The Old Curiosity Club discussion

Hello Curiosities,

This being my first set of recaps on Bleak House, I take the opportunity to express my hopes that you are all enjoying this wonderful book as much as I do. As it happens, Bleak House is my favourite novel by Dickens, and one of my five favourite books as such. In this week’s read another bunch of new characters is introduced, and quite a wild one at that. Will the dramatis personae for this marvellous novel ever be completed? Chapter 20, which is called A New Lodger, gives us the opportunity to see how Mr. Guppy is pursuing the lead he was given that night in Mr. Snagsby’s house. First of all, we see him labouring under the impact of the summer holiday’s when Kenge and Carboy are off to enjoy the summer: He is spending his time idly at the office, chafing under the presence of Richard Carstone:

”Mr. Guppy suspects everybody who enters on the occupation of a stool in Kenge and Carboy's office of entertaining, as a matter of course, sinister designs upon him. He is clear that every such person wants to depose him. If he be ever asked how, why, when, or wherefore, he shuts up one eye and shakes his head. On the strength of these profound views, he in the most ingenious manner takes infinite pains to counterplot when there is no plot, and plays the deepest games of chess without any adversary.”

Not only does this quotation show us that Mr. Guppy is of a very jealous and distrustful nature – thus also putting him in line with Mr. Krook, whose distrust is one of his prominent features – but it also contains a very snide observation on how the occupation as a man of law has deformed his character: Being distrustful and taking all sorts of precautions, be they necessary or superfluous, is something that seems to go with his profession. To Mr. Guppy’s utmost satisfaction, Richard is mostly busy “poring over the papers in Jarndyce and Jarndyce”, and Mr. Guppy “well knows that nothing but confusion and failure can come of that.” That, of course, does not bode too well for our friend Richard.

Mr. Guppy is whiling away his time with his colleague, Bartholomew Smallweed, who is described like that:

”Whether Young Smallweed (metaphorically called Small and eke Chick Weed, as it were jocularly to express a fledgling) was ever a boy is much doubted in Lincoln's Inn. He is now something under fifteen and an old limb of the law. He is facetiously understood to entertain a passion for a lady at a cigar-shop in the neighbourhood of Chancery Lane and for her sake to have broken off a contract with another lady, to whom he had been engaged some years. He is a town-made article, of small stature and weazen features, but may be perceived from a considerable distance by means of his very tall hat. To become a Guppy is the object of his ambition. He dresses at that gentleman (by whom he is patronized), talks at him, walks at him, founds himself entirely on him. He is honoured with Mr. Guppy's particular confidence and occasionally advises him, from the deep wells of his experience, on difficult points in private life.”

All of a sudden, a friend of Mr. Guppy’s – the hitherto unnamed gentleman who accompanied him down to Lincolnshire when he first set eyes on the portrait of Lady Dedlock – shows up, a man by the name of Jobling, who is pretty hard-up – due to his inclination to bet on horses – and on the look-out for some money to keep himself afloat. A little later in the text, Jobling is described in the following manner:

”Mr. Jobling is buttoned up closer than mere adornment might require. His hat presents at the rims a peculiar appearance of a glistening nature, as if it had been a favourite snail-promenade. The same phenomenon is visible on some parts of his coat, and particularly at the seams. He has the faded appearance of a gentleman in embarrassed circumstances; even his light whiskers droop with something of a shabby air.”

The snail simile is another touch of Dickens’s genius as well as the implication that Jobling’s whiskers – his personal weakness next to adherence to fashion – seem to share his present state of mind (a mental picture that is almost comic-strip-like). I also like the first sentence which implies that Mr. Jobling’s linen is either absent or in a sorry state. Mr. Guppy immediately notices that his friend is in need of support, and he is most ready to give it to him, first of all by inviting him to a sumptuous meal as soon as his rival Richard has left the premises. In the course of the meal, Mr. Guppy also indicates to his friend that he could put in a good word for him with Mr. Snagsby so that he may get some work there as a law-writer and that he could also provide him with a room in the vicinity – as Nemo’s old place is still to let. Mr. Guppy suggests that Jobling should lodge there under an assumed name because he might want to lay low as long as his financial situation should make this necessary. Does he simply act out of kindness for his friend, or does he have any ulterior motive? The following passage suggests the latter idea:

”’[…]And I tell you another thing, Jobling,’ says Mr. Guppy, who has suddenly lowered his voice and become familiar again, ‘he's an extraordinary old chap—always rummaging among a litter of papers and grubbing away at teaching himself to read and write, without getting on a bit, as it seems to me. He is a most extraordinary old chap, sir. I don't know but what it might be worth a fellow's while to look him up a bit.’
‘You don't mean—‘ Mr. Jobling begins.
‘I mean,’ returns Mr. Guppy, shrugging his shoulders with becoming modesty, ‘that I can't make him out. I appeal to our mutual friend Smallweed whether he has or has not heard me remark that I can't make him out.’
Mr. Smallweed bears the concise testimony, ‘A few!’
‘I have seen something of the profession and something of life, Tony,’ says Mr. Guppy, ‘and it's seldom I can't make a man out, more or less. But such an old card as this, so deep, so sly, and secret (though I don't believe he is ever sober), I never came across. Now, he must be precious old, you know, and he has not a soul about him, and he is reported to be immensely rich; and whether he is a smuggler, or a receiver, or an unlicensed pawnbroker, or a money-lender—all of which I have thought likely at different times—it might pay you to knock up a sort of knowledge of him. I don't see why you shouldn't go in for it, when everything else suits.’
Mr. Jobling, Mr. Guppy, and Mr. Smallweed all lean their elbows on the table and their chins upon their hands, and look at the ceiling. After a time, they all drink, slowly lean back, put their hands in their pockets, and look at one another.
‘If I had the energy I once possessed, Tony!’ says Mr. Guppy with a sigh. ‘But there are chords in the human mind—‘
Expressing the remainder of the desolate sentiment in rum-and-water, Mr. Guppy concludes by resigning the adventure to Tony Jobling and informing him that during the vacation and while things are slack, his purse, ‘as far as three or four or even five pound goes,’ will be at his disposal. ‘For never shall it be said,’ Mr. Guppy adds with emphasis, ‘that William Guppy turned his back upon his friend!’”

I do have the impression here that Mr. Guppy wants to employ his friend as a spy to find out more about Mr. Krook’s affairs and papers – but why he should want to do such a thing, what he is hoping to find, remains still in the dark. Their deal being struck, Mr. Guppy and Mr. Jobling proceed to carry out their plan and they find Mr. Krook fast asleep in his shop. It is quite noticeable that references to Mr. Krook’s tendency to alcohol abound, and the following bit should be remembered:

”’You're a nobleman, sir,’ returns Krook with another taste, and his hot breath seems to come towards them like a flame. ‘You're a baron of the land.’”

When matters have been settled, Mr. Jobling – under the name of Weevle, which for more reasons than one conjures up the idea of a weevil – takes up lodgings in the late Nemo’s room.

There were two passages I’d like to quote because not only are they funny but they also tell us something about Mr. Jobling’s character:

”’Guppy,’ says Mr. Jobling, ‘I will not deny it. I was on the wrong side of the post. But I trusted to things coming round.’
That very popular trust in flat things coming round! Not in their being beaten round, or worked round, but in their ‘coming’ round! As though a lunatic should trust in the world's ‘coming’ triangular!
‘I had confident expectations that things would come round and be all square,’ says Mr. Jobling with some vagueness of expression and perhaps of meaning too. "But I was disappointed. They never did. […]‘

It’s wonderful how Dickens is playing on the meaning of the words here, I think. Apart from that, Mr. Jobling’s hope of things coming round places him in a row with Richard Carstone, and with the greatest hoper of things coming round, Mr. Micawber.

”’Krook's last lodger died there,’ observes Mr. Guppy in an incidental way.
‘Did he though!’ says Mr. Jobling.
‘There was a verdict. Accidental death. You don't mind that?’
‘No,’ says Mr. Jobling, ‘I don't mind it; but he might as well have died somewhere else. It's devilish odd that he need go and die at MY place!’ Mr. Jobling quite resents this liberty, several times returning to it with such remarks as, ‘There are places enough to die in, I should think!’ or, ‘He wouldn't have liked my dying at HIS place, I dare say!’”

It's funny to see that Mr. Jobling already regards the lodgings as his own and identifies so much with them.

The 21st chapter is named The Smallweed Family, for the obvious reason that it introduces us readers to the Smallweed Family. Chapter 21 once more widens the scope of the novel in that, with the exception of Charley Neckett, who works in the household, and of Bartholomew Smallweed, all the other characters – five in number – are new, which may beg the question, Where is this new chapter leading us?

The Smallweed Family is headed by Grandfather Smallweed, who is a very old man and confined to a chair in a drawer of which there are rumoured to be large sums of money. Grandfather Smallweed is a tight-fisted money-lender, and in being that he is keeping up the family tradition. His wife has apparently advanced to the state of a second infancy, since she starts up at any figure mentioned and then goes on about money, whereupon Grandfather Smallweed throws his cushion at her, silencing her for the time being and reducing himself to a bundle of clothes that has to be shaken up. The family is completed by Bart and his twin sister Judith. The narrator draws a picture of the Smallweed childhoods being void of anything appealing to a child’s imagination and instead being based on what Mr. Gradgrind will later call fact:

”Judy the twin is worthy company for these associates. She is so indubitably sister to Mr. Smallweed the younger that the two kneaded into one would hardly make a young person of average proportions, while she so happily exemplifies the before-mentioned family likeness to the monkey tribe that attired in a spangled robe and cap she might walk about the table-land on the top of a barrel-organ without exciting much remark as an unusual specimen. Under existing circumstances, however, she is dressed in a plain, spare gown of brown stuff.
Judy never owned a doll, never heard of Cinderella, never played at any game. She once or twice fell into children's company when she was about ten years old, but the children couldn't get on with Judy, and Judy couldn't get on with them. She seemed like an animal of another species, and there was instinctive repugnance on both sides. It is very doubtful whether Judy knows how to laugh. She has so rarely seen the thing done that the probabilities are strong the other way. Of anything like a youthful laugh, she certainly can have no conception. If she were to try one, she would find her teeth in her way, modelling that action of her face, as she has unconsciously modelled all its other expressions, on her pattern of sordid age. Such is Judy.
And her twin brother couldn't wind up a top for his life. He knows no more of Jack the Giant Killer or of Sinbad the Sailor than he knows of the people in the stars. He could as soon play at leap-frog or at cricket as change into a cricket or a frog himself. But he is so much the better off than his sister that on his narrow world of fact an opening has dawned into such broader regions as lie within the ken of Mr. Guppy. Hence his admiration and his emulation of that shining enchanter.”

In a way, it is a very sad picture that is drawn here, and while we are clearly meant to dislike Judy and Bart, I could not help pitying them for the sinister and sober childhood they had – and although Dickens here dives into the luxury of not drawing characters but grotesque caricatures – I think it is the first time he does this to such an extent in Bleak House – he also makes the point that a person’s character is determined to a certain degree by their upbringing.

Nevertheless, let’s enjoy Dickens the Caricaturist in passages like these:

”During the whole time consumed in the slow growth of this family tree, the house of Smallweed, always early to go out and late to marry, has strengthened itself in its practical character, has discarded all amusements, discountenanced all story-books, fairy-tales, fictions, and fables, and banished all levities whatsoever. Hence the gratifying fact that it has had no child born to it and that the complete little men and women whom it has produced have been observed to bear a likeness to old monkeys with something depressing on their minds.”

”The excellent old gentleman being at these times a mere clothes-bag with a black skull-cap on the top of it, does not present a very animated appearance until he has undergone the two operations at the hands of his granddaughter of being shaken up like a great bottle and poked and punched like a great bolster. Some indication of a neck being developed in him by these means, he and the sharer of his life's evening again fronting one another in their two porter's chairs, like a couple of sentinels long forgotten on their post by the Black Serjeant, Death.”

Grandfather Smallweed is visited by one of his clients, a Mr. George, who has the air of a former soldier and who has come to pay him some interest. Mr. George artfully makes allusions to Grandfather Smallweed’s being destined for Hell, as for instance here:

”’Whew!’ says Mr. George. ‘You are hot here. Always a fire, eh? Well! Perhaps you do right to get used to one.’ Mr. George makes the latter remark to himself as he nods to Grandfather Smallweed.”

It is clear that there is no love lost between the Smallweeds and Mr. George for after his guest’s departure the old usurer says that he will crush Mr. George one of these days, and Mr. George quite literally nearly crushes Mr. Smallweed – or is at least in two minds about crushing him – when he performs the duty of shaking him up after the worthy old man has once again thrown a cushion at his better half. In the course of their conversation it becomes clear that Mr. George has played the wild rover in his youth and therefore will not rely on any financial support from such of his family members as might still be alive and in whom Mr. Smallweed seems to take a vivid interest. He also seems to have been asked by Mr. Smallweed to help him track down a fellow-officer by the name of Captain Hawdon, who owns a large sum of money to Grandfather Smallweed. Mr. George professes that he is glad he had never been able to find out what became of Captain Hawdon because he would not have liked to have had a hand in delivering his former friend up to his creditors. He also adds that the thinks Captain Hawdon is dead.

Why does the narrator give us this conversation? Will Captain Hawdon pop up in one of the later chapters?

After their business has been concluded and Mr. George has enjoyed a pipe at Grandfather Smallweed’s expense, the ex-army man goes back to a shooting range, run by him, and to his friend and sidekick Phil. Memories of his playing the prodigal son still seem to haunt him as we can see here:

”’Phil!’ says the master, walking towards him without his coat and waistcoat, and looking more soldierly than ever in his braces. ‘You were found in a doorway, weren't you?’
‘Gutter,’ says Phil. ‘Watchman tumbled over me.’
‘Then vagabondizing came natural to YOU from the beginning.’
‘As nat'ral as possible,’ says Phil.
‘Good night!’
‘Good night, guv'ner.’”

It will be interesting to see how Dickens is going to weave these new characters more closely into the plot of the novel – as we can be sure he will.

The next chapter, Mr. Bucket, introduces yet another character but it also ties up some loose ends of the mystery about Jo and the veiled lady. We are once again in Mr. Tulkinghorn’s private room with a fresh-looking Allegory which is not in the least impaired by the summer heat and the dust, dust, dust of which Mr. Tulkinghorn seems an apt representative. Mr. Tulkinghorn is enjoying a bottle of costly wine, which he usually does alone – there is a strange excursion which may be seen as an instance of foreshadowing:

”More impenetrable than ever, he sits, and drinks, and mellows as it were in secrecy, pondering at that twilight hour on all the mysteries he knows, associated with darkening woods in the country, and vast blank shut-up houses in town, and perhaps sparing a thought or two for himself, and his family history, and his money, and his will—all a mystery to every one—and that one bachelor friend of his, a man of the same mould and a lawyer too, who lived the same kind of life until he was seventy-five years old, and then suddenly conceiving (as it is supposed) an impression that it was too monotonous, gave his gold watch to his hair-dresser one summer evening and walked leisurely home to the Temple and hanged himself.”

Are all those mysteries to heavy to carry after all? Or is a solitary and secretive life like that led by Mr. Tulkinghorn simply unfulfilling, i.e. “monotonous”?

This evening, however, Mr. Tulkinghorn is not alone but in the company of Mr. Snagsby, who feels deeply honoured for being allowed to sip Mr. Tulkinghorn’s expensive wine. I was actually quite struck by Dickens’s ability to label his characters via their idiosyncrasies – an ability that was probably necessary since readers would have to recognize characters easily, given the fact that the instalments were monthly and there were thus large spaces between reading sessions. Before Mr. Snagsby was named, this passage did it for me:

”Seated at the same table, though with his chair modestly and uncomfortably drawn a little way from it, sits a bald, mild, shining man who coughs respectfully behind his hand when the lawyer bids him fill his glass.”

Mr. Snagsby has gone to Mr. Tulkinghorn unbeknownst to his little woman in order to tell him about Jo’s report on the mysterious lady, and Mr. Tulkinghorn has asked Mr. Snagsby to once again slip over to him, and here he is. This time, Mr. Tulkinghorn wants Mr. Snagsby to go over to Tom-All-Alone’s and identify Jo for him, and to disperse his qualms. Mr. Tulkinghorn informs him that it would not be to the boy’s disadvantage. Suddenly, Mr. Snagsby becomes aware of the fact that there is yet another person in the room, although he cannot tell when this person came in – a bit like Mr. Woodcourt, whom we suddenly found standing at Nemo’s death-bed, which nobody in the room really thought remarkable. The sneaky person in this case is Mr. Bucket, a police detective, and he is described like this:

”Yet this third person stands there with his attentive face, and his hat and stick in his hands, and his hands behind him, a composed and quiet listener. He is a stoutly built, steady-looking, sharp-eyed man in black, of about the middle-age. Except that he looks at Mr. Snagsby as if he were going to take his portrait, there is nothing remarkable about him at first sight but his ghostly manner of appearing.”

According to my notes, Mr. Bucket is the first detective ever in English fiction and he is modeled on Inspector Charles Field, whom Dickens had written three articles about in Household Words in August and September 1850. Inspector Bucket is remarkably glib in that he has no problems at all in making Snagsby do exactly what he is supposed to do, and he does that by expressing his respect for him and by adding that a relative of his was also a law-stationer. On their way to Tom-All-Alone’s, Mr. Bucket seems to know and not to know any policeman crossing his way. They go deeper into the slums of Tom-All-Alone’s and notice that there is an epidemic of fever virulent. Their search for Jo is difficult because no-one there is known by his Christian name – how telling! – but rather by some kind of street-name, and Jo’s is – quite tellingly again – Toughy or the Tough Subject. While they are waiting for Jo, who is getting some medicine for a little baby, they meet two women and their drunken and unconscious husbands. We can easily recognize them as Jenny, who has lost her child, and her friend Liz, who gave birth to her own child three weeks ago, and then there is this heart-rending passage:

"’Why, what age do you call that little creature?’ says Bucket. ‘It looks as if it was born yesterday.’ He is not at all rough about it; and as he turns his light gently on the infant, Mr. Snagsby is strangely reminded of another infant, encircled with light, that he has seen in pictures.
‘He is not three weeks old yet, sir,’ says the woman.
‘Is he your child?’
‘Mine.’
The other woman, who was bending over it when they came in, stoops down again and kisses it as it lies asleep.
‘You seem as fond of it as if you were the mother yourself,’ says Mr. Bucket.
‘I was the mother of one like it, master, and it died.’
‘Ah, Jenny, Jenny!’ says the other woman to her. ‘Better so. Much better to think of dead than alive, Jenny! Much better!’
‘Why, you an't such an unnatural woman, I hope,’ returns Bucket sternly, ‘as to wish your own child dead?’
‘God knows you are right, master,’ she returns. ‘I am not. I'd stand between it and death with my own life if I could, as true as any pretty lady.’
‘Then don't talk in that wrong manner,’ says Mr. Bucket, mollified again. ‘Why do you do it?’
‘It's brought into my head, master,’ returns the woman, her eyes filling with tears, ‘when I look down at the child lying so. If it was never to wake no more, you'd think me mad, I should take on so. I know that very well. I was with Jenny when she lost hers—warn't I, Jenny?—and I know how she grieved. But look around you at this place. Look at them,’ glancing at the sleepers on the ground. ‘Look at the boy you're waiting for, who's gone out to do me a good turn. Think of the children that your business lays with often and often, and that YOU see grow up!’
‘Well, well,’ says Mr. Bucket, ‘you train him respectable, and he'll be a comfort to you, and look after you in your old age, you know.’
‘I mean to try hard,’ she answers, wiping her eyes. ‘But I have been a-thinking, being over-tired to-night and not well with the ague, of all the many things that'll come in his way. My master will be against it, and he'll be beat, and see me beat, and made to fear his home, and perhaps to stray wild. If I work for him ever so much, and ever so hard, there's no one to help me; and if he should be turned bad 'spite of all I could do, and the time should come when I should sit by him in his sleep, made hard and changed, an't it likely I should think of him as he lies in my lap now and wish he had died as Jenny's child died!’
‘There, there!’ says Jenny. ‘Liz, you're tired and ill. Let me take him.’
In doing so, she displaces the mother's dress, but quickly readjusts it over the wounded and bruised bosom where the baby has been lying.
‘It's my dead child,’ says Jenny, walking up and down as she nurses, ‘that makes me love this child so dear, and it's my dead child that makes her love it so dear too, as even to think of its being taken away from her now. While she thinks that, I think what fortune would I give to have my darling back. But we mean the same thing, if we knew how to say it, us two mothers does in our poor hearts!’”

Not only is this a heart-rending exploration of a mother’s affection and a mother’s worries and woes but it also shows Dickens’s clear awareness that it is easy to moralize on poor people’s behaviour if you are well-off and don’t know much of how they are brought up. Mrs. Pardiggle and her self-righteousness once again come to my mind. This passage makes it clear that the child’s chances of going to school, picking up some learning and choosing a job and of caring for his family are blighted because of living in a slum and seeing the example of his father, who was probably raised in similar circumstances. Like in Chapter 21, we are here shown the impact of education and surroundings on a person’s character. This thought adds depth to Dickens’s seemingly relying on clear-cut good and evil characterizations. By the way, it is not new to Bleak House for a similar idea already turned up in one of the Sketches by Boz we have already read, namely in “Meditations in Monmouth-Street”.

Mr. Bucket and Mr. Snagsby take Jo to Mr. Tulkinghorn’s rooms, where a veiled lady is waiting for them. Jo identifies the apparel as the lady’s but he insists that her rings were more costly, her hands finer and more delicate and that she had a different voice. After Jo has left, Mr. Tulkinghorn thanks Mlle Hortense for helping them sort out that little wager – and Mlle Hortense entreats Mr. Tulkinghorn to remember and recommend her as she has lost her position in the Dedlock household. Now – who could have taken Mlle Hortense’s clothes and gone on a secret London excursion? The answer is quite clear. Also to Mr. Tulkinghorn.

There is only one question remaining with me: Why did Mr. Tulkinghorn employ Mr. Bucket for this mission?

By the way, we also learn that there is a warrant for Mr. Gridley and that Mr. Bucket is charged with executing it – apparently Mr. Tulkinghorn has gone through with his proceedings against that irascible man – but that Mr. Gridley has chosen to hide himself rather than go to prison.

Tristram wrote: "Hello Curiosities,

This being my first set of recaps on Bleak House, I take the opportunity to express my hopes that you are all enjoying this wonderful book as much as I do. As it happens, Bleak ..."

Chapter 20 really was a gas. A snail promenade on the rim of a hat. How does Dickens come up with that stuff? Genius indeed! Jobling and young Smallweed: two more wonderful characters to add to our list of unforgettable secondary characters.

Tristram wrote: "Chapter 20, which is called A New Lodger ..."

It would be impossible for anyone who had familiarity with David Copperfield not to think of Micawber when reading this chapter. Was Dickens conscious of this, or was Jobling just another manifestation of Dear Old Dad? Either way, as a reader, I tend to think that Jobling is going to end up on the right side of things based on our experiences with Micawber. We'll see if it works out that way.

Without giving any spoilers away, I'll just say that Dickens has hit the apex of his career with Bleak House. It's astounding to me how well-crafted this novel is. Like that movie with the kid who sees dead people, Bleak House is a story that is even more amazing when you read it a second time and are able to recognize all the breadcrumbs that Dickens leaves for us to follow, which makes it my 2nd favorite Dickens novel (if we're counting A Christmas Carol), and among my favorites by any author.

Tristram wrote: "The 21st chapter is named The Smallweed Family..."

I may have mentioned that when people ask me what it is I like so much about Dickens and I reply, "his humor", I get confused looks and comments that they never thought of Dickens as being funny. Oh, how much they're missing!

While Chapter 21 isn't overtly funny, like Pickwick chasing his hat that's blown away, there's a delicious mix of dark comedy and tragedy here. The passage Tristram quoted about Judy's childhood and her inability to laugh was, for me, possibly the saddest paragraph he's ever written. The fact that it's not dripping with pathos, or waving a banner of social reform makes it all the more powerful for me. He's simply slipping it in as an introduction to a new character. Very matter-of-fact.

In nearly the same breath, I'm laughing at his description of Smallweed as a throw pillow needing to be plumped up, and at the invectives that he hurls at his poor wife. Yes, the situation and behaviour are atrocious, but Dickens has a way of describing it that I can't help but imagine with a laugh. And Mr. George's dry delivery of lines like the one Tristram quoted about Smallweed doing well to get used to the heat is priceless. Nobody does snark as well as Dickens.

A wonderful chapter.

Tristram wrote: "The next chapter, Mr. Bucket..."

Tristram - you may want to change the title of this discussion to include chapter 22. :-)

What does it say about a book when nearly 400 pages in, the reader is thinking, "Whoa! Things are moving too fast!" That's how I felt when reading this Bucket chapter. We're really propelled forward in our story with this confirmation, not only for the reader but, more importantly, perhaps, for Tulkinghorn, that Lady Dedlock was almost certainly the woman in the vail. Lots of loose threads yet, but this one seemed to be tied up pretty quickly.

I like Bucket. He comes across as a real pro, and has a way with people. It seemed telling that he immediately understood Snagsby's hesitation in leading them to Jo, and was able to allay his concerns. And something about the way he took it upon himself to show Hortense, Jo, and Snagsby to the door when they left showed both that he has both good manners and good sense. Being considerate can open many doors that might remain firmly closed to someone less so.

But what is Bucket doing in league with Tulkinghorn? What crime might he be investigating? And why does he have a key to Tulkinghorn's home? These questions give me pause. Tulkinghorn hasn't done anything specific to suggest he's a villain in our story, but he does have a dark aura surrounding him. Maybe it's all that dust.

What I noticed, and thought by myself I had to mention too, was that the Smallweeds don't do books. In money matters they are smart enough, and obviously Bart can read or he wouldn't be a clerk, but the household is completely devoid of books of any kind. Smallweed rather stares into the fire endlessly than he is read to. In a way they are just as illiterate as Jo and Krook, but because they have money and some kind of wit it doesn't seem as bad. I'm pretty sure it is though.

And how bad must things be at home, if someone as jealous and distrusting as Guppy teaches a boy like Bart Smallweed enough about friendship that he starts to be able to see through Mr. Smallweed's upbringing just a little.

For every fact that we are given in these chapters, there seem to be even more questions that emerge. For every seemingly over-written event or character there appears even more subtlety and nuance.

I have read Bleak House before, but here are some of the puzzles and questions that I have never thought about.

We have watched Mr Guppy as he tries to piece together the mystery of Esther. Now, we have just met Mr Bucket who is a police official. We now have two people who either professionally or semi-professionally involved in working out central mysteries in the novel. Two hounds after the same quarry?

Jenny and Liz are perfectly drawn characters. Their lives, their struggles, the balance of living baby and one recently dead baby and their conflated lives is brilliant writing. I never appreciated the brilliance of their presentation before.

I agree with Mary Lou’s praise of this novel. To me, at times Dickens can be overly melodramatic, at times he is perhaps too free with his use of coincidence, but then there are the brilliant character descriptions, the incredible settings, the humour and the raw emotion of a man’s heart that spills onto the page.

Yes indeed, breadcrumbs. There is so much to point out and say “look at this,” or “remember that,” or “keep this in mind for later in the novel.”

Mary Lou wrote: "I may have mentioned that when people ask me what it is I like so much about Dickens and I reply, "his humor", I get confused looks and comments that they never thought of Dickens as being funny. Oh, how much they're missing! "

My 10 year old asked me that today, and then I read him and my husband the section about Tulkinghorn retrieving his wine, and then a page later I read Mr. Snagsby describing his wife as "inquisitive," and I said, that's why.

Just so many brilliant moments, and so much versatility even in the space of a page.

I agree with the comments about Dickens’ humor on the page. It is subtle for the most part, and the sometimes longish sentences tend to, metaphorically, take you by the hand and lead you to a laugh. There are not too many writers I have read that have the ability for quiet reading to become laugh out loud at the page, and he is one of them.

Bucket, for me, has been a character I have wanted to meet for quite some time, having read about him in several of the biographies I read of Dickens. As Peter mentions, he is likely modeled after a London detective who Dickens knew. It would seem to me, when I look at Bucket and Bleak House, that they represent the start of Dickens’ great interest in the idea and theme of “mystery.” Which he would carry with him for the rest of his life and working output.

John wrote: "I agree with the comments about Dickens’ humor on the page. It is subtle for the most part, and the sometimes longish sentences tend to, metaphorically, take you by the hand and lead you to a laugh..."

That's very well put! So often I'm just working through a kind of challenging sentence, trying to keep with it rather than start to skim for the plot, and suddenly it flips and makes me laugh. I laugh when I read a lot, but more with this author than any other I think.

John wrote: "Bucket, for me, has been a character I have wanted to meet for quite some time, having read about him in several of the biographies I read of Dickens. As Peter mentions, he is likely modeled after ..."

I didn't realize Bucket's was a significant entry, so I can testify that even if you don't know he matters, he makes an impressive first entrance--so quietly powerful.

"Quietly powerful" - yes! great description of Bucket, Julie.

Mary Lou wrote: "Tristram wrote: "Chapter 20, which is called A New Lodger ..."

It would be impossible for anyone who had familiarity with David Copperfield not to think of Micawber when reading this chapter. Was ..."

You make me very, very happy by saying that, Mary Lou! It is a novel to feel at home in.

Mary Lou wrote: "I may have mentioned that when people ask me what it is I like so much about Dickens and I reply, "his humor", I get confused looks and comments that they never thought of Dickens as being funny. Oh, how much they're missing! "

It's interesting you should say that because I have made the same kind of experience: Once I asked a colleague of mine why she disliked Dickens so much and she said that his novels are depressing and sad, giving Oliver Twist as an example. I pointed out the humour in descriptions of Mr. Bumble but apparently my colleague did not see it. But then I see humour in the writings of Dostoyevsky, Joseph Conrad (a rather sardonic humour, though, but one I like) and Melville.

Mary Lou wrote: "Tristram - you may want to change the title of this discussion to include chapter 22. :-)."

It seems someone has already changed the title of the discussion for me. Thanks to whomever it was!

Jantine wrote: "What I noticed, and thought by myself I had to mention too, was that the Smallweeds don't do books. In money matters they are smart enough, and obviously Bart can read or he wouldn't be a clerk, bu..."

Grandfather Smallweed even points out that they think books a waste of time in his conversation with Mr. George. To every clear-thinking person, there should be no doubt that literature is indispensible to youngsters in that it forms their characters, enables them to see the world through the eyes of others, develop empathy and understanding, and an idea that one's own point of view might not necessarily be shared by everyone else - and apart from that it gives them the idea of how beautiful language can be.

Poor Smallweeds, they are small weeds indeed.

John wrote: "I agree with the comments about Dickens’ humor on the page. It is subtle for the most part, and the sometimes longish sentences tend to, metaphorically, take you by the hand and lead you to a laugh..."

I like your metaphor of the sentence taking you by the hand and leading you to a laugh, John. I may have told that before, but it once happened to me that I was sitting in a café and reading David Copperfield when the sentence that was leading me took a particularly quaint turn where I didn't expect any, and this made me laugh out loud after fifteen minutes of being a silent, well-bred patron. So be careful where you read Dickens - you shouldn't be doing it on the sly to while away your time during a tedious staff conference. In such situations, I normally read Edgar Wallace, by the way.

Tristram wrote: "Mary Lou wrote: "Tristram - you may want to change the title of this discussion to include chapter 22. :-)."

It seems someone has already changed the title of the discussion for me. Thanks to whom..."

You're welcome. I don't know what you would do without me. :-)

Mr. Guppy's Entertainment

Chapter 20

Phiz

Text Illustrated:

Accordingly they betake themselves to a neighbouring dining-house, of the class known among its frequenters by the denomination slap- bang, where the waitress, a bouncing young female of forty, is supposed to have made some impression on the susceptible Smallweed, of whom it may be remarked that he is a weird changeling to whom years are nothing. . . .

Into the dining-house, unaffected by the seductive show in the window of artificially whitened cauliflowers and poultry, verdant baskets of peas, coolly blooming cucumbers, and joints ready for the spit, Mr. Smallweed leads the way. They know him there and defer to him. He has his favourite box, he bespeaks all the papers, he is down upon bald patriarchs, who keep them more than ten minutes afterwards. It is of no use trying him with anything less than a full-sized "bread" or proposing to him any joint in cut unless it is in the very best cut. In the matter of gravy he is adamant.

Conscious of his elfin power and submitting to his dread experience, Mr. Guppy consults him in the choice of that day's banquet, turning an appealing look towards him as the waitress repeats the catalogue of viands and saying "What do YOU take, Chick?" Chick, out of the profundity of his artfulness, preferring "veal and ham and French beans — and don't you forget the stuffing, Polly" (with an unearthly cock of his venerable eye), Mr. Guppy and Mr. Jobling give the like order. Three pint pots of half-and-half are superadded. Quickly the waitress returns bearing what is apparently a model of the Tower of Babel but what is really a pile of plates and flat tin dish-covers. Mr. Smallweed, approving of what is set before him, conveys intelligent benignity into his ancient eye and winks upon her. Then, amid a constant coming in, and going out, and running about, and a clatter of crockery, and a rumbling up and down of the machine which brings the nice cuts from the kitchen, and a shrill crying for more nice cuts down the speaking-pipe, and a shrill reckoning of the cost of nice cuts that have been disposed of, and a general flush and steam of hot joints, cut and uncut, and a considerably heated atmosphere in which the soiled knives and tablecloths seem to break out spontaneously into eruptions of grease and blotches of beer, the legal triumvirate appease their appetites.

Mr. Jobling is buttoned up closer than mere adornment might require. His hat presents at the rims a peculiar appearance of a glistening nature, as if it had been a favourite snail-promenade. The same phenomenon is visible on some parts of his coat, and particularly at the seams. He has the faded appearance of a gentleman in embarrassed circumstances; even his light whiskers droop with something of a shabby air.

His appetite is so vigorous that it suggests spare living for some little time back. He makes such a speedy end of his plate of veal and ham, bringing it to a close while his companions are yet midway in theirs, that Mr. Guppy proposes another. "Thank you, Guppy," says Mr. Jobling, "I really don't know but what I WILL take another."

Another being brought, he falls to with great goodwill.

Mr. Guppy takes silent notice of him at intervals until he is half way through this second plate and stops to take an enjoying pull at his pint pot of half-and-half (also renewed) and stretches out his legs and rubs his hands. Beholding him in which glow of contentment, Mr. Guppy says, "You are a man again, Tony!"

"Well, not quite yet," says Mr. Jobling. "Say, just born."

"Will you take any other vegetables? Grass? Peas? Summer cabbage?"

"Thank you, Guppy," says Mr. Jobling. "I really don't know but what I WILL take summer cabbage."

Order given; with the sarcastic addition (from Mr. Smallweed) of "Without slugs, Polly!" And cabbage produced. . . .

"Now, Small," says Mr. Guppy, "what would you recommend about pastry?"

"Marrow puddings," says Mr. Smallweed instantly.

"Aye, aye!" cries Mr. Jobling with an arch look. "You're there, are you? Thank you, Mr. Guppy, I don't know but what I WILL take a marrow pudding."

Just the look on her face makes me say Poor Charley.



The Smallweed Family

Chapter 21

Phiz

Text Illustrated:

"You, Charley, where are you?" Timidly obedient to the summons, a little girl in a rough apron and a large bonnet, with her hands covered with soap and water and a scrubbing brush in one of them, appears, and curtsys.

"What work are you about now?" says Judy, making an ancient snap at her like a very sharp old beldame.

"I'm a-cleaning the upstairs back room, miss," replies Charley.

"Mind you do it thoroughly, and don't loiter. Shirking won't do for me. Make haste! Go along!" cries Judy with a stamp upon the ground. "You girls are more trouble than you're worth, by half."

On this severe matron, as she returns to her task of scraping the butter and cutting the bread, falls the shadow of her brother, looking in at the window. For whom, knife and loaf in hand, she opens the street-door."

"I am grown up, now, Guppy. I have arrived at maturity"

Chapter 20

Fred Barnard

Text Illustrated:

"I am growing up, Guppy," says Mr. Jobling, plying his knife and fork with a relishing steadiness.

"Glad to hear it."

"In fact, I have just turned into my teens," says Mr. Jobling.

He says no more until he has performed his task, which he achieves as Messrs. Guppy and Smallweed finish theirs, thus getting over the ground in excellent style and beating those two gentlemen easily by a veal and ham and a cabbage.

"Now, Small," says Mr. Guppy, "what would you recommend about pastry?"

"Marrow puddings," says Mr. Smallweed instantly.

"Aye, aye!" cries Mr. Jobling with an arch look. "You're there, are you? Thank you, Mr. Guppy, I don't know but what I WILL take a marrow pudding."

Three marrow puddings being produced, Mr. Jobling adds in a pleasant humour that he is coming of age fast. To these succeed, by command of Mr. Smallweed, "three Cheshires," and to those "three small rums." This apex of the entertainment happily reached, Mr. Jobling puts up his legs on the carpeted seat (having his own side of the box to himself), leans against the wall, and says, "I am grown up now, Guppy. I have arrived at maturity."

Grandfather Smallweed astonishes Mr. George

Chapter 21

Fred Barnard

Text Illustrated:

"Truly I'm old, Mr. George," says Grandfather Smallweed. "But I can carry my years. I'm older than HER," nodding at his wife, "and see what she is? You're a brimstone chatterer!" with a sudden revival of his late hostility.

"Unlucky old soul!" says Mr. George, turning his head in that direction. "Don't scold the old lady. Look at her here, with her poor cap half off her head and her poor hair all in a muddle. Hold up, ma'am. That's better. There we are! Think of your mother, Mr. Smallweed," says Mr. George, coming back to his seat from assisting her, "if your wife an't enough."

"I suppose you were an excellent son, Mr. George?" the old man hints with a leer.

The colour of Mr. George's face rather deepens as he replies, "Why no. I wasn't."

"I am astonished at it."

"So am I. I ought to have been a good son, and I think I meant to have been one. But I wasn't. I was a thundering bad son, that's the long and the short of it, and never was a credit to anybody."

"Surprising!" cries the old man.

"However," Mr. George resumes, "the less said about it, the better now. Come! You know the agreement. Always a pipe out of the two months' interest! (Bosh! It's all correct. You needn't be afraid to order the pipe. Here's the new bill, and here's the two months' interest-money, and a devil-and-all of a scrape it is to get it together in my business.)"

"There she is!" cried Jo

Chapter 22

Fred Barnard

Text Illustrated:

Mr. Bucket, still having his professional hold of Jo and appearing to Mr. Snagsby to possess an unlimited number of eyes, makes a little way into this room, when Jo starts and stops.

"What's the matter?" says Bucket in a whisper.

"There she is!" cries Jo.

"Who!"

"The lady!"

A female figure, closely veiled, stands in the middle of the room, where the light falls upon it. It is quite still and silent. The front of the figure is towards them, but it takes no notice of their entrance and remains like a statue.

"Now, tell me," says Bucket aloud, "how you know that to be the lady."

"I know the wale," replies Jo, staring, "and the bonnet, and the gownd."

"Be quite sure of what you say, Tough," returns Bucket, narrowly observant of him. "Look again."

Original sketch

Original sketch

The Smallweed family

Ron Embleton

A charming illustration painted for a two-month to the page calendar featuring Ron Embleton's depictions of Charles Dickens' much beloved characters.

The novels illustrated are: Dombey & Son; Our Mutual Friend; The Old Curiosity Shop; David Copperfield; Hard Times; Bleak House, Oliver Twist, Great Expectations, Martin Chuzzlewit, Nicholas Nickleby, A Christmas Carol, Barnaby Rudge, Our Mutual Friend, Little Dorritt, and The Pickwick Papers.

This original painting is from the Ron Embleton family collection and is signed by the artist.

A female figure, closely veiled, stands in the middle of the room. . .

Felix O. C. Darley

1863 Household Edition

Text Illustrated;

Mr. Bucket, still having his professional hold of Jo, and appearing to Mr. Snagsby to possess an unlimited number of eyes, makes a little way into this room, when Jo starts, and stops.

"What's the matter?" says Bucket in a whisper.

"There she is!" cries Jo.

"Who?"

"The lady!"

(A female figure, closely veiled, stands in the middle of the room, where the light falls upon it. It is quite still, and silent. The front of the figure is towards them, but it takes no notice of their entrance, and remains like a statue.)

​
Commentary:

Darley has chosen a lengthy quotation for his caption so that the reader can easily determine the passage and situation realised: “A female figure, closely veiled, stands in the middle of the room, where the light falls upon it. It is quite still, and silent. The front of the figure is towards them, but it takes no notice of their entrance, and remains like a statue.” The moment of suspense works effectively as an illustration​as the detective, Mr. Bucket, interrogates the crossing-sweeper, Jo (identified immediately by his broom) as to whether this is the veiled woman he has seen. The illustration underscores the significance of the question without giving away the answer — that the veiled "lady" is Hortense, Lady Dedlock's maid, and not Lady Dedlock herself, the significant differences being Lady Dedlock's more deilcate hands and her superior rings. The scene, set in the lawyer Tulkinghorn's rooms, has the additional benefit of introducing three of the principal characters, although neither Lady Dedlock, nor Esther Summerson, nor Harold Skimpole appears in it, the fourth character (in the background) being Snagsby. Jo in particular appears in a number of the original plates, affording Darley several models such as The Crossing-Sweeper.

The Smallweed Family

Harry Furniss

What work are you about now? says Judy Smallweed, like a very sharp old beldame. Im a cleaning the upstairs back room, miss, replies Charley. Mind you do it thoroughly, and dont loiter. Make haste! Go along!

Illustration by Harry Furniss for the Charles Dickens novel Bleak House, from The Testimonial Edition, published 1910.

Edward Gorey

Don't worry I didn't forget Kyd. Here is his Mr. Smallweed and his twin sister Judy. They don't look very twin like to me, Judy looks the way his women always look, like men, unhappy men:

Keeping to the Smallweeds:

Tony Jobling by Kyd

And Mr. Bucket:

"Though Dickens himself denied it, there is much to suggest that Bucket was based on a real person with whom he had struck up a friendship, Inspector Charles Frederick Field [1805-74] of the Metropolitan Police, who later became a private detective. The most telling evidence comes from Dickens's Household Words essay of 27 July 1850, "A Detective Police party," in which Inspector "Wield" is described as having "a habit of emphasizing his conversation by the aid of a corpulent forefinger, which is constantly in juxta-position with his eyes and nose". Field, who had been involved in amateur dramatics, tells a lively tale, with great relish, in the essay. Dickens hardly needed such help, but Bucket's grounding in reality might have been an element in producing a credible as well as a somewhat mysterious and exaggerated character. It may even have contributed to this character's occupying his groundbreaking role in the history of detective fiction."

And here is an illustration of the real Charles Field

Charles Dickens had a particular fascination in the development of the police force in London and would occasionally accompany police constables on their nightly rounds. Through this, Field and Dickens became good friends. In 1850 Dickens wrote three articles for the journal Household Words in which he told stories of the adventures and exploits of the new police's Detective Branch, supplying character sketches of the detectives. In one of them, A Detective Party, he gave Field the pseudonym of "Inspector Wield" and described him as:

...a middle-aged man of a portly presence, with a large, moist, knowing eye, a husky voice, and a habit of emphasising his conversation by the air of a corpulent fore-finger, which is constantly in juxta-position with his eyes or nose.

In 1851, again for Household Words, Dickens wrote the short essay On Duty with Inspector Field about Field and his work. Field was almost certainly the model for Inspector Bucket in Bleak House, and the parallel was drawn by contemporaries–so much so that Dickens wrote in to The Times to comment on the rumours, without actually denying them. There is also some suggestion that R. D. Blackmore may have based Inspector John Cutting, who appears the novel Clara Vaughan, on Field.

In addition to these fictionalized portrayals, Field was frequently lionized by the press. Perhaps with a nod to his original calling, Field enjoyed using disguises, even when not necessary, a habit characterised by later police historian P T Smith as "self-indulgence". Dickens thought that Field "boasted and play[ed] to the gallery" and otherwise puffed his own image which, as noted above, sometimes got him into trouble.

In all the pictures miss Smallweed looks like she is 40, while Charley looks like she's 7 or 8. Meanwhile, in one of the earlier chapters it was mentioned that Charley was 13, while miss Smallweed is only 14. Imagine being bossed around like that by a bully of a girl only a year older than you, just because she can.

I like Barnard's illustration in message 25, showing the pillow that has just been hurled at poor Mrs. Smallweed.

Jantine wrote: "In one of the earlier chapters it was mentioned that Charley was 13, while miss Smallweed is only 14..."

Apparently Furniss skipped that part. His Judy looks to be in her 60s.

Kim wrote: "You're welcome. I don't know what you would do without me. :-)"

I'd have to fix all the mistakes I make myself. That would leave me less time to make mistakes ;-)

Mary Lou wrote: "Jantine wrote: "In one of the earlier chapters it was mentioned that Charley was 13, while miss Smallweed is only 14..."

Apparently Furniss skipped that part. His Judy looks to be in her 60s."

I like Peake's Judy best, I must say: She looks like an anxious little mouse, but like one that knows how to bite.

Of course, there's no one like Phiz for me when it comes to illustrating Dickens, but this time I really liked Barnard's illustration of the illustrious triumvirate - as Dickens calls them - Guppy, Jobling and Bart enjoying their meal and making the most of their time. Mr. Guppy may have some ulterior motives for treating Jobling to a meal, but since he has also shown some generosity to Jo, I think that he is also doing it for friendship's sake, and this makes me like Mr. Guppy a little better despite his ridiculous lover's complex. By the way, it is one of my personal beliefs that people who are able to enjoy a good meal, a good glass of something and a good pipe and to sit amicably around a table after dinner for a while, cannot be all that bad. Dickens surely had great fun in describing this scene (as usual when it comes to people taking their vittles).

The Smallweed family

Chapter 21

Edward Ardizzone

Text Illustrated:

Judy answers with a nod of deepest meaning and calls, as she scrapes the butter on the loaf with every precaution against waste and cuts it into slices, "You, Charley, where are you?" Timidly obedient to the summons, a little girl in a rough apron and a large bonnet, with her hands covered with soap and water and a scrubbing brush in one of them, appears, and curtsys.

"What work are you about now?" says Judy, making an ancient snap at her like a very sharp old beldame.

"I'm a-cleaning the upstairs back room, miss," replies Charley.

"Mind you do it thoroughly, and don't loiter. Shirking won't do for me. Make haste! Go along!" cries Judy with a stamp upon the ground. "You girls are more trouble than you're worth, by half."

On this severe matron, as she returns to her task of scraping the butter and cutting the bread, falls the shadow of her brother, looking in at the window. For whom, knife and loaf in hand, she opens the street-door.

"Aye, aye, Bart!" says Grandfather Smallweed. "Here you are, hey?"

"Here I am," says Bart.

Kim, I have never heard about Edward Ardizzone, but it is obvious that Ardizzone has heard and seen a lot of Phiz because that illustration strikes me as very similar to the original Browne illustration of the Smallweeds. Except that Grandfather Smallweed seems to have a lot of physical power in him here.

Tristram wrote: "Kim, I have never heard about Edward Ardizzone"

I never did either before I started doing the illustrations. It turns out he not only illustrated books he also wrote them, a lot of them.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_...

Wow, looking at his wikipedia entry, I'd say he was quite a busybody, was Mr. Ardizzone. Strange that I never heard of him.

Tristram wrote: "Kim, I have never heard about Edward Ardizzone, but it is obvious that Ardizzone has heard and seen a lot of Phiz because that illustration strikes me as very similar to the original Browne illustr..."

His illustration of the Smallweeds looks like a nice combination of Phiz and Gorey to me. I like it.

It is quite Dickensian to me, Mary Lou, but probably because my visual conception of Dickens has been mainly shaped by Browne and to a lesser degree by George Cruikshank, and Ardizzone is quite close to them. I also like Mervyn Peake's illustrations a lot, and as I said, I bought a copy of the Gormenghast novels on the assumption that I'd probably like them because I like Peake's illustrations. Now that Kim pointed out that Ardizzone was also I writer I have to keep myself from looking any closer at the books he had written because my shelves are full already of books I have not read so far.

Tristram wrote: "Wow, looking at his wikipedia entry, I'd say he was quite a busybody, was Mr. Ardizzone. Strange that I never heard of him."

That list of books he illustrated is so long I have trouble believing it was possible.