|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 6
II.
To Charles Dickens.
Sir,--It has been said that every man is born a Platonist or an Aristotelian,
though the enormous majority of us, to be sure, live and die without being
conscious of any invidious philosophic partiality whatever. With more truth
(though that does not imply very much) every Englishman who reads may be said
to be a partisan of yourself or of Mr. Thackeray. Why should there be any
partisanship in the matter; and why, having two such good things as your
novels and those of your contemporary, should we not be silently happy in the
possession? Well, men are made so, and must needs fight and argue over their
tastes in enjoyment. For myself, I may say that in this matter I am what the
Americans do not call a 'Mugwump,' what English politicians dub a 'superior
person'--that is, I take no side, and attempt to enjoy the best of both.
It must be owned that this attitude is sometimes made a little difficult by
the vigour of your special devotees. They have ceased, indeed, thank Heaven!
to imitate you; and even in 'descriptive articles' the touch of Mr. Gigadibs,
of him whom 'we almost took for the true Dickens,' has disappeared. The young
lions of the Press no longer mimic your less admirable mannerisms--do not
strain so much after fantastic comparisons, do not (in your manner and Mr.
Carlyle's) give people nick-names derived from their teeth, or their
complexion; and, generally, we are spared second-hand copies of all that in
your style was least to be commended. But, though improved by lapse of time in
this respect, your devotees still put on little conscious airs of virtue,
robust manliness, and so forth, which would have irritated you very much, and
there survive some press men who seem to have read you a little (especially
your later works), and never to have read anything else. Now familiarity with
the pages of 'Our Mutual Friend'and 'Dombey and Son' does not precisely
constitute a liberal education, and the assumption that it does is apt (quite
unreasonably) to prejudice people against the greatest comic genius of modern
times.
On the other hand, Time is at last beginning to sift the true admirers of
Dickens from the false. Yours, Sir, in the best sense of the word, is a
popular success, a popular reputation. For example, I know that, in a remote
and even Pictish part of this kingdom, a rural household, humble and under the
shadow of a sorrow inevitably approaching, has found in 'David Copperfield'
oblivion of winter, of sorrow, and of sickness. On the other hand, people are
now picking up heart to say that 'they cannot read Dickens,' and that they
particularly detest 'Pickwick.' I believe it was young ladies who first had
the courage of their convictions in this respect. 'Tout sied aux belles,' and
the fair, in the confidence of youth, often venture on remarkable confessions.
In your 'Natural History of Young Ladies' I do not remember that you describe
the Humorous Young Lady (1). She is a very rare bird indeed, and humour
generally is at a deplorably low level in England.
(1) I am informed that the _Natural History of Young Ladies_ is attributed,
by some writers, to another philosopher, the author of _The Art of Pluck_.
Hence come all sorts of mischief, arisen since you left us; and, it may be
said, that inordinate philanthropy, genteel sympathy with Irish murder and
arson, Societies for Badgering the Poor, Esoteric Buddhism, and a score of
other plagues, including what was once called Aestheticism, are all,
primarily, due to want of humour. People discuss, with the gravest faces,
matters which properly should only be stated as the wildest paradoxes. It
naturally follows that, in a period almost destitute of humour, many
respectable persons 'cannot read Dickens,' and are not ashamed to glory in
their shame. We ought not to be angry with others for their misfortunes; and
yet when one meets the _cre'tins_ who boast that they cannot read Dickens, one
certainly does feel much as Mr. Samuel Weller felt when he encountered Mr. Job
Trotter.
How very singular has been the history of the decline of humour. Is there any
profound psychological truth to be gathered from consideration of the fact
that humour has gone out with cruelty? A hundred years ago, eighty years ago
--nay, fifty years ago--we were a cruel but also a humorous people. We had
bull-baitings, and badger-drawings, and hustings, and prize-fights, and
cock-fights; we went to see men hanged; the pillory and the stocks were no
empty 'terrors unto evil-doers,' for there was commonly a malefactor occupying
each of these institutions. With all this we had a broad blown comic sense. We
had Ho-garth, and Bunbury, and George Cruikshank, and Gilray; we had Leech
and Surtees, and the creator of Tittlebat Titmouse; we had the Shepherd of the
'Noctes,' and, above all, we had _you_.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|