“Of course one fundamental difference ... is that Thackeray was a gentleman and Dickens was not.”
The damnatory clause in this sentence seems to me too absolute, though Roosevelt softens3 it by adding, “but a man might do some mighty4 good work without being in any sense a gentleman.” That is certainly true, and beyond a doubt Dickens did it—a wonderful plenty of it. It is also true that in several perfectly5 good senses he was a brave and kind gentleman, despite his faults in manners and dress.
[106]
But it is the laudatory6 clause in Roosevelt’s judgment7 that interests me. Thackeray’s work is pervaded8 with his personality to an unusual degree. It is a saturated9 solution of the man. We can taste him in every page. And it is because we like the taste, because we find something strong and true, bracing10 and stimulant11 in it, that we love to read him. ’Tis like being with a gentleman in any enterprise or adventure; it gives us pleasure and does us unconscious good.
Well, then, what do we mean by “a gentleman?” Tennyson calls it
The grand old name of gentleman
Defamed by every charlatan12,
And soil’d with all ignoble13 use.
In the big New Oxford14 Dictionary there is more than a pageful of definitions of the word, and almost every English essayist has tried a shot at it. One thing is sure, its old hereditary15 use as a title of rank or property is going out, or already gone. “John Jones, Gent.,” is a vanishing form of address. More and more the word is coming to connote something in character and conduct. Inheritance
[107]
may enter into it, and the sense of honour has a great part in it, and its outward and visible sign is an unassuming fitness of behaviour in the various circumstances of life. But its indispensable essence is reality; its native speech, sincerity16; and its controlling spirit, good-will.
Let us content ourselves with a description instead of a definition. A gentleman is a real man who deals honestly, bravely, frankly17, and considerately with all sorts and conditions of other real men.
This is Thackeray’s very mark and quality. We can feel it all through his life and works. Everything real in the world he recognized and accepted, even though he might not always like it. But the unreal people and things—the pretenders, the hypocrites, the shams18, and the frauds (whether pious19 or impious)—he detested20 and scoffed21 away. Reality was his quest and his passion. He followed it with unfailing interest, penetration22, and good temper. He found it, at least in humankind, always mixed and complicated, never altogether good nor altogether bad, no hero without a fault, and no villain23
[108]
without a germ of virtue24. Life is really made that way. The true realist is not the materialist25, the five-sense naturalist26, but the man who takes into account the human soul and God as ultimate realities.
Thackeray’s personal life had nothing that was remarkable27 and much that was admirable. It was simply the background of his genius. He was a child of the upper-middle class in England—if you know just what that means. He went to the Charterhouse School in London (which he afterward28 immortalized as Greyfriars in The Newcomes), and illustrated29 his passion for reality by getting his nose broken in a fight, which gave his face a permanent Socratic cast. At Cambridge University he seems to have written much and studied little, but that little to good purpose. He inherited a modest fortune, which he spent, not in riotous30 living, but in travel, art study in Paris, and in the most risky31 of all extravagances, the starting of new periodicals. When this failed and his money was gone, he lived in London as a hack-writer.
His young wife was taken from him by that saddest
[109]
of all bereavements—the loss of her mind. It became necessary to place her in a private sanitarium, where she outlived her husband by thirty years. To her, and to the two little daughters whom she left him, Thackeray was faithful and devoted32. He never complained, never flinched33 into an easy way of escape from his burden. He bent34 his back to it, and, in spite of natural indolence, he worked hard and was cheerful.
He made a host of friends and kept them, as Stevenson puts it, “without capitulation.” Of course, this grim condition implies some frictions35 and some dislikes, and from these Thackeray was not exempt36. The satire37 which was his first mode in writing was too direct and pungent38 to be relished39 by those who had any streak40 of self-humbug in their make-up. But, so far as I know, he had only one serious literary quarrel—that unhappy dispute with Mr. Edmund Yates, in which Dickens, with the best intentions in the world, became, unfortunately, somewhat involved. Thackeray might perhaps have been more generous and forgiving—he could have afforded that luxury. But he could not
[110]
have been more honest and frank, more real, than he was. Being very angry, and for a just cause, he said so in plain words. Presently the tempest passed away. When Thackeray died in 1863, Dickens wrote:
“No one can be surer than I of the greatness and goodness of his heart.”
The first period of his life as a man of letters was given almost entirely41 to satirical and fragmentary writing, under various noms de guerre. Hence, he remained for a long time in comparative poverty and obscurity, from which he stepped into fame and prosperity with the publication of his first large novel, Vanity Fair, in 1847-48. It was like turning the corner of Grub Street and coming into Glory Avenue.
Henceforth the way was open, though not easy. The succession of his big, welcome novels was slow, steady, unbroken. Each one brought him thousands of new readers, and the old ones were semper fideles, even when they professed42 a preference for the earlier over the later volumes. His lecture tours in Great Britain and the United States were eminently43
[111]
successful—more so, I think, than those of Charles Dickens. They may have brought in less money, but more of what old William Caxton, the prince of printers, called “good fame and renommee.” The last of his completed books, and one of his most delightful44, was Roundabout Papers—a volume of essays that has no superior in English for a light, firm, friendly touch upon the realities of life. His last story begun was Denis Duval, and on this he was working when he laid down his pen on Christmas Eve, 1863, and fell asleep for the last time.
It was Edmund Yates who wrote of him then:
“Thackeray was dead; and the purest English prose writer of the nineteenth century and the novelist with a greater knowledge of the human heart, as it really is, than any other—with the exception perhaps of Shakespeare and Balzac—was suddenly struck down in the midst of us.”
The human heart as it really is—there’s the point! That is what Thackeray sought to know, to understand, to reveal, and—no! not to explain, nor to judge and sentence—for that, as he well knew, was
[112]
far beyond him or any of us—but his desire was to show the real heart of man, in its various complexities45 and perplexities, working its way through the divers46 realities and unrealities in which we are all entangled47.
The acute French critic, Edmond Scherer, distinguished48 and divided between George Eliot as “a novelist of character,” and Thackeray as “a novelist of manners.” The epithet49 will pass only if we take the word in the sense of William of Wykeham’s motto, “Manners makyth man.”
For, as surely as there is something in the outward demeanour which unveils and discloses the person within, even so surely is there something in behaviour, the habitual50 mode of speech and conduct, which moulds the man using it. A false behaviour weaves a texture51 of lies into the warp52 of his nature. A true behaviour weakens the hold of his own self-delusions, and so helps him to know what he really is—which is good for him and for others.
It was in this sense that Thackeray was interested in manners, and depicted53 them in his books. Go with him to a ball, and you arrive at the hour of
[113]
unmasking; to a club, and you are aware of the thoughts under the conversation; to a play, and you pass behind the footlights and the paint; to a death-bed, and—well, do you remember the death of Helen in Pendennis? and of the Colonel in The Newcomes? Foolish critics speak of these last two passages as “scenes.” Scenes! By Heaven! no, they are realities. We can feel those pure souls passing.
Let us follow this clew of the passion for reality through the three phases of Thackeray’s work.
点击收听单词发音
1 fragrant | |
adj.芬香的,馥郁的,愉快的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
2 strenuous | |
adj.奋发的,使劲的;紧张的;热烈的,狂热的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
3 softens | |
(使)变软( soften的第三人称单数 ); 缓解打击; 缓和; 安慰 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
4 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
5 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
6 laudatory | |
adj.赞扬的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
7 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
8 pervaded | |
v.遍及,弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
9 saturated | |
a.饱和的,充满的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
10 bracing | |
adj.令人振奋的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
11 stimulant | |
n.刺激物,兴奋剂 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
12 charlatan | |
n.骗子;江湖医生;假内行 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
13 ignoble | |
adj.不光彩的,卑鄙的;可耻的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
14 Oxford | |
n.牛津(英国城市) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
15 hereditary | |
adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
16 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
17 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
18 shams | |
假象( sham的名词复数 ); 假货; 虚假的行为(或感情、言语等); 假装…的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
19 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
20 detested | |
v.憎恶,嫌恶,痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
21 scoffed | |
嘲笑,嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
22 penetration | |
n.穿透,穿人,渗透 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
23 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
24 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
25 materialist | |
n. 唯物主义者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
26 naturalist | |
n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
27 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
28 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
29 illustrated | |
adj. 有插图的,列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
30 riotous | |
adj.骚乱的;狂欢的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
31 risky | |
adj.有风险的,冒险的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
32 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
33 flinched | |
v.(因危险和痛苦)退缩,畏惧( flinch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
34 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
35 frictions | |
n.摩擦( friction的名词复数 );摩擦力;冲突;不和 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
36 exempt | |
adj.免除的;v.使免除;n.免税者,被免除义务者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
37 satire | |
n.讽刺,讽刺文学,讽刺作品 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
38 pungent | |
adj.(气味、味道)刺激性的,辛辣的;尖锐的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
39 relished | |
v.欣赏( relish的过去式和过去分词 );从…获得乐趣;渴望 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
40 streak | |
n.条理,斑纹,倾向,少许,痕迹;v.加条纹,变成条纹,奔驰,快速移动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
41 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
42 professed | |
公开声称的,伪称的,已立誓信教的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
43 eminently | |
adv.突出地;显著地;不寻常地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
44 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
45 complexities | |
复杂性(complexity的名词复数); 复杂的事物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
46 divers | |
adj.不同的;种种的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
47 entangled | |
adj.卷入的;陷入的;被缠住的;缠在一起的v.使某人(某物/自己)缠绕,纠缠于(某物中),使某人(自己)陷入(困难或复杂的环境中)( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
48 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
49 epithet | |
n.(用于褒贬人物等的)表述形容词,修饰语 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
50 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
51 texture | |
n.(织物)质地;(材料)构造;结构;肌理 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
52 warp | |
vt.弄歪,使翘曲,使不正常,歪曲,使有偏见 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
53 depicted | |
描绘,描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 ); 描述 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
欢迎访问英文小说网 |