The Old Curiosity Club discussion

Hello everyone,

I hope you are having a nice day before Easter in the land of Covid day. When I was a kid this was my least favorite day of the year because it was the only day ever that Jesus was dead. He was alive yesterday, He will be alive tomorrow, but today always felt empty. Anyway, I wish I did not have to endure a chapter almost entirely devoted to Skimpole, who might just be one of my least favorite people to walk the earth, the book earth that is. But being stuck with Skimpole I guess I better just begin. In Chapter 43 we are back to Esther being our narrator and she begins by telling us that she avoids mentioning Lady Dedlock, and she does her best not to think about her. She cannot venture to contact her mother either in person or in writing because she is afraid of increasing the peril in which her life was passed. At some time she makes the comment that she tries to look away or leave the room when the Dedlock topic comes up. I would think her jumping up running from the room would make people wonder what in the world she is doing, but that's what she says, in my words that is.

Once they have returned home Esther and Ada, both worried about Richard, discuss that situation with Mr. Jarndyce. Ada is upset at the way Richard is treating Mr. Jarndyce, but she still loves him and cannot bring herself to say anything against Richard. I can, you would think he had been a spoiled rich kid all his life, I don't know, maybe he was. They find that Mr. Jarndyce has tried over and over again to try and open Richard's eyes and heal the hurt between them. According to Esther:

"He had written to him, gone to him, talked with him, tried every gentle and persuasive art his kindness could devise. Our poor devoted Richard was deaf and blind to all. If he were wrong, he would make amends when the Chancery suit was over. If he were groping in the dark, he could not do better than do his utmost to clear away those clouds in which so much was confused and obscured. Suspicion and misunderstanding were the fault of the suit? Then let him work the suit out and come through it to his right mind. This was his unvarying reply. Jarndyce and Jarndyce had obtained such possession of his whole nature that it was impossible to place any consideration before him which he did not, with a distorted kind of reason, make a new argument in favour of his doing what he did. "So that it is even more mischievous," said my guardian once to me, "to remonstrate with the poor dear fellow than to leave him alone."

To my annoyance, when Esther tells Jarndyce that she is worried about Skimpole's influence over Richard, Jarndyce just laughs and makes excuses for Skimpole, at least that's how it seemed to me, saying for the twentieth time of how he is a "child". When Ada asks what made Skimpole a child Jarndyce answers:

"Why," he slowly replied, roughening his head more and more, "he is all sentiment, and—and susceptibility, and—and sensibility, and—and imagination. And these qualities are not regulated in him, somehow. I suppose the people who admired him for them in his youth attached too much importance to them and too little to any training that would have balanced and adjusted them, and so he became what he is."

I wonder if Jarndyce really believes the things he says about Skimpole. If he does he must be one of the stupidest people ever to be in a Dickens book. I have been amazed since the beginning of the story at how Mr. Jarndyce and others seem to enjoy the company of Skimpole, it baffles me. As for him being all sentiment, susceptibility, sensibility and imagination, I see none of these things in Skimpole. When they finally manage to get Jarndyce to realize that Richard is paying for everything when Skimpole is around Jarndace decides that in order to understand Skimpole better, the three of them should visit the "infant" in his home. So now we finally get to meet his family. When they arrive at the home of Skimpole and his family the description of the house is just what I would have expected from him:

"It was in a state of dilapidation quite equal to our expectation. Two or three of the area railings were gone, the water-butt was broken, the knocker was loose, the bell-handle had been pulled off a long time to judge from the rusty state of the wire, and dirty footprints on the steps were the only signs of its being inhabited."

On entering the home they find Skimpole reclining upon the sofa in a dressing gown. He is happy to see them and acts like his usual annoying childlike self, which seems to be a relief to Mr. Jarndyce, once again puzzling me. Jarndyce tells Skimpole that he mustn’t take money from Richard, but Skimpole says he can’t refuse.

"My dear Jarndyce," returned Mr. Skimpole, his genial face irradiated by the comicality of this idea, "what am I to do? If he takes me anywhere, I must go. And how can I pay? I never have any money. If I had any money, I don't know anything about it."

He says he thought Richard was rich, which I doubt. He also says he is unable to stop encouraging Richard in the lawsuit, since he understands nothing about it, one of his usual replies. Skimpole introduces them to his three daughters and his wife, who had been a beauty but was now an invalid suffering from a complication of disorders, of which I would think marriage would be on the top of the list. The daughters he introduces as his Beauty daughter, his Sentiment daughter and his Comedy daughter. He says:

"We all draw a little and compose a little, and none of us have any idea of time or money."

And he tells us even more of this family of his:

"My dears, it is true," said Mr. Skimpole, "is it not? So it is, and so it must be, because like the dogs in the hymn, 'it is our nature to.' Now, here is Miss Summerson with a fine administrative capacity and a knowledge of details perfectly surprising. It will sound very strange in Miss Summerson's ears, I dare say, that we know nothing about chops in this house. But we don't, not the least. We can't cook anything whatever. A needle and thread we don't know how to use. We admire the people who possess the practical wisdom we want, but we don't quarrel with them. Then why should they quarrel with us? Live and let live, we say to them. Live upon your practical wisdom, and let us live upon you!"

Now he tells us of a baker who has been coming around trying to collect money that Skimpole owes him. Skimpole says he has come before and will come again and because of this he is going to get out of the baker's way and go with them back to Bleak House. Esther says:

"It seemed to escape his consideration that Mrs. Skimpole and the daughters remained behind to encounter the baker, but this was so old a story to all of them that it had become a matter of course. He took leave of his family with a tenderness as airy and graceful as any other aspect in which he showed himself and rode away with us in perfect harmony of mind. We had an opportunity of seeing through some open doors, as we went downstairs, that his own apartment was a palace to the rest of the house."

When they get back to Bleak House they receive an unexpected visit from Sir Leicester visits. He tells them that he hopes they are not under the impression that, because of his feud with Boythorn, they aren’t welcome at Chesney Wold. He says that Mrs. Rouncewell told him that a friend of theirs named Skimpole was prevented from seeing the family art. Sir Leicester is upset about that and wants to make it clear that they may visit any time. Mr. Jarndyce introduces him to Skimpole, who is in the room. Skimpole says he will visit again. Sir Leicester says he regrets if there was any confusion about their welcome at Chesney Wold. I am not at all sure what is going on during this part, Sir Leicester had said:

"It has given me pain, Mr. Jarndyce," Sir Leicester weightily proceeded. "I assure you, sir, it has given—me—pain—to learn from the housekeeper at Chesney Wold that a gentleman who was in your company in that part of the county, and who would appear to possess a cultivated taste for the fine arts, was likewise deterred by some such cause from examining the family pictures with that leisure, that attention, that care, which he might have desired to bestow upon them and which some of them might possibly have repaid." Here he produced a card and read, with much gravity and a little trouble, through his eyeglass, "Mr.Hirrold—Herald—Harold—Skampling—Skumpling—I beg your pardon—Skimpole."

Does this mean that Skimpole tried to get into the house to see the art but someone wouldn't let him in because he was a friend of Boythorn? I was confused this entire conversation. And who would have turned him away? It's Mrs. Rouncewell herself that answers the door, did she not let him in? I'm confused. And now poor Sir Leicester has made this visit just to end up with Skimpole at his house someday. The visit upsets Esther and she decides she must tell Mr. Jarndyce about Lady Dedlock being her mother. She asks him why Lady Dedlock and her sister had parted and Jarndyce tells her:

"It was her act, and she kept its motives in her inflexible heart. He afterwards did conjecture (but it was mere conjecture) that some injury which her haughty spirit had received in her cause of quarrel with her sister had wounded her beyond all reason, but she wrote him that from the date of that letter she died to him—as in literal truth she did—and that the resolution was exacted from her by her knowledge of his proud temper and his strained sense of honour, which were both her nature too. In consideration for those master points in him, and even in consideration for them in herself, she made the sacrifice, she said, and would live in it and die in it. She did both, I fear; certainly he never saw her, never heard of her from that hour. Nor did any one."

"Oh, guardian, what have I done!" I cried, giving way to my grief; "what sorrow have I innocently caused!"

"You caused, Esther?"

"Yes, guardian. Innocently, but most surely. That secluded sister is my first remembrance."

"No, no!" he cried, starting.

"Yes, guardian, yes! And HER sister is my mother!"

I would have told him all my mother's letter, but he would not hear it then. He spoke so tenderly and wisely to me, and he put so plainly before me all I had myself imperfectly thought and hoped in my better state of mind, that, penetrated as I had been with fervent gratitude towards him through so many years, I believed I had never loved him so dearly, never thanked him in my heart so fully, as I did that night. And when he had taken me to my room and kissed me at the door, and when at last I lay down to sleep, my thought was how could I ever be busy enough, how could I ever be good enough, how in my little way could I ever hope to be forgetful enough of myself, devoted enough to him, and useful enough to others, to show him how I blessed and honoured him."

Again I am confused, slightly, I thought Mr. Jarndyce knew who Esther's mother was, I thought that was why he took an interest in her in the first place. If that isn't the reason then what made him support her when she was a child, taking over her care when her aunt died, sending her to school and finally bringing her to live with him? Did he just happen to pick a young girl who as it turns out is the daughter of his neighbor? I can't remember and I guess I'll have to go look it up.

Chapter 44 is titled "The Letter and the Answer" and begins again with Mr. Jarndyce and Esther. It is the next morning and they meet in his room and she tells him all she now knows about her mother. He agrees with her that they must keep the secret and avoid any further meetings between her and the Dedlocks. Esther tells him that Mr. Tulkinghorn knows the truth, she believes that Mr. Guppy also knows but can be trusted and also that Mademoiselle Hortense may have suspicions. I am not at all sure why she thinks Mademoiselle Hortense has suspicions. I don't remember any reason she would. I know she hates Lady Dedlock but not because of her secret. Before Esther leaves his room, Mr. Jarndyce says he has something to say to her, that he has long thought of saying it but is having difficulty in approaching the subject. He says that he would rather write it down in a letter and asks if she would mind. He tells Esther that no matter what happens, he will never be changed from as he is toward her right now. If she believes this she should send Charley for the letter in a week, if she decides not to send Charley nothing will ever change him. She does send Charley to get the letter. Esther isn’t surprised that it’s a marriage proposal. I'm not either.

"It was not a love letter, though it expressed so much love, but was written just as he would at any time have spoken to me. I saw his face, and heard his voice, and felt the influence of his kind protecting manner in every line. It addressed me as if our places were reversed, as if all the good deeds had been mine and all the feelings they had awakened his. It dwelt on my being young, and he past the prime of life; on his having attained a ripe age, while I was a child; on his writing to me with a silvered head, and knowing all this so well as to set it in full before me for mature deliberation. It told me that I would gain nothing by such a marriage and lose nothing by rejecting it, for no new relation could enhance the tenderness in which he held me, and whatever my decision was, he was certain it would be right."

She believes that this is a way for her to thank him and make him happy, and the letter makes her happy, but still she cries, feeling as though she has lost something. One of the annoying things about Esther is how she talks to herself. I talk to myself at times just to remind me to do something, but not at all like Esther does:

"My eyes were red and swollen, and I said, "Oh, Esther, Esther, can that be you!" I am afraid the face in the glass was going to cry again at this reproach, but I held up my finger at it, and it stopped.

"That is more like the composed look you comforted me with, my dear, when you showed me such a change!" said I, beginning to let down my hair. "When you are mistress of Bleak House, you are to be as cheerful as a bird. In fact, you are always to be cheerful; so let us begin for once and for all."

I just can't quite imagine saying to myself something like; "Oh Kim, Kim how can you act the way you do! You should always be happy and cheerful." I'd start thinking I'd lost my mind rather quickly. But I'm not Esther and Esther tells herself she is happy, and always will be happy:

"And so Esther, my dear, you are happy for life. Happy with your best friends, happy in your old home, happy in the power of doing a great deal of good, and happy in the undeserved love of the best of men."

If I start calling myself my dear, I'm done for. She then remembers Mr. Woodcourt’s flowers, she had kept them" in memory of something wholly past and gone", but decides it would no longer be right to keep them so she burns them in the candle. She waits for a week for Mr. Jarndyce to ask her for her answer but when he doesn't bring the subject up she goes to him instead.

"I had made up my mind to speak to him now. In short, I had come down on purpose. "Guardian," I said, rather hesitating and trembling, "when would you like to have the answer to the letter Charley came for?"

"When it's ready, my dear," he replied.

"I think it is ready," said I.

"Is Charley to bring it?" he asked pleasantly.

"No. I have brought it myself, guardian," I returned.

I put my two arms round his neck and kissed him, and he said was this the mistress of Bleak House, and I said yes; and it made no difference presently, and we all went out together, and I said nothing to my precious pet about it."

That precious pet thing is making me cringe. I wonder if she'll still call him guardian once they're married or if she'll move on to "darling, dear, pet, or just husband."

Chapter 45 is titled "In Trust" and this is our Richard chapter. It begins with Esther and "her darling" (another cringe) walking in the garden one morning. Esther sees a "long, thin shadow" that looks like Mr. Vholes enter Bleak House. A few minutes later Charley comes to Esther and tells her that Mr. Jarndyce would like to see her. It is Vholes who has arrived, Esther says:

"A more complete contrast than my guardian and Mr. Vholes I suppose there could not be. I found them looking at one another across a table, the one so open and the other so close, the one so broad and upright and the other so narrow and stooping, the one giving out what he had to say in such a rich ringing voice and the other keeping it in in such a cold-blooded, gasping, fish-like manner that I thought I never had seen two people so unmatched."

Jarndyce tells Esther that Vholes has brought a rather "ugly report of our most unfortunate Rick." Vholes explains that Richard’s finances are in an embarrased state, and that Vholes can make no more advances. He says there is a limit to staving off and he has reached it.

Vholes says he wanted to alert Mr. Jarndyce to Richard’s state of affairs. He doesn't believe Richard would take any money from Mr. Jarndyce or allow him to help him in any way, and does not see that anything can be done, but still felt he should warn Mr. Jarndyce. When Vholes leaves they decide that Esther should go to Deal where Richard is stationed and try to see him, Ada writes him a letter and gives it to Esther to take along. This is the big plan, to send Esther? I'm not sure what they should do, but sending Esther to talk to him doesn't seem to me like it would accomplish anything at all. It doesn't. Esther visits Richard without letting him know she is coming and finds him looking unhealthy and tired. He says he has left his commission, saying that those who are put in authority over him would rather be without him than with him. So would I.

He says he is no good at the job and he has no care, no mind, no heart, no soul, but for one thing. That, of course, is the Jarndyce and Jarndyce lawsuit and he won’t listen to anything Esther says in protest. He reads Ada’s letter, in which she offers him a small inheritance to set himself right and save his job. Richard cries as he reads it but says he won’t accept Ada’s offer but trusts Vholes to keep moving forward with the suit. He listens to Esther’s pleas, but they do no good. He says:

"Vholes has his shoulder to the wheel, and he cannot help urging it on as much for her as for me, thank God!"

Esther finally leaves and on her way back to the hotel, she sees a boat landing on the beach with many people gathered in one spot surrounding some naval officers who were landing from a boat. Esther recognizes Mr. Woodcourt and rushes away before he can see her and her altered appearance. Once back at the hotel, Esther can't resist another opportunity to talk to herself:

"My dear, there is no reason—there is and there can be no reason at all—why it should be worse for you now than it ever has been. What you were last month, you are to-day; you are no worse, you are no better. This is not your resolution; call it up, Esther, call it up!"

She writes a note letting him know that she is there and soon Mr. Woodcourt visits her, Esther believes she can see how sorry he is for her because of her scarred face. Richard arrives, and he and Mr. Woodcourt talk. Esther can tell by the way Woodcourt looks at Richard that something isn't right. Later, Esther asks Woodcourt if he finds Richard changed and he says yes, he seems in good health but he is filled with something like "ungrown despair". She asks if he will befriend Richard and visit him frequently in London. She says she, Ada, and Mr. Jarndyce will be very grateful. Mr. Woodcourt agrees to do so saying he will be a true friend to him.

And the last chapter for this installment is called Chapter 46 is titled "Stop Him!" and we begin in the very gloomy Tom-all-Alone's. I was very confused while reading this because in my book the illustration for this chapter is in the middle of the last chapter and has nothing at all to do with it. We begin with:

"Darkness rests upon Tom-All-Alone's. Dilating and dilating since the sun went down last night, it has gradually swelled until it fills every void in the place. For a time there were some dungeon lights burning, as the lamp of life hums in Tom-all-Alone's, heavily, heavily, in the nauseous air, and winking—as that lamp, too, winks in Tom-all-Alone's—at many horrible things. But they are blotted out. The moon has eyed Tom with a dull cold stare, as admitting some puny emulation of herself in his desert region unfit for life and blasted by volcanic fires; but she has passed on and is gone. The blackest nightmare in the infernal stables grazes on Tom-all-Alone's, and Tom is fast asleep."

Well that was depressing. And it doesn't get any better.

"But he has his revenge. Even the winds are his messengers, and they serve him in these hours of darkness. There is not a drop of Tom's corrupted blood but propagates infection and contagion somewhere. It shall pollute, this very night, the choice stream (in which chemists on analysis would find the genuine nobility) of a Norman house, and his Grace shall not be able to say nay to the infamous alliance. There is not an atom of Tom's slime, not a cubic inch of any pestilential gas in which he lives, not one obscenity or degradation about him, not an ignorance, not a wickedness, not a brutality of his committing, but shall work its retribution through every order of society up to the proudest of the proud and to the highest of the high. Verily, what with tainting, plundering, and spoiling, Tom has his revenge."

Into this awful place comes a "brown sunburnt gentleman" who looking around sees nothing but crazy houses. We're told that there was no waking creature in any direction but one, where he sees a woman sitting on a doorstep. He approaches her and sees she is foot sore and travel stained. He stops to talk to her and seeing a bruise on her forehead he cleanses the injured place and dries it, and after examining it, he takes a small case from his pocket, dresses it, and binds it up. We find as they talk that the man is Mr. Woodcourt and the woman is Jenny the brickmaker's wife. After talking for a few minutes Woodcourt moves on.

As he turns back he sees a ragged figure coming along slowly, crouching close to the walls, a wretched figure to be avoided. It is the figure of a youth whose face is hollow and whose eyes have an emaciated glare. The boy shades his face with his ragged elbow as he passes on the other side of the street, and continues on shrinking and creeping along. Woodcourt pauses to look after him with a shadowy belief that he has seen the boy before. He cannot recall how or where and thinks he must have seen him in some hospital or refuge.


Suddenly he hears running feet behind him, and looking round, sees the boy coming back towards him followed by Jenny. She cries out for Woodcourt to stop him and believing that the boy has robbed her, he chases him. When he catches him Jenny runs up to them telling the boy she has finally found him and calling him Jo. Woodcourt then realizes he had seen Jo before when he had been brought before the coroner at the death of Nemo. Woodcourt asks Jenny if Jo robbed her, and she says no; rather, he has been very kind to her. She says that a woman took Jo home with her to care for him when he was sick, but that Jo ran away. She says that the woman then became sick herself and lost her beauty. Woodcourt is horrified.

Woodcourt asks Jo why he left the house. Jo says he never knew about the woman being sick and that he would never have done anything to hurt her. He says she was very good to him. He tells them that he didn't run away that someone took him away, but he won’t name the man, fearful that he’ll find out since he seems to be everywhere. When Woodcourt presses him Jo finally whispers the name in his ear. Allan asks him where this man took him to and Jo says:

"Put me in a horsepittle," replied Jo, whispering, "till I was discharged, then giv me a little money—four half-bulls, wot you may call half-crowns—and ses 'Hook it! Nobody wants you here,' he ses. 'You hook it. You go and tramp,' he ses. 'You move on,' he ses. 'Don't let me ever see you nowheres within forty mile of London, or you'll repent it.' So I shall, if ever he doos see me, and he'll see me if I'm above ground," concludes Jo, nervously repeating all his former precautions and investigations."

Woodcourt tells Jo he’ll find him a better place to hide in. Jo agrees to go with him as long as they don't see "him" coming. Finally Woodcourt and Jo set off to where I don't know yet.

Kim wrote: "I just can't quite imagine saying to myself something like; "Oh Kim, Kim how can you act the way you do! You should always be happy and cheerful." I'd start thinking I'd lost my mind rather quickly. But I'm not Esther and Esther tells herself she is happy, and always will be happy"

Oh, Kim, Kim, I loved this chapter! Though it didn't exactly make me happy and cheerful.

It did make me feel better about people, however. I don't know if they are really going to get married--obviously Esther would rather marry Woodcourt, and obviously Jarndyce is not going to get in the way of whatever Esther wants. But they are incredibly kind to one another, Jarndyce and Esther: in this book where so many people are unkind or indifferent, it's like they're trying to outdo each other in kindness.

Also I don't think Esther agrees to marry Jarndyce just to make him happy--just as I don't think he asks her to marry him to make himself happy. I think this is an arrangement they are both agreeing to because Esther's prospects are so, well, BLEAK. Look at this part:

But he did not hint to me that when I had been better looking he had had this same proceeding in his thoughts and had refrained from it. That when my old face was gone from me, and I had no attractions, he could love me just as well as in my fairer days. That the discovery of my birth gave him no shock. That his generosity rose above my disfigurement and my inheritance of shame. That the more I stood in need of such fidelity, the more firmly I might trust in him to the last.

And then this:
I thought, all at once, if my guardian had married some one else, how should I have felt, and what should I have done! That would have been a change indeed. It presented my life in such a new and blank form that I rang my housekeeping keys and gave them a kiss before I laid them down in their basket again.

Esther's situation has always been so precarious, and it's even more precarious now that she's both "disfigured" and has also lost the chance that her parents are going to swoop in and rescue her.

All her life, Jarndyce has step by step made her more secure: getting her an education, taking her on as Ada's companion, making her housekeeper. This is the last step.

Can people please set me straight on how "disfigured" Esther appears to be? I know she's utterly unreliable and would probably say "I'm so ugly" even if she were a goddess. But it does seem to me that plenty of other people are confirming her disfigurement. There's that child in the village who asks why she isn't pretty anymore, for instance, and of course (for what it's worth) Guppy has abruptly lost interest. So her illness really did affect her looks, right?

It would certainly be visible - the scabs would leave scars allright, but as far as I know not so much that she would be unrecognizable as she seems to think. Like in the picture here, you can clearly see the scars, but can also imagine what the man must've looked like without them.

Of course she would not have been as pretty. And shortly after her illness it would have been worse.

The sad thing is that in those times she would have needed her looks more than anyone if she wanted to marry and get her own household some day, because she did not have the money or family name to make her a great match, while she was too educated and independent (she was by now used to run a big household like Bleak House after all). She was in a position to fall in-between it all if something would ever happen to John Jarndyce, unless he married her because then she'd at least probably inherit Bleak House and his money.

On one hand I agree with Julie, they are so wholesome, and I like that to counterbalance all of the unwholesomeness in the book. I think if they marry, they would really make each other happy. Lord and Lady Dedlock have already shown that an age- and wealth gap can work very well if there's love involved, and Esther and JJ would have something extra: they don't seem to have secrets like Lady Dedlock seems to have for her husband. Care, love and honesty are a very good base for any marriage.

On the other hand it does still feel off, but that might be my 21st-century-mind again. I mean, Esther has had so much to be thankful for, he made sure she had an education, and a place to live where she is cared for and respected, and now he even provides for her now she does not seem to have a chance to marry. He obviously did not make her get ill, but it does feel like he has groomed himself the perfect little wife. As he is portrayed I do not think that was what he was going for, and I do not think he would stand in Esther's way if she'd find happiness elsewhere, but this is also written from the viewpoint of said perfect little wife.

Edit: I also do not think Lord and Lady Dedlock are as happy as they could have been together, but that seems to mostly stem from the secret of Lady Dedlock. Losing a child has a huge toll on people, and the fact that she (thought she) had to hide that means that she never properly grieved either. Grief and unheeded grief and secrets can turn any relationship sour. I think it says a lot that Lord Dedlock still goes out of his way for her, and she still does what she can to protect his good name, something that is very important to him.

John wrote: "Julie wrote: "Can people please set me straight on how "disfigured" Esther appears to be? I know she's utterly unreliable and would probably say "I'm so ugly" even if she were a goddess. But it doe..."

Are there spoilers in that link, John? I'm afraid to look!

Jantine wrote: "The sad thing is that in those times she would have needed her looks more than anyone if she wanted to marry and get her own household some day, because she did not have the money or family name to make her a great match, while she was too educated and independent (she was by now used to run a big household like Bleak House after all). She was in a position to fall in-between it all if something would ever happen to John Jarndyce, unless he married her because then she'd at least probably inherit Bleak House and his money."

"He obviously did not make her get ill, but it does feel like he has groomed himself the perfect little wife. As he is portrayed I do not think that was what he was going for..."

I agree on both of these counts, and to me it's pretty clear that Esther is so unhappy about the loss of her prospects (and who can blame her? NONE of this is her fault and yet she's stuck) that she has to go talk to herself in a mirror (Peter's mirrors again!) and really work herself up to being the cheerful undemanding person she determined so early on to be. This is *hard* for her. Even after the mirror pep-talk it takes her *over a week* to bring herself around to where she can accept her circumstances enough to put on a face that will be what she sees as appropriately grateful and happy for Jarndyce. Over a week! For Esther to look happy--Esther the self-presented happiest person in the world! I would not have believed it.

This is why I love this chapter so much: she's lecturing herself and burning flowers and refusing to talk to Ada about any of it and we finally get a look behind the curtain at the the immense psychological difficulty and toll it takes for Esther to make the best of her truly abysmal circumstances. I know half of you dislike her but I'm completely in love with her now (even though I too wish everyone would quit it with the pet names).

The other part of this is that Jarndyce for all of *his* flaws is deserving of her gratitude. Neither of them like it, but this does seem to be the only way he can set her up for life. He's not pretending. It's not a love letter. Jantine is right. He's a lot older than Esther and once he goes she'll be a rich-ish widow. She'll even have prospects so she can re-marry if that's what she wants.

The only thing is I wish they could just talk to each other and establish that this is purely a marriage of legal convenience between friends (this is the part where they do kind of pretend), but this is also so characteristic of them. The kind of woman who keeps insisting she's still lucky when she's had a horrifically deprived life and the kind of man who will keep insisting that Skimpole is a delight are not the kind of people who will accept that their marriage is the best they can make of an all-around bad deal.

Anyway, sorry for going on so but I really do love this chapter.

Julie wrote: "John wrote: "Julie wrote: "Can people please set me straight on how "disfigured" Esther appears to be? I know she's utterly unreliable and would probably say "I'm so ugly" even if she were a goddes..."

Just to be on the safe side, I deleted it. :-)

John wrote: "Julie wrote: "John wrote: "Julie wrote: "Can people please set me straight on how "disfigured" Esther appears to be? I know she's utterly unreliable and would probably say "I'm so ugly" even if she..."

Ha! I'll have to come back and read it later.

I must admit that I have never really thought very carefully and deeply about Mr. Jarndyce's reasons for proposing marriage to Esther and am therefore very indebted to Julie's interesting interpretation. It does make a lot of sense, and yes, it is very typical for John and Esther not calling a spade a spade but, let's say, a lantern because it is so much brighter. Without Jarndyce, Esther would indeed be high and dry, and it would be very sensible in her to accept the proposal.

It seems to me, though, that she is still in love with Woodcourt. When she meets the doctor in Deal, it is quite interesting how often she points out that Allan pities her. I don't think that his sympathy is unalloyed pity, but that it is simply his love for her shining through and that Esther, by putting it all down to pity, wants to blind herself to the fact that what she has been afraid of - that Woodcourt would be put off by her disfigurement - has not happened and that there was still the chance of a union between herself and him. So, here, Esther is somewhat of an unreliable narrator.

There was one passage when I really felt for Esther, and this was at the beginning of Chapter 43 when she writes of her horror for herself and her fears of her very existence bringing ruin upon her mother. It's terrible to read of this kind of self-effacement in someone who has not done anything wrong, and it shows how insecure Esther really is. But my feelings for Esther quickly changed when she once again started to talking to herself in that schoolmasterly way that Kim pointed out: "Well, Esther, I am sure this will never do. Put a good face on things and muster up courage." Whoever talks to themselves in that way, and whoever would listen to themselves talking to themselves like that?

It is really hard to believe that Jarndyce finds so much entertainment in Skimpole, whose obviously very limited range of topics grew quickly stale on me. All in all, Jarndyce's implicit belief in Skimpole's unselfishness is a very weak point in that novel because any five-year-old could see through and would be bored by Skimpole.

I liked Mr. Vholes's appearance in Chapter 45: He scents that there is no longer anything to be got out of Richard and he hurries to make sure that the young man is selling out of the army. What a vulture! I like Esther's idea of how Mr. Vholes's shadow is falling on the spring soil, chilling the young seed in the ground.

As to Hortense and her knowing of Esther's secret - I am sure she does because she made some very sly allusions when applying for a situation with Esther - and yet I have no idea how she could have acquired this knowledge.

There is another point that does not really make sense to me: Why are the bricklayer's wife and Woodcourt so cross with Jo for having disapperead? In the first place, his disappearance did not cause Esther's infection and apart from that it was not Jo who clung to Esther but Esther who out of her own impulse took Jo to Bleak House; Jo at that time being utterly unable to make any decisions at all. So why put the blame on poor Jo? Even his running away cannot be put down to thanklessness but to the fever he was labouring under. And then it is also mysterious how Mr. Tulkinghorn could have possibly known of Jo's being given shelter in Bleak House. Someone must have alerted him, no?

Good morning, everyone. I'm delighted to finally be here discussing this week's section after a long holiday weekend.

I often talk to myself, but have never called myself "Dear". Perhaps "Idiot" on occasion. Julie, you've got me looking at Esther in a completely different light, for which I thank you. I'd started inching towards the anti-Esther crowd, but am firmly back on team Esther again. The way you characterized her pep talk put me in mind of a commercial they show here in the States for some anti-depressant. The depressed people walk around with what seems to be a paper plate glued to a popsicle stick, and the plate has a happy face drawn on it. The depressed people pull out their happy faces and hold them up when they're with others, but we can see they're just not feeling it. Is Esther depressed? I don't think she is in a clinical sense. But we have seen that Esther is practical. She well knows her prospects, and she also realizes how fortunate she's been. These little pep talks in the mirror may be keeping her from wallowing and, perhaps, from falling into a depression. I believe she's naturally optimistic, but maybe that doesn't come as easily to her as I've always assumed it does (being pessimistic is my default setting -- I often have to make the decision to look at the bright side.) Maybe her practical side saw that being bitter and hateful didn't do her aunt any favors, so she makes a conscious effort to be cheerful, even if she's not feeling it. Such an interesting way of seeing her. Suddenly she has dimension again.

I think John truly does love Esther but didn't feel confident in proposing until her disfigurement. Less chance of her rejecting him now. And she's obviously fond of him, though I think we all know that it's affection, but not passion.

What a slime Vholes is! Imagine an attorney going to the man he's actively working against to try to keep the gravy train rolling. And make no mistake -- that's exactly what he's doing. There's no concern for Richard here.

I'd have given up on Richard long ago. Chancery or no Chancery, he's shown ingratitude, immaturity (which we could forgive, if he'd learned from his mistakes, but he hasn't), and terrible judgment. Three strikes, you're out!

I said I'm going to ask Mr. Dickens about the whole burying-the-doll thing when I meet him in Heaven. I'm also going to ask him about John's blind spot where Skimpole is concerned. It just doesn't make any sense that John would continue to not only make excuses for Skimpole, but support him financially. The best thing he could do would be to get the wife and daughters away from him and wash his hands of Skimpole completely. He seems to feel that East Wind coming when Skimpole is around; why doesn't he heed his own instincts?

Re: Sir Leicester's visit... At first, I wondered if it was just the vehicle to get Ester to tell John about her mother. But in rereading the passages Kim selected, I wonder if Skimpole has ever seen Lady Dedlock. If not, perhaps Dickens has set this up so that he will see her portrait and make the same connection that Guppy made. Things will certainly start to unravel if that's the case.

Dickens - the King of Coincidence! What are the odds of Woodcourt, Jenny, and Jo coming together as they did? And yet, I can accept this type of coincidence as unlikely, but plausible. Nothing like the coincidences we were asked to swallow in Oliver Twist. All of the coincidences we're given in Bleak House seem to fall under the category of "it's a small world" rather than those for which we really have to suspend our disbelief.

Tristram wrote: "There is another point that does not really make sense to me: Why are the bricklayer's wife and Woodcourt so cross with Jo for having disappeared? In the first place, his disappearance did not caus..."

Hi, Tristram. I didn't read this as "cross" really. More concern and worry, like the mother whose kid has just chased a ball into the street. He was finally in a safe place with kind people, and they were flummoxed about why he'd run off (though I, too, would have put it down to delirium caused by the fever). So... who was the mystery man? Skimpole? Seems unlikely that he'd have bothered with a hospital if he'd even had time (or resources) to take Jo there, which I don't think he did. But he could have easily dashed off a quick missive to someone. Tulkinghorn, perhaps? But why?

Tristram wrote: "As to Hortense and her knowing of Esther's secret - I am sure she does because she made some very sly allusions when applying for a situation with Esther - and yet I have no idea how she could have acquired this knowledge."

My guess is: the same way Guppy did, by looking at them both. While Guppy only had a portrait of Lady Dedlock and his memory of Esther to go on, Hortense saw them together.
That way, I mostly have no idea how people like John Jarndyce could have not seen it. But then, as we all already noticed, JJ does not even see what a boring, nasty man Skimpole is either.

Tristram wrote: "There is another point that does not really make sense to me: Why are the bricklayer's wife and Woodcourt so cross with Jo for having disapperead? In the first place, his disappearance did not caus..."

Was he talking about Tulkinhorn though? We have no proof Tulkinhorn was there either. There is a chance he is talking about Tulkinhorn, but is there someone else he could be talking about? There was another character who seems to know/observe a lot, and who seems to be able to be everywhere and invisible, and who might have been tasked with keeping Jo moving ...

Mary Lou wrote: "Good morning, everyone. I'm delighted to finally be here discussing this week's section after a long holiday weekend.

I often talk to myself, but have never called myself "Dear". Perhaps "Idiot" ..."

As I might have let shimmer through while talking about the early chapters and Lady Dedlock, I am familiar with clinical depression. I know that feeling of 'I'm bored to death, because everything is bleak and dark and I can't be bothered to get joy out of anything' all too well. Those bouts of clinical depression are - were in my case, and I hope they stay gone - peaks, but between those peaks the vales always stayed at alp-vale-level, and never got to Dutch ground level, so to say. In short, I am familiar with chronic depression.

While Lady Dedlock is (to me) clearly clinically depressed, I recognize a lot of the in-between-periods in Esther. The depression always lurks, there is always something to be insecure about, unhappiness and sadness and anger are always lingering in the background. And for a long time the only way to counterbalance that I knew, was what I see Esther doing now. Put up a smile, fake it 'till you make it. It does not help. What does help is medication, and someone you can talk to, someone you can trust and wake up in the middle of the night when you cannot sleep and beating yourself with dark thoughts. She seems to have someone like that in John Jarndyce now, and I am glad of that.

People here have mentioned they cannot imagine standing in front of a glass and talking to yourself like that. I can, I have been there. And that makes that I will always, always love Esther - because she is where I have been, including all the pressure of being the sensible person and having to fake it all the time.

What a fascinating discussion about Esther. She has steadily become much more interesting, and puzzling, and personal to some of us than most of the characters we have met beginning with Pickwick. I think Dickens has created a very psychological portrait of a person through Esther. Since Dickens works through her in the first person narrative chapters and around her in the third person chapters, we get a many faceted insight into her character. And there is still much to come in the coming chapters.

As to Esther’s appearance after her bout with smallpox, I think Dickens uses Esther’s altered appearance as a way to define the characters who surround her in the novel. Those characters who are shallow like Guppy are shocked when they see Esther’s altered appearance. Some strangers are taken aback.

If we look at those characters who were close to Esther prior to her disfigurement, however, we find no reaction of horror, upset, or repulsion. When Charley First sees Esther in her room, nothing is said. They simply go to the garden to pick flowers for the breakfast table. Similarly, Ada has no overt reaction, or Richard ,or Woodcourt. Lady Dedlock, Esther's mother, has no reaction, and, of course, neither does John Jarndyce. To me the reason is simple. Those who love Esther, know her character, have been the beneficiary of her love, attention, and kindness. They know the quality of her soul and the value of her friendship. Those who know Esther judge her by who she is, not what she looks like.

I think Dickens by the virtue of his omitting any grand or even slight comment or reaction to Esther’s altered appearance by those closest to her speaks clearly to the fact that it is the essence of Esther that is important, not her physical appearance.

Julie mentioned mirrors in a post this week. Here is a link to an interesting article on mirrors in art which I think gives a good perspective on how mirrors can be found and interpreted in literature. The concept of covering one’s image extends to pictures as well.

If we look back to our discussions on Dombey and Son and have a look at Phiz’s illustrations of Dombey in his room, we can see the picture of his first wife partially covered with a cloth. That Edith is also in the room leads us to wonder if she too will become “covered” altered or changed further on in the novel.

Lots to reflect upon when one sees a mirror. ;-)


https://medium.com/thinksheet/symbols...

Jantine wrote: "I often talk to myself, but have never called myself "Dear"...."

Same. I don't call myself "Julie" either. I call myself "you," in a kind of annoyed tone, as in "Hey, you, cut it out."

It might work better if I did call myself "dear." :)

Now I wonder if Dickens talked to himself in front of mirrors, and if so, what he called himself. Probably not "Dame Durden" although now I want to spend the next ten minutes imagining that.

Jantine wrote: "Tristram wrote: "As to Hortense and her knowing of Esther's secret - I am sure she does because she made some very sly allusions when applying for a situation with Esther - and yet I have no idea h..."

Could she have picked it up somehow when they had her do that whole thing of posing in front of Joe in Lady Dedlock's clothes?

Or there's also the famous episode where she walks off barefoot, which I think happens during one of those early encounters between Esther and Lady Dedlock when the latter behaves so oddly. So in addition to their similarity in looks, the oddness could have tipped Hortense off, since she may be mean and crazy but she does not appear to be at all inobservant.

Tristram wrote: "It seems to me, though, that she is still in love with Woodcourt. When she meets the doctor in Deal, it is quite interesting how often she points out that Allan pities her. I don't think that his sympathy is unalloyed pity, but that it is simply his love for her shining through and that Esther, by putting it all down to pity, wants to blind herself to the fact that what she has been afraid of - that Woodcourt would be put off by her disfigurement - has not happened and that there was still the chance of a union between herself and him. So, here, Esther is somewhat of an unreliable narrator."

Yes, I think so too, and I think an Esther-Allan match is still a likelier ending to the book than an Esther-John match. An engagement is not a marriage so not a done deal. I think she's blinding herself not because she's engaged, but because it would be too painful to hope when she's not very hopeful. Esther's accustomed to not asking for much.

Mary Lou may be right that John does love her, but Dickens does love self-sacrificing types, so I don't see that as an obstacle to her marrying someone else she prefers. And it's interesting to me that John knows her well enough (and probably knows she loves someone else well enough) that he's sensitive enough not to detail any passionate attachment in his proposal.

Unlike Guppy.

(Ha!)

Mary Lou wrote: "Tristram wrote: "There is another point that does not really make sense to me: Why are the bricklayer's wife and Woodcourt so cross with Jo for having disappeared? In the first place, his disappear..."

Mary Lou, you are right. "Cross" isn't the best word. They are reproachful with Jo for leaving, charging him with unthankfulness, and Woodcourt is also loth to touch Jo (or maybe even to deal with him?). It's clear that the doctor thinks that, were it not for Jo, Esther would not have had to go through the terrible experience of disease and disfigurement. He maybe sees Jo as the agent of evil done to the woman he loves, and it takes him a while to realize, or rather to act upon the knowledge that Jo was not a wilful agent. Dickens described this meeting and the inner conflict with a lot of psychological insight, I think.

Jantine wrote: "Tristram wrote: "As to Hortense and her knowing of Esther's secret - I am sure she does because she made some very sly allusions when applying for a situation with Esther - and yet I have no idea h..."

Yes, Jantine, I quite forgot that Hortense had the chance to see both women face-to-face and thereby notice the similarity. As to Jarndyce's not noticing it, I fully concur with you on the Skimpole example. Somebody not noticing what a creature Skimpole really is might not even notice a dozen of elephants in the room.

Jantine wrote: "Tristram wrote: "There is another point that does not really make sense to me: Why are the bricklayer's wife and Woodcourt so cross with Jo for having disapperead? In the first place, his disappear..."

I see what you mean :-) My first impulse was Tulkinghorn because he seems to have his finger in every pie.

Julie wrote: "Jantine wrote: "Tristram wrote: "As to Hortense and her knowing of Esther's secret - I am sure she does because she made some very sly allusions when applying for a situation with Esther - and yet ..."

Yes, Julie, I think both of the situations you mentioned could have been opportunities to make Hortense aware of some special connection between Esther and Lady Dedlock. It's interesting to see all the interrelations between the characters in Bleak House, which is a perfectly crafted novel.

Peter wrote: "What a fascinating discussion about Esther. She has steadily become much more interesting, and puzzling, and personal to some of us than most of the characters we have met beginning with Pickwick. ..."

I fully agree with you, Peter: I have never been a fan of Esther's and have always put down her show of modesty and her insistence of how other people like and miss her and how she wonders about that as signs of slyness and duplicity. Our reading of the novel, especially the insight provided by Jantine about depression, but also a lot of other contributions about this topic, for the first time convinced me that my interpretation of Esther might have been quite one-sided. I still find the Esther passages a strain on my patience but I don't dislike Esther so much any more.

Thanks for enlargening my understanding of the novel!

As to standing in front of the mirror and talking to myself, well ... I sometimes do it, but usually I perform the Travis Bickle bit from Taxi Driver or just give myself an encouraging smile and nod of admiration.

Julie wrote: "Unlike Guppy."

Poor Mr. Guppy ;-) He's my favourite character from the novel now that Mr. Krook is dead.

Tristram wrote: "Julie wrote: "Unlike Guppy."

Poor Mr. Guppy ;-) He's my favourite character from the novel now that Mr. Krook is dead."

He definitely earns his keep in entertainment value.

Julie wrote: "Now I wonder if Dickens talked to himself in front of mirrors, and if so, what he called himself. ..."

Julie -- Mamie Dickens wrote about being sick on the sofa in her father's study when he was writing, and how he would go to the mirror and make faces and act out scenes, seemingly forgetting that she was even there. When I have a little more time later, I'll see if I can find her account, unless someone beats me to it. To my recollection, she didn't mention him calling himself Dame Durden. :-)

Jantine -- thanks for sharing some of your experiences. It really does give us a new way of thinking about Esther, and her sense of self-worth.

Peter wrote: "Julie mentioned mirrors in a post this week. Here is a link to an interesting article on mirrors in art which I think gives a good perspective on how mirrors can be found and interpreted in literat..."

I finally got around to reading this interesting article, Peter. It would be fascinating to hear a discussion of Dickens' use of mirrors throughout his novels, but I will keep all the symbolism in mind as we go forward in Bleak House, at least. Thanks for sharing.

Tristram wrote: "and whoever would listen to themselves talking to themselves like that?

I've been trying all day now to remember if I ever actually listen to myself when I'm talking to myself, it keeps going around in my head.

As for talking to yourself at all, I do it, but I've never done it in front of a mirror, I've never done it to make sense of anything at all. I do it because I have to before or mostly after a seizure, it helps me to clear my mind somehow, but never, ever makes any sense and I can be in a room full of people and if anyone did attempt to answer me I would ignore them and keep on talking. I'll use Tristram for an example - although, Tristram as far as I know I've never really rambled on about you. When you read this don't pause, this is how it happens:

"I wonder if it is my turn to open the thread or if it is his turn to open the thread I don't know but he should know and if he knows he should have told me which he did and I know he did because he always does although what it is he always does I don't know because I can't remember right now what he always does except talk in German I guess he does that everyday not to me though because then I would have to spend time learning German just to read it but what I'm supposed to read I don't know maybe if I call someone they will know but I don't have time because of something I should do but what should I do I don't know because I can't remember because he didn't tell me and he's working except he's not because I can hear him in the room but why and where did the schedule go I don't know."

That's what I do usually after a seizure until my mind calms down. I don't know why, but I always have and it works eventually. But I'm never looking in a mirror when I do it.

Tristram wrote: "There was one passage when I really felt for Esther, and this was at the beginning of Chapter 43 when she writes of her horror for herself and her fears of her very existence bringing ruin upon her mother..."

That was one passage that for once I knew how Esther felt, although what she felt wasn't what I felt at the time. When I was little I had two aunts and uncles who wouldn't speak to me. Two of them didn't matter much because they didn't live anywhere near us, so I wasn't around them much anyway. But my other aunt and uncle I used to think were crazy. My aunt was my mom's sister and used to call often to talk to her but would hang up if I was the one who answered. Then I'd yell "Mom, Aunt Dot just called for you!" and my mom would call her back. How she put up with this I have no idea. The same aunt would buy Christmas gifts for my sisters but none for me, it took me a while to know that because my mom gave them all back before we even saw them. One of my older sisters told me that when I got older. Anyway, I thought these people were crazy and was glad they left me alone. They always insisted on holding my younger sister on their lap whenever we would see them, they'd pinch her cheeks to show their love I guess, until they were all red and she'd cry about it on the way home.

Then when I was 17 or 18 I think, the other aunt got cancer and had to have an operation. So I went to where they lived and stayed in the house until she was ready to come home, why I'm not certain, but they wanted someone to be in the house during the day while her husband was at work and visited her, so from early in the morning until late at night I was alone in their house, I didn't even see my uncle often and when she was ready to come home I left again. So a few weeks go by and crazy aunt calls, I answer the phone, hear her voice, say "hold on I'll get mom" and she says "no I want to talk to you". That was enough of a surprise and she went on to say that they had talked it over and had decided that I am a really good person no matter how it started - whatever that meant - and if my mom didn't tell me the truth by the end of the day they were going to come down and tell me. So I went in search of my mom, asked her what the crazy aunt was talking about, she started crying and asked me not to hate her and told me that when I was born her and my dad were married, just not to each other. They were married when they met, they fell in love, ran off to Florida, lived there for six months, thankfully my dad didn't like the weather so they moved back, and by this time she was pregnant with me so they filed for divorce. I was two when they got married. So she stops talking and I said "and then what" and she said that was all, and I said "this is what I got the blame for all these years! This is the reason they wouldn't talk to me! These people are crazier than I thought! She looked astonished when she asked if I wasn't upset about being born out of wedlock, and I said no, I couldn't care less. So that's where I'm different from Esther, I didn't blame myself for being born the way I was, I just came to think most people must be insane. Sorry this was so long.

Sir Leicester Deddlock

Chapter 43

Phiz

Text Illustrated:

We were all assembled shortly before dinner, and he was still at the piano idly picking out in his luxurious way little strains of music, and talking between whiles of finishing some sketches of the ruined old Verulam wall to-morrow, which he had begun a year or two ago and had got tired of, when a card was brought in and my guardian read aloud in a surprised voice, "Sir Leicester Dedlock!"

The visitor was in the room while it was yet turning round with me and before I had the power to stir. If I had had it, I should have hurried away. I had not even the presence of mind, in my giddiness, to retire to Ada in the window, or to see the window, or to know where it was. I heard my name and found that my guardian was presenting me before I could move to a chair.

"Pray be seated, Sir Leicester."

"Mr. Jarndyce," said Sir Leicester in reply as he bowed and seated himself, "I do myself the honour of calling here — "

"You do ME the honour, Sir Leicester."

"Thank you — of calling here on my road from Lincolnshire to express my regret that any cause of complaint, however strong, that I may have against a gentleman who — who is known to you and has been your host, and to whom therefore I will make no farther reference, should have prevented you, still more ladies under your escort and charge, from seeing whatever little there may be to gratify a polite and refined taste at my house, Chesney Wold."

"You are exceedingly obliging, Sir Leicester, and on behalf of those ladies (who are present) and for myself, I thank you very much."

"It is possible, Mr. Jarndyce, that the gentleman to whom, for the reasons I have mentioned, I refrain from making further allusion — it is possible, Mr. Jarndyce, that that gentleman may have done me the honour so far to misapprehend my character as to induce you to believe that you would not have been received by my local establishment in Lincolnshire with that urbanity, that courtesy, which its members are instructed to show to all ladies and gentlemen who present themselves at that house. I merely beg to observe, sir, that the fact is the reverse."

My guardian delicately dismissed this remark without making any verbal answer.

"It has given me pain, Mr. Jarndyce," Sir Leicester weightily proceeded. "I assure you, sir, it has given — me — pain — to learn from the housekeeper at Chesney Wold that a gentleman who was in your company in that part of the county, and who would appear to possess a cultivated taste for the fine arts, was likewise deterred by some such cause from examining the family pictures with that leisure, that attention, that care, which he might have desired to bestow upon them and which some of them might possibly have repaid." Here he produced a card and read, with much gravity and a little trouble, through his eye-glass, "Mr. Hirrold — Herald — Harold — Skampling — Skumpling — beg your pardon — Skimpole."

"This is Mr. Harold Skimpole," said my guardian, evidently surprised.

Tom All Alone's(Although the text calls this area "Tom-all-Alone's," the caption in the first edition has "Tom all alone's" — no hyphens and different capitalization.)

Chapter 46

Phiz

Text Illustrated:

Darkness rests upon Tom-All-Alone's. Dilating and dilating since the sun went down last night, it has gradually swelled until it fills every void in the place. For a time there were some dungeon lights burning, as the lamp of life hums in Tom-all-Alone's, heavily, heavily, in the nauseous air, and winking — as that lamp,too, winks in Tom-all-Alone's — at many horrible things. But they are blotted out. The moon has eyed Tom with a dull cold stare, as admitting some puny emulation of herself in his desert region unfit for life and blasted by volcanic fires; but she has passed on and is gone. The blackest nightmare in the infernal stables grazes onTom-all-Alone's, and Tom is fast asleep.

Much mighty speech-making there has been, both in and out of Parliament, concerning Tom, and much wrathful disputation how Tom shall be got right. Whether he shall be put into the main road byconstables, or by beadles, or by bell-ringing, or by force of figures, or by correct principles of taste, or by high church, or by low church, or by no church; whether he shall be set to splitting trusses of polemical straws with the crooked knife of his mind or whether he shall be put to stone-breaking instead. In the midst of which dust and noise there is but one thing perfectly clear, to wit, that Tom only may and can, or shall and will, be reclaimed according to somebody's theory but nobody's practice. And in the hopeful meantime, Tom goes to perdition head foremost in his old determined spirit.

But he has his revenge. Even the winds are his messengers, and they serve him in these hours of darkness. There is not a drop ofTom's corrupted blood but propagates infection and contagion somewhere. It shall pollute, this very night, the choice stream (in which chemists on analysis would find the genuine nobility) of a Norman house, and his Grace shall not be able to say nay to the infamous alliance. There is not an atom of Tom's slime, not a cubic inch of any pestilential gas in which he lives, not one obscenity or degradation about him, not an ignorance, not a wickedness, not a brutality of his committing, but shall work its retribution through every order of society up to the proudest of the proud and to the highest of the high. Verily, what withtainting, plundering, and spoiling, Tom has his revenge.

It is a moot point whether Tom-all-Alone's be uglier by day or by night, but on the argument that the more that is seen of it the more shocking it must be, and that no part of it left to the imagination is at all likely to be made so bad as the reality, day carries it. The day begins to break now; and in truth it might be better for the national glory even that the sun should sometimes set upon the British dominions than that it should ever rise up on so vile a wonder as Tom.

A brown sunburnt gentleman, who appears in some in aptitude for sleep to be wandering abroad rather than counting the hours on are stless pillow, strolls hitherward at this quiet time. Attracted by curiosity, he often pauses and looks about him, up and down the miserable by-ways. Nor is he merely curious, for in his bright dark eye there is compassionate interest; and as he looks here and there, he seems to understand such wretchedness and to have studied it before.

On the banks of the stagnant channel of mud which is the main street of Tom-all-Alone's, nothing is to be seen but the crazy houses, shutup and silent. No waking creature save himself appears except in one direction, where he sees the solitary figure of a woman sitting on a door-step. He walks that way. Approaching, he observes that she has journeyed a long distance and is footsore and travel-stained. She sits on the door-step in the manner of one who is waiting, with her elbow on her knee and her head upon her hand.Beside her is a canvas bag, or bundle, she has carried. She is dozing probably, for she gives no heed to his steps as he comes toward her.

Commentary:

When we look at Browne's version of Tom in this context, the connections with Hogarth [in Gin Lane] seem inescapable. Here again, but even more prominently, we have a church tower passively overlooking a scene of degradation; here too, the buildings are in danger of collapsing and are held up by wooden supports. But whereas in Hogarth's picture human beings are central, in Tom-all-Alone's they are absent; while Hogarth's composition gives a sense of chaos, Browne makes his composition as symmetrical as possible, so that the contrast between the visual repose afforded by the wooden supports in the middle of the picture and what we know to be their function is full of irony and tension. Most startling of all, Browne has framed the upper edge of the plate with a horizontal brace between two houses so that the very sky seems to be held up by this untrustworthy support, a brilliant way of underlining the relation between the condition of Tom-all-Alone's and the rest of society. In this regard the plate is reminiscent of the Bleak House cover, in which all of society is in danger of being brought down by the weight of Chancery. Through the arch at the rear we can see into the churchyard which, like Gin Lane, includes the pawnbroker's three balls, symbol of decline into poverty; presumably Esther's father has been buried in that filthy place. But what is most fascinating about this plate — and surely not accidental — is that the churchyard holds the same relative position in the composition as the bedroom in the Sunset plate. Hence a subtle connection is made between the liaison of Esther's parents, the Dedlock marriage bed, and the churchyard where Captain Hawdon lies.

Richard

Chapter 45

Fred Barnard

Text Illustrated:

"Now then!" cried Richard from within. So I left Charley in the little passage, and going on to the half-open door, said, "Can I come in, Richard? It's only Dame Durden."

He was writing at a table, with a great confusion of clothes, tin cases, books, boots, brushes, and portmanteaus strewn all about the floor. He was only half dressed—in plain clothes, I observed, not in uniform—and his hair was unbrushed, and he looked as wild as his room. All this I saw after he had heartily welcomed me and I was seated near him, for he started upon hearing my voice and caught me in his arms in a moment. Dear Richard! He was ever the same to me. Down to—ah, poor poor fellow!—to the end, he never received me but with something of his old merry boyish manner.

"Good heaven, my dear little woman," said he, "how do you come here? Who could have thought of seeing you! Nothing the matter? Ada is well?"

"Quite well. Lovelier than ever, Richard!"

"Ah!" he said, leaning back in his chair. "My poor cousin! I was writing to you, Esther."

So worn and haggard as he looked, even in the fullness of his handsome youth, leaning back in his chair and crushing the closely written sheet of paper in his hand!

"Have you been at the trouble of writing all that, and am I not to read it after all?" I asked.

"Oh, my dear," he returned with a hopeless gesture. "You may read it in the whole room. It is all over here."

I mildly entreated him not to be despondent. I told him that I had heard by chance of his being in difficulty and had come to consult with him what could best be done.

"Like you, Esther, but useless, and so not like you!" said he with a melancholy smile. "I am away on leave this day — should have been gone in another hour — and that is to smooth it over, for my selling out. Well! Let bygones be bygones. So this calling follows the rest. I only want to have been in the church to have made the round of all the professions."

"Richard," I urged, "it is not so hopeless as that?"

"Esther," he returned, "it is indeed. I am just so near disgrace as that those who are put in authority over me (as the catechism goes) would far rather be without me than with me. And they are right. Apart from debts and duns and all such drawbacks, I am not fit even for this employment. I have no care, no mind, no heart, no soul, but for one thing. Why, if this bubble hadn't broken now," he said, tearing the letter he had written into fragments and moodily casting them away, by driblets, "how could I have gone abroad? I must have been ordered abroad, but how could I have gone? How could I, with my experience of that thing, trust even Vholes unless I was at his back!"

"Here, against a hoaring of decaying timber"

Chapter 46

Fred Barnard

Text Illustrated:

Allan Woodcourt pauses to look after him and note all this, with a shadowy belief that he has seen the boy before. He cannot recall how or where, but there is some association in his mind with such a form. He imagines that he must have seen it in some hospital or refuge, still, cannot make out why it comes with any special force on his remembrance.

He is gradually emerging from Tom-all-Alone's in the morning light, thinking about it, when he hears running feet behind him, and looking round, sees the boy scouring towards him at great speed, followed by the woman.

"Stop him, stop him!" cries the woman, almost breathless. "Stop him, sir!"

He darts across the road into the boy's path, but the boy is quicker than he, makes a curve, ducks, dives under his hands, comes up half-a-dozen yards beyond him, and scours away again. Still the woman follows, crying, "Stop him, sir, pray stop him!" Allan, not knowing but that he has just robbed her of her money, follows in chase and runs so hard that he runs the boy down a dozen times, but each time he repeats the curve, the duck, the dive, and scours away again. To strike at him on any of these occasions would be to fell and disable him, but the pursuer cannot resolve to do that, and so the grimly ridiculous pursuit continues. At last the fugitive, hard-pressed, takes to a narrow passage and a court which has no thoroughfare. Here, against a hoarding of decaying timber, he is brought to bay and tumbles down, lying gasping at his pursuer, who stands and gasps at him until the woman comes up.

Commentary:

Whereas Phiz had set a sombre mood for the chapter with the dark plate entitled Tom-all-Alone's (May 1853), a plate with no figures whatsoever, Barnard has realised Dr. Alan Woodcourt's confrontation with Jo, the crossing-sweeper. The physician has responded to a woman's cry of "Stop him!" (suggesting that the boy has just stolen something), and now hears how Bucket drove the contagious street urchin out of Bleak House, put him in a hospital, and given him a little money. Believing that he is dying, the boy has now returned to his familiar neighbourhood, where he expects to expire in the street, not far from Nemo's resting place. Jo is oblivious to the fact that he infected Charley, Esther Sommerson's maid, and thereby infected her mistress with smallpox, too.

Barnard's treatment deliberately underplays the horror and menace of the scene of the action, the disease infested slum of Tom-all-Alone's, and focuses on Woodcourt's finally encountering the waif whose orbit has brought him in contact with the more affluent classes, and has resulted in the disfigurement through the contagion of both Esther and her maid, Charley. The Household Edition illustrator presents the homeless waif as if he is a cornered rat.

Jo

Chapter 46

Harry Furniss



Text Illustrated:

Jo, shaking and chattering, slowly rises and stands, after the manner of his tribe in a difficulty, sideways against the hoarding, resting one of his high shoulders against it and covertly rubbing his right hand over his left and his left foot over his right.

"You hear what she says, and I know it's true. Have you been here ever since?"

"Wishermaydie if I seen Tom-all-Alone's till this blessed morning," replies Jo hoarsely."Why have you come here now?"Jo looks all round the confined court, looks at his questioner no higher than the knees, and finally answers, "I don't know how to do nothink, and I can't get nothink to do. I'm wery poor and ill, and I thought I'd come back here when there warn't nobody about, and lay down and hide somewheres as I knows on till arter dark, and then go and beg a trifle of Mr. Snagsby. He wos allus willin fur to give me somethink he wos, though Mrs. Snagsby she was allus a-chivying on me — like everybody everywheres."

Commentary: Portraiture versus Jo as a Cornered Rat:

Whereas Phiz had set a sombre mood for the chapter with the dark plate entitled Tom-all-Alone's (May 1853), a plate containing no figures whatsoever, and a dominating church spire (for the purpose of irony), Furniss has simply depicted Jo and his broom at the point in the text when Dr. Alan Woodcourt runs him down. The physician has responded to a woman's cry of "Stop him!" (suggesting that the boy has just stolen something), and now hears how Inspector Bucket drove the contagious street urchin out of Bleak House, put him in a hospital, and given him a little money. Believing that he is dying, the boy has now returned to his familiar neighbourhood, where he expects to expire in the street, not far from Nemo's resting place. Jo is oblivious to the fact that he infected Charley, Esther Sommerson's maid, and thereby infected her mistress with smallpox, too. There is neither indignation nor sentimentality in Furniss's portrait of the homeless, parentless urban waif, but there is considerable sympathy in the cowering urchin's timorous look, as if appealing for middle-class compassion and understanding.

Mary Lou wrote: "Julie -- Mamie Dickens wrote about being sick on the sofa in her father's study when he was writing, and how he would go to the mirror and make faces and act out scenes, seemingly forgetting that she was even there. "

Interesting! I'd heard about him acting out scenes but I didn't realize it was in front of a mirror. It does make a good parallel to Esther.

Kim wrote: "As for talking to yourself at all, I do it, but I've never done it in front of a mirror, I've never done it to make sense of anything at all. I do it because I have to before or mostly after a seiz..."

I enjoyed this a lot. :)

Kim wrote: "As for talking to yourself at all, I do it, but I've never done it in front of a mirror, I've never done it to make sense of anything at all. I do it because I have to before or mostly after a seiz..."

I find it fascinating that you talk to yourself without punctuation. If anything, I add superfluous commas. :-)

Do whatever you have to do to feel better, for heaven's sake. One of my old dogs had epilepsy. I hope my talking to him as he came out of his seizures helped him.

Kim wrote: "That was one passage that for once I knew how Esther felt..."

I'm glad you didn't feel stigmatized in retrospect. It's a lousy thing to blame a helpless child for the sins of the parents. Lousy for Esther, lousy for you. :-(

Here is the passage from "My Father As I Recall Him" by Mamie Dickens:

During our life at Tavistock House [1851-60], I had a long and serious illness, with an almost equally long convalescence. During the latter, my father suggested that I should be carried every day into his study to remain with him, and, although I was fearful of disturbing him, he assured me that he desired to have me with him. On one of these mornings, I was lying on the sofa endeavouring to keep perfectly quiet, while my father wrote busily and rapidly at his desk, when he suddenly jumped from his chair and rushed to a mirror which hung near, and in which I could see the reflection of some extraordinary facial contortions which he was making. He returned rapidly to his desk, wrote furiously for a few moments, and then went again to the mirror. The facial pantomime was resumed, and then turning toward, but evidently not seeing, me, he began talking rapidly in a low voice. Ceasing this soon, however, he returned once more to his desk, where he remained silently writing until luncheon time. It was a most curious experience for me, and one of which, I did not until later years, fully appreciate the purport. Then I knew that with his natural intensity he had thrown himself completely into the character that he was creating, and that for the time being he had not only lost sight of his surroundings, but had actually become in action, as in imagination, the creature of his pen.

I wonder if anyone has been able to narrow down which book he was writing at the time.

Interesting commentary about the church tower looming over Tom-All-Alone's. Fits right in with the Chadbands and Pardiggles of our story.