1812. Born at Landport, Portsmouth, February 7.
1816. Parents move to Chatham; 1821, to London.
1822. Father bankrupt and in prison. Charles in blacking warehouse1.
1827. Charles enters lawyer’s office.
1831. Reporters’ Gallery in Parliament.
1836. Marries Catherine Hogarth. Publishes Sketches2 by Boz.
1837. Pickwick Papers. 1838. Nicholas Nickleby.
1842. First American journey. 1843. Martin Chuzzlewit.
1844-5. Eleven months’ residence in Italy, chiefly at Genoa.
1846. Editor of Daily News for a few weeks.
1846-7. Six months at Lausanne; three months at Paris. Dombey and Son.
1849-50. David Copperfield.
1850. Editor of weekly periodical, Household Words.
1851-2. Manager of theatrical3 performances. 1852. Bleak4 House.
1853. Italian tour: Rome, Naples, and Venice.
1856. Purchase of Gadshill House, near Rochester.
1858. Beginning of public readings.
1859. Tale of Two Cities appears in All the Year Round.
1860. Gadshill becomes his home instead of London.
1867. Second American journey. Public readings in America.
1869. April, collapse5 at Chester. Readings stopped.
1870. Dies at Gadshill, June 9.
Charles Dickens
Novelist and Social Reformer
In these days when critics so often repeat the cry of ‘art for art’s sake’ and denounce Ruskin for bringing moral canons into his judgements of pictures or buildings, it is dangerous to couple these two titles together, and to label Dickens as anything but a novelist pure and simple. And indeed, all would admit that the creator of Sam Weller and Sarah Gamp will live when the crusade against ‘Bumbledom’ and its abuses is forgotten and the need for such a crusade seems incredible. But when so many recent critics have done justice to his gifts as a creative artist, this aspect of his work runs no danger of being forgotten. Moreover, when we are considering Dickens as a Victorian worthy6 and as a representative man of his age, it is desirable to bring out those qualities which he shared with so many of his great contemporaries. Above all, we must remember that Dickens himself would be the last man to be ashamed of having written ‘with a purpose’, or to think that the fact should be concealed7 as a blemish8 in his art. There was nothing in which he felt more genuine pride than in the thought that his talents thus employed had brought public opinion to realize the need for many practical reforms in our social condition. If these old abuses have mostly passed away, we may be thankful indeed; but we cannot feel sure that in the future fresh abuses will not arise with which the example of Dickens may inspire others to wage war. His was a strenuous9 life; he never spared himself nor stinted10 his efforts in any cause for which he was fighting; and if he did not win complete victory in his lifetime, he created the spirit in which victory was to be won.
Charles Dickens was born in 1812, the second child of a large family, his father being at the time a Navy clerk employed at Portsmouth. Of his birthplace in Commercial Road Portsmouth is justifiably11 proud; but we must think of him rather as a Kentishman and a Londoner, since he never lived in Hampshire after his fourth year. The earliest years which left a distinct impress on his mind were those passed at Chatham, to which his father moved in 1816. This town and its neighbouring cathedral city of Rochester, with their narrow old streets, their riverside and dockyard, took firm hold of his memory and imagination. To-day no places speak more intimately of him to the readers of his books. Here he passed five years of happy childhood till his father’s work took the family to London and his father’s improvidence12 plunged13 them into misfortune.
For those who know Wilkins Micawber it is needless to describe the failings of Mr. Dickens; for others we may be content to say that he was kindhearted, sanguine14 and improvident15, quite incapable16 of the steady industry needed to support a growing family. When his debts overwhelmed him and he was carried off to the Marshalsea prison, Charles was only ten years old, but already he took the lead in the house. On him fell the duty of pacifying17 creditors18 at the door, and of making visits to the pawn-broker to meet the daily needs of the household. His initiation19 into life was a hard one and it began cruelly soon. If he was active and enterprising beyond his years, with his nervous high-strung temperament20 he was capable of suffering acutely; and this capacity was now to be sorely tried. For a year or more of his life this proud sensitive child had to spend long hours in the cellars of a warehouse, with rough uneducated companions, occupied in pasting labels on pots of boot-blacking. This situation was all that the influence of his family could procure21 for him; and into this he was thrust at the age of ten with no ray of hope, no expectation of release. His shiftless parents seemed to acquiesce23 in this drudgery24 as an opening for their cleverest son; and instead of their helping25 and comforting him in his sorrow, it was he who gave his Sundays to visiting them in prison and to offering them such consolation26 as he could. The iron burnt deep into his soul. Long after, in fact till the day when the district was rebuilt and changed out of knowledge, he owned that he could not bear to revisit the scene; so painful were his recollections, so vivid his sense of degradation27. Twenty-five years later he narrated28 the facts to his friend and biographer John Forster in a private conversation; and he only recurred29 to the subject once more when under the disguise of a novel he told the story of the childhood of David Copperfield. By shifting the horror from the realm of fact to that of fiction, perhaps he lifted the weight of it from the secret recesses31 of his heart.
When his father’s debts were relieved, the child regained32 his freedom from servitude, but even then his schooling33 was desultory34 and ineffective. Well might the elder Dickens, in a burst of candour, say to a stranger who asked him about his son’s education, ‘Why indeed, sir, ha! ha! he may be said to have educated himself.’
At the age of fifteen Charles embarked35 again on his career as a wage-earner. At first he was taken into a lawyer’s office, where he filled a position somewhat between that of office-boy and clerk, and two years later he was qualifying himself by the study of shorthand for the profession of a parliamentary reporter, which his father was then following. He entered ‘the Gallery’ in 1831, first representing the True Sun and later the well-known Morning Chronicle; and at intervals36 he enlarged his experiences by journeys into the provinces to report political meetings. Thus it was that he familiarized himself with the mail coaches, the wayside hostelries, and the rich variety of types that were to be found there; with London in most of its phases he was already at home. So, when in 1834 he made his first attempts at writing in periodical literature, although he was only twenty-two years old, he had a wealth of first-hand experiences quite outside the range of the man who is just finishing his leisurely37 passage through a public school and university: of schools and offices, of parliaments and prisons, of the street and of the high road, he had been a diligent38 and observant critic; for many years he had practised the maxim39 of Pope: ‘The proper study of mankind is Man.’
Friends sprang up wherever he went. His open face, his sparkling eye, his humorous tongue, his ready sympathy, were a passport to the goodwill40 of those whom he met; few could resist the appeal. Many readers will be familiar with the early portrait by Maclise; but his friends tell us how little that did justice to the lively play of feature, ‘the spirited air and carriage’ which were indescribable. On the top of a mail coach, on a fresh morning, they must have won the favour of his fellow travellers more easily than Alfred Jingle41 won the hearts of the Pickwickians. And beneath the radiant cheerfulness of his manner, the quick flash of observation and of speech, there was in him an element of hard persistence43 and determination which would carry him far. If the years of poverty and neglect had failed to chill his hopes and break his spirit, there was no fear that he would tire in the pursuit of his ambition when fortune began to smile upon him. He had touched life on many sides. He had kept his warmth of sympathy, his buoyancy, his capacity for rising superior to ill-fortune; and the years of adversity had only deepened his feeling for all that were oppressed. He had much to learn about the craft of letters; but he already had the first essential of an author — he had something to say.
The year 1836 is a definite landmark44 in the life of Dickens. In this year he married; in this year he gave up the practice of parliamentary reporting, published the Sketches by Boz, and began the writing of The Pickwick Papers. This immortal45 work achieved wide popularity at once. Criticism cannot hope to do justice to the greatness of Sam Weller, to the humours of Dingley Dell and Eatanswill, to the adventures of the hero in back gardens or in prison, on coaches or in wheelbarrows. Every one must read them in the original for himself. In this book Dickens reached at once the height of his success in making his fellow countrymen laugh with him at their own foibles. If in the art of constructing a story, in the depiction46 of character, in deepening the interest by the alternation of happiness and misfortune, he was to go far beyond his initial triumph — still with many Dickensians, who love him chiefly for his liveliness of observation and broad humour, Pickwick remains47 the prime favourite.
The effect of this success on the fortunes of the author was immediate48 and lasting49. Henceforth he could live in a comfortable house and look forward to a family life in which his children should be free from all risk of repeating his own experience. He could afford himself the pleasures and the society which he needed, and he became the centre of a circle of friends who appreciated his talents and encouraged him in his career. His relations with his publishers, though not without incident, were generally of the most cordial kind. If Dickens had the self-confidence to estimate his own powers highly, and the shrewd instinct to know when he was getting less than his fair share in a bargain, yet in a difference of opinion he was capable of seeing the other side, and he was loyal in the observance of all agreements.
The five years which followed were so crowded with various activities that it is difficult to date the events exactly, especially when he was producing novels in monthly or weekly numbers. Generally he had more than one story on the stocks. Thus in 1837, before Pickwick was finished, Oliver Twist was begun, and it was not itself complete before the earlier numbers of Nicholas Nickleby were appearing. In the same way The Old Curiosity Shop and Barnaby Rudge, which may be dated 1840 and 1841, overlapped52 one another in the planning of the stories, if not in the execution of the weekly parts. There is no period of Dickens’s life which enables us better to observe his intense mental activity, and at the same time the variety of his creations. Here we have the luxuriant humour of Mrs. Nickleby and the Crummles family side by side with the tragedy of Bill Sikes and the pathos53 of Little Nell. Here also we can see the gradual development of constructive54 power in the handling of the story. But for our purpose it is more significant to notice that we here find Dickens’s pen enlisted55 in the service of the noblest cause for which he fought, the redemption from misery56 and slavery of the children of his native land. Lord Shaftesbury’s life has told us what their sufferings were and how the machinery57 of Government was slowly forced to do its part; and Dickens would be the last to detract from the fame of that great philanthropist, whose efforts on many occasions he supported and praised. But there were wide circles which no philanthropist could reach, hearts which no arguments or statistics could rouse; men and women who attended no meetings and read no pamphlets but who eagerly devoured58 anything that was written by the author of The Pickwick Papers. To them Smike and Little Nell made a personal and irresistible59 appeal; they could not remain insensible to the cruelty of Dotheboys Hall and to the depravity of Fagin’s school; and if these books did not themselves recruit active workers to improve the conditions of child life, at least society became permeated60 with a temper which was favourable61 to the efforts of the reformers.
As far back as the days of his childhood at Rochester Dickens had been indignant at what he had casually62 heard of the Yorkshire schools; and his year of drudgery in London had made him realize, in other cases beside his own, the degradation that followed from the neglect of children. On undertaking63 to handle this subject in Nicholas Nickleby, he journeyed to Yorkshire to gather evidence at first hand for his picture of Dotheboys Hall. And for many years afterwards he continued to correspond with active workers on the subject of Ragged64 Schools and on the means of uplifting children out of the conditions which were so fruitful a source of crime. He discovered for himself how easily miscreants65 like Fagin could find recruits in the slums of London, and how impossible it was to bring up aright boys who were bred in these neglected homes. Even where efforts had been begun, the machinery was quite inadequate66, the teachers few, the schoolrooms cheerless and ill-equipped. Mr. Crotch22 has preserved a letter of 1843 in which Dickens makes the practical offer of providing funds for a washing-place in one school where the children seemed to be suffering from inattention to the elementary needs. His heart warmed towards individual cases and he faced them in practical fashion; he was not one of those reformers who utter benevolent67 sentiments on the platform and go no further.
Critics have had much to say about Dickens’s treatment of child characters in his novels; the words ‘sentimental’ and ‘mawkish’ have been hurled68 at scenes like the death of Paul Dombey and Little Nell and at the more lurid69 episodes in Oliver Twist. But Dickens was a pioneer in his treatment of children in fiction; and if he did smite70 resounding71 blows which jar upon critical ears, at least he opened a rich vein72 of literature where many have followed him. He wrote not for the critics but for the great popular audience whom he had created, comprising all ages and classes, and world-wide in extent. The best answer to such criticism is to be found in the poem which Bret Harte dedicated73 to his memory in 1870, which beautifully describes how the pathos of his child-heroine could move the hearts of rough working men far away in the Sierras of the West. Nor did this same character of Little Nell fail to win special praise from literary critics so fastidious as Landor and Francis Jeffrey.
In 1842 he embarked on his first voyage to America. Till then he had travelled little outside his native land, and this expedition was definitely intended to bear fruit. Before starting he made a bargain with his publishers to produce a book on his return. The American Notes thus published, dealing74 largely with institutions and with the notable ‘sights’ of the country, have not retained a prominent place among his works; with Martin Chuzzlewit and its picture of American manners it is different. This stands alone among his writings in having left a permanent heritage of ill-will. Reasons in abundance can be found for the bitterness caused. He portrayed75 the conceit76, the self-interest, the disregard for the feelings of others which the less-educated American showed to foreigners in a visible and often offensive guise30; and the portraits were so life-like that no arrow fails to hit the mark. The American people were young; they had made great strides in material prosperity, they had not been taught to submit to the lash42 by satirists like Swift or more kindly78 mentors79 like Addison. Their own Oliver Wendell Holmes had not yet begun to chastise80 them with gentle irony81. So they were aghast at Dickens’s audacity82, and indignant at what seemed an outrage83 on their hospitality, and few stopped to ask what elements of truth were to be found in the offending book. No doubt it was one-sided and unfair; Dickens, like most tourists, had been confronted by the louder and more aggressive members of the community and had not time to judge the whole. In large measure he recanted in subsequent writings; and on his second visit the more generous Americans showed how little rancour they bore. But the portraits of Jefferson Brick and Elijah Pogram will live; with Pecksniff, ‘Sairey’ Gamp, and other immortals84 they bear the hall-mark of Dickens’s creative genius.
To America he did not go again for twenty-five years; but, as he grew older, he seemed to feel increasing need for change and variety in his mode of life. In 1844 he went for nearly twelve months to Italy, making his head-quarters at Genoa; and in 1846 he repeated the experiment at Lausanne on the lake of Geneva. Later, between 1853 and 1856, he spent a large part of three summers in a villa85 near Boulogne. Though he desired the change for reasons connected with his work, and though in each case he formed friendly connexions with his neighbours, it cannot be said that his books show the influence of either country. His genius was British to the core and he remained an Englishman wherever he went. He complained when abroad that he missed the stimulus86 of London, where the lighted streets, through which he walked at night, caused his imagination to work with intensified87 force. But even in Genoa he proved capable of writing The Chimes, which is as markedly English in temper as anything which he wrote.
The same spirit of restlessness comes out in his ventures into other fields of activity at home. At one time he assumed the editorship of a London newspaper; but a few weeks showed that he was incapable of editorial drudgery and he resigned. His taste for acting88 played a larger part in his life; and in 1851 and other years he put an enormous amount of energy into organizing public theatrical performances with his friends in London. He always loved the theatre. Macready was one of his innermost circle, and he had other friends on the stage. Indeed there were moments in his life when it seemed that the genius of the novelist might be lost to the world, which would have found but a sorry equivalent in one more actor of talent on the stage, however brilliant that talent was. But the main current of his life went on in London with diligent application to the book or books in hand; or at Broadstairs, where Dickens made holiday in true English fashion with his children by the sea.
In the years following the American voyage the chief landmarks89 were the production of Dombey and Son (begun in 1846) and David Copperfield (begun in 1849). From many points of view they may be regarded as his masterpieces, where his art is best seen in depicting90 character and constructing a story, though the infectious gaiety of the earlier novels may at times be missed. Dickens’s insight into human nature had ripened91, and he had learnt to group his lesser92 figures and episodes more skilfully93 round the central plot. And David Copperfield has the peculiar94 interest which attaches to those works where we seem to read the story of the author’s own life. Evidently we have memories here of his childhood, of his school-days and his apprenticeship95 to work, and of the first gleams of success which met him in life. It is generally assumed that the book throws light on his own family relations; but it would be rash to argue confidently about this, as the inventive impulse was so strong in him. At least we may say that it is the book most necessary for a student who wishes to understand Dickens himself and his outlook on the world.
Also David Copperfield may be regarded as the central point and the culmination96 of Dickens’s career as a novelist. Before it, and again after it, he had a spell of about fifteen years’ steady work at novel writing, and no one would question that the first spell was productive of the better work. Bleak House, Hard Times, Little Dorrit, Our Mutual97 Friend all show evidence of greater effort and are less happy in their effect. No man could live the life that Dickens had lived for fifteen years and not show some signs of exhaustion98; the wonder is that his creative power continued at all. He was capable of brilliant successes yet. The Tale of Two Cities is among the most thrilling of his stories, while Edwin Drood and parts of Great Expectations show as fine imagination and character drawing as anything which he wrote before 1850; but there is no injustice99 in drawing a broad distinction between the two parts of his career.
His home during the most fertile period of his activity was in Devonshire Terrace, near Regent’s Park, a house with a garden of considerable size. Here he was within reach of his best friends, who were drawn100 from all the liberal professions represented in London. First among them stands John Forster, lawyer, journalist, and author, his adviser101 and subsequently his biographer, the friend of Robert Browning, a man with a genius for friendship, unselfish, loyal, discreet102 and wise in counsel. Next came the artists Maclise and Clarkson Stanfield, the actor Macready, Talfourd, lawyer and poet, Douglas Jerrold and Mark Lemon, the two famous contributors to Punch, and some fellow novelists, of whom Harrison Ainsworth was conspicuous103 in the earlier group and Wilkie Collins in later years. Less frequent visitors were Carlyle, Thackeray, and Bulwer Lytton, but they too were proud to welcome Dickens among their friends. With some of these he would walk, ride, or dine, go to the theatre or travel in the provinces and in foreign countries. His biographer loves to recall the Dickens Dinners, organized to celebrate the issue of a new book, when songs and speeches were added to good cheer and when ‘we all in the greatest good-humour glorified104 each other’. Dickens always retained the English taste for a good dinner and was frankly105 fond of applause, and there was no element of exclusive priggishness about the cordial admiration106 which these friends felt for one another and their peculiar enthusiasm for Dickens and his books. Around him the enthusiasm gathered, and few men have better deserved it.
When he was writing he needed quiet and worked with complete concentration; and when he had earned some leisure he loved to spend it in violent physical exercise. He would suddenly call on Forster to come out for a long ride on horseback to occupy the middle of the day; and his diligent friend, unable to resist the lure107 of such company, would throw his own work to the winds and come. Till near the end of his life Dickens clung to these habits, thinking nothing of a walk of from twenty to thirty miles; and there seems reason to believe that by constant over-exertion he sapped his strength and shortened his life. But lameness108 in one foot, the result of an illness early in 1865, handicapped him severely109 at times; and in the same year he sustained a rude shock in a railway accident where his nerves were upset by what he witnessed in helping the injured. He ought to have acquired the wisdom of the middle-aged110 man, and to have taken things more easily, but with him it was impossible to be doing nothing; physical and mental activity succeeded one another and often went together with a high state of nervous tension.
This love of excitement sometimes took forms which modern taste would call excessive and unwholesome. His attendance at the public execution of the Mannings in 1849, his going so often to the Morgue in Paris, his visit to America to ‘the exact site where Professor Webster did that amazing murder’, may seem legitimate112 for one who had to study crime among the other departments of life; but at times he revels113 in gruesome details in a way which jars on our feeling, and betrays too theatrical a love of sensation. However, no one could say that Dickens is generally morbid114, in view of the sound and hearty115 appreciation116 which he had for all that is wholesome111 and genial117 in life.
In many ways the latter part of his life shows a less even tenor118, a less steady development. Though he was so domestic in his tastes and devoted119 to his children, his relations with his wife became more and more difficult owing to incompatibility120 of temperament; and from 1858 they found it desirable to live apart. This no doubt added to his restlessness and the craving121 for excitement, which showed itself in the ardour with which he took up the idea of public readings. These readings are only less famous than his writings, so prodigious122 was their success. His great dramatic gifts, enlisted in the service of his own creations, made an irresistible appeal to the public, and till the day of his collapse, ten years later, their popularity showed no sign of waning123. The amount of money which he earned thereby124 was amazing; the American tour alone gave him a net profit of ￡20,000; and he expected to make as much more in two seasons in England. But he paid dearly for these triumphs, being often in trouble with his voice, suffering from fits of sleeplessness125, aggravating126 the pain in his foot, and affecting his heart. In spite, then, of the success of the readings, his faithful friends like Forster would gladly have seen him abandon a practice which could add little to his future fame, while it threatened to shorten his life. But, however arduous127 the task which he set himself, when the moment came Dickens could brace128 himself to meet the demands and satisfy the high expectations of his audience. His nerves seemed to harden, his voice to gain strength; his spirit flashed out undimmed, and he won triumph after triumph, in quiet cathedral cities, in great industrial towns, in the more fatiguing129 climate of America and before the huge audiences of Philadelphia and New York. He began his programme with a few chosen pieces from Pickwick and the Christmas Books, and with selected characters like Paul Dombey and Mrs. Gamp; he added Dotheboys Hall and the story of David Copperfield in brief; in his last series, against the advice of Forster, he worked up the more sensational130 passages from Oliver Twist. His object, he says, was ‘to leave behind me the recollection of something very passionate131 and dramatic, done with simple means, if the act would justify132 the theme’. It was because the art of reading was unduly133 strained that Forster protested, and his judgement is confirmed by Dickens’s boast (perhaps humorously exaggerated) that ‘at Clifton we had a contagion134 of fainting, and yet the place was not hot — a dozen to twenty ladies taken out stiff and rigid135 at various times’. The physical effects of this fresh strain soon appeared. After a month his doctor ordered him to cease reading; and, though he resumed it after a few days’ rest, in April 1869 he had a worse attack of giddiness and was obliged to abandon it permanently136. The history of these readings illustrates137 the character of Dickens perhaps better than any other episode in his later life.
But the same restless energy is visible even in his life at Gadshill, which was his home from 1860 to 1870. The house lies on the London road a few miles west of Rochester, and can easily be seen to-day, almost unaltered, by the passer-by. It had caught his fancy in his childhood before the age of ten when he was walking with his father, and his father had promised that, if he would only work hard enough, he might one day live in it. The associations of the place with the Falstaff scenes in Henry IV had also endeared it to him; and so, when in 1855 he heard that it was for sale, he jumped at the opportunity. For some years after purchasing it he let it to tenants138, but from 1860 he made it his permanent abode139. It has no architectural features to charm the eye; with its many changes and additions made for comfort, its bow-windows and the plantations140 in the garden, it is a typical Victorian home. Here Dickens could live at ease, surrounded by his children, his dogs, his books, his souvenirs of his friends, and the Kentish scenery which he loved. To the north lay the flat marshlands of the lower Thames, to the south and west lay rolling hills crowned with woodlands, with hop22 gardens on the lower slopes; to the east lay the valley of the Medway with the quaint141 old streets of Rochester and the bustling142 dockyard of Chatham. All that makes the familiar beauty and richness of English landscape was here, above all the charm of associations. So many names preserved memories of his books. To Rochester the Pickwickians had driven on their first search for knowledge; to Cobham Mr. Winkle had fled, and at the ‘Leather Bottle’ his friends had found him; in the marshlands Joe Gargery and Pip had watched for the escaped convict; in the old gateway143 by the cathedral Jasper had entertained Edwin Drood on the eve of his disappearance144; along that very high-road over which Dickens’s windows looked the child David Copperfield had tramped in his journey from London to Dover.
Meanwhile, though his creative vein may have been less fertile than of old, his efforts for the good of his fellow men were no less continuous and sincere. His first books had aimed at killing145 by ridicule146 certain social institutions which had sunk into abuses. The pictures of parliamentary elections, of schools, of workhouses, had not only created a hearty laugh, but they had disposed the public to listen to the reformers and to realize the need for reform. As he grew older he went deeper into the evil, and he also blended his reforming purpose better with his story. The characters of Mr. Dombey and the Chuzzlewits are not mere147 incidents in the tale, nor are they monstrosities which call forth50 immediate astonishment148 and horror. But in each case the ingrained selfishness which spreads misery through a family is the very mainspring of the story; and the dramatic power by which Dickens makes it reveal itself in action has something Shakespearian in it. Here there is still a balance between the different elements, the human interest and the moral lesson, and as works of art they are on a higher plane than Hard Times, where the purpose is too clearly shown. Still if we wish to understand this side of Dickens’s work, it is just such a book as Hard Times that we must study.
It deals with the relation of classes to one another in an industrial district, and especially with the faults of the class that rose to power with the development of manufacturing. Mr. Gradgrind and Mr. Bounderby, the well-meaning pedant149 and the offensive parvenu150, preach the same gospel. Political economy, as they understand it, is to rule life, and this dismal151 science is not concerned with human well-being152 and happiness, but only with the profit and loss on commercial undertakings153. Hard facts then are to be the staple154 of education; memory and accurate calculation are to be cultivated; the imagination is to be driven out. In depicting the manner of this education Dickens rather overshoots the mark. The visit of Mr. Gradgrind to Mr. M’Choakumchild’s school (when the sharp-witted Bitzer defines the horse according to the scientific handbook, while poor Cissy, who has only an affection for horses, indulges in fancies and collapses155 in disgrace) is too evident a caricature. But the effects of this kind of teaching are painted with a powerful hand, and we see the faculty156 for joy blighted157 almost in the cradle. And the lesson is enforced not only by the working man and his family but by Gradgrind’s own daughter, who pitilessly convicts her father of having stifled158 every generous impulse in her and of having sacrificed her on the altar of fancied self-interest.
Side by side with the dismal Mr. Gradgrind is the poor master of the strolling circus, Mr. Sleary, with his truer philosophy of life. He can see the real need that men have for amusement and for brightness in their lives; and, though he lives under the shadow of bankruptcy159, he can hold his head up and preach the gospel of happiness. This was a cause which never failed to win the enthusiastic advocacy of Dickens. He fought, as men still have to fight to-day, against those Pharisees who prescribe for the working classes how they should spend their weekly day of freedom; he supported the opening on Sunday of parks, museums, and galleries; whole-heartedly he loved the theatre and the circus, and he wished as many as possible to share those delights. In defiance160 of ‘Mrs. Grundy’ he ventured to maintain that the words ‘music-hall’ and ‘public-house’, rightly understood, should be held in honour. It is one thing to hate drunkenness and indecency; it is quite another to assume that these must be found in the poor man’s place of recreation, and this roused him to anger. To him ‘public-house’ meant a place of fellowship, and ‘music-hall’ a place of song and mirth; and if some critics complain of an excess of material good-cheer in his picture of life, Dickens is certainly here in sympathy with the bulk of his fellow-countrymen.
Another cause in which Dickens was always ready to lead a crusade was the amendment161 of the Poor Law. This will remind us of the early days of Oliver Twist, of such a friendless outcast as Jo in Bleak House, of the struggle of Betty Higden in Our Mutual Friend and her determination never to be given up to ‘the Parish’. But, even more than the famous novels, the casual writings of Dickens in his own magazines and elsewhere throw light on his activities in this cause and on the researches which he made into the working of the system. Mr. Crotch describes visits which he paid to the workhouses in Wapping and Whitechapel, quoting his comments on the ‘Foul Ward51’ in one, on the old men’s ward in the other, and on the torpor162 of despair which settled down on these poor wrecks163 of humanity. Could such a system, he asked himself, be wise which robbed men not of liberty alone but of all hope for the future, which left them no single point of interest except the statistics of their fellows who had gone before them and who had been finally liberated164 by death? A still more striking passage, just because Dickens here shows unusual restraint and moderation in his language, tells us of the five women whom he saw sleeping all night outside the workhouse through no fault of any official, but simply because there was no room for them inside and because society had nothing to offer, no form of ‘relief’ which could touch these unfortunates. Many will be familiar with passages in Ruskin, where he denounces similar tragedies due to our inhuman165 disregard of what is happening at our doors.
Though the most valuable part of his work was the effective appeal to the hearts of his brother men, Dickens had the practical wisdom to suggest definite remedies in some cases. He saw that the districts in the East End of London, even with a heavy poor rate, failed to supply adequate relief for their waifs and strays, while the wealthy inhabitants of the West End, having few paupers166, paid on their riches a rate that was negligible, and he boldly suggested the equalization of rates. All London should jointly167 share the burden of maintaining those for whose welfare they were responsible and should pay shares proportioned to their wealth. This wise reform was not carried into effect till some thirty or forty years later; but the principle is now generally accepted. Though in this case, as in his famous attack on the Court of Chancery in Bleak House, Dickens failed in obtaining any immediate effect, it is unquestionable that he influenced the minds of thousands and changed the temper in which they looked at the problem of the poor. In this nothing that he wrote was more powerful than the series of Christmas Books, in which his imagination, with the power of a Rembrandt, threw on to a smaller canvas the lights and shades of London life, the grim background of mean streets, and the cheerful virtues168 which throw a glamour169 over their humble170 homes. His advocacy of these social causes came to be known far and wide and contributed a second element to the popularity won by his novels; long before his death Dickens stood on a pinnacle171 alone, loved by the vast reading public among those who toil172 in our towns and villages, and wherever English is read and understood. He was not only their entertainer, but their friend and brother; he had been through his days of sorrow and suffering and he had kept that vast fund of cheerfulness which overflowed173 into his books and gladdened the lives of so many thousands. When he died in 1870 after a year of intermittent174 illness, following on his breakdown175 over the public readings, there was naturally a widespread desire that he should be buried in Westminster Abbey, as a great Englishman and a true representative of his age. During life he had expressed his desire for a private funeral, unheralded in the press, and he had thought of two or three quiet churches in the neighbourhood of Rochester and Gadshill. These particular graveyards176 were found to be already closed, and the family consented to a compromise by which their father should be buried in the Abbey at an early hour when no strangers would be aware of it. After his body was laid to rest, the people were admitted to pay their homage177; the universality and the sincerity178 of their feelings was shown in a wonderful way. Among men of letters he had reigned179 in the hearts of the people, as Queen Victoria reigned among our sovereigns. In the annals of her reign77 his name will outlive those of soldiers, of prelates, and of politicians.
The causes for which he fought have not all been won yet. Officialdom still dawdles180 over the work of the State, hearts are still broken by the law’s delays, the path of crime still lies too easily open to the young. Vast progress has been made; a humane181 spirit is to be found in the working of our Government, and a truer knowledge of social problems is spreading among all classes. But the world cannot afford to relegate182 Charles Dickens to oblivion, and shows no desire to do so; his books are and will be a wellspring of cheerfulness, of faith in human nature, and of true Christian183 charity from which all will do well to drink.
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1
warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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4
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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blemish
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| v.损害；玷污；瑕疵，缺点 | |
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strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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stinted
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| v.限制，节省（stint的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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justifiably
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| adv.无可非议地 | |
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improvidence
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| n.目光短浅 | |
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13
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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14
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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improvident
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| adj.不顾将来的，不节俭的，无远见的 | |
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16
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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17
pacifying
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| 使（某人）安静( pacify的现在分词 )； 息怒； 抚慰； 在（有战争的地区、国家等）实现和平 | |
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18
creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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19
initiation
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| n.开始 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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21
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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22
hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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23
acquiesce
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| vi.默许，顺从，同意 | |
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drudgery
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| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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narrated
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| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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recurred
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| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
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guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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31
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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32
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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33
schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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34
desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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35
embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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37
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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38
diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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maxim
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| n.格言，箴言 | |
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40
goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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41
jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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42
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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43
persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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44
landmark
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| n.陆标，划时代的事，地界标 | |
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45
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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46
depiction
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| n.描述 | |
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47
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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48
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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49
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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50
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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51
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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52
overlapped
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| _adj.重叠的v.部分重叠( overlap的过去式和过去分词 )；（物体）部份重叠；交叠；（时间上）部份重叠 | |
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53
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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54
constructive
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| adj.建设的，建设性的 | |
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55
enlisted
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| adj.应募入伍的v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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56
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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57
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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58
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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59
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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60
permeated
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| 弥漫( permeate的过去式和过去分词 )； 遍布； 渗入； 渗透 | |
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61
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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62
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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63
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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64
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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miscreants
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| n.恶棍，歹徒( miscreant的名词复数 ) | |
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66
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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67
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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68
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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69
lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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70
smite
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| v.重击；彻底击败；n.打；尝试；一点儿 | |
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71
resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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72
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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73
dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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74
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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75
portrayed
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| v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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77
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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mentors
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| n.（无经验之人的）有经验可信赖的顾问( mentor的名词复数 )v.（无经验之人的）有经验可信赖的顾问( mentor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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80
chastise
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| vt.责骂，严惩 | |
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81
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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82
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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83
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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immortals
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| 不朽的人物( immortal的名词复数 )； 永生不朽者 | |
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85
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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stimulus
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| n.刺激，刺激物，促进因素，引起兴奋的事物 | |
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87
intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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landmarks
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| n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 )；目标；（标志重要阶段的）里程碑 ~ (in sth)；有历史意义的建筑物（或遗址） | |
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depicting
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| 描绘，描画( depict的现在分词 )； 描述 | |
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ripened
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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apprenticeship
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| n.学徒身份；学徒期 | |
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culmination
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| n.顶点；最高潮 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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98
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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100
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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103
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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104
glorified
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| 美其名的，变荣耀的 | |
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105
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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106
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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107
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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108
lameness
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| n. 跛, 瘸, 残废 | |
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109
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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110
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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111
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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112
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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113
revels
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| n.作乐( revel的名词复数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉v.作乐( revel的第三人称单数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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114
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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116
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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117
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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118
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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119
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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120
incompatibility
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| n.不兼容 | |
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121
craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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122
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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123
waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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124
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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125
sleeplessness
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| n.失眠，警觉 | |
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126
aggravating
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| adj.恼人的，讨厌的 | |
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127
arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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fatiguing
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| a.使人劳累的 | |
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sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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133
unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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134
contagion
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| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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137
illustrates
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的第三人称单数 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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138
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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plantations
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| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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149
pedant
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| n.迂儒；卖弄学问的人 | |
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150
parvenu
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| n.暴发户，新贵 | |
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151
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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152
well-being
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| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
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153
undertakings
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| 企业( undertaking的名词复数 )； 保证； 殡仪业； 任务 | |
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staple
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| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
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collapses
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| 折叠( collapse的第三人称单数 )； 倒塌； 崩溃； （尤指工作劳累后）坐下 | |
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156
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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blighted
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| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
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158
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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bankruptcy
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| n.破产；无偿付能力 | |
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160
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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161
amendment
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| n.改正，修正，改善，修正案 | |
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162
torpor
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| n.迟钝；麻木；（动物的）冬眠 | |
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163
wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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164
liberated
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| a.无拘束的，放纵的 | |
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165
inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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166
paupers
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| n.穷人( pauper的名词复数 )；贫民；贫穷 | |
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jointly
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| ad.联合地，共同地 | |
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168
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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169
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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170
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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171
pinnacle
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| n.尖塔，尖顶，山峰；(喻)顶峰 | |
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172
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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173
overflowed
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| 溢出的 | |
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174
intermittent
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| adj.间歇的，断断续续的 | |
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175
breakdown
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| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
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176
graveyards
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| 墓地( graveyard的名词复数 )； 垃圾场； 废物堆积处； 收容所 | |
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177
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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178
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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179
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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180
dawdles
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| v.混（时间）( dawdle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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181
humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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182
relegate
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| v.使降级，流放，移交，委任 | |
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183
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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