The Old Curiosity Club discussion
The Pickwick Papers
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PP, Chp. 06-08
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Tristram
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Jan 20, 2018 11:15AM
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This week brings us face to face with such various things as cricket, melodramatic poetry and stories, love, intrigue, and fat boys who don’t sleep for once when they maybe should have.
But let us start with Chapter 6, at whose beginning our trusty Pickwickians, after a strenuous journey full of adversities, enter the old parlour at Manor Farm, Dingley Dell where everyone had been expecting them. So, here is
WHAT HAPPENS
Our narrator captures the slightly awkward moment very well that is known to everyone who has been expected for a while and who eventually belatedly makes their appearance in front of a semi-large assembly of mostly unknown people:
”A very old lady, in a lofty cap and faded silk gown – no less a personage than Mr. Wardle’s mother – occupied the post of honour on the right-hand corner of the chimney-piece; and various certificates of her having been brought up in the way she should go when young, and of her not having departed from it when old, ornamented the walls, in the form of samplers of ancient date, worsted landscapes of equal antiquity, and crimson silk tea-kettle holders of a more modern period. The aunt, the two young ladies, and Mr. Wardle, each vying with the other in paying zealous and unremitting attentions to the old lady, crowded round her easy-chair, one holding her ear-trumpet, another an orange, and a third a smelling-bottle, while a fourth was busily engaged in patting and punching the pillows which were arranged for her support. On the opposite side sat a bald-headed old gentleman, with a good-humoured, benevolent face – the clergyman of Dingley Dell; and next him sat his wife, a stout, blooming old lady, who looked as if she were well skilled, not only in the art and mystery of manufacturing home-made cordials greatly to other people’s satisfaction, but of tasting them occasionally very much to her own. A little hard-headed, Ripstone pippin-faced man, was conversing with a fat old gentleman in one corner; and two or three more old gentlemen, and two or three more old ladies, sat bolt upright and motionless on their chairs, staring very hard at Mr. Pickwick and his fellow-voyagers.
‘Mr. Pickwick, mother,’ said Mr. Wardle, at the very top of his voice.
‘Ah!’ said the old lady, shaking her head; ‘I can’t hear you.’
‘Mr. Pickwick, grandma!’ screamed both the young ladies together.
‘Ah!’ exclaimed the old lady. ‘Well, it don’t much matter. He don’t care for an old ‘ooman like me, I dare say.’”
Soon, however, Mr Pickwick and his friends manage to break the ice and to enjoy the diverse pleasures the Dingley Dell people pursue. Mr Pickwick finds himself playing at whist with Mr Wardle’s mother and two other gentlemen, whereas the rest of the party plays a less serious card-game called Pope Joan. Since I neither play whist nor Pope Joan, I cannot enter into a close study of the proceedings here. After the various games, the party settles down to conversation, and the old clergyman of the place recites a poem, The Ivy Green, which is, in a way, a memento mori. The general mood having turned more pensive now, Mr Pickwick says that his duties as a clergyman will probably have made him experience “many scenes and incidents worth recording”, whereupon the rather modest clergyman says that his sphere of action has usually been very limited. Mr Wardle then recalls to him the story of John Edmunds, which the clergyman then starts rendering and which finds its entrance into Mr Pickwick’s notebook under the heading of
THE CONVICT’S RETURN
This is basically a very melodramatic story about an event taking place when the clergyman settled in that parish twenty-five years ago. The story centres around a morose and profligate farmer who treats his wife and his young son very cruelly. The mother does her best to protect her son, but as years go by, she finds that young John Edmunds has grown up to be a ruffian and a criminal despite her cares. When his crimes finally are traced down to him, he is sentenced to death, but his mother still visits him in prison, only to find herself constantly rebuffed by her seemingly callous son. By some stroke of good luck, his death sentence is transformed into 14 years of transportation, but his mother, in constant worries about her son, has fallen ill and can no longer come to see him. From this moment on, there is a change of heart in Edmunds, and he starts feeling sorrow and remorse, but it is of no avail: His mother can no longer visit him, and he is forced to leave the country without seeing her one last time. After his sentence is up, he returns to the village, only to find everyone grown older and nobody remembering him anymore. When he sees his former home, and a strange and happy family living there, he realizes that his mother is no more, and he then by ill-chance runs into an old, shabby drunkard, whom he recognizes as his father. His first impulse is to lay hands on this man, but then he bethinks himself and lets the man go. The drunkard, however, dies on the spot, from a raptured blood vessel. Poetic justice, was the coroner’s verdict.
The clergyman finishes his account by saying that John Edmunds was in his employment for three years, which he spent a penitent and contrite man, before he died. – That’s how the chapter ends.
THOUGHTS AND REMARKS
I suggest it is probably worthwhile to keep the clergyman in mind. He is one of several country clergymen in Dickens’s novels – I remember another in The Old Curiosity Shop, and then there is the one from Our Mutual Friend, who is town-based, though – who stand for the true principles of Christianity. We may see whether, in the course of the novel, some other character emerges who proclaims to represent Christian values, but who does it more in a Chadbandian or Pecksniffian way.
Interestingly, old Mrs. Wardle is less deaf than usual when it comes to playing whist. How can that be?
The convict’s return into his old village has something of a Rip-van-Winkle-homecoming to itself, I’d say. Just consider how the narrator describes the scene in which the ex-convict notices first signs of his mother’s probably not being alive any more – her cushion no longer being in the pew – and how he tries to rationalize these signs and the consecutive fears away.
”He approached the old seat; it looked cold and desolate. The cushion had been removed, and the Bible was not there. Perhaps his mother now occupied a poorer seat, or possibly she had grown infirm and could not reach the church alone. He dared not think of what he feared. A cold feeling crept over him, and he trembled violently as he turned away.”
Or the bitterness awaiting him, being redolent of Magwitch’s thoughts and feelings:
”‘And such was the return to which he had looked through the weary perspective of many years, and for which he had undergone so much suffering! No face of welcome, no look of forgiveness, no house to receive, no hand to help him—and this too in the old village. What was his loneliness in the wild, thick woods, where man was never seen, to this!
‘He felt that in the distant land of his bondage and infamy, he had thought of his native place as it was when he left it; and not as it would be when he returned.”
Interestingly, the end of John Edmund’s father was a bit more gory in the original version and had been “sanitized” by Dickens for subsequent editions. The original ran:
”‘The old man uttered a loud yell which rang through the lonely fields like the howl of an evil spirit. His face turned black, the gore rushed from his mouth and nose, and dyed the grass a deep, dark red, as he staggered and fell. He had ruptured a blood-vessel, and he was a dead man before his son could raise him from that thick, sluggish pool.
QUOTATIONS
Here, I am going to list nice or interesting quotations:
”And the benevolent clergyman looked pleasantly on; for the happy faces which surrounded the table made the good old man feel happy too; and though the merriment was rather boisterous, still it came from the heart and not from the lips; and this is the right sort of merriment, after all.”
This quotation seems, to me, to be typical of the general spirit and vein in which this wonderful book is written: There is a lot of fun but also a lot of heart-felt happiness and serenity about it.
QUESTIONS
What do you think about the poem and the inserted short story? Do you think them out of tune with the generally bright and riant style of the narration, or do you consider them a healthy counter-balance to too much rambunctiousness? Do you think a more serious note will also steal itself into the narration proper, or will it be confined to tales (and poems) within our tale?
Mod
In order to get a really good understanding of
WHAT HAPPENS
one ought probably to be able to play cricket, or at least to know something about the game, which is more than I can say for myself, but there are other events mentioned in this chapter that I can get my head around. And they happen first, anyway: On the morning after the merry evening described in the last chapter, Mr Wardle invites the Pickwickians to go rook-shooting with him, an invitation that is specifically addressed to Mr Winkle, whom the host considers “a good shot”. Now why anybody should shoot crows is a question I cannot answer, since it is probably not a very effective way of keeping these birds away from one’s crops nor can I imagine crows a treat to the human palate. Nevertheless, when Joe, our fat boy, picks up the first rook brought down by Mr Wardle, we get the following commentary:
”There was a smile upon the youth’s face as he advanced. Indistinct visions of rook-pie floated through his imagination. He laughed as he retired with the bird—it was a plump one.”
Does Joe really think of eating the crow, though it be ever so plump? Be that as it may, shoot crows our friends do, or rather … Mr Winkle attempts it, but what he really hits is not a rook but Mr Tupman’s left arm, which is, if I go by the description of Mr Tupman as a rather portly and heavy-set man, not so great a feat. Mr Tupman is consigned to the care of the ladies, especially to that of the “spinster aunt”, who is distraught with emotion; Mr Winkle is contrite, and Mr Pickwick, above all, is indignant.
Nevertheless, the bodily unhurt members of the Pickwick club (Mr Winkle may be hurt in terms of self-respect but is still able to move) and their host go to see a cricket match of Dingley Dell vs Muggleton, and it is here that my summary must fall short of enlightenment since I know no more about cricket than that I once saw a match and did not understand any of it; in fact, the whole game made me drowsy. – Not so with the Pickwickians! Although Muggleton wins, still Mr Wardle and his friends join the celebration, where they meet the stranger from the coach again, the man who would not want Mr Tupman to give their names at the Bull Inn ball, and who now introduces himself to Mr Wardle as
”’[…]Alfred Jingle, Esq., of No Hall, Nowhere.’”
Mr Jingle is, as the scene shows, very good at worming his way into Mr Wardle’s confidence, by implying that the Pickwickians, whom he hardly knows, are his friends. A little later, we witness how he manages to give himself the appearance of somebody well-versed in the art of playing cricket by simply criticizing the players. I cannot help admiring this rogue in a certain kind of way although I’d certainly not get involved with him.
THOUGHTS
When the wounded Mr Tupman is taken home, it’s quite fun to see how the young nieces are worried about the “little old gentleman”, asking what is wrong with him, and how Rachael Wardle, already imbued with amorous interest, thinks that this term applies to Mr Pickwick. I wonder how old Tupman and Miss Wardle really are.
Unlike in any of Dickens’s later novels, The Pickwick Papers give the impression of everybody really drinking an uncommon lot of alcohol. Even Mr Pickwick consumes spirits very liberally and frequently – we saw him become a bit drunk at the Bull Inn, and now again – but this does not seem to detract from his respectability. Dickens, who would later give us certain unflattering pictures of drunkards in his novels, treats this with humour, such as here:
”Mr. Snodgrass, as usual, took a great mass of notes, which would no doubt have afforded most useful and valuable information, had not the burning eloquence of the words or the feverish influence of the wine made that gentleman’s hand so extremely unsteady, as to render his writing nearly unintelligible, and his style wholly so. By dint of patient investigation, we have been enabled to trace some characters bearing a faint resemblance to the names of the speakers; and we can only discern an entry of a song (supposed to have been sung by Mr. Jingle), in which the words ‘bowl’ ‘sparkling’ ‘ruby’ ‘bright’ and ‘wine’ are frequently repeated at short intervals. We fancy, too, that we can discern at the very end of the notes, some indistinct reference to ‘broiled bones’; and then the words ‘cold’ ‘without’ occur: but as any hypothesis we could found upon them must necessarily rest upon mere conjecture, we are not disposed to indulge in any of the speculations to which they may give rise.”
Were the 1820s just more convivial, and less prim and proper than the Victorian age? Or was it because Dickens was younger that he sent his heroes from one drinking bout to another?
QUESTIONS
Is the following quotation a social comment à la Jonathan Swift, or is it the mere exuberance of the narrator, who delights in exaggerating Mr Pickwick’s tendency to believe in strange rumours?
”‘What are these lads for?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick abruptly. He was rather alarmed; for he was not quite certain but that the distress of the agricultural interest, about which he had often heard a great deal, might have compelled the small boys attached to the soil to earn a precarious and hazardous subsistence by making marks of themselves for inexperienced sportsmen.”
Apparently, life in the countryside is presented as quite idyllic in this novel, and so I find it hard to believe that Mr Pickwick would really entertain notions like the one summarized above.
I’ve been asking myself whether a place like Muggleton ever existed or still does. I googled it and found it was a family name, and that there was a religious thinker called Lodowicke Muggleton (1609-89) who founded a Protestant sect based on Muggletonianism – something that sounds like from out of a Harry-Potter-book (at least that’s what I imagine, who have never read a Harry Potter story, and probably never will). But Muggletonianism didn’t catch on on a large scale, maybe because no-one wanted to be called a Muggletonian – and the last follower of M. died in 1979 (according to Wikipedia).
Looking back at the previous paragraph, I’m asking myself whether it was actually a QUESTION or rather a THOUGHT. This, however, is, at least a genuine QUESTION.
When our friends are in Muggleton, I liked the narrator’s saying that Mr Pickwick looks about him with, “an air of curiosity, not unmixed with interest”. This somehow struck me as odd in that interest is a milder form of, or at least the foundation of, curiosity, isn’t it? Well, I really liked that expression and will hopefully find an opportunity to use it myself one day.
Mod
WHAT HAPPENS
at Manor Farm at the same time: Mr Tupman, under the care of the “spinster aunt” is growing bolder as being probably hit not only by Mr Winkle’s shotgun but also by Amor’s arrows, and when Rachael goes to water the plants in the arbour,
”one of those sweet retreats which humane men erect for the accommodation of spiders”,
Mr Tupman makes use of the location to declare his love for her and to bestow some kisses upon her lips, which she readily receives. Unfortunately, their tryst is witnessed, and through their witnessing their being witnessed, also interrupted by the fat boy. The fat boy, indeed, of all the inhabitants of Manor Farm. In a way, there is hope for the two lovers of their witness’s not really having taken any notice because
”[t]here was the fat boy, perfectly motionless, with his large circular eyes staring into the arbour, but without the slightest expression on his face that the most expert physiognomist could have referred to astonishment, curiosity, or any other known passion that agitates the human breast.”
On their way back to the house, however, Mr Tupman thinks he can hear the fat boy chuckle behind him, and to us readers the narrator clears away all doubts:
”The fat boy, for once, had not been fast asleep. He was awake—wide awake—to what had been going forward.”
After the supper – which was actually the reason the fat boy had come out to the arbour to summon them –, Mr Wardle and his guests arrive from their banquet at Muggleton, and they all show, each in their respective way and manner, eminent signs of being quite drunk. By and by, they are led to their beds, with the exception of the newcomer Mr Jingle, who shows great skill in floating with the tide. Although he arrived with the merry drinkers and must probably also haven partaken of the Muggleton hospitalities, he seems to be much better at taking his liquor, and then he does this:
”‘What a shocking scene!’ said the spinster aunt.
‘Dis-gusting!’ ejaculated both the young ladies.
‘Dreadful—dreadful!’ said Jingle, looking very grave: he was about a bottle and a half ahead of any of his companions. ‘Horrid spectacle—very!’
‘What a nice man!’ whispered the spinster aunt to Mr. Tupman.
‘Good-looking, too!’ whispered Emily Wardle.
‘Oh, decidedly,’ observed the spinster aunt.”
Mr Tupman, who is well aware of what happened in the Bull Inn, now grows slightly jealous of Jingle, and – as we shall see – he has every reason for doing so, because that reckless man does not take long to realize that the “spinster aunt” is susceptible to his charms and that she probably also has a certain sum of money, or “a small independence”. When Jingle, the next morning, happens to overhear a conversation between the fat boy and Mrs. Wardle – in which Joe, contrary to the old lady’s fears, but not really to her disappointment, does not plan to murder her but to tell her about the scene he witnessed. Mr Jingle uses this information to his own advantage in that he warns poor Rachael not only of the impending disclosure but also, really, of Mr Tupman’s “real” motives in courting her and of that gentleman’s actual infatuation with one of her nieces. To make his intrigue perfect, he also warns Mr Tupman of the fat boy’s treason and tells him that in order to dispel the Wardles’ suspicions he should, at mealtimes, pay attention to the niece and ignore the aunt. Mr Jingle even makes Mr Tupman believe that it was Rachael’s idea for him to do this, and our amorous Pickwickian is now so fully convinced of the friendship and benevolence of him of No Hall, Nowhere, that he even lends ten pounds to him. What Mr Tupman does not suspect, though, is that Miss Wardle is really chafing with jealousy.
QUOTATIONS
In this chapter, we are again given quite a number of instances in which Mr Jingle shows his skills at manipulation and deception. This is the example I found funniest in this chapter – or on a par with Jingle’s skill at getting Mr Tupman to lend him 10 Pounds:
”‘Stay, Mr. Jingle!’ said the spinster aunt emphatically. ‘You have made an allusion to Mr. Tupman—explain it.’
‘Never!’ exclaimed Jingle, with a professional (i.e., theatrical) air. ‘Never!’ and, by way of showing that he had no desire to be questioned further, he drew a chair close to that of the spinster aunt and sat down.”
QUESTION
While doing this recap, I hesitated before using the words “spinster aunt” because they seemed rather impolite to me, the word spinster having acquired an often derogatory overtone, which it may not have had in Dickens’s time, although he clearly adopts it here with a view of making fun of Miss Rachael. What I wondered at, though, was that the aunt tried to conceal her growing affection for Mr Tupman, and that her mother reacts with so much indignation to it, saying that Rachael could have waited with “it” until she, the mother, had died. Likewise, Mr Wardle now regards Tupman with suspicion. Why was it (to the Victorian reader) such a ridiculous, or (to her family) scandalous, idea for the oldish aunt to have fallen in love and to contemplate even marriage?
Tristram wrote: "Dear Curiosities,This week brings us face to face with such various things as cricket, melodramatic poetry and stories, love, intrigue, and fat boys who don’t sleep for once when they maybe should..."
"What do you think about the poem and the inserted short story? Do you think them out of tune with the generally bright and riant style of the narration, or do you consider them a healthy counter-balance to too much rambunctiousness? Do you think a more serious note will also steal itself into the narration proper, or will it be confined to tales (and poems) within our tale?"
In Dickens' other work I found myself quite annoyed with the short aside narratives like we get here with "The Convict's Return" however I believe there may be an exception to the rule here with PP. I would't say that I see them as a counter-balance but a key element to the overall reading of the Pickwick Papers. It would be easy for Dickens to narrate the journey of the Pickwickians through the course of their rambunctiousness and omit these side narratives however that would be a third person perspective at best. I've come to enjoy the asides in PP as compared to other Dickens because they allow you to enjoy the journey from the perspective of our members. I find myself quite often reading the narratives as if I were Mr. Pickwick myself hearing them for the first time in their respective settings.
Although they may contribute nothing to the plot, assuming there really is one in PP, these aside narratives do serve some purpose in the overall reading of the book.
And to play Devil's Advocate Dickens may have just been trying to pump up the word count. ( ; To quote the Tootsie Pop commercial
"The world may never know!"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2IA5C...
Mod
As to your crow shooting, obviously you have never been to Pennsylvania, my valley of it anyway. For years and years we had the Valley Pigeon Shoot. From what I remember of it, everyone in the valley was at the thing, probably not everyone but it seemed that way. There was a band playing, games for the kids, any kind of food you could want, and hundreds of boxes filled with pigeons. Live pigeons. Soon to be dead. All day the men and boys (I can't remember any ladies getting into this) spent their time letting a few pigeons out of their box at a time and when they flew the men would shoot them. Then the boys would get to run out in the field and pick them up. They would race to see who got there first. One of the many things I liked about getting older is after I was at the age that my parents weren't worried about me being at home alone I didn't have to go along to that thing anymore. It probably continued for the next twenty years or so, but eventually they stopped it, I never bothered to figure out why. Now I'm sitting here thinking of how many of those still alive pigeons my dad would let me bring home and try to save, but they all died. Thanks for those memories Tristram. :-)
Just a hypothetical here, but I went back to my Claire Tomalin biography and decided to review the period around the writing of Pickwick. He was basically newly-married and seemed quite happy. I think of this in regard to the later works -- perhaps OMF -- where the marriage had collapsed.
Perhaps the life impacting the work, one positively and one negatively.
Mod
This week brings us face to face with such various things as cricket, melodramatic poetry and stories, love, intrigue, and fat boys who don’t sleep for once when they maybe should..."
The quotation you shared with us has a powerful phrase: “it came from the heart and not the lips; and this is the right sort of merriment, after all.” You are right , Tristram. This is the keynote of the text.
However, the story of “The Convict’s Return” is certainly morose, and the original death description gory. This story, and others, seem at odds with the general tone and jolly spirit of the novel. Are we to see “The Stroller’s Tale” and “The Concict’s Return” as simply stories to further enhance and structurally counterbalance the general joyous nature of PP? Is Dickens attempting to appeal to as wide an audience as possible by giving his readers both the gory and the glorious, the depressive and the delightful within each installment?
It will be interesting to follow the methodology of future chapters to see if a concrete pattern emerges.
Mod
He was basically newly-married and seemed quite happy. I ..."
I think it fair to say that Dickens’s personal life, both the acknowledged and the hidden, weighted heavily in his novels. As we go through his work, we will also be reading much of his own life.
Mod
In order to get a really good understanding of
WHAT HAPPENS
one ought probably to be able to play cricket, or at least to know something about the game, which is..."
Tristram
I can’t help but think with an air of curiosity, not unmixed with interest, ( a great phrase indeed ) how many of the original readers of PP would have responded to this chapter. For those who lived in London, and whose work probably did not allow too many excursions to the countryside, this description of Muggleton must have seemed like an alien planet. This, in turn, would have made the reading of the chapter even more delightful.
I’ve also been wondering about the inclusion of these side narratives. The Stroller’s Tale in chapter three left me scratching my head as to its purpose, but now it seems clear that we are in store for many more of these with The Convict’s Return. Initially they pull me out of the Pickwick story, but I like Matt’s view that having them included make it seem as if we were on the journey with Pickwick himself. As a side note, my Penguin copy has the original ending to The Convict’s Return and as I read the last bit I remember thinking that it was a pretty harsh vision that Dickens drew. Now I’m wondering how Dickens changed the text to be less harsh. I actually enjoyed the poem on ivy because it made the vine seem to take on a life where there was only death and decay. This is a different perspective from how I normally view ivy where I’m usually battling against it from choking out our trees and damaging our outbuildings with their little sucker feet!
I don’t think I commented in last week’s thread, but Pickwick is so far reminding me of Don Quixote in its episodic nature and side stories which our main characters are treated to during the course of their travels an adventures.
I am clueless when it comes to the game of cricket, so I was hoping for a summary of what probably went right over my head in chapter 7. But it looks like we are in the same boat, Tristram! I was trying to locate the passage in one of the first chapters which indicated that Mr Winkle was not actually a very good sportsman, but I couldn’t find it. And I had forgotten that Mr Tupman was a portly fellow, which illustrates Winkle’s that bad shot is even more funny. I also wondered at why they were shooting crows, but I figured that area of knowledge was in the same arena as my knowledge of cricket. Regarding Joe and the fat crow pie, I wondered if blackbirds are the same bird as crows? Because I thought of that nursery rhyme about the “four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie”.
So far all the eating and drinking is not really making me hungry as descriptions of crow pie, anchovy sandwiches, and deviled kidneys are not enticing my taste buds in the least!
My favorite line from this chapter was at the beginning when Pickwick is gazing out his bedroom window and he hears a voice call to him....
He looked to the right but he saw nobody; his eyes wandered to the left, and he pierced the prospect; he stared into the sky, but he wasn’t wanted there; and then he did what the common mind would have done at once - looked into the garden, and there was Mr Wardle.
About the seemingly odd insertion of "The Storller's Tale" and "The Convict's Return" so far:By total coincidence, I recently came across this excerpt online, from E. D. H. Johnson's Charles Dickens: An Introduction to His Novels (1969):
"Dickens was fascinated by violence from childhood, when his nurse fed his imagination with blood-curdling yarns. He told Forster of the avidity with which later during schooldays he devoured 'penny dreadfuls':
I used, when I was at school, to take in the Terrific Register, making myself unspeakable miserable, and frightening my very wits out of my head, for the small charge of a penny weekly; which considering that there was an illustration to every number, in which there was always a pool of blood, and at least one body, was cheap.
And Edmund Wilson, in his psychoanalytic discussion of Dickens' writings, discerns in the macabre tales in Pickwick Papers early evidence of the novelist's lifelong obsession with the workings of the criminal mind."
As I read PP, I have found these side-tales captivating, if slightly unsettling. I agree with others who've suggested they are a sort of counter-balance to so much comedy, or how it allows us to enjoy the journey from the Pickwickians' perspective. That's how it is in real life anyway; we can be having a perfectly jolly day, and then run into someone who tells you an awful story which affects you greatly.
As for Dickens' preoccupation with the macabre, I'm beginning to fall in love with PP because it seems to me a sort of proving ground for his abilities. Seems he was trying his hand at ALL the aspects of storytelling he was fascinated with with, to find out what he was good at or liked best.
Mod
By total coincidence, I recently came across this excerpt online, from E. D. H. Johnson's Charles Dicke..."
Cheryl
Thanks for the additional information. Clearly, Dickens had an active and receptive mind in his childhood. I also agree with you that PP is like a testing and proving ground for his writing abilities. Between Sketches By Boz and PP we have the foundation for his creative mind and his later novels.
I can see why the readers at the time were captivated by the Pickwick Papers. Although I am not a big TV person, there were some shows through the years where I waited eagerly for next week's episode. Granted, at least for me, there were not many, but when you found one to your liking and got attached to the characters and an unfolding and engrossing story line, then you always made sure that you were tuned in to the next week (or made sure you recorded it).
I can see young Dickens as an episodic screenwriter with the best of today's screenwriters.
Linda and Tristram have managed to pull out each and every one of the quotes I, too, had made note of while reading this segment. Great minds.... :-)It occurred to me that both of our side stories so far have been similar in that they contained cruel men who beat their wives. Neither of those husbands seems to have felt remorse for his actions (though the first fellow was certainly concerned that there may be some retribution). Their long-suffering wives both seem to have done what they could to protect their children. We don't know how those in the first story turned out; hopefully they became better people than the convict. I found the stories not only jarring by being so dark, but uninspiring in their similarities to one another. While I don't enjoy their inclusion, I am looking forward to the next one, to see if it veers away from this formula, or if we continue in this vein -- and if so, what does that tell us about Mr. Dickens, aside from, as Cheryl so aptly put it, his "preoccupation with the macabre"?
The elderly Mrs. Wardle reminds me of the Aged Parent - Mr. Wemmick's father in Great Expectations, though perhaps not so deaf (at least when it comes to playing Whist!) or so winsome. Jingle reminds me a bit of Bleak House's Skimpole. Jingle is surely one to watch out for!
Kim wrote: "As to your crow shooting, obviously you have never been to Pennsylvania, my valley of it anyway. ..."Are you near Hegins, Kim? Several friends, back in my more radical youth, were among those who went there to protest their annual pigeon shoot. I remember reading a YA novel about it called "Wringer" (https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2...) by Jerry Spinelli. Have they discontinued this tradition? I remember the shoot was a huge (and, frankly, easy) target for animal welfare groups. I would guess that dealing with the protests just became to onerous for the town, and they finally gave it up. Can't say I'm sorry to see it end. It makes me sad to imagine little Kim out there trying valiantly but unsuccessfully to save the maimed birds.
Mod
Are you near Hegins, Kim? Several friends, back in my more radical youth, were amo..."
Yes, that's us. Hegins is in the next valley, which doesn't seem to matter because when someone asks where you're from you say "the valley" and can mean anywhere in three valleys. It's about 1/2 hour from me. I remember when people finally got around to protesting against it, which just made people around here mad, but I can't remember if that is what closed it. One of the things I used to wonder when I was there was where in the world they got so many pigeons and dad said the farmers trap them from their farms all year long. There certainly must have been a lot of pigeons hanging around in barns in those days. I couldn't tell you the last time I saw a pigeon around here, maybe that's what stopped the shoot. The towns are so small around here I am amazed to know that anyone living outside the valley ever heard of the shoot. In my days there things like this didn't happen:
http://www.sharkonline.org/index.php/...
I'm not sure how much of this you want to watch, it doesn't bother me as much anymore, I guess I'm used to it which is kind of sad. You can hear the music playing around the 5 minute mark.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fjsek...
Kim wrote: "Mary Lou wrote: "Kim wrote: "As to your crow shooting, obviously you have never been to Pennsylvania, my valley of it anyway. ..."Are you near Hegins, Kim? Several friends, back in my more radica..."
Kim, my most recent forays into Pennsylvania were to visit the National Railroad Museum in Scranton. One of these days, I would like to get to the Martin Guitar factory in Nazareth.
I daresay that my friends in eastern Pennsylvania (and South Jersey) are quite happy about their Eagles.
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The stories may not exactly fit in with the light-hearted atmosphere of the actual action but they do match the people who narrate them. The story of the remorseful young man who comes back too late to find his mother still alive, is told by a clergyman, surely a person whom we might expect to tell us a moral and thought-provoking tale, whereas the story of the dying clown is narrated by a down-on-his-luck actor going by the nickname of Dismal Jemmy. The story is not only dismal but highly dramatic, which fits the histrionic background of the narrator, but is untypical of Dickens's usual treatment of the world of theatre. Just think of the Crummles and of the circus in Hard Times, or the tragic-comic Mr Wopsle.
Dickens's penchant for gruesome detail is also obvious in the stories Mr Jingle tells - about the corpse stopping a fountain or the mother of five who is beheaded by a doorway. There, the overall tone is funny due to stark exaggeration but I did not really enjoy the short tale of the mother of five at all and took it as a sign of Mr Jingle's being not to be trusted.
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I have been to the National Railroad Museum but not for quite a while now that I'm thinking of it. For some reason I always think of the bird sounding traffic lights when I think of the Museum. That is the first town (city?) I ever heard them in. We would wait and cross the street when the walking sign lit up, but before long that bird noise would start telling us it's soon time to get across or we'll be in harm's way once again. I still remember how puzzled I was when I first heard them.
As for the Eagles, you would think heaven had come to earth around here. Me, I'm glad they won, but I am a Steelers fan (I don't know why), so I am still grumpy about last Saturday's game. :-)
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"The Cricket Match - Dingley Dell Against All Muggleton"
These designs are described as the Buss "Suppressed Plates", as they were omitted from subsequent issues. The design by Phiz, "Mr. Wardle and his Friends under the Influence of 'the Salmon,;" was substituted for this plate in the collected edition.
Chapter 7
Robert Buss
Text Illustrated:
All-Muggleton had the first innings; and the interest became intense when Mr. Dumkins and Mr. Podder, two of the most renowned members of that most distinguished club, walked, bat in hand, to their respective wickets. Mr. Luffey, the highest ornament of Dingley Dell, was pitched to bowl against the redoubtable Dumkins, and Mr. Struggles was selected to do the same kind office for the hitherto unconquered Podder. Several players were stationed, to ‘look out,’ in different parts of the field, and each fixed himself into the proper attitude by placing one hand on each knee, and stooping very much as if he were ‘making a back’ for some beginner at leap-frog. All the regular players do this sort of thing;—indeed it is generally supposed that it is quite impossible to look out properly in any other position.
The umpires were stationed behind the wickets; the scorers were prepared to notch the runs; a breathless silence ensued. Mr. Luffey retired a few paces behind the wicket of the passive Podder, and applied the ball to his right eye for several seconds. Dumkins confidently awaited its coming with his eyes fixed on the motions of Luffey.
‘Play!’ suddenly cried the bowler. The ball flew from his hand straight and swift towards the centre stump of the wicket. The wary Dumkins was on the alert: it fell upon the tip of the bat, and bounded far away over the heads of the scouts, who had just stooped low enough to let it fly over them.
‘Run—run—another.—Now, then throw her up—up with her—stop there—another—no—yes—no—throw her up, throw her up!’—Such were the shouts which followed the stroke; and at the conclusion of which All-Muggleton had scored two. Nor was Podder behindhand in earning laurels wherewith to garnish himself and Muggleton. He blocked the doubtful balls, missed the bad ones, took the good ones, and sent them flying to all parts of the field. The scouts were hot and tired; the bowlers were changed and bowled till their arms ached; but Dumkins and Podder remained unconquered. Did an elderly gentleman essay to stop the progress of the ball, it rolled between his legs or slipped between his fingers. Did a slim gentleman try to catch it, it struck him on the nose, and bounded pleasantly off with redoubled violence, while the slim gentleman’s eyes filled with water, and his form writhed with anguish. Was it thrown straight up to the wicket, Dumkins had reached it before the ball. In short, when Dumkins was caught out, and Podder stumped out, All-Muggleton had notched some fifty-four, while the score of the Dingley Dellers was as blank as their faces. The advantage was too great to be recovered. In vain did the eager Luffey, and the enthusiastic Struggles, do all that skill and experience could suggest, to regain the ground Dingley Dell had lost in the contest—it was of no avail; and in an early period of the winning game Dingley Dell gave in, and allowed the superior prowess of All-Muggleton.
Wow, my computer went crazy correcting or trying to the spelling of that text.
Commentary:
Robert Buss had illustrated one of the most effective of Dicken's "Sketches by Boz" with remarkable felicity, the author of the "Pickwick Papers," and the publishers of the dual series, alike turned to that venture, in the expectation of being enabled to secure further talent of similar order...Buss, as it happened, was working for "The Library of Fiction," and his design for "Sketches" "Sweeps and Spring," drawn upon wood, had been engraved by John Jackson, acting as art-adviser to the publishers, recommended Buss to them as likely to prove the means of helping them out of their embarrassing situation. Buss claimed to be an extensively versatile artist, and he was the son of an engraver; moreover, according to his own statement, he successfully executed a preliminary etching, which was submitted to Chapman and Hall as a test of his qualifications for the position. This plate was taken from Part II, "Mr. Pickwick at the Review". The execution of this plate must have been purely tentative; Part II of "Pickwick," was Seymour's plate of "The Review," was already published, it is assumed, before Buss sent in his etching, which is, as the artist admitted, technically weak, "the execution thin and scratchy." However, Buss seems to have settled down kindly to the work, probably encouraged by the flattering outlook which Dickens little "address," inserted in Part III. ( the number containing Buss's only contributions published) serenely promised:
"We announced in our last, that the ensuing numbers of the 'Pickwick Papers' would appear in an improved form; and we now beg to call the attention of our readers to the fulfillment of our promise.
Acting upon a suggestion which has been made to them from various influential quarters, the publishers have determined to increase the quantity of letter-press in every monthly part, and to diminish the number of plates. It will be seen that the present number contains eight additional pages of closely-printed matter and two engravings by Mr. Buss, a gentleman already well known to the public as a very humorous and talented artist.
The alterations in the plan of the work entail upon the publishers a considerable expense, which nothing but a large circulation would justify them in incurring. They are happy to have it in their power to state that the rapid sale of the two first numbers, and the daily increasing demand for the periodical, enables them to acknowledge the patronage of the public in the way which they hope will be deemed most acceptable."
Beyond designing the two plates which in their etched form furnished the illustrations of Park III, Buss prepared sketches for Part IV, which were superseded by the opportune engagement of H. K. Browne. Buss also handed the publishers a design for "Mr. Winkle's First Shot"; a sheet of "Studies of Characters in Pickwick"; and even went the length of submitting a rough sketch of his suggestion for a title page, "The Transactions of the Pickwick Club," inscribed with the premature and misleading legend, "Illustrated by R. W. Buss," a fate from which "Pickwick" Dickens, the publishers, and the public were happily reprieved. In after years the artist himself candidly confessed concerning his plates which made their brief, cursory appearance and then disappeared forever: - "there was a vague impression on my mind that these etchings were abominably bad, and utterly devoid of promise and hope."
The prospect of Buss ever inscribing his name on the title page as "Illustrator" was rudely shattered by an abrupt intimation that his future assistance was dispensed with. Thus there was a second grievance, to be handed down with the first calamitous grievance among the traditions of the Seymour and Buss families, of supposed injustice and injuries at the hands of Dickens, who was probably unconscious of his manifold wickedness, and merely striving, like the eager young spirit he was, to give his growing public the best in his power, and to secure an artistic coadjutor whose illustrations should duly interpret the story to the best graphic advantage.
I don't think his illustrations are nearly as bad as everyone else seemed to think.
Mod
The Fat Boy Awake on this Occasion Only."
Chapter 8
Robert Buss
Text Illustrated:
‘Mr. Tupman, rise,’ said Rachael.
‘Never!’ was the valorous reply. ‘Oh, Rachael!’ He seized her passive hand, and the watering-pot fell to the ground as he pressed it to his lips.—‘Oh, Rachael! say you love me.’
‘Mr. Tupman,’ said the spinster aunt, with averted head, ‘I can hardly speak the words; but—but—you are not wholly indifferent to me.’
Mr. Tupman no sooner heard this avowal, than he proceeded to do what his enthusiastic emotions prompted, and what, for aught we know (for we are but little acquainted with such matters), people so circumstanced always do. He jumped up, and, throwing his arm round the neck of the spinster aunt, imprinted upon her lips numerous kisses, which after a due show of struggling and resistance, she received so passively, that there is no telling how many more Mr. Tupman might have bestowed, if the lady had not given a very unaffected start, and exclaimed in an affrighted tone—
‘Mr. Tupman, we are observed!—we are discovered!’
Mr. Tupman looked round. There was the fat boy, perfectly motionless, with his large circular eyes staring into the arbor, but without the slightest expression on his face that the most expert physiognomist could have referred to astonishment, curiosity, or any other known passion that agitates the human breast. Mr. Tupman gazed on the fat boy, and the fat boy stared at him; and the longer Mr. Tupman observed the utter vacancy of the fat boy’s countenance, the more convinced he became that he either did not know, or did not understand, anything that had been going forward. Under this impression, he said with great firmness—
‘What do you want here, Sir?’
‘Supper’s ready, sir,’ was the prompt reply.
‘Have you just come here, sir?’ inquired Mr. Tupman, with a piercing look.
‘Just,’ replied the fat boy.
Mr. Tupman looked at him very hard again; but there was not a wink in his eye, or a curve in his face.
Mr. Tupman took the arm of the spinster aunt, and walked towards the house; the fat boy followed behind.
Commentary:
This is also described as one of the Buss "Suppressed Plates", as they were omitted from subsequent issues. Poor Mr. Buss.
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Mr. Pickwick and his Friends under the Influence of the Salmon
Chapter 8
Robert Buss
Commentary:
This drawing, having by the publishers and author been found unsuitable, was never etched, and another version by Phiz was subsequently introduced in the collected edition.
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Design suggested by R. Buss for the title-page but never used.
Mod
Commentary:
It has already been seen incidentally that, after the appearance of Part II of Pickwick, the publishers were at their wits' end as to securing an appropriate artistic successor to poor Seymour, one duly qualified to consistently carry on the illustrations of the work and to supply the place of the lamented artist departed. With the same phenomenal luck which uniformly attended the fortunes of Pickwick, the publishers were destined to find the identical treasure amongst designers, already awaiting the propitious chance of make his debut on the Pickwickian stage. By a similar coincidence it was that influential master of wood engraving, Mr. John Jackson, the zealous friend of both Seymour and Buss, who was fated to influence Edward Chapman in selecting young Hablot Knight Browne as the future and well-nigh life-long artistic coadjutor of Dickens. The happy manner in which the flexible accomplishments of H. K. Brown adapted themselves to the sympathetic illustrating of Pickwick was so exceptional that Phiz's name must always be associated with the reputation of that immortal work. Nothing in the way of collaboration could have fallen out more felicitously. Phiz was possessed of an exuberant fancy, and his humorous facilities readily seized all the salient points of Dickens's narrative, with the personalities of the Pickwickian characters, and the fun of respective ludicrous episodes and situations, while his dashing executive facility kept pace with the gifted author's own surprising fluency. From the Life and Labors of Hablot Knight Browne:
"When Hablot Browne had left the service of Finden the engraver, and was setting up as a draughtsman, he saw the two illustrations by Buss, and called at Chapman's with specimens of his work for Dickens to see. William Makepeace Thackeray was another artist who had similar thoughts, and he too submitted drawings for the author's inspection. As fortunately for the future author of 'Vanity Fair' as for the future 'Phiz', the choice fell on Hablot Browne. Fortunate it was because Thackeray would never have made a good illustrator; and fortunate it was for Browne, for without Dickens to illustrate, his skill would never have gained him great fame, while associated with such stories, the artist was assured of an audience as wide as the use of the English language."
Mr. Winkle's First Shot
Chapter 7
Phiz
Text Illustrated:
‘Now, Mr. Winkle,’ said the host, reloading his own gun. ‘Fire away.’
Mr. Winkle advanced, and levelled his gun. Mr. Pickwick and his friends cowered involuntarily to escape damage from the heavy fall of rooks, which they felt quite certain would be occasioned by the devastating barrel of their friend. There was a solemn pause—a shout—a flapping of wings—a faint click.
‘Hollo!’ said the old gentleman.
‘Won’t it go?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
‘Missed fire,’ said Mr. Winkle, who was very pale—probably from disappointment.
‘Odd,’ said the old gentleman, taking the gun. ‘Never knew one of them miss fire before. Why, I don’t see anything of the cap.’
Bless my soul!’ said Mr. Winkle, ‘I declare I forgot the cap!’
The slight omission was rectified. Mr. Pickwick crouched again. Mr. Winkle stepped forward with an air of determination and resolution; and Mr. Tupman looked out from behind a tree. The boy shouted; four birds flew out. Mr. Winkle fired. There was a scream as of an individual—not a rook—in corporal anguish. Mr. Tupman had saved the lives of innumerable unoffending birds by receiving a portion of the charge in his left arm.
To describe the confusion that ensued would be impossible. To tell how Mr. Pickwick in the first transports of emotion called Mr. Winkle ‘Wretch!’ how Mr. Tupman lay prostrate on the ground; and how Mr. Winkle knelt horror-stricken beside him; how Mr. Tupman called distractedly upon some feminine Christian name, and then opened first one eye, and then the other, and then fell back and shut them both—all this would be as difficult to describe in detail, as it would be to depict the gradual recovering of the unfortunate individual, the binding up of his arm with pocket-handkerchiefs, and the conveying him back by slow degrees supported by the arms of his anxious friends.
Commentary:
This subject was designed by Phiz to illustrate an incident in No. III, Chapter 7 of the first issue of Pickwick in monthly parts. Like the Buss drawing of "Mr. Pickwick at the Review," the above was probably submitted to the publishers as a specimen of Phiz's qualifications for the post of artist to continue the illustrations to "Pickwick" when abruptly interrupted by the death of Seymour, on the eve of the publication of Part II. This design was too late for insertion apparently, and the artist was never commissioned to make an etching of the subject in question. It first appeared in the 1887 Victoria Edition.
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The Fat Boy Awake Again
Chapter 8
Phiz
Text Illustrated:
the lady [gave] a very unaffected start, and exclaimed in an affrighted tone —
"Mr. Tupman, we are observed! — we are discovered!"
Mr. Tupman looked round. There was the fat boy, perfectly motionless, with his large circular eyes staring into the arbour, but without the slightest expression on his face that the most expert physiognomist could have referred to astonishment, curiosity, or any other known passion that agitates the human breast. Mr. Tupman gazed on the fat boy, and the fat boy stared at him; and the longer Mr. Tupman observed the utter vacancy of the fat boy's countenance, the more convinced he became that he either did not know, or did not understand, anything that had been going forward. Under this impression, he said with great firmness —
"What do you want here, Sir?"
Commentary:
This design, which did not appear in the original issue in monthly numbers, was a later commission to Phiz from the publishers to replace the etching of the same subject by R. W. Buss, which appeared in No. III of the monthly parts, and was subsequently omitted. The Phiz etching, after this design, was substituted in the first "collected edition," and in all later issues.
Poor Mr. Buss.
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"Wardle and his Friends Under the Influence of the Salmon"
Chapter 8
Phiz
Text Illustrated:
Eleven—twelve—one o’clock had struck, and the gentlemen had not arrived. Consternation sat on every face. Could they have been waylaid and robbed? Should they send men and lanterns in every direction by which they could be supposed likely to have travelled home? or should they—Hark! there they were. What could have made them so late? A strange voice, too! To whom could it belong? They rushed into the kitchen, whither the truants had repaired, and at once obtained rather more than a glimmering of the real state of the case.
Mr. Pickwick, with his hands in his pockets and his hat cocked completely over his left eye, was leaning against the dresser, shaking his head from side to side, and producing a constant succession of the blandest and most benevolent smiles without being moved thereunto by any discernible cause or pretence whatsoever; old Mr. Wardle, with a highly-inflamed countenance, was grasping the hand of a strange gentleman muttering protestations of eternal friendship; Mr. Winkle, supporting himself by the eight-day clock, was feebly invoking destruction upon the head of any member of the family who should suggest the propriety of his retiring for the night; and Mr. Snodgrass had sunk into a chair, with an expression of the most abject and hopeless misery that the human mind can imagine, portrayed in every lineament of his expressive face.
‘Is anything the matter?’ inquired the three ladies.
‘Nothing the matter,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘We—we’re—all right.—I say, Wardle, we’re all right, ain’t we?’
‘I should think so,’ replied the jolly host.—‘My dears, here’s my friend Mr. Jingle—Mr. Pickwick’s friend, Mr. Jingle, come ‘pon—little visit.’
‘Is anything the matter with Mr. Snodgrass, Sir?’ inquired Emily, with great anxiety.
‘Nothing the matter, ma’am,’ replied the stranger. ‘Cricket dinner—glorious party—capital songs—old port—claret—good—very good—wine, ma’am—wine.’
‘It wasn’t the wine,’ murmured Mr. Snodgrass, in a broken voice. ‘It was the salmon.’ (Somehow or other, it never is the wine, in these cases.)
Commentary:
Illustrator R. W. Buss submitted a trial design for this very subject, but his treatment was so far below Dickens's standard that the author rejected it and dismissed Buss, whose Fat Boy and Muggleton cricket match illustrations had already disappointed the publishers. Buss's difficulty lay in the fact that he had never worked with steel engraving. The salmon dinner, served after the cricket match, is not the source of the Pickwickians' inebriation. Rather, the great room of the Blue Lion Inn, Muggleton, was the scene not merely of a "Devilish good dinner" (to quote the omnivorous Jingle in chapter seven), but of vociferous toasts accompanied by the consumption "old port — claret — good — very good — wine," again, citing Jingle's account of events earlier that evening.
Meanwhile, Phiz draws the reader's attention to the tipsy homecoming of old Wardle and Jingle (center, with Wardle rather off-balance), Mr. Pickwick (leaning against the kitchen table, hat askew, to the left), Snodgrass (collapsed into an old-fashioned chair and apparently unconscious, down right), and Winkle, leaning against the eight-day clock (right) — all exactly as Dickens describes them. However, whereas the writer focuses on the feelings of these characters, Phiz admirably conveys their exteriors: their expressions, postures, and clothing. He also contrasts these inebriates in the foreground with the concerned faces of a primarily female company in the background, as if the plate is supporting the temperance themes which artist George Cruikshank so assiduously pursued in the eight-page cartoon The Bottle (1847) and in the seven-plate series The Drunkard's Children (1848). Clearly, the anxious watchers (including Tupman, center rear, identifiable by the sling) have been up all night and enter the kitchen in some alarm as the clock indicates 1:20 A. M.
The Muggleton-Dingley Dell cricket match ended well for all players — as well for the supposed West Indian cricket expert, Alfred Jingle — in that both sides celebrated with a magnificent repast and copious alcoholic beverages at the Blue Lion in nearby Muggleton. After numerous toasts, the Dingley Dell team left for home, but did not arrive back until past 1:00 A. M., to the growing alarm of the Wardle daughters and the spinster aunt, Rachael. Over the course of the day, injured Pickwickian Tracy Tupman has been courting Rachael Wardle, but the reader wonders whether Wardle's page, the Fat Boy, will report Tupman's advances to his master, especially since in Phiz's illustration of the cricketeers' homecoming Jingle and Wardle seem to be on such friendly terms and Jingle has already determined to romance the spinster aunt and secure for himself her inheritance.
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"Pictures picked from "The Pickwick Papers"
Chapter 6
Alfred Crowquill
1837
Text Illustrated:
The lethargic youth contrived without any additional rousing to set out two card-tables; the one for Pope Joan, and the other for whist. The whist-players were Mr. Pickwick and the old lady, Mr. Miller and the fat gentleman. The round game comprised the rest of the company.
The rubber was conducted with all that gravity of deportment and sedateness of demeanour which befit the pursuit entitled ‘whist’—a solemn observance, to which, as it appears to us, the title of ‘game’ has been very irreverently and ignominiously applied. The round-game table, on the other hand, was so boisterously merry as materially to interrupt the contemplations of Mr. Miller, who, not being quite so much absorbed as he ought to have been, contrived to commit various high crimes and misdemeanours, which excited the wrath of the fat gentleman to a very great extent, and called forth the good-humour of the old lady in a proportionate degree.
‘There!’ said the criminal Miller triumphantly, as he took up the odd trick at the conclusion of a hand; ‘that could not have been played better, I flatter myself; impossible to have made another trick!’
‘Miller ought to have trumped the diamond, oughtn’t he, Sir?’ said the old lady.
Mr. Pickwick nodded assent.
‘Ought I, though?’ said the unfortunate, with a doubtful appeal to his partner.
‘You ought, Sir,’ said the fat gentleman, in an awful voice.
‘Very sorry,’ said the crestfallen Miller.
‘Much use that,’ growled the fat gentleman.
‘Two by honours—makes us eight,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Another hand. ‘Can you one?’ inquired the old lady.
‘I can,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘Double, single, and the rub.’
‘Never was such luck,’ said Mr. Miller.
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Miss Wardle and Her Nieces
Chapter 6
Sol Eytinge
1867 Diamond Edition
Commentary:
In this second full-page character study for the last novel in the compact American publication, Eytinge contrasts the pretty "twenty-something" nieces — Isabella and Emily Wardle — and their somewhat sour aunt, the wealthy spinster Miss Rachael Wardle, of Manor Farm, Dingley Dell, some fifteen miles from Rochester, Kent. (I wonder how the first book written is the last novel in the American publication.)
We are still supposedly in May 1827, although some time after the inaugural meeting of the Club. Venturing out into the county of Kent, still largely agricultural in nature at the time, Pickwick has taken up Mr. Wardle's invitation to visit Manor Farm. Over a game of whist Wardle introduces the Pickwickians to the ladies, and Mr. Tupman pays assiduous attention to the spinster aunt, Miss Rachael, who brightens up considerably when she believes that she is the subject of romantic interest. As is typical of Eytinge's style in the other Diamond Edition illustrations, there is no particular "moment" realized and no informing background details in the illustration (whereas, invariably, the original Phiz plates give clear indications as to the passage captured visually), although we encounter the spinster in chapter 6, "An Old-Fashioned Card Party":
Meanwhile the round game proceeded right merrily. Isabella Wardle and Mr. Trundle "went partners," and Emily Wardle and Mr. Snodgrass did the same; and even Mr. Tupman and the spinster aunt established a joint-stock company of fish and flattery. Old Mr. Wardle was in the very height of his jollity; and he was so funny in his management of the board, and the old ladies were so sharp after their winnings, that the whole table was in a perpetual roar of merriment and laughter. There was one old lady who always had about half a dozen cards to pay for, at which everybody laughed, regularly every round; and when the old lady looked cross at having to pay, they laughed louder than ever; on which the old lady's face gradually brightened up, till at last she laughed louder than any of them, Then, when the spinster aunt got "matrimony," the young ladies laughed afresh, and the spinster aunt seemed disposed to be pettish; till, feeling Mr. Tupman squeezing her hand under the table, she brightened up too, and looked rather knowing, as if matrimony in reality were not quite so far off as some people thought for; whereupon everybody laughed again, and especially old Mr. Wardle, who enjoyed a joke as much as the youngest. [Ch. 6]
Thus, Sol Eytinge, Jr., has chosen to interpret his material in a way very different from that of Dickens's original illustrators — Seymour and Phiz — in that he has elected to foreground the spinster aunt, whose inclination to credit the romantic protestations of confidence man Alfred Jingle leads to plot complications reflected in "The Breakdown" (plate) from the July 1836 serial installment. However, whereas Miss Rachael Wardle is merely a face in the back of Jingle's rented chaise on the horizon in that earlier steel engraving, in Eytinge's 1867 wood-cut we get something of a psychological portrait. Although the nieces look rather like the other young women in Eytinge's Diamond Edition illustrations, Miss Rachael Wardle is distinguished by her hauteur, her erect carriage and stern features, which her hair-style (never specified in the text) serves to accentuate. The illustrator, perhaps through familiarity with the conventions of Victorian acting, communicates her antagonistic attitude through her "closed" disposition of her arms.
In one of Phiz's first illustrations for the novel, "The Fat Boy Awake Again" (plate) from the June 1836 serial installment, Miss Wardle appears as a startled, middle-aged woman. Phiz does not particularize her since his focus is The awkward situation created by the unexpected intrusion of the Fat Boy, Joe, into Mr. Tupman's romantic overtures to the spinster. She appears again as one of the many concerned members of Mr. Wardle's household in the drunken homecoming of the cricketers and their fans in "Wardle and his Friends Under the Influence of the Salmon" (plate) (again, in the June 1836 installment) on the arm of Mr. Tupman (center, rear), but clearly she was not of much interest to Phiz. Eytinge has used her coiffure in the Phiz illustrations, but has added a sense of the "spinster aunt" as a real person with a definite attitude towards youth and matrimony, both of which to her chagrin have passed her by.
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"Bless My Soul, I Declare I Forgot The Cap!"
Chapter 7
William Heath
1837
Text Illustrated:
‘Now, Mr. Winkle,’ said the host, reloading his own gun. ‘Fire away.’
Mr. Winkle advanced, and levelled his gun. Mr. Pickwick and his friends cowered involuntarily to escape damage from the heavy fall of rooks, which they felt quite certain would be occasioned by the devastating barrel of their friend. There was a solemn pause—a shout—a flapping of wings—a faint click.
‘Hollo!’ said the old gentleman.
‘Won’t it go?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
‘Missed fire,’ said Mr. Winkle, who was very pale—probably from disappointment.
‘Odd,’ said the old gentleman, taking the gun. ‘Never knew one of them miss fire before. Why, I don’t see anything of the cap.’
Bless my soul!’ said Mr. Winkle, ‘I declare I forgot the cap!’
The slight omission was rectified. Mr. Pickwick crouched again. Mr. Winkle stepped forward with an air of determination and resolution; and Mr. Tupman looked out from behind a tree. The boy shouted; four birds flew out. Mr. Winkle fired. There was a scream as of an individual—not a rook—in corporal anguish. Mr. Tupman had saved the lives of innumerable unoffending birds by receiving a portion of the charge in his left arm."
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"Mr. Winkle Instead of Shooting at the Pigeon and Killing the Crow, shot at the Crow and Wounded the Pigeon."
Chapter 7
T. Onwhyn and Sam Weller
The Pickwick Illustrations
1837
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"Mr. Winkle's Rook Shooting."
Thomas Sibson
Chapter 7
Racy Sketches of Expeditions from the Pickwick Club
1838
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"To Describe the Confusion That Ensued Would be Impossible"
Chapter 7
Thomas Nast
Text Illustrated:
‘Missed fire,’ said Mr. Winkle, who was very pale—probably from disappointment.
‘Odd,’ said the old gentleman, taking the gun. ‘Never knew one of them miss fire before. Why, I don’t see anything of the cap.’
Bless my soul!’ said Mr. Winkle, ‘I declare I forgot the cap!’
The slight omission was rectified. Mr. Pickwick crouched again. Mr. Winkle stepped forward with an air of determination and resolution; and Mr. Tupman looked out from behind a tree. The boy shouted; four birds flew out. Mr. Winkle fired. There was a scream as of an individual—not a rook—in corporal anguish. Mr. Tupman had saved the lives of innumerable unoffending birds by receiving a portion of the charge in his left arm.
To describe the confusion that ensued would be impossible. To tell how Mr. Pickwick in the first transports of emotion called Mr. Winkle ‘Wretch!’ how Mr. Tupman lay prostrate on the ground; and how Mr. Winkle knelt horror-stricken beside him; how Mr. Tupman called distractedly upon some feminine Christian name, and then opened first one eye, and then the other, and then fell back and shut them both—all this would be as difficult to describe in detail, as it would be to depict the gradual recovering of the unfortunate individual, the binding up of his arm with pocket-handkerchiefs, and the conveying him back by slow degrees supported by the arms of his anxious friends.
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There was a scream as of an individual — not a rook — in corporeal anguish. Mr. Tupman had saved the lives of innumerable unoffending birds by receiving a portion of the charge in his left arm.
Chapter 7
Phiz
1874 Household Edition
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Mr. Wardle looked on, in silent wonder
Chapter 7
Phiz
1874 Household Edition
Text Illustrated:
The stranger recognised his friends immediately; and, darting forward and seizing Mr. Pickwick by the hand, dragged him to a seat with his usual impetuosity, talking all the while as if the whole of the arrangements were under his especial patronage and direction.
‘This way—this way—capital fun—lots of beer—hogsheads; rounds of beef—bullocks; mustard—cart-loads; glorious day—down with you—make yourself at home—glad to see you—very.’
Mr. Pickwick sat down as he was bid, and Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass also complied with the directions of their mysterious friend. Mr. Wardle looked on in silent wonder.
‘Mr. Wardle—a friend of mine,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Friend of yours!—My dear sir, how are you?—Friend of my friend’s—give me your hand, sir’—and the stranger grasped Mr. Wardle’s hand with all the fervour of a close intimacy of many years, and then stepped back a pace or two as if to take a full survey of his face and figure, and then shook hands with him again, if possible, more warmly than before.
Commentary:
Although Browne seems to have been quite prepared to revisit his own work, he tended to avoid redrafting Seymour's illustrations. Phiz provides fresh interpretations of four of Seymour's original illustrations (numbers 3,5,7, and 8)), and adds twenty-one scenes that he did not originally attempt. The second of these is "Mr. Wardle looked on, in silent wonder", the fourth in which Alfred Jingle appears, to be seen just once more.
As Pickwick observes the scene of male camaraderie in the Dingley Dell cricketers' tent at the "metropolis" of Muggleton in Kent, the London "Stranger" last seen at the Rochester charity ball, the out-of-work actor and confidence man Alfred Jingle, enthralls the company of Dingley Dellers with his rapid fire repartee about their sport, "talking all the while as if the whole of the arrangements [for food and drink] were under his especial patronage and direction". The purpose of the eighth illustration in the Household Edition sequence is to reify the face and figure of the "Stranger" and firmly associate the image with Jingle's name and distinctive staccato style of speaking. The "Stranger" is delighted to make the acquaintance of the wealthy squire, Mr. Wardle, through their mutual friend, Samuel Pickwick (thereby setting up the plot gambit of Jingle's eloping with Rachael Wardle). Presumably the cricketers practicing in the background are "All-Muggleton," who have the first innings, according to the text.
Clearly Phiz felt that his 1873 narrative-pictorial sequence should include multiple images of the fascinating Jingle since he had a second opportunity — without Dickens's oversight — to develop a longer visual program. While Thomas Nast, like Phiz in the original illustrations (responsibility for which he had just inherited from Seymour and Buss), focuses in the early Dingley Dell sequence of chapters on Tupman's incipient romance with Rachael Wardle, the "spinster aunt," Phiz in the Household Edition takes yet another opportunity to graph the career of the affable flim -flam man. As in the frontispiece (a revisiting of the June 1836 illustration "Wardle and his Friends Under the Influence of the Salmon"), realizing the return of the besotted cricket party in chapter 8, Alfred Jingle is the focus of the cricket tent incident, with Wardle and Pickwick playing supporting roles. Indeed, given the opportunity to focus on characters other than Pickwick and Sam, Phiz seems to have decided to follow the fortunes of Jingle more carefully in the Household Edition, for in the fifty-seven illustrations Jingle appears a total of five times — in contrast, Jingle does not appear even once in Nast's Household Edition sequence.
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"Mr. Jingle Fell On His Knees, Remained Thereupon For Five Minutes Thereafter, and Rose The Accepted Lover, Etc."
Chapter 8
William Heath
Pickwickian Illustrations
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Mr. Jingle's Conquest
Chapter 8
Racy Sketches of Expeditions from the Pickwick Club
Thomas Sibson
1838
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The Fat Boy Awake
Chapter 8
Harold Copping
1924
This scene is subtitled "Mr. Tupman is smitten" because it involves a humorously romantic encounter with "the spinster aunt," Miss Rachel Wardle, and one of Pickwick's "reporters." Here, just as Tupman begins courting Miss Wardle in the garden after the Dingley Dell versus Muddleton cricket match, Joe, Wardle's obese, perpetually sleepy servant, interrupts the couple.
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"He knows nothing of what has happened," he whispered."
Chapter 8
Thomas Nast
1873 Household Edition
Text Illustrated:
‘What do you want here, Sir?’
‘Supper’s ready, sir,’ was the prompt reply.
‘Have you just come here, sir?’ inquired Mr. Tupman, with a piercing look.
‘Just,’ replied the fat boy.
Mr. Tupman looked at him very hard again; but there was not a wink in his eye, or a curve in his face.
Mr. Tupman took the arm of the spinster aunt, and walked towards the house; the fat boy followed behind.
‘He knows nothing of what has happened,’ he whispered.
‘Nothing,’ said the spinster aunt.
There was a sound behind them, as of an imperfectly suppressed chuckle. Mr. Tupman turned sharply round. No; it could not have been the fat boy; there was not a gleam of mirth, or anything but feeding in his whole visage.
‘He must have been fast asleep,’ whispered Mr. Tupman.
‘I have not the least doubt of it,’ replied the spinster aunt.
They both laughed heartily.
Mr. Tupman was wrong. The fat boy, for once, had not been fast asleep. He was awake—wide awake—to what had been going forward.
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"Hurra!" Echoed Mr. Pickwick, taking off his hat and dashing it on the floor, and insanely casting his spectacles into the middle of the kitchen."
Chapter 8
Thomas Nast
1873 Household Edition
Text Illustrated:
‘Hadn’t they better go to bed, ma’am?’ inquired Emma. ‘Two of the boys will carry the gentlemen upstairs.’
‘I won’t go to bed,’ said Mr. Winkle firmly.
‘No living boy shall carry me,’ said Mr. Pickwick stoutly; and he went on smiling as before.
‘Hurrah!’ gasped Mr. Winkle faintly.
‘Hurrah!’ echoed Mr. Pickwick, taking off his hat and dashing it on the floor, and insanely casting his spectacles into the middle of the kitchen. At this humorous feat he laughed outright.
‘Let’s—have—‘nother—bottle,’ cried Mr. Winkle, commencing in a very loud key, and ending in a very faint one. His head dropped upon his breast; and, muttering his invincible determination not to go to his bed, and a sanguinary regret that he had not ‘done for old Tupman’ in the morning, he fell fast asleep; in which condition he was borne to his apartment by two young giants under the personal superintendence of the fat boy, to whose protecting care Mr. Snodgrass shortly afterwards confided his own person, Mr. Pickwick accepted the proffered arm of Mr. Tupman and quietly disappeared, smiling more than ever; and Mr. Wardle, after taking as affectionate a leave of the whole family as if he were ordered for immediate execution, consigned to Mr. Trundle the honour of conveying him upstairs, and retired, with a very futile attempt to look impressively solemn and dignified.
‘What a shocking scene!’ said the spinster aunt.
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Mr. Tupman looked round. There was the fat boy.
Chapter 8
Phiz
1874 Household Edition
Commentary:
"This plate, a version of "The Fat Boy Awake Again," incorporates more realistic figures but minimizes the backdrop of the manor house at Dingley Dell, which bespeaks Rachael Wardle's wealth and therefore something of her attraction for Tupman. In this second version Tupman is already standing as he comforts a discommoded Rachael. Curiously, Phiz has now forgotten to include Tupman's sling, which is his pretext for remaining at Dingley Dell rather than accompanying the Pickwickians to the cricket match."
Kim wrote: "Miss Wardle and Her NiecesChapter 6
Sol Eytinge
..."
No. Just no.
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Commentary:
It has already been seen incidentally that, after the appearance of Part II of Pickwick, the publishers were at their wits' e..."
Kim
What a delightful and complete set of illustrations you have provided us. I, too, celebrate the addition of Hablot Browne to the mix. I also take some exception to the commentator who says that Phiz’s name “must always be associated with the reputation of the immortal work.” Well, of course I agree that Dickens was the person who made Phiz as famous as he became, but would also add in Phiz’s defence that his illustrations further elevated the creative genius of Dickens through emblematic illustrations and creating a visual world for Dickens’s written word. There, I feel better now that I defended Phiz. -:))
There are a number of illustrations in which the fat boy does not seem all that fatter than Mr. Tupman.
Mary Lou wrote: "Kim wrote: "Miss Wardle and Her NiecesChapter 6
Sol Eytinge
..."
No. Just no."
Mary Lou wrote: "Kim wrote: "Miss Wardle and Her Nieces
Chapter 6
Sol Eytinge
..."
No. Just no."
Ha! I'm with you there.
I don't think we're supposed to like the aunt in this illustration, but she seems to me to have a lot more life in her than the nieces!
Thanks for posting, Kim!
Mod
Mod
Plus the fat boy also seems to be more awake to reality than Mr Tupman is ;-)
Tristram wrote: "...Lodowicke Muggleton (1609-89) who founded a Protestant sect based on Muggletonianism – something that sounds like from out of a Harry-Potter-book (at least that’s what I imagine, who have never read a Harry Potter story, and probably never will). But Muggletonianism didn’t catch on on a large scale, maybe because no-one wanted to be called a Muggletonian ..."Tristram, I remember when I read Harry Potter, the Muggles were the “non-magical people”. The first Muggles I met in the first book are Harry’s adoptive family: uncle, aunt ad cousin. They are all selfish and stupid and obviously they mistreat him, like in any typical situation of the sad orphan at the beginning of a fairy tale. One day I heard the Italian translation of Muggles: it’s “Babbani”. “Babbani” doesn’t actually mean anything, but it sounds funny to an Italian ear.
Should I call somebody “babbano”, I certainly would not hold them in high regard. Your comment about the Muggletonians made me laugh and made me want to check if some translators have translated the name of the town of Muggleton. None of them has: Muggleton remains Muggleton. Is it the same for the German translation?
Going back to Harry Potter, I decided to adopt a personal translation to get into the Dickensian spirit, and Muggleton became “Babbano-poli”. :)
The Old Curiosity Club
Books mentioned in this topic
Harry Potter and the Paganization of Culture (other topics)Harry Potter and the Paganization of Culture (other topics)
