The Old Curiosity Club discussion

Dear Curiosities,

This week’s two chapters are cast in a different mould from the preceding ones altogether because our story is going to pick up pace and be more like that movie from the late 90s, The Edge, which has Anthony Hopkins and Alec Baldwin trying to find their way out of the wilderness, and Baldwin planning on killing Hopkins all the while. The first chapter is called In the Valley and it starts with Vendale and Obenreizer set out for their journey in the middle of February, when the Alpine passes would offer quite a challenge to anyone attempting at crossing them. But alas! there is no time to lose, and Vendale wants to see M. Rolland as soon as possible in order to clear matters up.

At Strasbourg, our two travellers already witness lots of other travellers desist and turn back because the roads are so very bad. Not so Vendale, who wants to push on, with Obenreizer silently contemplating how to get those documents. Our narrator gives us some insight into the villain’s mind, and I found the following passage quite convincing:

”He had always had instinctive movements in his breast against him [i.e. Vendale]; perhaps, because of that old sore of gentleman and peasant; perhaps, because of the openness of his nature; perhaps, because of his success with Marguerite; perhaps, on all these grounds, the two last not the least.”

Which of these reasons do you think most prominent in Obenreizer’s dark and scheming soul? And of what other Dickens character may he remind you? – As far as matters stand by then, Obenreizer is still debating within himself whether only to rob his adversary or whether to kill him if no good occasion of theft should arise. In one of the conversations they have during their journey, the topic of Obenreizer’s obscure birth crops up again, and all of a sudden, Vendale is struck with the idea that after all, Obenreizer may be the lost son that late Walter Wilding was looking for so desperately. This seems to be a wild fancy, though, because there is not really anything – apart from the man growing up in Switzerland – that would suggest such a coincidence – but would it not be an ironical coincidence, all the more so since Obenreizer is constantly going on about the small size of this world of ours? Vendale even contemplates on the fact that the Swiss letter of introduction arrived simultaneously with Mrs. Goldstraw’s revelation which galled Wilding’s life so much. – To me, all these musings do not sound very convincing, but in a Victorian novel, coincidence plays a very big role. While he is thinking about all this, Vendale also realizes that he would not really want Obenreizer to inherit the Wilding property because this would make the man even more powerful and probably overbearing.

At one of the inns, Obenreizer asks a lot of suspicious questions, such as, does Vendale look his door when travelling, or, is he armed? Vendale must be quite obtuse not to take any precautions – not even when during the sleepless night which he spends watching his own shadow, which suddenly looks like Wilding’s to him – another hint by the narrator? –, he witnesses Obenreizer clandestinely creep into his room and go to the bed, assuming that Vendale must be asleep. On noticing his error, Obenreizer claims that he was woken by an unsettling dream and wanted to check that everything was alright with his friend. He offers sitting up for the rest of the night with Vendale and gets some of the cheap brandy he has been carrying around with him – brandy which has a strange aftertaste and upon whose consumption, the hitherto sleepless Vendale dozes off into an unquiet and unrefreshing slumber, haunted by lurid dreams in which it seems to him that his breast pocket is being rifled by a stealthy hand. He wakes up without being refreshed and still needing to continue the perilous journey, noticing that there is a tendency to drop off into sleep within him all the time. Later in the morning, Obenreizer, from some Swiss travellers, gets the tidings that they must turn to Milan in order to meet M. Defresnier, as Rolland has been taken ill. This news seems to please Obenreizer, who then asks Vendale whether he still wants to go on and cross the Alps. Vendale persists, and Obenreizer is not too concerned with this decision.

They travel on and decide to use the Simplon as a passage across the Alps. When the local guides later seem to baulk at the idea of helping them cross the Simplon, Obenreizer rashly says,

”’[…] What do you and I want? We want a knapsack each, and a mountain-staff each. We want no guide; we should guide him; he would not guide us. […] We have been on the mountains together before now, and I am mountain-born, and I know this Pass – Pass! – rather High Road! – by heart. We will leave these poor devils, in pity, to trade with others […]’”

… and he has it all his way in that Vendale agrees to continue his journey with only Obenreizer as his guide and companion, and the chapter ends with Obenreizer’s ominous words, ”’We shall be alone up yonder.’”

I was thinking, when reading this chapter, that the scene in the inn would have lent itself very well to the stage – apart from the dreams, which gave an additional flavour to the whole thing – whereas a lot of the travelling scenes would have been quite difficult to put onto the stage. In what way, if in any, have the tone, the speed and the coherency of the tale changed? How could the thoughts and feelings of Obenreizer and Vendale have been put onto the stage?

The second part of this week’s reading bit is entitled On the Mountain, and it follows Obenreizer and Vendale into the Pass. Instead of giving a recap of the journey, I’d like to point out two or three details here which seem to me worthy of discussion.

The first aspect I am going to point out is that Obenreizer’s tone begins to change. In one situation, he says, for instance,

”’This is not a time of year, or a state of things, on an Alpine Pass, that you gentlemen holiday-travellers know much about.’”

In connection with this obvious potshop at Vendale’s origins and social status, which is indeed telling, Obenreizer’s promise to guide Vendale to his journey’s end is taking on a rather unsettling second meaning. All this grants some insight into the complexity of Obenreizer’s motives, and it makes him rather interesting as a villain, doesn’t it? – My second point is that whenever the two travellers arrive at one of the Refuges, Obenreizer makes sure that Vendale points out that he is on a pressing journey and will travel on despite anyone’s warnings and advice to wait and that Obenreizer is his guide. What may be the ulterior motive behind all this?

Finally, Obenreizer shows his true colours, and having drugged his victim, he endeavours to stab him with his dagger, but the narrator aptly leaves it open which of the two men has drained blood and whether Obenreizer really succeeded in depriving Vendale of the document before the young man fell into the ravine. Vendale’s last words before falling are probably noteworthy, although quite enigmatic: ”’It shall not be – the trust – of the dead – betrayed by me – reputed parents – misinherited fortune – see to it’”

Can anyone help here?

Speaking of anyone helping, the second part of this chapter brings, of all people, Marguerite and Joey Ladle into the mountains, and of course, they would happen to run into a group of people trying to help the two lost travellers after the storm has abated. Marguerite lets herself be abseiled (a German word, by the way) to Vendale’s body while the others go for stronger ropes. At first, Vendale’s heart is beating, but by the time, real help has arrived, there is no heartbeat any longer.

In this second half, I once again noticed the staginess of much of the dialogue, especially in connection with Marguerite. In one situation, she goes like,

”’By the Almighty’s mercy! […] You both know that I am by far the lightest here. Give me the brandy and the wine, and lower me down to him. Then go for assistance and a stronger rope. You see that when it is lowered to me – look at this about me now – I can make if fast and safe to his body. Alive or dead, I will bring him up, or die with him. I love him passionately. Can I say more?’”

My immediate answer was: It’s hard to say more. I would probably have just said, Get me the hell down there! And be quick about it!

I was wondering in the first place what Marguerite and Ladle were doing in that very spot, and I am sure I am not alone in this. On second thoughts, I was really amazed at Marguerite’s pluck and courage. For me this sounds more like Collins’s doing and less like Dickens, whose heroines tend to be more passive. What do you think?

And what has happened to the fell Obenreizer?

Well. Obenreizer is, indeed, the thief. I'm not surprised - who would be, except Vendale, apparently - but the authors left a teeny-tiny bit of room for doubt, so I'd hoped perhaps there would be a twist. No such luck.

I was really enjoying this story early on. The mystery of the two Walters was much more interesting to me than the love story or the theft. Then this week started with a tediously boring cross between a travelogue and a weather report. Having not been to Switzerland, the names of the towns meant nothing to me. The reports on the weather and terrain were, of course, somewhat important to the story, but not riveting reading from my climate-controlled house, thousands of miles away.

We've also had our suspicions confirmed that Obenreizer has drugged Vendale, twice now. Despite that, he's been unable to retrieve the letter. How can one be simultaneously so crafty, yet so inept? And, again, why aren't Vendale's spidey-senses tingling?
At least his sub-conscience seems to be picking up on some things. That was some pretty heavy-handed foreshadowing when he looked at his own shadow and it looked like Walter's. Or was THAT a red herring?

Which brings me to the precipice. Yes -- Marguerite is definitely pluckier than most Dickens leading ladies. But she's long-winded, like Stephen Blackpool. Having not been privy to much of the romance between Marguerite and Vendale, perhaps they thought we needed to hear about her love for him directly from her lips, and not through Vendale or Obenreizer. Frankly, her passion and willingness to die for this man seemed melodramatic and unrealistic, based on the three words she's spoken in the story to this point.

So, now they've dragged Vendale back to safety but, alas! His heart has stopped beating. Or has it? Is he truly dead, or has hypothermia just slowed his pulse down, and he's gone into a state of hibernation? His "dying" words indicate that the dolt may have finally put two and two together, but if he is dead, the revelation may die with him.

Sigh. I will hold out hope until the last word that there will be a magnificent, unexpected twist (that doesn't rely too much on sheer coincidence) that redeems this story for me. As of now, I consider it over the top in its lack of subtlety.

My copy of the book has two illustrations in this segment. Unfortunately, I've never been able to copy and paste illustrations into our discussions, despite the GR instructions. Kim must know a secret I'm not privy to. Too bad she's not reading along with us on this one. :-(

I too, am hoping for a twist of fate which will leave Vendale miraculously alive. As for the real Walter Wilding, I confess I have no clue. Perhaps I am as dense as Vendale has been up to now. And yes, Marguerite does seem a totally different character in this chapter, Don't the two authors consult at all?

Tristram wrote: "Dear Curiosities,

This week’s two chapters are cast in a different mould from the preceding ones altogether because our story is going to pick up pace and be more like that movie from the late 90s..."

Well now, I run my brain through the rest of Dickens and the name Uriah Heep pops into my mind when I think of Obenreizer. They are not carbon copies of each other but here's my reasoning.

Vendale is an honest, hard-working, and earnest person. He is David Copperfield. Both were determined young men who what to do what is right. Both fell in love and are quite willing to prove their worth through their labours. Marguerite replaces Agnes. Both are faithful, resourceful young woman.

Uriah Heep is a manipulating, evil person who presents himself as humble and unassuming. Admittedly, Heep heaps his humility on too deeply, but is always aware of the end game which is to bring David to his knees. Heep uses his influence over Agnes and her father to control David. Obenreizer uses his influence over Marguerite in order to control Vendale.

I too feel the theatricality of No Thoroughfare in the prose, setting and characterizations

Tristram wrote: "The second part of this week’s reading bit is entitled On the Mountain, and it follows Obenreizer and Vendale into the Pass. Instead of giving a recap of the journey, I’d like to point out two or t..."

Yes. The pluck of Marguerite seems more the touch of Collins than Dickens. I can’t unravel Vendale’s “last” words. Indeed, I find myself tripping over many phrases and events until I think of the stage rather than the prose page. That helps me understand the act a bit more.

Marguerite’s arrival on the scene and the tension that builds around the rescue reminds me a bit of the episode with Stephen Blackpool down the abandoned mine shaft. I really enjoyed Mary Lou’s analysis and look at Marguerite. How can it be possible for us to hesitate about liking a Dickensian heroine, and yet I do with this novel.

Mary Lou wrote: "Well. Obenreizer is, indeed, the thief. I'm not surprised - who would be, except Vendale, apparently - but the authors left a teeny-tiny bit of room for doubt, so I'd hoped perhaps there would be a..."

Mary Lou

You commented that you consider the story “over the top in its lack of subtlety.” I completely agree. As a prose story No Thoroughfare strains our patience. I do think that if we ever saw a good stage version of the story, however, we would revel in the glories and excesses of a 19C stage melodrama. I bet the frozen mountain scenes would be glorious in their theatricality.

I once saw a stage version of The Mystery of Edwin Drood that was gloriously over-the-top theatrical. The audience even got to vote on who they thought was guilty. Then the “guilty” person came on stage and explained what happened in the missing parts of the story (novel) I understand that the guilty party of the evening’s theatre often would spin a slightly different version of the story. What fun that must have been for the actors.

Bobbie wrote: "I too, are hoping for a twist of fate which will leave Vendale miraculously alive. As for the real Walter Wilding, I confess I have no clue. Perhaps I am as dense as Vendale has been up to now. And..."

Bobbie

You are definitely not dense. Melodrama works best when even the most evidently obvious facts/characters turn out to be exactly what the reader assumed. The trick is the melodrama can also turn on a dime and be what we don’t expect and yet we must accept because it is a melodrama. A kind of crazy Catch 22.

Dare we assume that Marguerite ate some spinach and turned into a female Popeye? :-)

For me it does help to look at it as a stage play. Isn't it delightfully overdramatic? I think it is totally fine to revel in that without giving it any further thought that it is over the top - which it totally is.

Of course Vendale misses it all until it is too late. He is bent on seeing the good in Obenreizer after all. If even the warning of his beloved cannot counteract that, what apart from the man actually trying to kill him can?

It all reminds me of trying to read 'The Mysteries of Udolpho', that book Jane Austen made fun of for being so melodramatic in Northanger Abbey. I couldn't finish the book or even get halfway, but unlike that book, 'No Thoroughfare' is short and relatively to the point without immense filler poems, quotes, and in relativity even descriptions.

Jantine

Your comments about the naïveté of Vendale got me thinking. We have seen Marguerite’s strength and convictions being developed as the novel progresses. Is it possible that we could see her as the hero of the novel?

Peter wrote: "Well now, I run my brain through the rest of Dickens and the name Uriah Heep pops into my mind when I think of Obenreizer. They are not carbon copies of each other but here's my reasoning. "

I, too, had Uriah Heep in mind, Peter, but also our eminent friend Mr. Pecksniff. Like them, Obenreizer is a schemer but also a less writhing and submissive one because he manages to quickly change from fake-humility to self-assertiveness when the latter seems more conducive to his aims. What I find very interesting in Obenreizer is the streak of envy running through his character: It often becomes quite obvious that he hates the very marrow of Vendale for that gentleman's origins, as his various snide remarks show. He has not forgotten what Vendale told him about his family and he sets these impressions off against his own upbringing and resents Vendale all the advantages he had. To a certain degree, we also have this in the Uriah-David relationship. This inferiority complex helps, of course, explain why Uriah and Obenreizer have become the dissimulating creeps they are, soft and unassuming on the outside but hard as flint inside.

Another interesting trait in Obenreizer is the contempt in which he holds his own country. Someone in our merry round once pointed out the vile remark he made about the Swiss workers that greeted him - he compared them to dogs, if I remember right -, and in this week's chapters, he also presents the Swiss guides as mercenary and treacherous. I think that by painting his own culture in that light, he achieves some kind of petty vengeance on his own upbringing.

All in all, I find Obenreizer a very well-done character, and it's remarkable that even in a work that is not too convincing as a whole, we should find such an excellent example of Dickens's craftsmanship as a writer.

Mary Lou wrote: "Marguerite is definitely pluckier than most Dickens leading ladies. But she's long-winded, like Stephen Blackpool."

These are exactly my sentiments, Mary Lou! I can really picture a half-lifeless Vendale lying in the snowdrifts and raling, "Oh for God's sake, get a move on, you stupid cow!", while Marguerite is still holding forth about how she loves Vendale and how she is willing and ready to go down that precipice in order to save him, invoking the sympathy of the men around her and of the elements.

Jantine wrote: "For me it does help to look at it as a stage play. Isn't it delightfully overdramatic? I think it is totally fine to revel in that without giving it any further thought that it is over the top - wh..."

I must read The Mysteries of Udolpho one of these days, having heard so many off-putting things about it. As to the large amount of histrionics, I must admit that it does amuse and entertain me, because I like subtlety as much as pomposity according to how the mood strikes me.

Peter wrote: "I once saw a stage version of The Mystery of Edwin Drood that was gloriously over-the-top theatrical. The audience even got to vote on who they thought was guilty. Then the “guilty” person came on stage and explained what happened in the missing parts of the story (novel) I understand that the guilty party of the evening’s theatre often would spin a slightly different version of the story. What fun that must have been for the actors."

That must have been a wonderful experience, Peter! Ironically, Dickens's mystery of Edwin Drood is more of a mystery than he ever intended, and the lack of an explicit solution invites every reader (or artist) to come up with their own theories. The stuff that dreams are made of.