when it happened (which was pretty often) contentedly and even generously, and taking a great deal of enjoyment out of a very little meat. But they were fighting now, not only for the soap and water, but even for the breakfast which was yet in perspective. The hand of every little Tetterby was against the other little Tetterbys; and even Johnny's hand — the patient, much-enduring, and devoted Johnny — rose against the baby! Yes, Mrs. Tetterby, going to the door by mere accident, saw him viciously pick out a weak place in the suit of armour where a slap would tell, and slap that blessed child. [Chapter Three: "The Gift Reversed,"]
Commentary:
Although previous illustrators have depicted Johnny, the baby-minder, being chastised by his parents for neglecting his charge, only Furniss actually depicts Johnny's receiving physical abuse, an action uncharacteristic for his mother and father, who are now under the malignant influence of the dreadful "gift" that Redlaw bears with him into the Tetterby household when he visits the sick student, Denham.
Whereas the original novella concludes with the muted but seasonal amity of Clarkson Stanfield's The Christmas Party in the Great Dinner Hall, the picture occupying all but two lines of the final page, and Fred Barnard chose to conclude with the sentiment "Lord, keep my Memory Green!" to emphasize the importance of maintaining a sense of the past societally as well as individually with the portrait of the Elizabethan nobleman in the Great Hall as the final image on the final page of the Household Edition anthology, Harry Furniss ends his sequence for The Haunted Man on a note of discord. In Leech's Johnny and Moloch the worst that can be said of Mr. Tetterby is that he is too preoccupied with putting up the shutters of his shop to pay any attention to Johnny, whose glum expression as he struggles with the large infant prepares us for Johnny's asserting several pages later that he would rather run off and become a soldier: "There an't no babies in the army". In contrast, Furniss has chosen a slightly later moment to realize than that chosen by Leech; here, Mrs. Tetterby grabs Johnny as he slaps Sally and subsequently "repaid him the assault with usury thereto", so that the physical abuse which begins in the illustration continues in the parlor in the text. From inside the darkened shop, Mr. Tetterby, holding the shutters (right) looks disapprovingly upon the combatants, but does nothing to intervene. Furniss makes Johnny's raising his open hand to his sister a repetition of his mother's raised arm and clenched fist, implying a cycle of domestic violence as the victim becomes the victimizer.
Such a choice of subject for the final illustration in The Christmas Books component of the volume may imply that Furniss did not accept the somewhat muted closure that Dickens provided to this multi-stranded tale of infectious depression and contagious sociopathy. In its brutality and violence it would seem to be a radical departure from the series' goal of fostering of fellow feeling at the Christmas season, but it is quite consistent with the theme of the beneficial effects of memory and sentiment on the moral life of the individual and the community as a whole, obvious in the case of the moral rehabilitation of miser Ebenezer Scrooge, but also pertinent in the redemptive tales of Trotty Veck, John Peerybingle, Dr. Anthony Jeddler, and Professor Redlaw, "who finally accepts the mixed blessings of memory". In the social realism of the domestic abuse scene involving Johnny Tetterby and his parents Furniss may also be preparing the reader for the sometimes unsavory scenes of daily life in The Uncommercial Traveler that follow in this volume.
Mod
Observation the first. Although there were very powerful passages in the book, such as the initial description of the dark night that was coming on, of the desolation and loneliness it brought, or the description of how the light slowly manifested itself (at the beginning of Chapter 3), I couldn't help thinking that many characters tended to speak not so much like real people but like characters in a cheap melodrama.
Look at this:
“Oh, Dolf!” she cried. “I am so happy that you thought so; I am so grateful that you thought so! For I thought that you were common-looking, Dolf; and so you are, my dear, and may you be the commonest of all sights in my eyes, till you close them with your own good hands. I thought that you were small; and so you are, and I’ll make much of you because you are, and more of you because I love my husband. I thought that you began to stoop; and so you do, and you shall lean on me, and I’ll do all I can to keep you up. I thought there was no air about you; but there is, and it’s the air of home, and that’s the purest and the best there is, and God bless home once more, and all belonging to it, Dolf!”
Nice sentiments, but more sentiment than feeling, I'd say. The only thing missing to make it completely melodramatic would be characters dropping into thou's and thee's.
But wait:
“O Thou,” he said, “who through the teaching of pure love, hast graciously restored me to the memory which was the memory of Christ upon the Cross, and of all the good who perished in His cause, receive my thanks, and bless her!”
Observation the second. I thought the ending came a bit quickly and abruptly, and illogically. If it is Milly through whom people are brought around to their better and warmer selves, why did it not already happen in Chapter II, when Milly noticed and despaired in the face of the changes that had come upon the sick student, her husband and her father-in-law? I don't really see why in one situation her presence should remain without an effect, whereas in another situation, it brings about all the change needed for a happy ending. One could also ask what role the ghost plays: Is he really, as we assumed at the beginning, a manifestation of Redlaw's darker ego? If so, why does the ghost point out to Redlaw the key that is needed to change back into humaneness?
The major difference I see between this story and A Christmas Carol is that in the latter, the story makes sense and provides an enjoyable read, whereas in The Haunting Man the story seems threadbare and the sentiment is somewhat meretricious.
Mod
Observation the first. Although there were very powerful passages in the book, such as the initial description of the dark n..."
Tristram
I agree with you. The idea of a Christmas book was very inspiring from Dickens. ACC stands on its own as a work of inspired brilliance. Then, I fear, the remaining four became more labours of duty than of love.
Dickens did keep the idea of publishing a work that would be a Christmas story of some sort in Household Words and All the Year Round for most Christmases for the rest of his life but without the excessive fanfare, illustrations, unique printing and such. The original five Christmas books had served their purpose. Also, with the success of D&S, money was never a problem any more.
As for today’s reader, I doubt if many people could name any of the Christmas books after ACC. As you say, there are moments of character description, setting, and insight in THM, but little sustained power. Still, “Keep my memory green” has its own power and can stand beside “God bless us, everyone.”
At the end Dickens makes it unclear whether the ghost was real or not. He wants it to be ambiguous, I guess, in order to imply that regret can seem like an actual haunting. I know fantasy lovers will take offense at such a tactic, considering it cheap. What do you guys think? Should Dickens have left out that paragraph?
Mod
Not really. I think the idea of a ghost that is within a person- perhaps not to be properly called a ghost- was a step towards psychological realism.
I've always like Jung and his concept of a person’s shadow.
Tristram--You asked, "If it is Milly through whom people are brought around to their better and warmer selves, why did it not already happen in Chapter II, when Milly noticed and despaired in the face of the changes that had come upon the sick student, her husband and her father-in-law?"
I think the story's explanation is that it's Redlaw who makes the difference. At the beginning of III, the ghost repeatedly encourages him to "seek her out"--her being Milly. And after she meets the Tetterbys, she explains to them:
“I never was so moved,” said Milly, drying her eyes, “as I have been this morning. I must tell you, as soon as I can speak.—Mr. Redlaw came to me at sunrise, and with a tenderness in his manner, more as if I had been his darling daughter than myself, implored me to go with him to where William’s brother George is lying ill..."
So this is kind of interesting because if that's the logic behind the story, it keeps Redlaw with some agency and some ability to make up for the wrong he did.
That said, I'm with you that it still doesn't make sense, Milly's magical ability, and I found her repeated delight that people like her to be--okay, cloying and annoying.
I do find beautiful the idea that someone could take a great loss--Milly's loss of her child--and turn it to goodness for others. It underscores well the general theme that it's better to remember our sorrows.
Anyway, thanks to you all for sharing this story. It's not my favorite, but it was still a delight to learn more about Dickens, and with company.
Mod
Chapter 3
John Leech
Text Illustrated:
The Tetterbys were up, and doing. Mr. Tetterby took down the shutters of the shop, and, strip by strip, revealed the treasures of the wi..."
The Leech “Johnny and Moloch” is wonderful. The comment about the dead plant on the ledge above the window (the time of year aside) is a powerful bit of iconography. The children in the illustration are both pleasingly plump. The child who does not appear in the picture, the ragged waif who follows Redlaw, is not here, but his presence overshadows and constantly hovers over all the story.
Mod
Chapter 3
Clarkson Stanfield
Commentary:
In the last plate of The Haunted Man Stanfield has emphasized "the Great Hall" at the expense of "The Christmas Pa..."
Reason over allegory. This commentary is extremely detailed and I was impressed with how it blended the architectural elements of the hall with the human event occurring in the illustration.
Reading this commentary was very informative.
Mod
As we come to the end of this year, the end of the five Christmas books, and the end of Dickens’s novels, I want to thank you very much for continually supplying the illustrations. They have been rich in insight and possibility.
You have made an immense impact on our understanding of Dickens.
Mod
Mod
Thanks for your observation! It makes a lot of sense to me now that you pointed it out, although I'd say that it takes a lot of strength of character to turn the loss of a child, not into bitterness, but into outgoing love for anyone who stands in need of it. This makes Milly an even nicer character, I think.
I agree with Peter that the ghost is probably a part of Redlaw's inner self, which would also explain its moral ambiguity. At first, he is bent on aggression, trying to pass on a deadly gift of oblivion (and secretly revelling in the harm this will cause), but then the ghost reluctantly, but conspicuously offers a solution to Redlaw's plight by making him realize they power of Milly's selfless love. Were it not a part of Redlaw's soul, this change would not really make sense, would it?
Mod
Like the ghost of Christmas yet to come?
I have to say at the conclusion of "The Haunted Man" that the Group collective commentary was, in my opinion, superior to the story itself.To me the story line was a bore and not one of Dickens's pearls.
Sorry.
Mod
Like the ghost of Christmas yet to come?"
I don't really know whether the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come was reluctant to offer the solution to Scrooge; I had the impression that this Ghost was so terrible and impersonal that there was no real relationship between him and Scrooge. But as to Redlaw's ghost, he even speaks to him, and the closeness of their relationship is mirrored by their looking exactly alike. All in all, that ghost is much more tricky to figure out than the Christmas ghosts in Dickens's earlier story.
Mod
To me the story line was a bore and not one of Dickens's ..."
It was boring to me at times - cf. my previous post here in this thread - but still there were some very strong passages, which make me appreciate having read it, after all. Although it will definitely take some years before I read that story again.
Mod
To me the story line was a bore and not one of Dickens's ..."
Yes. The Haunted Man was not one of Dickens’s best. I agree with you that our group’s commentary is always interesting, incisive, and entertaining. Like you and Tristram, it will be some years before I revisit The Haunted Man. It was, however, an interesting project to try and frame the text for our discussion.
Mod
Mod
Kim wrote: "The Five Christmas Spirits..."I'm not big on poetry, but appreciate that Robert Allbut was able to honor Dickens' Christmas stories in this one poem. It almost makes me want to go back and read them all again. And, like Tristram, in each one I've found something to appreciate and make me glad I've read it, even if it's not a favorite story that I'll revisit regularly.
Julie wrote: "That said, I'm with you that it still doesn't make sense, Milly's magical ability, and I found her repeated delight that people like her to be--okay, cloying and annoying...."I can't be the only one....
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MWtUV...
Re: whether the phantom was an actual ghost, part of Redlaw's subconscious, or whatever, I'm reminded of what Glinda said at the end The Wizard of Oz --- "You had the power all along, my dear, you just had to learn it for yourself." I'm of the opinion that this was Redlaw's internal demon. I don't really understand why or how Millie became the manifestation of all that is good. One of the reasons I enjoyed ACC so much more was that it was very straightforward. This one had left way too much unexplained and ambiguous.
Similarities with ACC:The main character had a beloved, lost sister, and a neglected nephew.
The "ghost" visits on Christmas Eve, and all is happily resolved on Christmas day.
The boy (not named, adding to his invisible status) is a strong reminder of Ignorance and Want.
There is the strong implication in both that happiness is something we choose, rather than the result of our circumstances.
Each story tells us that our pasts contribute strongly to whom we become, but if we aren't happy, they can also show us where we may have gone astray and show us a new path.
Kim wrote: "Thank you Peter, this book not only had a lot of illustrations, but I kept thinking that the commentaries were going to be longer than the book."Kim -- I've often wondered but never before asked where these commentaries originate. At first I thought they were yours, but over the years, I've realized it's not your voice. Is there a book on Dickens' artists from which you're getting all of the illustrations and remarks?
Peter wrote: "“Keep my memory green” has its own power and can stand beside “God bless us, everyone...."I agree, Peter. I think it's a lovely way to remind us of the importance of remembering those who have gone before, and being hopeful that our descendants will keep us alive in their memories, as well.
Mod
The main character had a beloved, lost sister, and a neglected nephew.
The "ghost" visits on Christmas Eve, and all is happily resolved on Christmas day.
The boy (not na..."
Mary Lou
A very perceptive analysis. Thank you.
You have definitely unearthed (or would that be dug into the snow?) and identified how closely Dickens followed the structural template of ACC in THM. I wonder to what extent he tried to evolve THM in terms of psychology and yet keep the main themes and motifs similar with that of ACC?
Now that you have finished the story and reflected on it, what is your “final” opinion of THM?
Peter wrote: "Now that you have finished the story and reflected on it, what is your “final” opinion of THM? "I thought it was underdeveloped, and lacked a strong, linear narrative. Not that a narrative needs to be linear, but it does need a strong enough narrative so that the reader doesn't feel lost. Even having finished it, I'm still not sure what the heck the main thrust of the betrayal and/or bad memories was. Without that key ingredient (tied in with a meaningful passage or two that shows the reader what the relationship between the characters is, and why we should care), there is no compelling reason to read the story.
That said, though, there are bits of it I appreciated, as mentioned above: Johnny and Sally; the key phrase, "Lord, keep my memory green"; Mr. Philip (I'm 87!); and all the other bits that so many other readers didn't care for! Oh, and that wonderful quote, "...but for some trouble and sorrow we should never know half the good there is about us.”
Julie wrote: "Tristram--You asked, "If it is Milly through whom people are brought around to their better and warmer selves, why did it not already happen in Chapter II, when Milly noticed and despaired in the face of the changes that had come upon the sick student, her husband and her father-in-law?"
I think the story's explanation is that it's Redlaw who makes the difference. "
Julie, your comment was insightful and thought-provoking for me. It helped me to mull over the part of the story I like best: the beginning of the third chapter. (In the second part I agree with Tristram: the story becomes a bit too melodramatic for my personal taste.)
In the last lines of chapter two, Redlaw is locked in his room with the boy. Milly is out at the door and asks to enter, the boy struggles to reach her, but he does not open. Redlaw cries something that looks like a prayer:
From the darkness of my mind,
let the glimmering of contrition that I know is there,
shine up and show my misery!
Impossible for me not to think of Psalm 130:
Out of the depths
I have cried unto thee, O Lord.
This psalm is often used as a prayer for the dead, but I like to read it as a cry that comes from the depths of our anguished soul. What convinces me that Dickens was thinking of this psalm, is a statement by Redlaw in the third chapter:
"[I pray] that the cry I have sent up in the anguish of my soul
has been, or will be, heard."
The story begins "when twilight released the shadows", and it continues in the dark and desolate night that mirrors "the dark night of the soul" of Redlaw (I stole this fascinating methaphor from the article posted by Peter), when the boy is "fast asleep on the ground" and the man is "turned to stone" (what a powerful symbolic image).
And again the verses of the psalm resound in my mind:
My soul waiteth for the Lord
more than they that watch for the morning.
And here you are right: the sun rises when “the Chemist felt for the child the same compassion that he felt for himself.” The psalm says a truth that is valid also outside the religious message:
If thou, Lord, shouldest mark iniquities,
O Lord, who shall stand?
But there is forgiveness with thee.
The acceptance of our dark side, and consequently the acceptance of the dark side of the others.
The awakening of Redlaw is painful because "he truly felt how much he had lost", but it is the only road to forgiveness and healing. I like how Dickens uses music: during the night music was "a dry mechanism with no address to any mystery", but in the morning, music had the sound of Milly's voice. And Milly says, "May I tell you why it seems to me a good thing for us, to remember wrong that has been done us? That we may forgive it."
Mod
You asked, "If it is Milly through whom people are brought around to their better and warmer selves, why did it not already happen in Chapter II, when Milly noticed and de..."
Milena
Thank you for your insightful message. I was never aware of how Psalm 130 could be folded into our analysis.
William Holman Hunt’s “The Light of the World” https://www.google.ca/search?q=willia... is interesting to consider as well. While this painting was completed after The Haunted Man it does reflect on our discussion. Earlier in our discussion we discussed Dickens somewhat negative early comments on the pre-Raphaelites. To me the main symbol of this painting is the fact that it depicts Christ knocking on a door, thus suggesting he wants the door answered. It is emblematic that there is no method of opening the door from His side. It is the person inside the door who must answer the call and accept the light.
I’m glad we have touched on this topic. Here is one of the answers to the preponderance of doors that seem to appear in The Haunted Man. I do not suggest that Holman Hunt took inspiration from Dickens or his Christmas story. What I would suggest is that our Christmas story focuses on becoming aware of what a person has and holds within their self. Until we discover, recognize and deal with these issues, we will not be whole. We must open the door to our inner selves before we can be made whole.
Peter wrote: "...What I would suggest is that our Christmas story focuses on becoming aware of what a person has and holds within their self. Until we discover, recognize and deal with these issues, we will not be whole. We must open the door to our inner selves before we can be made whole."Peter, I agree with you!
As for the painting, I had seen it before, but I hadn't given it the attention it deserves.
I found an interesting explanation of the picture here:
http://www.victorianweb.org/painting/...
The symbology is very interesting, and it definitely connects with Milly (desperately) knocking at Redlaw’s door. I observed the painting carefully. I could not make out the bat that symbolizes the darkness of ignorance, though. ÷/
Mod
I confess that I do not know where the bat is either. Sorry.
After such a powerful close to the second chapter, and beautifully eerie beginning of the third, I found this section rather disjointed and disappointing. I agree with Mary Lou that the narrative is confusing, and a better understanding of the characters' relationships is needed. I assumed that Redlaw's sister was the ill student's mother -- until Milly tells the young man of his unannounced visitor, and he guesses his mother. But Redlaw's sister is dead. Then I noticed Longford's wife is mentioned elsewhere, as though still living. The illustration commentary notes that Redlaw was rejected by a fiancee, which sent me back to his conversation with his 'ghost' in part one. It seems they speak of two women - Redlaw's sister and another (a love, as like hers). Redlaw/ghost speaks of his vision of the future, that his friend married his sister, but this was a "delusion". Instead, (if I'm following this) his friend ran off with Redlaw's intended and his sister died of a broken (but uncomplaining) heart.
If Dickens had developed these women more (and given them names), I feel the narrative would have been much stronger. I agree that Milly was too sweet, and saint-like. I was touched by her faith, that at her own death an angel would call her mother, but I couldn't believe she was only a "little grieved" at the baby's death. Like several of Dickens' heroines, I wanted Milly to be more human.
I'm glad to have been able to read Peter's summary and everyone's commentary for this last part of The Haunted Man. I am in the camp that did not particularly care for this story. I thought it was not only difficult to figure out what was happening at times, but some of the progressions from one scene to the next felt abrupt. In particular, I was confused by what caused the change in Redlaw and lifted the curse. I didn't realize fully that Millie was the cause, or why. Julie's post at message 18 makes this all more clear, but during my reading I admit that I was completely lost. There were still some elements of Dickens' writing that I did appreciate, though. I think my favorite bits concerned the Tetterby's. I liked coming back to the baby teething and not knowing whether a tooth was about to pop through or had just cut, probably because it's something I can relate to with my own children. I also liked puzzling over things like poor Johnny having to put his slice of pudding in his pocket and wondering how that would have worked out.
Anyway, I admit that I probably did not give this story as much attention as I could have.
To me the strength of the story is in the psychological aspect of Redlaw's ghost (spirit of my darker hours), and the theme of redemption. Despite his loss of memory, he retains enough compassion to want to save Milly from his 'gift'. His faith in her (after his dark/forsaken night) restores everyone to their better selves. I was struck by his direct invocation of Christ, and really appreciated the discussion here around this, too. I'm wondering if part of the lasting appeal of A Christmas Carol (aside from being a better story :), is that its spirits appeal to a more universal spirituality.
Mod
I really appreciate your trying to work out all those puzzles about the characters' antecedents and relationships because I have to confess they passed above my head. Maybe, this was because Dickens had been working a long time on this novel - longer than on any other Christmas book - and there must have been times when he had put it on ice, with the probable result of his not being able to remember all those family relationships all too clearly any more.
I'm just relieved to know I wasn't the only person who had some trouble following this one!
Mod
Vanessa
Happy New Year to you and all Curiosities. Yes. For all of Redlaw’s supposed isolation he did manage to have a confusing earlier life. It was a puzzle to me as well. My logic was that since the student was Redlaw’s nephew the mystery woman who died had to be Redlaw’s sister. The unannounced down on his heals man was the person who married Redlaw’s sister, but this marriage occurred after he had first stolen the heart of the woman Redlaw had wanted to marry himself.
Oh my! Now I am getting confused and doubting myself.
I absolutely agree with you that the strength of the story is its psychological aspects and the theme of redemption. After ACC, the other Christmas books will always live in the shadows. In the case of The Haunted Man perhaps deep in the shadows.
Wait a minute.... so the suicidal man stole Redlaw's girl, then dumped her and married Redlaw's sister? I'm so confused.....
Vanessa wrote: "I'm wondering if part of the lasting appeal of A Christmas Carol (aside from being a better story :), is that its spirits appeal to a more universal spirituality...."Interesting. As a Christian, it never occurred to me that ACC might be considered either secular or, as you said, of "a more universal spirituality." For me, the title itself states that ACC is a Christian story (although I realize that these days "Die Hard" is considered a Christmas movie...). One of the most touching parts of the book for me is this passage:
He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk, and blind men see.'
But, for a modern, secular reader, I suppose the fact that it doesn't mention Jesus by name, and doesn't proselytize makes it seem somehow less overtly Christian. The next time I read it, I'll have to keep this "universal spirituality" in mind, and try to read it from that point of view.
The Gift Reversed
This part begins with the words “[n]ight was still heavy in the sky.” It is appropriate that there is still darkness because we haven’t seen much change from Redlaw yet. The good news is the title of this section is “The Gift Reversed” so if A Christmas Carol is any indication, we are in for good news.
With the wild and poor boy fast asleep at his feet, Redlaw sits “like a man turned to stone.” And yet, when he hears music he stands, his eyes fill with tears, and he “bowed down his head.” There is no great change in an instant, and yet as readers we feel the slow, almost imperceptible turning of his heart, his mind and his bad fortune. The Spectre then appears with a shade that looks like Milly. He directs Redlaw to “seek her out.” Redlaw begs the Spectre to allow others to be free of his curse even if he must remain under the curse of forgotten memories himself. It appears that Milly might be the key to unlocking the curse of memory loss, but the Spectre is not too forthcoming. Suspense, of course, for us the readers. Fair enough.
Redlaw realizes that Milly is one person who has been totally immune to the Spectre’s curse. The other is the ragged orphan child. Th Spectre explains the boy’s immunity like this:
This ... is the last completest illustration of a human creature, utterly bereft of such remembrances as you have yielded up. No softening memory of sorrow, wrong, or trouble enters here, because this wretched mortal from his birth has been abandoned to a worse condition than the beasts, and has, within his knowledge, no one contrast, no humanizing touch, to make a grain of memory spring up in his hardened breast ... Open and unpunished murder in a city’s streets would be less guilty ... than one such spectacle as this.”
At the end of the Spectre’s pointed comments
[Redlaw] stooped upon the ground beside the boy, and, with the same kind of compassion for him that he now felt for himself, covered him as he slept, and no longer shrank from him with abhorrence or indifference.”
It is not an unplanned coincidence that the very next sentence is “Soon, now, the distant line on the horizon brightened.” I cannot think of many novelists who are more effective in reflecting the mood of man through the elements of nature than Dickens. The term is pathetic fallacy. I really enjoy these Dickensian touches. Such touches do tend to expand, in this case, into an entire paragraph. No too long for Dickens or for his readers to enjoy.
Thoughts
Once again we appear to be on the brink of a restoration of order, an opening of a hardened heart, and a time of reconciliation. Well timed, too, since it is Christmas morning. To what extent has Dickens been able to keep your interest in this story to this point in time?
What character has engaged your imagination, curiosity, or intrigued you the most so far?
We are now off to the Tetterby household where Dickens has the opportunity to bring us some family chaos after our rather somber first paragraphs in this section. The Tetterby’s are “sadly changed” in their tempers. Cold callous, and unfeeling, we hear the phrase “what do I care what people do, or are done to?” The pre-Christmas morning Scrooge would be proud of such thoughts, but we know what happens to Scrooge in the end, don’t we? :-)).
And then, along comes Milly who has a magical effect on the family. The Tetterby’s are immediately aware of their grumpy former actions. The closer Milly comes, the more cheery and loving the Tetterby’s become to one another. Milly brings the delight of Christmas through her simple presence in the Tetterby household. We learn the Redlaw went to Milly’s house and from there to where George is lying ill. Joy and thankfulness, not to mention the ready flowing of tears, follow. A seeming miracle has occurred on Christmas morning. Milly seems flummoxed that people really like her. Denman asks her forgiveness for his attitude on Christmas Eve. Through all this we are told that Redlaw was conscious of having redeemed, through Milly, the evil he had done.
Thoughts
We have, in this scene of reconciliation, an insight into what Dickens saw as being important among people. What would you say Dickens believes must exist for a society to function properly?
Can you, at this point of the story, see how Dickens will make this ending somewhat different from that of A Christmas Carol?
The old man recalls how one Christmas morning many years ago Redlaw came to the college with a young woman who was his sister. At that time, she saw the picture with the inscription “Lord, keep my memory green!” From this remembrance comes tears as Redlaw states that his memory is gone and he “has lost his memory of sorrow, wrong, and trouble ... and with that I have lost all men would remember!”
After this moment, Milly approaches Redlaw and asks him about his remembrance of a past friend who “stood on the verge of destruction.” Well, it turns out Milly has found him, and he is the father of Mr Edmund, whose real name is Longford. In a long, and perhaps too convoluted explanation, we learn that the ill man is Redlaw’s brother-in-law, that his life is a mess, that Redlaw’s sister is dead, and that Redlaw’s nephew has hopes for a successful life. The brother-in-law then leaves the room to begin a long, self-imposed pilgrimage. Milly, for her part, explains that children may be attracted to her because they can feel the loss of her own child.
Thoughts
As our story comes to its conclusion there are many and sundry examples of care, goodness and forgiveness. Would you point out some examples of those you found to be most effective in your reading?
Did you find this tale more or less satisfying than A Christmas Carol?
What did you find to be some of the similarities between A Christmas Carol and The Ghost's Bargain?
And the doors ... what is your take on the seemingly endless number of doors that are mentioned in the story?
And now, I would like to take this opportunity to wish all the Curiosities from around the world a very Happy Christmas. To you all, some words from Boz:
“Have a heart that never hardens, and a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts.”