I am unfortunately not acquainted with much that has been written about Edwin Drood, for the story was so painfully associated with my father’s death and the sorrow of that time that after first reading it I could never bear to look into the book again till about two months ago, when I found myself obliged to do so; and then my thoughts flew back to the last occasion when my father mentioned it in my hearing.
. . . . .
There is one other fact connected with my father and Edwin Drood that I think my readers would like to know, and I must be forgiven if I again speak from my own experience in order to relate it. Upon reading the book once more, as I have already told, after an interval of a great number of years, the story took such entire possession of me that for a long time I could think of nothing else; and one day, my aunt, Miss Hogarth, being with me, I asked her if she knew anything more definite than I did as to how the ending was to be brought about. For I should explain that when my father was unusually reticent we seldom, if ever, attempted to break his silence by remarks or hints that might lead him to suppose that we were anxious to learn what he had no doubt good reasons for desiring to keep from us. And we made it a point of honour among ourselves never, in talking to him on the subject of Edwin Drood, to show the impatience we naturally felt to arrive at the end of so engrossing a tale.
My aunt said that she knew absolutely nothing, but she told me that shortly before my father’s death, and after he had been speaking of some difficulty he was in with his work, without explaining what it was, she found it impossible to refrain from asking him, ‘I hope you haven’t really killed poor Edwin Drood?’ To which he gravely replied, ‘I call my book the Mystery, not the History, of Edwin Drood.’ And that was all he would answer. My aunt could not make out from the reply, or from his manner of giving it, whether he wished to convey that the Mystery was to remain a mystery for ever, or if he desired gently to remind her that he would not disclose his secret until the proper time arrived for telling it. But I think his words are so suggestive, and may carry with them so much meaning, that I offer them now, with my aunt’s permission, to those who take a delight in trying to unravel the impenetrable secrets of a story that has within its sadly shortened pages a most curious fascination, and is ‘gifted with invincible force to hold and drag.’
I have quoted from Madame Perugini’s statement the words: ‘We know also that my elder brother Charles positively declared that he had heard from his father’s lips that Edwin Drood was dead.’ I proceed to corroborate the statement by giving here a brief account of the play by Joseph Hatton and Charles Dickens.
The importance of this play as a witness to Dickens’s intentions is shown in an article by Joseph Hatton which appeared in the People on 19th November 1905. Mr. Hatton explains that about the year 1880, in a conversation, he sketched out his idea of the play up to the crucial point. Dickens had a play in his mind when he wrote the story, and it was said that he had thought of Dion Boucicault as his collaborator in his work for the stage. After the death of Dickens, Boucicault had a mind to write the play and invent his own conclusion to the story, but afterwards gave it up. Mr. Hatton, in a conversation with Mr. Luke Fildes, saw Dickens’s possible conclusion, but did not attempt to gather up the broken threads. ‘Consulting his son, Charles, to whom I offered my sketch, I found that his father had revealed to him sufficient of the plot to clearly indicate how the story was to end. We agreed to write the play. Much of the son’s version of the finale was proved by the instructions which the author had given to the illustrator in regard to certain of the unpublished and unwritten chapters. And so Dickens the younger and I fell to work and wrote the play of Edwin Drood for the Princess’s Theatre.’ He goes on to explain that the piece was cast, and a great point made of the authoritative conclusion of the story, thus clearing up something of the mystery which was part of its title. But Mr. Harry Jackson, the stage manager, did not like the play, and it was left unacted. Years after, Dickens had a hope that Mr. Willard would undertake the play, but this expectation was not fulfilled. Dickens consoled himself by saying that next to the pleasure of having a good play acted was the pleasure of writing it, and for the rest he took the incident as one of the ‘little ironies’ of his life.
The play as it lies before me is in four Acts. The first is made up of conversations between the Landlesses, Mrs. Crisparkle, Septimus Crisparkle, Rosa and Edwin. These are practically repeated from the book. Grewgious and Jasper then come on the scene, the novel being closely followed in their conversation. The second Act is made up of conversations also mainly reproduced from the book between Helena and Rosa, Jasper and Crisparkle. Grewgious comes on in the second Scene where Edwin and Rosa decide to be brother and sister. There follow in the third Scene the talks between Jasper and Durdles. Edwin talks to the opium woman, and Jasper appears with the scarf on his arm. So far there is practically nothing that is not taken directly from Dickens. The third Act opens with a conversation between Septimus and Mrs. Crisparkle as to the guilt of Landless. Helena and Neville appear protesting innocence. Grewgious tells Jasper about the breaking of the engagement between Edwin and Rosa. Jasper makes love to Rosa. In the concluding Act the scene is laid in the opium den in London: ‘Dark, poverty-stricken. Fourpost bedstead, chair, table, candlestick, set well down so as to allow good space for vision later on, light up a little, when Opium Sal lights candle shortly after Jasper’s entrance. For details see Fildes’s picture in book. Opium Sal discovered moving about in a witch-like kind of way.’ Jasper enters and tells Sal that a man followed him to the door. She lights the opium pipe for him, and then questions him.
He says at last: ‘Hush! the journey’s made! It’s over!’
Sal. Is it over so soon?
Jasper. I must sleep that vision off. It is the poorest of all. No struggle, no consciousness of peril, no entreaty, and yet I never saw that before!
Sal. See what, deary?
Jasper. Look at it! Look what a poor miserable thing it is! That must be real. It’s over.
(He has accompanied this incoherence with some wild unmeaning gestures; but they trail off into the progressive inaction of stupor, and he lies like a log upon the bed. The Woman attempts to rouse him as before, but finding him past rousing for the time, she slowly gets upon her feet with an air of disappointment, flicks his face with her hand savagely, and then flings a rug over Jasper.)
(Both Sal and Jasper now being perfectly quiet, the back of scene is illuminated, showing the scene exactly as at end of Act II. The candle is out in the Opium Den, leaving front part of stage dark. The brightest light in vision is from Jasper’s window, leaving other parts of scene slightly in shadow but sufficiently light for action to be seen. It is to be carefully noted that all the persons on in the Vision Scene should wear list shoes, so that they make no noise in moving about, and that the Stage Manager should insist upon perfect quiet behind the stage and at the wings. The actors, too, speak in rather a measured, monotonous tone. Crowd later on in Vision to be grouped and drilled from this point of view.)
(The Scene being well open, there is a flash of lightning, and a peal of thunder, followed after a short pause by a burst of merry laughter from Jasper’s room, the voices of Drood and Neville being audible. They come down to door, Jasper with them, without his hat.)
Edwin, Jasper, and Neville are talking. Edwin says he will walk with Neville as far as the river and have a look at the storm. Neville and Jasper exchange good-nights, and Edwin says: ‘Don’t go to bed, Jack, I won’t be long.’
(Jasper in response waves hand. Pause. Then re-enters house, closes door. Goes upstairs. Puts light out, and is seen for a moment at window. Flash of lightning, peal of thunder. Pause. Jasper comes out with hat on head, the black silk scarf on arm. Comes out cautiously, closing door after him and looks round, and warily goes to crypt; finds door locked and takes key from his pocket with which he opens it, and pushes door wide open. Creeps off in the direction Neville and Edwin have gone. Pause. Weak flash of lightning and peal of thunder. Jasper returns crouching, and hides within shadow of wall. Re-enter Edwin Drood from where exit was made. He looks up at Jasper’s window.)
Ah, too bad; he has gone to bed and has put his light out.
(Jasper rushes upon Edwin from behind, seizes him, whips scarf, which he has previously been twisting into rope-like shape, round his head and neck, and proceeds to strangle him. There is a fierce struggle for a few seconds. Nearly on the point of death, Edwin gets free of Jasper, sees his assailant, and thinks Jasper is there to help him.)
Edwin. Jack! Jack! Save me! They are killing me! (Flings himself into Jasper’s arms.)
Jasper. Save you, yes!
(Deliberately tightens scarf, strikes Edwin, and kills him. Flash of lightning and peal of thunder, as Edwin falls lifeless at Jasper’s feet. Pause.)
Jasper (a little overcome physically, and jerking out his sentences gasping, but with intense ferocity). You poor fool. You’ll boast no more. (Spurning body with his foot.) Ah! ah! ah! (Laughs wildly.) He’s gone. The fellow-traveller has gone for ever, gone down, into the everlasting abyss! Hush! (Listens.) Durdles? No, opium mixed with his liquor keeps that other fool quiet. (Listens again, and looks cautiously round—distant low-moaning peal of thunder.) Only the storm wearing itself out! Ah! ah! ah! (Looking at body.) You’ve seen the last of the storm, weak, self-satisfied fool! Come (wildly seizing the body, and dragging it towards crypt), come—to your marriage bed (drags body). Come—to sleep with Death!
(Exit with body into crypt.)
(Slow music. Short pause. Re-enter Jasper from crypt, and as he does so gauze clouds begin to darken scene. Jasper locks crypt, puts key in his pocket, crosses, crouching and creeping, looking behind him fearfully, and enters his own house, with flash of lightning, peal of thunder, the very last of the storm. By this time gauze clouds nearly darken the scene. Double on bed moves. Opium Sal rises restlessly, once more leans over bed, and begins to talk while the actor representing Jasper returns to his place on bed.)
Sal. Troubled dreams, deary! Troubled dreams. Have you been taking the journey again? Was it pleasant, and what did you do to fellow-traveller, eh?
Jasper (speaking in a dreamy way). That’s how the journey was made—that’s how I like to make it. But there’s something more. I never saw that before; what is it? (Fearfully, falls asleep again.)
(Sal wearily resumes her attitude of rest with her arms on bed, and the Vision Scene goes on. Durdles appears beckoning off, unlocks crypt and enters. As he does so Grewgious and Rosa come on from direction indicated by Durdles’s beckoning, all the others in scene coming from the same place. Rosa clings to her guardian’s arm. They stop in centre of stage opposite crypt, looking towards door. Neville and Helena follow. They join Grewgious and Rosa. Crisparkle and Opium Sal’s Double come on. Opium Sal’s Double is pointing towards Rosa and others, and Crisparkle joins the group. The Double now stands near wing and beckons off. Townspeople come on and make group, Double at their head, she pointing towards crypt; they all look in that direction. Durdles comes to door, beckons Grewgious, who goes in after Durdles to crypt. Groups now move a step or two nearer to entrance of crypt. Slight pause. Rosa clings to Helena; Neville in dumb show whispers anxiously to Helena and Rosa, as if to reassure and comfort them. Helena stands proudly but anxious; Rosa droopingly.)
Grew. (standing just outside crypt door, and addressing himself to Crisparkle). Keep the women back; this is no place for them. Edwin Drood has been foully murdered!
(Sensation in crowd, not indicated by noise, but dumb show. Rosa staggers. Neville catches her in his arms. Jasper moves and groans in his sleep. Durdles comes out of crypt, plucks Grewgious by the sleeve, and holds up Jasper’s long black scarf.)
Cris. Jasper’s scarf!
(Jasper again groans on bed.)
Where is Jasper?
(Goes to door of Jasper’s house and knocks. This knocking must be made right at back of stage.)
Grew. It is no good knocking there. The murderer of Edwin Drood will be found in London!
(Sensation as before in crowd. Crisparkle still knocks, and between knocks faint rapping is heard at door of opium den, and Jasper tosses about on bed, then starts up with a cry, the Vision disappearing the moment he stands on the floor.)
Jasper (starting as if at what he has seen). No, no. It’s a lie!
(Knocking at opium den door becomes louder.)
(Turning to Sal, who is now at other end of room.) What’s that?
Sal. They wants to come in.
Jasper. Who wants to come in?
(Knocking is louder and louder.)
Jasper. The police! Damnation! The man who followed me here to-night! Then it’s all true. Durdles has found the body in spite of all my precautions, and I am lost. (Rushes wildly about room.) Is there no escape? Where’s the window?
Sal. There ain’t no winder, deary.
Jasper. Then I’m trapped like a wolf in a cage. You filthy hag, this is your doing.
(Seizes candlestick on stool to strike her; she crouches down. Knocking at door now so fierce as to arrest his attention, and he turns towards it, weapon in his hand.)
(Voice at door. Open in the Queen’s name!)
(Jasper drops stool or whatever he has seized upon to attack Sal with, staggers back, tears open his shirt-sleeve, where a small phial is seen fastened to left wrist, drags it from his wrist and holds it convulsively in right hand, as door is violently burst open.)
(Enter Inspector of Police, handcuffs in hand, Durdles, Neville, Crisparkle, and Grewgious.)
Grew. (to Officer, pointing to Jasper). There is your prisoner.
Jasper. Never! Do you think I was not prepared for this always! (Takes poison, and flings phial down.) Now I defy you! Hush! I did kill him! Ha! ha! The fellow-traveller! Yes. For love. For a mad wild passion. Killed him as I would have killed you and you—as I would have swept you all from the path that led to her. Ha! ha! what fools you were not to see it, not to see my love, how it burned, how it consumed me. She knew it! Rosa knew it. (Then speaking as though none but he and Rosa were present.) Rosa! Rosa! My Rosa! Come! You must! You shall! (Wildly.) Back! Back! She’s mine I tell you! (Passes hand over eyes, and staggers, then once more half realises the situation.) What’s that? (Looks round, and sees Neville.) You here! You who think to reap the harvest for which I have sold my soul to hell! Vile wretch! I’ll kill you!
(Rushes to Neville, who stands forward. In act of raising arm to strike him, Jasper is seized with death spasm, trembles, shudders, and, flinging up arms, falls dead. Picture: Opium Sal crouching still in fear, Officer, Grewgious, Durdles, Neville, and Crisparkle near the body.)
END OF DRAMA
A reviewer in the Times Literary Supplement, 27th October 1905, wrote: ‘Nor do we attach much importance to any of the hints Dickens dropped, whether to John Forster, to any member of his family, or to either of his illustrators. He was very anxious that his secret should not be guessed, and the hints which he dropped may very well have been intentionally misleading.’ This called forth the following letter from Sir Luke Fildes:
TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES
Sir,—In an article entitled ‘The Mysteries of Edwin Drood’ in your issue of to-day, the writer, speculating on the various theories advanced as solutions of the mystery, ventures to say:—
‘Nor do we attach much importance to any of the hints Dickens dropped, whether to John Forster, to any member of his family, or to either of his illustrators. He was very anxious that his secret should not be guessed, and the hints which he dropped may very well have been intentionally misleading.’
I know that Charles Dickens was very anxious that his secret should not be guessed, but it surprises me to read that he could be thought capable of the deceit so lightly attributed to him.
The ‘hints he dropped’ to me, his sole illustrator—for Charles Collins, his son-in-law, only designed the green cover for the monthly parts, and Collins told me he did not in the least know the significance of the various groups in the design; that they were drawn from instructions personally given by Charles Dickens, and not from any text—these ‘hints’ to me were the outcome of a request of mine that he would explain some matters, the meaning of which I could not comprehend, and which were for me, his illustrator, embarrassingly hidden.
I instanced in the printers’ rough proof of the monthly part sent to me to illustrate where he particularly described John Jasper as wearing a neckerchief of such dimensions as to go twice round his neck; I called his attention to the circumstance that I had previously dressed Jasper as wearing a little black tie once round the neck, and I asked him if he had any special reasons for the alteration of Jasper’s attire, and, if so, I submitted I ought to know. He, Dickens, appeared for the moment to be disconcerted by my remark, and said something meaning he was afraid he was ‘getting on too fast’ and revealing more than he meant at that early stage, and after a short silence, cogitating, he suddenly said, ‘Can you keep a secret?’ I assured him he could rely on me. He then said, ‘I must have the double necktie! It is necessary, for Jasper strangles Edwin Drood with it.’
I was impressed by his earnestness, as indeed, I was at all my interviews with him—also by the confidence which he said he reposed in me, trusting that I would not in any way refer to it, as he feared even a chance remark might find its way into the papers ‘and thus anticipate his “mystery”’; and it is a little startling, after more than thirty-five years of profound belief in the nobility of character and sincerity of Charles Dickens, to be told now that he probably was more or less of a humbug on such occasions.—I am, Sir, yours obediently,
Luke Fildes.
Harrogate, October 27.
I give here the notes which Dickens made for his novel. These are partly quoted by Professor Jackson in his book, About Edwin Drood, but are now for the first time printed complete.
|
Gilbert Alfred. Edwin. Jasper Edwyn. Michael Oswald. |
The Loss of James Wakefield. |
Arthur. |
Edwyn. |
Selwyn. |
|
Edgar. |
|
Mr. Honeythunder. |
|
Mr. Honeyblast. |
James’s Disappearance. |
The Dean. |
|
Mrs. Dean. |
Flight and Pursuit. |
Miss Dean. |
Sworn to Avenge it.
One Object in life.
A Kinsman’s Devotion.
The Two Kinsmen.
The Loss of Edwyn Brood.
The Loss of Edwin Brude.
The Mystery in the Drood Family.
The Loss of Edwyn Drood.
The Flight of Edwyn Drood. Edwin Drood in hiding.
The Loss of Edwin Drude.
The Disappearance of Edwin Drood.
The Mystery of Edwin Drood.
Dead? or Alive?
Touch the key-note.
‘When the wicked man—’
The Uncle & Nephew.
‘Pussy’s’ Portrait.
You won’t take warning then?
Dean. |
Mr. Jasper. |
Minor Canon, Mr. Crisparkle. |
|
Uncle & Nephew. |
Verger. |
Gloves for the Nuns’ House. |
Peptune. |
Churchyard. |
Change to Tope. |
Cathedral town running throughout.
Inside the Nuns’ House.
Miss Twinkleton and her double existence.
Mrs. Tisher.
Rosebud.
The affianced young people. Every love scene after is a quarrel more or less.
Mr. Sapsea. Old Tory Jackass.
His Wife’s Epitaph.
Jasper and the Keys.
Durdles down in the crypt and among the graves. His dinner bundle.
(MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.—NO. I.)
CHAPTER I
the dawn
change title to the dawn.
opium smoking and Jasper.
Lead up to Cathedral.
CHAPTER II
a dean and a chapter also
Cathedral & Cathedral Town |
Mr. Crisparkle. |
and the Dean.
Uncle & Nephew.
Murder very far off.
Edwin’s Story & Pussy.
CHAPTER III
the nuns’ house
Still picturesque suggestions of Cathedral Town.
The Nuns’ House and the young couple’s first love scene.
CHAPTER IV
mr. sapsea
Connect Jasper with him. (He will want a solemn donkey by & by.)
Epitaph brings them together, and brings Durdles with them.
The Keys. Story Durdles.
Bring in the other young couple. Yes
Neville and Olympia Heyridge or Heyfort?
Neville & Helena Landless.
Mixture of Oriental blood—or imperfectly acquired mixture in them. Yes.
No
(MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.—NO. II.)
CHAPTER V
philanthropy in minor canon corner
The Blustrous Philanthropist. Mr. Honeythunder. |
Old Mrs. Crisparkle. China Shepherdess. Minor Canon Corner. |
CHAPTER VI
more confidences than one
Neville’s to Mr. Crisparkle.
Rosa’s to Helena. |
Piano scene with Jasper. She singing; he following her lips. |
CHAPTER VII
daggers drawn
Quarrel.
(Fomented by Jasper). Goblet. And then confession to Mr. Crisparkle.
Jasper lays his ground.
CHAPTER VIII
mr. durdles and friend
Deputy engaged to stone Durdles nightly.
Carry through the woman of the 1st chapter.
Carry through Durdles calling—and the bundle & the keys.
John Jasper looks at Edwin asleep.
Lead on to final scene then in No. V? IV?
Yes.
How many more scenes between them?
Way to be paved for their marriage and parting instead. Yes.
Miss Twinkleton’s? No. Next No.
Rosa’s Guardian? Done in No. II.
Mr. Sapsea? In last chapter.
Neville Landless at Mr. Crisparkle’s
and Helena? Yes.
Neville admires Rosa. That comes out from himself.
(MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. NO. III.)
CHAPTER X [63]
smoothing the way
That is, for Jasper’s plan, through Mr. Crisparkle who takes new ground on Nevill’s new confidence.
Minor Canon Corner. The closet?
remember there is a child.
Edwin’s appointment for Xmas Eve.
CHAPTER XI
a picture and a ring
P.
J. T.
1747
Drood in chambers. |
[The two waiters] |
Bazzard the clerk.
Mr. Grewgious’s past story:
‘A ring of diamonds and rubies delicately set in gold.’
Edwin takes it.
CHAPTER XII
a night with durdles
Lay the ground for the manner of the murder to come out at last.
Keep the boy suspended.
Night picture of the Cathedral.
Once more carry through Edwin and Rosa?
or Last time? Last Time.
Then
Last meeting of Rosa & Edwin outside the Cathedral? Yes.
Kiss at parting.
‘Jack.’
Edwin goes to the dinner.
The Windy night.
The Surprise and Alarm.
Jasper’s failure in the one great
object made known by Mr. Grewgious.
Jasper’s Diary? Yes.
(MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.—NO. IV.)
CHAPTER XIII
both at their best
The Last Interview
And Parting.
CHAPTER XIV
when shall these three meet again?
How each passes the day.
[Watch & shirt pin] [all Edwin’s Jewellery.] |
Neville. Edwin. Jasper. |
[Watch to the Jewellers.] |
‘And so he goes up the Postern Stair.’
Storms of wind.
CHAPTER XV
impeached
Neville away cart. Pursued & brought back.
Mr. Grewgious’s communication:
And his scene with Jasper.
CHAPTER XVI
devoted
Jasper’s artful use of the communication on his recovery.
Cloisterham Weir, Mr. Crisparkle, and the watch and pin.
Jasper’s artful turn.
The Dean. Neville cast out.
Jasper’s Diary ‘I devote myself to his destruction.’
Edwin and Rosa for the last time? Done Already.
Kinfederel.
Edwin Disappears.
The Mystery. Done Already.
(MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.—NO. V.)
CHAPTER XVII
philanthropy professional and unprofessional
CHAPTER XVIII
shadow on the sun dial [67a]
a settler in cloisterham
CHAPTER XIX
a settler in cloisterham [67b]
shadow on the sun dial
CHAPTER XX
let’s talk [67c]
various flights [67d] divers flights
(MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.—NO. VI.)
CHAPTER XXI
a gritty state of things comes on
CHAPTER XXII
the dawn again
CHAPTER XXIII
Much attention has been given to the illustrations on the wrapper and their significance. So far as I can find, the question was first raised in the Spectator. On 1st October 1870, in a review of the first edition of Edwin Drood, the Spectator complained that the publishers had not given a facsimile of the vignetted cover. The critic proceeds: ‘By whom was the lamplight discovery of a standing figure, apparently meant for Edwin Drood, in the vignette at the bottom of the page, intended to be made?’ He inquired also whether the man entering with the lanthorn was John Jasper, and what were the directions given by Mr. Dickens as to the ascent of the winding staircase represented on the right hand of the cover. The Spectator asked for any authentic indications which might exist of the turn which Dickens intended to give to the story. ‘Nor can we see how it can be possible that no such indications exist, with this prefiguring cover to prove that he had not only anticipated, but disclosed to some one or other, many of the situations he intended to paint.’ Since then others, and in particular Mr. Andrew Lang, have with much insistency declared that the bottom picture represents a meeting of the risen Edwin Drood with his horror-stricken uncle, John Jasper.
In reply to these questions certain considerations may be adduced:
1. We have already shown from the testimony of Charles Allston Collins, as reported by his widow, and by Sir Luke Fildes, that he, at least, was not aware of any such intention in the mind of Dickens. On the contrary, Madame Perugini and Sir Luke Fildes are convinced that Edwin Drood was murdered. More than this, Charles Dickens the younger, who was more or less in his father’s confidence, agreed with them. As we have noted, he affirmed that his father had told him that Edwin Drood was murdered, and he constructed his play on that basis.
2. I attach much weight to Madame Perugini’s suggestion that whatever her father meant or did not mean, he was certainly not the man to give away on the cover the answer to the mystery. He may have meant—he very probably did—before he began the story to mystify his readers a little. This is shown, I think, by the various suggested titles printed on page 57. But as he rejected those titles, it is plain that he thought them unsatisfactory, and that he refrained from raising in the title at least the question whether the murder of Edwin Drood was accomplished.
3. I had prepared materials for a chapter on the wrappers of Dickens’s novels as used in the monthly parts, but it is not necessary to go into particulars. I am glad to find myself in full agreement with the eminent Dickens scholar, Mr. B W. Matz, who attaches no importance to the covers. I put no trust in the wrapper of Edwin Drood any more than I should in that of Pickwick, Martin Chuzzlewit, Little Dorrit, Dombey and Son, and many others, for a suggestion of any intricate points in any of their plots. The only covers which may be reliable in this respect are A Tale of Two Cities, Oliver Twist, and Sketches by Boz. Each of these works was issued in parts after their respective stories had appeared complete in other forms. All the others must have been designed before the first parts were published, and knowing the freedom which Dickens allowed himself we can attach little importance to the evidence of a particular cover as an index to the story.
When Mr. Marcus Stone, R.A., completed his seventy-second year, on 4th July 1912, he was interviewed by a representative of the Morning Post, and said:
The cover of Our Mutual Friend, with the representation of different incidents in the story, I drew after seeing an amount of matter equivalent to no more than the first two one-shilling monthly parts. Here it is: you will see that I depicted among other characters, Mr. Silas Wegg. Well, I was aware that Wegg had a wooden leg, but I wanted to know whether this was his right or his left leg, as there was nothing in the material before me that threw light on this point. To my surprise, Dickens said: ‘I do not know. I do not think I had identified the leg.’ That was the only time I ever knew him to be at fault on a point of this kind, for as a rule he was ready to describe down to the minutest details the personal characteristics, and, I might almost add, the life-history of the creations of his fancy.
4. But the final proof of the impossibility of making trustworthy deductions from the cover is to be found in the fact that no readers read it in the same way. In proof of this I give the readings of Professor Henry Jackson, Mr. Andrew Lang, Dr. M. R. James, and Mr. Cuming Walters. Through the great kindness of Mr. Hugh Thomson the artist, who has made a study of this subject and has given me his results, I am able to add another interpretation certainly of no lower authority than those which accompany it.
We may fairly presume that the figures in the four corners represent comedy, tragedy, the opium-woman, and the Chinaman. In the nave of the Cathedral, Edwin and Rosa pair off against Jasper and Crisparkle. Despite the discrepancy which Mr. Lang points out, I think that the lower of the two pictures on our left shows Jasper and Rosa in the garden of the Nuns’ House. In the upper side-piece, the girl is, I am sure, Rosa flying from Jasper’s pursuit, in full view of a placard announcing Edwin’s disappearance. It is true that the hatless girl with her hair streaming down her back does not answer very well to Dickens’s description of Rosa, and has no resemblance to Sir L. Fildes’s pictures of her: but if Dickens, when he had not yet thought out his conception of her personality, told Collins to draw a frightened girl of seventeen running away from school, no more than this could be expected. For the scheme of the sketch, compare the picture in Bleak House, which shows Lady Dedlock, as she mounts the staircase, turning to look at a bill announcing a reward for the discovery of the murderer of Tulkinghorn. That placards and advertisements, imploring Edwin to communicate with his uncle, had been widely circulated, we have been told at p. 182. On the right, the two men in the lower picture are, I suppose, Jasper and Durdles ascending the tower on the night of ‘the unaccountable expedition’; while the man above is Jasper on Christmas Eve looking down at ‘that,’ p. 276: ‘Look down, look down! You see what lies at the bottom there?’ p. 274. I demur to Mr. Lang’s statements that the young man whom I venture to identify with Jasper is represented as ‘whiskerless,’ and that the figure which I take to be Durdles is well-dressed.
Professor Jackson then mentions the views of Mr. Proctor and Mr. Lang on the important vignette at the bottom of the page:
For my own part, I suspect that the upright figure represents Drood, but that the Drood which it represents is a phantom of Jasper’s imagination. Let us suppose that an advertisement for a ring known to have been in the possession of the late Edwin Drood appears in the local newspaper, and that Jasper, now for the first time aware of the ring’s existence, goes to the crypt to look for it. Dickens might well suppose him at such a moment to see a vision of the murdered man, and might instruct Collins to represent what Jasper imagined himself to see. Indeed, I fancy that I recognise an intentional contrast between the two figures: the one in the foreground, full of movement, solidly drawn; the other, in the background, statuesque, and a little shadowy. Doubtless Dickens was anxious that the reader should not know too much; and if he made Collins give visible form to a hallucination of Jasper’s brain, I for one do not think the procedure illegitimate. It is sad that Dickens did not live to explain the innocent deception which, as I imagine, he meant for a few months to practise upon his readers.
The cover lies before the reader. In the left-hand top corner appears an allegorical female figure of joy, with flowers. The central top space contains the front of Cloisterham Cathedral, or rather, the nave. To the left walks Edwin, with hyacinthine locks, and a thoroughly classical type of face, and Grecian nose. Like Datchery, he does not wear, but carries his hat; this means nothing, if they are in the nave. He seems bored. On his arm is Rosa; she seems bored; she trails her parasol, and looks away from Edwin, looks down, to her right. On the spectator’s right march the surpliced men and boys of the choir. Behind them is Jasper, black whiskers and all; he stares after Edwin and Rosa; his right hand hides his mouth. In the corner above him is an allegorical female, clasping a stiletto.
Beneath Edwin and Rosa is, first, an allegorical female figure, looking at a placard, headed ‘LOST,’ on a door. Under that again, is a girl in a garden-chair; a young man, whiskerless, with wavy hair, kneels and kisses her hand. She looks rather unimpassioned. I conceive the man to be Landless, taking leave of Rosa after urging his hopeless suit for which Helena, we learn, ‘seems to compassionate him.’ He has avowed his passion, early in the story, to Crisparkle. Below, the opium hag is smoking. On the other side, under the figures of Jasper and the choir, the young man who kneels to the girl is seen bounding up a spiral staircase. His left hand is on the iron railing; he stoops over it, looking down at others who follow him. His right hand, the index finger protruded, points upward, and, by chance or design, points straight at Jasper in the vignette above. Beneath this man (clearly Landless) follows a tall man in a ‘bowler’ hat, a ‘cut-away’ coat, and trousers which show an inch of white stocking above the low shoes. His profile is hid by the wall of the spiral staircase: he might be Grewgious of the shoes, white stockings, and short trousers, but he may be Tartar: he takes two steps at a stride. Beneath him a youngish man, in a low, soft, clerical hat and a black pea-coat, ascends, looking downwards and backwards. This is clearly Crisparkle. A Chinaman is smoking opium beneath.
In the central lowest space, a dark and whiskered man enters a dark chamber; his left hand is on the lock of the door; in his right he holds up a lantern. The light of the lantern reveals a young man in a soft hat of Tyrolese shape. His features are purely classical, his nose is Grecian, his locks are long (at least, according to the taste of to-day); he wears a light paletot, buttoned to the throat; his right arm hangs by his side; his left hand is thrust into the breast of his coat. He calmly regards the dark man with the lantern. That man, of course, is Jasper. The young man is Edwin Drood, of the Grecian nose, hyacinthine locks, and classic features, as in Sir L. Fildes’s third illustration.
Mr. Proctor correctly understood the unmistakable meaning of this last design, Jasper entering the vault:
‘To-day the dead are living,
The lost is found to-day.’
In the Cambridge Review for 9th March 1911 Dr. James says:
Now, as to the figures at the angles and the scene at the top there is general agreement. As to those on the left, H. J. is, I think, right in calling the upper one Rosa’s flight; but the lower one cannot be Jasper and Rosa. The young man has a moustache. Jasper had none, and has none in the two pictures of him on this same cover. Also, the artist has carefully emphasised the fact that the girl is indifferent to her suitor. The figures, I believe, represent Rosa and Neville Landless.
On the right, H. J. assumes that there are two scenes. I am clear that there is but one: for, whereas, on the left side the two scenes are separated by a sprig of the rose-wreath which surrounds the centre, and a similar sprig parts them from the top scene, there is on the right only the division from the top scene, managed in the same way as on the left. And yet, had the scene been two, there was great necessity to separate them, inasmuch as they are taking place in the same surroundings, namely, the winding staircase. As to the identity of the three men, the lowest one is a cleric, Crisparkle, the next above him I will not identify; the uppermost is either Jasper or just possibly (since he is pointing pretty directly at the figure of Jasper in the top scene, and seems to be acting as a guide to those below him) Datchery.
Dr. James dissents from Dr. Jackson as to the central vignette at the bottom. No phantom of the imagination is there. We have a real person, as is shown by the fact that he casts a shadow on the wall behind him.
Mr. Hugh Thomson wrote the following notes on 3rd April 1912, and they are now printed for the first time:
But to get to the cover to which you particularly directed my attention. It was designed, I take it, primarily as a decoration, and not as a series of representations of the characters to appear in the book. Consequently, there is but little definite character-drawing in any of the groups with the exception of the one at the bottom of the page, where Jasper is depicted exactly as I should wish him depicted, dark and saturnine ‘with thick, lustrous black hair and whiskers.’ If the other figure is merely a wraith conjured up by Jasper’s evil opium-soaked conscience, it is as substantial as one of the ghosts of Hamlet’s father given to us on the stage time after time without protest. But in a black and white design for a popular serial it is scarcely possible to be subtle, and at the same time plainly intelligible. So it may be a ghost, or it may be Edwin in the flesh, or Neville Landless got up to represent Edwin. It is a very effective little cut. In the other groups, Jasper is not so unmistakable, but, of course, in the upper drawings the sleek, clerical-looking personage with his hand at his mouth is meant to represent Jasper. The staircase groups, I can’t identify. The young men in both may be meant to represent Jasper. They are not in the least like that sombre personage, but just colourless young men. In the garden scene one cannot think that the kneeling figure pressing the girl’s fingers to his lips is meant for Jasper at all. It has a mop of fair hair and boasts a moustache, and in the scene in the garden of the Nuns’ House Rosa did not permit Jasper to approach her so nearly. In the picture there is no suggestion of the repugnance and fear with which she regarded Jasper. Don’t you think it reasonable to suggest that this little picture illustrates a scene to take place much later in the book, a scene Dickens did not live to write? It might be Edwin Drood returned from abroad or from disguise. Edwin Drood making love to Helena Landless. In chapter viii. he was ‘already enough impressed by Helena to feel indignant that Helena’s brother should dispose of him (Edwin) so coolly’ to Rosebud.
Or could it be Tartar proposing to Rosebud? But Tartar had no moustache either as himself or as Datchery, and the girl’s figure has a suggestion of lithe dignity which I don’t associate with the ‘little beauty’ Rosebud.
I agree with the author of About Edwin Drood that Edwin was not worth while bringing back, but it is possible that he was to return, and that this is he in the garden scene. In the space above this the female figure scanning a placard ‘LOST’ is, I think, merely allegorical, and not meant to represent Rosebud fleeing from Jasper. In the book she leaves Cloisterham so neat and pretty that Joe, the omnibus man, would have liked to keep for himself the love she sent to Miss Twinkleton.
There is another view to which I strongly incline, first stated by Mr. Cuming Walters. I take the erect figure in the bottom vignette to be Datchery. It is not Edwin. The large hat and the tightish surtout are the articles of clothing on which Dickens lays stress in his description of Datchery. Mr. Lang says that the figure is that of a young man in a longish loose greatcoat, not a tightish surtout such as Datchery wore, but I agree with Mr. Cuming Walters that the figure corresponds with the description of Datchery. Edwin as seen above with Rosa in the cathedral is not wearing a coat of this sort. His hat also is different. On examining the figure Mr. H. B. Irving said to me: ‘That looks uncommonly like a woman in disguise.’
None of us has a right to dogmatise, but the variety of opinions among those who have studied the cover shows that no certain conclusion can be drawn from the illustrations. The arguments advanced previously tend to make this practically certain. In the discussion of the problem a wholly disproportionate weight has been laid on the illustrated cover. It would hardly bear that weight even if every one were agreed as to the reading of the pictures, and there is no such agreement.
Dickens has left us one-half of his last story. It was to be completed in twelve parts, and six parts were published. We can only infer and guess at the way in which the author would have completed it. Would he have brought many new characters on the stage, or are we to believe that the main characters are already there, and that it is through the revealing of their secrets that the end is to be reached? To give a positive reply is impossible, and yet we may learn something of Dickens’s methods by studying his complete books. Supposing we had only one-half of each book in our possession, might we expect that the complete story would introduce us to many fresh characters? I give the results of some investigations from the later novels.
Edwin Drood, as we have it, runs in round numbers to about 100,000 words. When completed it would have been 200,000 words. This would have made it slightly longer than Great Expectations, which may be estimated at 160,000 words. A Tale of Two Cities runs to 143,000 words. Edwin Drood, while slightly longer than this, would have been very much shorter than the larger works of Dickens. David Copperfield has about 306,000 words; Bleak House, 308,000, and Our Mutual Friend, 297,000. All these are practically the same length. Barnaby Rudge has about 264,000 words.
I begin with Bleak House, which is one of the latest and most elaborate of Dickens’s stories. In the first half the characters arrive in crowds. I make out in the first chapter ten or eleven. The second chapter brings My Lady Dedlock, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Mr. Tulkinghorn, and others. The third brings Esther Summerson and John Jarndyce, besides half a dozen more. The fourth brings us the Jellybys, with Mr. Guppy, and others. Krook and Nemo are the fresh arrivals in chapter v.; Mr. Harold Skim-pole arrives in chapter vi., with the Coavinses. In chapter vii. I make out six arrivals at least. Chapter viii. gives us the Pardiggles, Mr. Gusher, the brickmaker, and family, and Jenny, his wife. In chapter ix. Mr. Lawrence Boythorn arrives alone; chapter x. gives us the Snagsbys, their predecessor, Peffer, the two prentices, and Guster, the servant. Miss Flite comes with chapter xi., and along with her appear the young surgeon, the beadle, Mrs. Perkins, Mrs. Anastasia Piper, and a few more. Chapter xii. brings Mlle. Hortense, maid to Lady Dedlock, Lord Boodle and his retinue, the Right Hon. William Buffy, M.P., and his retinue. In Chapter xiii. we have Mr. Bayham Badger, Mrs. Badger, and the former husbands of Mrs. Badger are recalled. Chapter xiv. brings Mr. Turveydrop and his son, also Allan Woodcourt, the young surgeon, and we have mentioned the ‘old lady with a censorious countenance,’ and the late Mrs. Turveydrop. In chapter xv. we have Mrs. Blinder and the Neckett family; chapter xvii., Mrs. Woodcourt, mother of Allan; chapter xix., Mr. and Mrs. Chadband; chapter xx., Young Smallweed and Jobling, alias Weevle; in chapter xxi., the Grandfather and Grandmother Smallweed, Judith Smallweed, Mr. George, trooper (Uncle George, chapter vii.), and Phil Squod of the Shooting Gallery. The great Mr. Bucket appears in chapter xxii. Captain Hawdon is in chapter xxvi. In chapter xxvii. we have the Bagnet family of five. In chapter xxviii. there comes Volumnia Dedlock; Miss Wisk in chapter xxx., and Liz in chapter xxxi.
We have now reached the end of the first half, and the arrivals after that are few and unimportant. In chapter xxxii. no new character is brought on the stage, though there is talk about the noted siren, who assists at the Harmonic Meetings, and is announced as Miss M. Melvilleson, though she has been married a year and a half. In chapter xxxiii. it is mentioned that the ‘Sols Arms,’ a well-conducted tavern, is licensed to a highly respectable landlord, Mr. J. G. Bogsby. After that we have no new character till chapter xxxvii., where we are introduced to Mr. W. Grubble, the landlord of that very clean little tavern, ‘The Dedlock Arms.’ Vholes is introduced by Skimpole as the man who gives him something and called it commission. Mr. Vholes has the privilege of supporting an aged father in the Vale of Taunton, and has a red eruption here and there upon his face. He has three daughters—Emma, Jane, and Caroline—and cannot afford to be selfish. In chapter xxxviii. we meet Mrs. Guppy, ‘an old lady in a large cap, with rather a red nose, and rather an unsteady eye, but smiling all over.’ Then in chapter xl. there are the cousins of Sir Leicester Dedlock. In chapter xliii. Mrs. Skimpole and the Skimpole family are introduced, and in chapter liii. Mrs. Bucket. It will be observed that some of these can scarcely be called new characters, and that not one is of any real importance, that is, so far as Bleak House is concerned. Dickens in the middle of his story had practically put every actor upon the stage. The story was to be developed by the characters to whom the reader had been introduced. I have calculated that in the first half there are about one hundred and six characters of greater or less importance. In the second half there are, on the most generous computation, only sixteen, and not one of them plays a vital part in the development of the tale.
I take next Our Mutual Friend, and with this I must deal more briefly. Our Mutual Friend is remarkable for the profusion of characters in the first half. In the second chapter there are sixteen at least, including Mr. and Mrs. Veneering, Mr. and Mrs. Podsnap, Mortimer Lightfoot, Eugene Wrayburn, and John Harmon. The Wilfers come in chapter iv.; in chapter v. Silas Wegg and the Boffins, and almost every chapter adds to the company till we get to the middle. After that there is an abrupt cessation. There are not more than half a dozen new characters named in the second part, and all of them are wholly insignificant, the Deputy Lock, Gruff and Glum, the Greenwich pensioner, the Archbishop of Greenwich, a waiter, Mrs. Sprodgkin, the exacting member of the fold, and the contractor of 500,000 power. In Our Mutual Friend every character of any significance has been introduced when the first half ends. The few stragglers who come later have practically no effect on the story.
In Little Dorrit we have the old profuseness of characters; in the first half nearly one hundred, and in the second half there are practically no new characters at all. Mr. Tinkler, the valet to Mr. Dorrit, and Mr. Eustace, the classical tourist, can hardly be counted. In chapter xxi., ‘The History of a Self-Tormentor,’ we have Charlotte Dawes, the false friend, who vanishes instantly, and counts for nothing. Thus, I think, we may say, taking the three long books of Dickens’s later period, that in each it was his manner to introduce no new characters of the least import in the second half of his books. But it may be worth while to glance at his practice in the shorter tales, A Tale of Two Cities and Great Expectations.
In the second half of this fine book there are practically no new characters that I can trace. The epithet can hardly be applied to the President of the trial at the Conciergerie.
It is now agreed that one of Dickens’s most perfect books is Great Expectations. It is known also that Dickens complied with a suggestion of Lord Lytton’s, which modified the plot—not seriously nor disagreeably. Here again in the second part we have very few fresh characters. We have the Colonel in Newgate introduced to Mr. Wemmick, but he is ‘sure to be assassinated on Monday.’ Let us not forget Miss Skiffins, a good sort of fellow, with a high regard both for Wemmick and the Aged. There is the retrospective Provis, but the characters introduced belong to the past. Finally, in chapter xlvi., we have a pleasant glimpse of the Barley family and of Mrs. Whymple, the best of housewives, and the motherly friend of Clara and Herbert. It is she who fosters and regulates with equal kindness and discretion their mutual love. ‘It was understood that nothing of a tender nature could possibly be confided to Old Barley, by reason of his being totally unequal to the consideration of any subject more psychological than Gout, Rum, and Purser’s Stores.’
These are all the books of which I have made a close personal examination. I believe that the general result will be the same in all save two or three exceptional works, such as Barnaby Rudge. Whether he consciously acted on the principle that no new characters should be introduced after half the story was told, it is impossible to say. It seems certain, however, that he acted upon it.
Dickens was no great reader, and it is plain by what he did not say, as well as by what he did say, that he did not on the whole admire ardently the work of his contemporaries. But he made a special exception in the case of Wilkie Collins, with whom he collaborated on more than one occasion, as in the story No Thoroughfare. He published in his own magazine some of Collins’s best detective stories, including The Woman in White, No Name, and The Moonstone. Of these stories Dickens put first No Name. The Moonstone he criticised in one of his letters to Wills. At first he thought it in many respects ‘much better than anything he has done,’ but afterwards he wrote, 26th July 1868: ‘I quite agree with you about The Moonstone. The construction is wearisome beyond endurance, and there is a vein of obstinate conceit in it that makes enemies of readers.’ [90]
In September 1862 he wrote in enthusiastic terms of admiration about No Name. This I take to be a very weighty and significant letter, as will appear in the sequel:
I have gone through the second volume [No Name] at a sitting, and I find it wonderfully fine. It goes on with an ever-rising power and force in it that fills me with admiration. It is as far before and beyond The Woman in White as that was beyond the wretched common level of fiction-writing. There are some touches in the Captain which no one but a born (and cultivated) writer could get near—could draw within hail of. And the originality of Mrs. Wragge, without compromise of her probability, involves a really great achievement. But they are all admirable; Mr. Noel Vanstone and the housekeeper, both in their way as meritorious as the rest; Magdalen wrought out with truth, energy, sentiment, and passion, of the very first water.
I cannot tell you with what a strange dash of pride as well as pleasure I read the great results of your hard work. Because, as you know, I was certain from the Basil days that you were the Writer who would come ahead of all the Field—being the only one who combined invention and power, both humorous and pathetic, with that invincible determination to work, and that profound conviction that nothing of worth is to be done without work, of which triflers and feigners have no conception. [91]
Mr. Swinburne in his study of Wilkie Collins writes:
It is apparently the general opinion—an opinion which seems to me incontestable—that no third book of their author’s can be ranked as equal with The Woman in White and The Moonstone: two works of not more indisputable than incomparable ability. No Name is an only less excellent example of as curious and original a talent. [92a]
This was not the opinion of Dickens.
On 6th October 1859 Dickens replied to a suggestion by Collins on the working out of A Tale of Two Cities. The italics are mine:
I do not positively say that the point you put might not have been done in your manner; but I have a very strong conviction that it would have been overdone in that manner—too elaborately trapped, baited, and prepared—in the main anticipated, and its interest wasted. This is quite apart from the peculiarity of the Doctor’s [Dr. Manette—A Tale of Two Cities] character, as affected by his imprisonment; which of itself would, to my thinking, render it quite out of the question to put the reader inside of him before the proper time, in respect of matters that were dim to himself through being, in a diseased way, morbidly shunned by him. I think the business of art is to lay all that ground carefully, not with the care that conceals itself—to show, by a backward light, what everything has been working to,—but only to suggest, until the fulfilment comes. These are the ways of Providence, of which ways all art is but a little imitation. [92b]