The Letters of Charles d.i.c.kens.
by Charles d.i.c.kens.
Vol. 2 - 1857-1870.
1857.
NARRATIVE.
This was a very full year in many ways. In February, Charles d.i.c.kens obtained possession of Gad"s Hill, and was able to turn workmen into it.
In April he stayed, with his wife and sister-in-law, for a week or two at Wate"s Hotel, Gravesend, to be at hand to superintend the beginning of his alterations of the house, and from thence we give a letter to Lord Carlisle. He removed his family, for a summer residence in the house, in June; and he finished "Little Dorrit" there early in the summer. One of his first visitors at Gad"s Hill was the famous writer, Hans Christian Andersen. In January "The Frozen Deep" had been played at the Tavistock House theatre with such great success, that it was necessary to repeat it several times, and the theatre was finally demolished at the end of that month. In June Charles d.i.c.kens heard, with great grief, of the death of his dear friend Douglas Jerrold; and as a testimony of admiration for his genius and affectionate regard for himself, it was decided to organise, under the management of Charles d.i.c.kens, a series of entertainments, "in memory of the late Douglas Jerrold," the fund produced by them (a considerable sum) to be presented to Mr. Jerrold"s family. The amateur company, including many of Mr. Jerrold"s colleagues on "Punch," gave subscription performances of "The Frozen Deep;" the Gallery of Ill.u.s.tration, in Regent Street, being engaged for the purpose. Charles d.i.c.kens gave two readings at St.
Martin"s Hall of "The Christmas Carol" (to such immense audiences and with such success, that the idea of giving public readings for his _own_ benefit first occurred to him at this time). The professional actors, among them the famous veteran actor, Mr. T. P. Cooke, gave a performance of Mr. Jerrold"s plays of "The Rent Day" and "Black-eyed Susan," in which Mr. T. P. Cooke sustained the character in which he had originally made such great success when the play was written. A lecture was given by Mr. Thackeray, and another by Mr. W. H. Russell. Finally, the Queen having expressed a desire to see the play, which had been much talked of during that season, there was another performance before her Majesty and the Prince Consort at the Gallery of Ill.u.s.tration in July, and at the end of that month Charles d.i.c.kens read his "Carol" in the Free Trade Hall, at Manchester. And to wind up the "Memorial Fund" entertainments, "The Frozen Deep" was played again at Manchester, also in the great Free Trade Hall, at the end of August. For the business of these entertainments he secured the a.s.sistance of Mr. Arthur Smith, of whom he writes to Mr. Forster, at this time: "I have got hold of Arthur Smith, as the best man of business I know, and go to work with him to-morrow morning." And when he began his own public readings, both in town and country, he felt himself most fortunate in having the co-operation of this invaluable man of business, and also of his zealous friendship and pleasant companionship.
In July, his second son, Walter Landor, went to India as a cadet in the "Company"s service," from which he was afterwards transferred to the 42nd Royal Highlanders. His father and his elder brother went to see him off, to Southampton. From this place Charles d.i.c.kens writes to Mr.
Edmund Yates, a young man in whom he had been interested from his boyhood, both for the sake of his parents and for his own sake, and for whom he had always an affectionate regard.
In September he made a short tour in the North of England, with Mr.
Wilkie Collins, out of which arose the "Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices," written by them jointly, and published in "Household Words." Some letters to his sister-in-law during this expedition are given here, parts of which (as is the case with many letters to his eldest daughter and his sister-in-law) have been published in Mr.
Forster"s book.
The letters which follow are almost all on the various subjects mentioned in our notes, and need little explanation.
His letter to Mr. Procter makes allusion to a legacy lately left to that friend.
The letters to Mr. Dilke, the original and much-respected editor of "The Athenaeum," and to Mr. Forster, on the subject of the "Literary Fund,"
refer, as the letters indicate, to a battle which they were carrying on together with that inst.i.tution.
A letter to Mr. Frank Stone is an instance of his kind, patient, and judicious criticism of a young writer, and the letter which follows it shows how thoroughly it was understood and how perfectly appreciated by the auth.o.r.ess of the "Notes" referred to. Another instance of the same kind criticism is given in a second letter this year to Mr. Edmund Yates.
[Sidenote: Mr. B. W. Procter.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _January 2nd, 1857._
MY DEAR PROCTER,
I have to thank you for a delightful book, which has given me unusual pleasure. My delight in it has been a little dashed by certain farewell verses, but I have made up my mind (and you have no idea of the obstinacy of my character) not to believe them.
Perhaps it is not taking a liberty--perhaps it is--to congratulate you on Kenyon"s remembrance. Either way I can"t help doing it with all my heart, for I know no man in the world (myself excepted) to whom I would rather the money went.
Affectionately yours ever.
[Sidenote: Sir James Emerson Tennent.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _January 9th, 1857._
MY DEAR TENNENT,
I must thank you for your earnest and affectionate letter. It has given me the greatest pleasure, mixing the play in my mind confusedly and delightfully with Pisa, the Valetta, Naples, Herculanaeum--G.o.d knows what not.
As to the play itself; when it is made as good as my care can make it, I derive a strange feeling out of it, like writing a book in company; a satisfaction of a most singular kind, which has no exact parallel in my life; a something that I suppose to belong to the life of a labourer in art alone, and which has to me a conviction of its being actual truth without its pain, that I never could adequately state if I were to try never so hard.
You touch so kindly and feelingly on the pleasure such little pains give, that I feel quite sorry you have never seen this drama in progress during the last ten weeks here. Every Monday and Friday evening during that time we have been at work upon it. I a.s.sure you it has been a remarkable lesson to my young people in patience, perseverance, punctuality, and order; and, best of all, in that kind of humility which is got from the earned knowledge that whatever the right hand finds to do must be done with the heart in it, and in a desperate earnest.
When I changed my dress last night (though I did it very quickly), I was vexed to find you gone. I wanted to have secured you for our green-room supper, which was very pleasant. If by any accident you should be free next Wednesday night (our last), pray come to that green-room supper. It would give me cordial pleasure to have you there.
Ever, my dear Tennent, very heartily yours.
[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Monday Night, Jan, 17th, 1857._
MY DEAR CERJAT,
So wonderfully do good (epistolary) intentions become confounded with bad execution, that I a.s.sure you I laboured under a perfect and most comfortable conviction that I had answered your Christmas Eve letter of 1855. More than that, in spite of your a.s.sertions to the contrary, I still strenuously believe that I did so! I have more than half a mind ("Little Dorrit" and my other occupations notwithstanding) to charge you with having forgotten my reply!! I have even a wild idea that Townshend reproached me, when the last old year was new, with writing to you instead of to him!!! We will argue it out, as well as we can argue anything without poor dear Haldimand, when I come back to Elysee. In any case, however, don"t discontinue your annual letter, because it has become an expected and a delightful part of the season to me.
With one of the prettiest houses in London, and every conceivable (and inconceivable) luxury in it, Townshend is voluntarily undergoing his own sentence of transportation in Nervi, a beastly little place near Genoa, where you would as soon find a herd of wild elephants in any villa as comfort. He has a notion that he _must_ be out of England in the winter, but I believe him to be altogether wrong (as I have just told him in a letter), unless he could just take his society with him.
Workmen are now battering and smashing down my theatre here, where we have just been acting a new play of great merit, done in what I may call (modestly speaking of the getting-up, and not of the acting) an unprecedented way. I believe that anything so complete has never been seen. We had an act at the North Pole, where the slightest and greatest thing the eye beheld were equally taken from the books of the Polar voyagers. Out of thirty people, there were certainly not two who might not have gone straight to the North Pole itself, completely furnished for the winter! It has been the talk of all London for these three weeks. And now it is a mere chaos of scaffolding, ladders, beams, canvases, paint-pots, sawdust, artificial snow, gas-pipes, and ghastliness. I have taken such pains with it for these ten weeks in all my leisure hours, that I feel now shipwrecked--as if I had never been without a play on my hands before. A third topic comes up as this ceases.
Down at Gad"s Hill, near Rochester, in Kent--Shakespeare"s Gad"s Hill, where Falstaff engaged in the robbery--is a quaint little country-house of Queen Anne"s time. I happened to be walking past, a year and a half or so ago, with my sub-editor of "Household Words," when I said to him: "You see that house? It has always a curious interest for me, because when I was a small boy down in these parts I thought it the most beautiful house (I suppose because of its famous old cedar-trees) ever seen. And my poor father used to bring me to look at it, and used to say that if I ever grew up to be a clever man perhaps I might own that house, or such another house. In remembrance of which, I have always in pa.s.sing looked to see if it was to be sold or let, and it has never been to me like any other house, and it has never changed at all." We came back to town, and my friend went out to dinner. Next morning he came to me in great excitement, and said: "It is written that you were to have that house at Gad"s Hill. The lady I had allotted to me to take down to dinner yesterday began to speak of that neighbourhood. "You know it?" I said; "I have been there to-day." "O yes," said she, "I know it very well. I was a child there, in the house they call Gad"s Hill Place. My father was the rector, and lived there many years. He has just died, has left it to me, and I want to sell it." "So," says the sub-editor, "you must buy it. Now or never!"" I did, and hope to pa.s.s next summer there, though I may, perhaps, let it afterwards, furnished, from time to time.
All about myself I find, and the little sheet nearly full! But I know, my dear Cerjat, the subject will have its interest for you, so I give it its swing. Mrs. Watson was to have been at the play, but most unfortunately had three children sick of gastric fever, and could not leave them. She was here some three weeks before, looking extremely well in the face, but rather thin. I have not heard of your friend Mr.
Percival Skelton, but I much mis...o...b.. an amateur artist"s success in this vast place. I hope you detected a remembrance of our happy visit to the Great St. Bernard in a certain number of "Little Dorrit"? Tell Mrs.
Cerjat, with my love, that the opinions I have expressed to her on the subject of cows have become matured in my mind by experience and venerable age; and that I denounce the race as humbugs, who have been getting into poetry and all sorts of places without the smallest reason.
Haldimand"s housekeeper is an awful woman to consider. Pray give him our kindest regards and remembrances, if you ever find him in a mood to take it. "Our" means Mrs. d.i.c.kens"s, Georgie"s, and mine. We often, often talk of our old days at Lausanne, and send loving regard to Mrs. Cerjat and all your house.
Adieu, my dear fellow; ever cordially yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _January 28th, 1857._
MY DEAREST MACREADY,
Your friend and servant is as calm as Pecksniff, saving for his knitted brows now turning into cordage over Little Dorrit. The theatre has disappeared, the house is restored to its usual conditions of order, the family are tranquil and domestic, dove-eyed peace is enthroned in this study, fire-eyed radicalism in its master"s breast.
I am glad to hear that our poetess is at work again, and shall be very much pleased to have some more contributions from her.
Love from all to your dear sister, and to Katie, and to all the house.
We dined yesterday at Frederick Pollock"s. I begged an amazing photograph of you, and brought it away. It strikes me as one of the most ludicrous things I ever saw in my life. I think of taking a public-house, and having it copied larger, for the size. You may remember it? Very square and big--the Saracen"s Head with its hair cut, and in modern gear? Staring very hard? As your particular friend, I would not part with it on any consideration. I will never get such a wooden head again.