The Pickwick Club discussion

Dear Fellow Pickwickians,

like Kim last week, I am in a very tricky situation since circumstances beyond my control force me to leave the comforts of Shandy Hall for a couple of days on Sunday and to dwell in a place where it is not likely for me to have access to the mysterious Internet. So I could get up at 4 a.m. in order to write my posts or I could do it now, i.e. on Saturday. Okay, these two choices really do not make me dither a lot, and that’s why you may be reading this on Saturdary.

With our hero David, however, the case looks different – did you notice the subtlety of my transition, by the way? – for he is now 17 years old and about to leave school and unless he wants to follow Mr. Dick’s advice and become a “Brazier”, which would probably mean incurring Aunt Betsey’s wrath, he has to look about him and make some decision as to his future career. In order to help him do so, Aunt Betsey decides to let him take a change of air and visit pillowy Peggotty again. First, however, David says goodbye to the Wickfields and to his old teacher Dr. Strong.

In his conversation with Agnes, David makes it clear that he regards her as a dear sister, and his idolatry also takes on a rather clinging tone:

”'Oh, I know you are not!' said I, 'because if you had been you would have told me. Or at least'—for I saw a faint blush in her face, 'you would have let me find it out for myself. But there is no one that I know of, who deserves to love you, Agnes. Someone of a nobler character, and more worthy altogether than anyone I have ever seen here, must rise up, before I give my consent. In the time to come, I shall have a wary eye on all admirers; and shall exact a great deal from the successful one, I assure you.'”

It’s certainly not a nice thing to do to put a woman on a pedestal, thus making her a slave to one’s own overblown expectations and to rob her of her own wishes and instincts.

The course of their conversation gives us further cause for alarm with regard to Uriah Heep, who seems to be aware of Mr. Wickfield’s penchant for drink – through David? –, uses his employer’s spells of insecurity in order to enhance his self-doubts, and maybe to make himself indispensable to him. In the Strong household, we learn of more trouble ahead in that Jack Maldon, in a letter addressed to … Annie, complains about India’s being detrimental to his health and announces his resolution to return to England. The Old Soldier, to her daughter’s dismay, does not lose a second before she takes the side of the young drifter and urges Dr. Strong to do something for him. There is one sentence I really like and plan to use it whenever I am making a case for something:

“’I must really beg that you will not interfere with me, unless it is to confirm what I say.’”

Mr. Wickfield, with his usual pessimism and distrust (of which the Doctor could take his portion), notices that there is something rotten, and he seems to be willing to shield his own daughter from too close an association with Annie; here we have the red-ribbon-reticule-contrast again.

On his journey to London, David desperately tries to act and look adult, but before a lot of time has elapsed he is already taken advantage of by a rather seedy fellow-traveller. At the inn, it is not much better for they give him a mediocre room and dinner, and the waiter treats him rather condescendingly. Nevertheless David goes to a play, which impresses him a lot, and on returning, he recognizes one of the guests at the inn as his old schoolmate Steerforth, who – characteristically – at first cannot remember him. However, Steerforth bullies the impertinent waiter to improve conditions for his friend David, whom he refers to as “little Copperfield”. It is quite noteworthy that David, from the very beginning, is struck with an almost creepy admiration for Steerforth and evinces his old attitude of submission:

”I grasped him by both hands, and could not let them go. But for very shame, and the fear that it might displease him, I could have held him round the neck and cried.
'I never, never, never was so glad! My dear Steerforth, I am so overjoyed to see you!'
'And I am rejoiced to see you, too!' he said, shaking my hands heartily. 'Why, Copperfield, old boy, don't be overpowered!' And yet he was glad, too, I thought, to see how the delight I had in meeting him affected me.
I brushed away the tears that my utmost resolution had not been able to keep back, and I made a clumsy laugh of it, and we sat down together, side by side.”

Chapter 20 gives us some insight into Steerforth’s family life as Steerforth decides that David spend some days at his mother’s place before going on to Yarmouth. The very first sentences of this chapter remind us of David’s lack of self-confidence, and as they are very funny, I’ll quote them here:

”When the chambermaid tapped at my door at eight o'clock, and informed me that my shaving-water was outside, I felt severely the having no occasion for it, and blushed in my bed. The suspicion that she laughed too, when she said it, preyed upon my mind all the time I was dressing; and gave me, I was conscious, a sneaking and guilty air when I passed her on the staircase, as I was going down to breakfast.”

We have further evidence of David’s cringeworthily submissive attitude towards Steerforth – in passages that are rather painful to read and that are grist to the mill of a Freudian reading of the text, or the relationship:

”'Now, Copperfield,' said Steerforth, when we were alone, 'I should like to hear what you are doing, and where you are going, and all about you. I feel as if you were my property.' Glowing with pleasure to find that he had still this interest in me, I told him how my aunt had proposed the little expedition that I had before me, and whither it tended.” Aaaah, shudder … and then there’s this:

”’I take a degree!' cried Steerforth. 'Not I! my dear Daisy—will you mind my calling you Daisy?'
'Not at all!' said I.
'That's a good fellow! My dear Daisy,' said Steerforth, laughing. 'I have not the least desire or intention to distinguish myself in that way. I have done quite sufficient for my purpose. I find that I am heavy company enough for myself as I am.'
'But the fame—' I was beginning.
'You romantic Daisy!' said Steerforth, laughing still more heartily: 'why should I trouble myself, that a parcel of heavy-headed fellows may gape and hold up their hands? Let them do it at some other man. There's fame for him, and he's welcome to it.'
I was abashed at having made so great a mistake, and was glad to change the subject.”

When we finally arrive at Steerforth’s home with the two young men, we can hardly be surprised that Mrs. Steerforth is one of those doting mothers, who treasure their sons’ locks and letters and who will like everyone that shares their admiration for junior. It also becomes clear why Steerforth had been placed in Mr. Creakle’s school, which was not, as we all remember, very renowned for the quality of the education:

”'It was not a fit school generally for my son,' said she; 'far from it; but there were particular circumstances to be considered at the time, of more importance even than that selection. My son's high spirit made it desirable that he should be placed with some man who felt its superiority, and would be content to bow himself before it; and we found such a man there.'”

In other words, rather than have her son be prepared for life and be taken down a peg or two, Mrs. Steerforth chose a school where they would not interfere with him giving himself airs. Little wonder that he does not appear to show any ambitions in life!

We also make the acquaintance of Rosa Dartle, who is described like that:

”There was a second lady in the dining-room, of a slight short figure, dark, and not agreeable to look at, but with some appearance of good looks too, who attracted my attention: perhaps because I had not expected to see her; perhaps because I found myself sitting opposite to her; perhaps because of something really remarkable in her. She had black hair and eager black eyes, and was thin, and had a scar upon her lip. It was an old scar—I should rather call it seam, for it was not discoloured, and had healed years ago—which had once cut through her mouth, downward towards the chin, but was now barely visible across the table, except above and on her upper lip, the shape of which it had altered. I concluded in my own mind that she was about thirty years of age, and that she wished to be married. She was a little dilapidated—like a house—with having been so long to let; yet had, as I have said, an appearance of good looks. Her thinness seemed to be the effect of some wasting fire within her, which found a vent in her gaunt eyes.”

I don’t know about you, but to me the very last sentence but one of the description seems out of tune with David’s character as it is quite malicious. But then it’s not the 17-year-old David speaking here but the narrator, who has grown older and seen more of life, and still I find that sentence very mean. Rosa Dartle, who is an orphan but who has money of her own, has been disfigured for life by Steerforth throwing a hammer at her when he was a child, and she is that embittered-and-disenchanted-female type that we have seen in Alice Marwood in Dombey and Son (and maybe also in Edith Granger) and that we are going to meet again in Miss Wade from Little Dorrit. However, unlike Alice and Edith, Rosa Dartle seems to be rather artful as becomes clear from her seemingly innocuous “only asking for information”, which is, in fact, rather insidious, and she thankfully picks every occasion to mar the Steerforth’s sense of comfort with themselves. We are clearly supposed not to like her – because of her pent-up passion and her sneaky way of leading a conversation … but then I don’t always do what I am supposed to do ;-)

One of my reasons is the following passage:

”'Should I?' said Steerforth. 'Well, I think I should. I must see what can be done. It would be worth a journey (not to mention the pleasure of a journey with you, Daisy), to see that sort of people together, and to make one of 'em.'
My heart leaped with a new hope of pleasure. But it was in reference to the tone in which he had spoken of 'that sort of people', that Miss Dartle, whose sparkling eyes had been watchful of us, now broke in again.
'Oh, but, really? Do tell me. Are they, though?' she said.
'Are they what? And are who what?' said Steerforth.
'That sort of people.—-Are they really animals and clods, and beings of another order? I want to know SO much.'
'Why, there's a pretty wide separation between them and us,' said Steerforth, with indifference. 'They are not to be expected to be as sensitive as we are. Their delicacy is not to be shocked, or hurt easily. They are wonderfully virtuous, I dare say—some people contend for that, at least; and I am sure I don't want to contradict them—but they have not very fine natures, and they may be thankful that, like their coarse rough skins, they are not easily wounded.'
'Really!' said Miss Dartle. 'Well, I don't know, now, when I have been better pleased than to hear that. It's so consoling! It's such a delight to know that, when they suffer, they don't feel! Sometimes I have been quite uneasy for that sort of people; but now I shall just dismiss the idea of them, altogether. Live and learn. I had my doubts, I confess, but now they're cleared up. I didn't know, and now I do know, and that shows the advantage of asking—don't it?'”

Steerforth here shows his callous contempt for working-class people like the Peggottys, and I don’t know, by the way, whether David is very well-advised to introduce his eminent friend into their household in Yarmouth, but at least Miss Dartle in an underhanded sort of way emphasizes Steerforth’s haughty and heartless attitude, and gives David the chance to notice it – only he won’t. She similarly calls into question the aptness of the sobriquet Daisy. I doubt that her motives are based on principle rather than on a personal grudge against Steerforth but nevertheless she seems like a very intelligent woman.

The beginning of Chapter 21 introduces yet another character – what a vast little microcosm this book is –, Steerforth’s manservant Littimer, who apparently has no Christian name, which is argued for thus:

”Even the fact that no one knew his Christian name, seemed to form a part of his respectability. Nothing could be objected against his surname, Littimer, by which he was known. Peter might have been hanged, or Tom transported; but Littimer was perfectly respectable.”

Never in my life have I read the word “respectable” so often as in the description of this character, who, by the way, cows David into feeling much younger than he actually is, and it is all too clear that this kind of respectability is not much different from the Heeps’ humbleness. Add to this Littimer’s snakelikeness, which is hinted at here:

”He had not a pliant face, he had rather a stiff neck, rather a tight smooth head with short hair clinging to it at the sides, a soft way of speaking, with a peculiar habit of whispering the letter S so distinctly, that he seemed to use it oftener than any other man […]”

as well as this dark foreshadowing of evil:

”I am particular about this man, because he made a particular effect on me at that time, and because of what took place thereafter.”

and we can be sure that Littimer is up to no good and that he will play a crucial role in the course of events. For the moment, though, times seem rosy for David since he revisits the people and places which are linked with his happier childhood moments. First of all he goes to see Mr. Omer, whose daughter has married Mr. Joram and given birth to three children, in order to thank him for the kindness with which he treated him. We learn that it was on their journey to Blunderstone that the match between Minnie and Joram was agreed on – another bit of proof that the circle of life cannot be interrupted although death is ubiquitous – and we also get information on Little Em’ly, whose beauty and whose openly confessed dreams of being a Lady one day have set the teeth of the townswomen against her.

David pays a visit to Peggotty and Mr. Barkis, who is in bed with rheumatism, and though he may be quite tight-fisted, he is so delighted with seeing David again that he orders Peggotty to prepare a choice meal and sacrifices one guinea for this purpose. Whereas Uriah Heep’s and Littimer’s deceitfulness is more subtle, Mr. Barkis’s claims that his box only contains clothes and under no circumstances any money and that he is, alas!, but a poor man seem quite innocent in their threadbareness .

David and Steerforth arrive at the Peggottys’ boat at a very crucial moment: After a long suit, Ham has finally succeeded in making Em’ly accept his marriage proposal – to the utmost delight of that little patchwork family, a delight they are more than ready to share with David and Steerforth. However, Em’ly seems to keep a distance between herself and Ham, which is only noticed by David. Steerforth has made himself thoroughly agreeable to every single one of David’s friends, using his natural charm, but then we have the following two passages:

”He maintained all his delightful qualities to the last, until we started forth, at eight o'clock, for Mr. Peggotty's boat. Indeed, they were more and more brightly exhibited as the hours went on; for I thought even then, and I have no doubt now, that the consciousness of success in his determination to please, inspired him with a new delicacy of perception, and made it, subtle as it was, more easy to him. If anyone had told me, then, that all this was a brilliant game, played for the excitement of the moment, for the employment of high spirits, in the thoughtless love of superiority, in a mere wasteful careless course of winning what was worthless to him, and next minute thrown away—I say, if anyone had told me such a lie that night, I wonder in what manner of receiving it my indignation would have found a vent! Probably only in an increase, had that been possible, of the romantic feelings of fidelity and friendship with which I walked beside him, over the dark wintry sands towards the old boat; the wind sighing around us even more mournfully, than it had sighed and moaned upon the night when I first darkened Mr. Peggotty's door.”

Does this mean that Steerforth, too, is a deceiver – still better at his work than Uriah Heep because he does not lack personal charms – who is following his own, egoistic aims, and who tries to lull David’s friends into a false sense of security?

Then there is this:

”'That's rather a chuckle-headed fellow for the girl; isn't he?' said Steerforth.
He had been so hearty with him, and with them all, that I felt a shock in this unexpected and cold reply. But turning quickly upon him, and seeing a laugh in his eyes, I answered, much relieved:
'Ah, Steerforth! It's well for you to joke about the poor! You may skirmish with Miss Dartle, or try to hide your sympathies in jest from me, but I know better. When I see how perfectly you understand them, how exquisitely you can enter into happiness like this plain fisherman's, or humour a love like my old nurse's, I know that there is not a joy or sorrow, not an emotion, of such people, that can be indifferent to you. And I admire and love you for it, Steerforth, twenty times the more!'
He stopped, and, looking in my face, said, 'Daisy, I believe you are in earnest, and are good. I wish we all were!' Next moment he was gaily singing Mr. Peggotty's song, as we walked at a round pace back to Yarmouth. “

David’s was born in Blunderstone, but his bringing Steerforth into the circle of his own friends was clearly more than just a blunder.

Friends! I have just noticed that we are already one third through the novel, and this makes me feel quite sad because this time I am really feeling at home in it.

Tristram wrote: "The beginning of Chapter 21 introduces yet another character – what a vast little microcosm this book is –, Steerforth’s manservant Littimer, who apparently has no Christian name, which is argued f..."

"Daisy, I believe you are in ernest, and are good. I wish we all were!" These words, spoken by Steerforth, and quoted in Tristram's comments, should send shivers up our spines. While Uriah Heep is a cringe-worthy character, Dickens appears to be building, block by block, a far more evil character in Steerforth. From our first meeting with him at David's school, where Steerforth manages to maneuver both food and sleep time from David, Steerforth is painted more and more shades of black. The school he attended with David was chosen so he could dominate the principal, his re-naming of David to Daisy, his obvious aggression towards Rosa, and his condescension to others all signal stormy times ahead. The comments of Steerforth further signal his true character. He comments to David that the Peggotty's are "not to be seen as sensitive as we are" and to David he directly says "I feel as if you were my property."

When Steerforth and David decide to visit the Peggotty's Steerforth comments "Let's see the natives in their aboriginal condition." As readers it is interesting to ask ourselves what is worse, the unctious slithering of Uriah Heep or the aggressive condescension of Steerforth. I wonder why David cannot see and hear better when he is with Steerforth. Is it because Steerforth has an aura of breeding, a persona of leadership and self-consciousness, an outgoing personality and confidence, all of which David lacks?

The more David is pulled into the gravitational orbit of Steerforth the worse, I fear, David will become himself. It will be interesting to see how all this unfolds.

I thought the contrast between David visiting Steerforth at his home, and Steerforth visiting the Barkis residence, was interesting--Mrs. S. and Peggotty were both proud of their boys, but Peggoty embraced S. fully, while Mrs. S only accepted David as an acolyte of Steerforth.

I hadn't thought about comparing Uriah Heep to Steerforth, but that makes total sense--oh, the various forms that evil can take on. I really think that DC is Dickens' masterpiece, and this Janus-esque look at the faces of evil (precursor to Secret of Dorian Gray) is one of the reasons I think so.

Another thing that occurred to me whilst reading about Daisy and Steerforth is how much it reminded me of the relationship between Bingley and Darcy in Austen's P&P--obviously Darcy is no Steerforth, but there is a type who idolizes shining knights and who lose perspective and more in so doing.

So, is there a model for Steerforth in Dickens' life?

Jane wrote: "I thought the contrast between David visiting Steerforth at his home, and Steerforth visiting the Barkis residence, was interesting--Mrs. S. and Peggotty were both proud of their boys, but Peggoty ..."

That is a really good question. I've never thought about it. Dickens's own personality was grand; indeed, do we dare say overbearing at times? As to other writers of the time, I think he did not see anyone as his equal, let alone a person to aspire to be. With his two weekly journals, other writers, such as Collins and Gaskell relied on him to help publish their work. Thackeray and Dickens were cool towards each other. Tennyson and Carlyle were friends.

Dickens is interesting in what he tries to hide or repress about his own life, although we do get glimpses of it in DC and other books. You raise a great question that approaches Dickens from another direction.

'Really!' said Miss Dartle. 'Well, I don't know, now, when I have been better pleased than to hear that. It's so consoling! It's such a delight to know that, when they suffer, they don't feel! Sometimes I have been quite uneasy for that sort of people; but now I shall just dismiss the idea of them, altogether....

This wonderfully sarcastic comment reminded me of the satire of upper-class attitudes in The Chimes. Although I can see how Miss Dartle's conversation style could become irritating, I think it's one of the few avenues of criticism open to her, and like Tristram, I quite like her for it. She makes a refreshing change to the other young women characters. (Dartle brings to minds darts -- her piercing, pointed remarks?)

She is also one of the few to see through Steerforth. I am hoping Mr. Mell and/or Traddles will reappear... I find it disturbing that Steerforth seems to have a history of hurting those who threaten his superiority, in very damaging ways (eg, making Mell lose his position). I'm curious about how old he was when he threw the hammer at Rosa. A displaced only child, taken to extremes?

Peter wrote: "When Steerforth and David decide to visit the Peggotty's Steerforth comments "Let's see the natives in their aboriginal condition." As readers it is interesting to ask ourselves what is worse, the unctious slithering of Uriah Heep or the aggressive condescension of Steerforth. ..."

I winced when I read this comment (among others) from Steerforth. Colonial and class attitudes of superiority, disturbing on so many levels. So far, to me Steerforth feels worse than Uriah Heep. At least Heep has some disadvantages to partly explain his motives and ambitions to better himself. I agree with Jane's suggestion of Steerforth as a precursor to the Dorian Gray type -- the golden boy gone badly wrong. He's chilling, as opposed to the creepiness of Heep.

Vanessa wrote: "Peter wrote: "When Steerforth and David decide to visit the Peggotty's Steerforth comments "Let's see the natives in their aboriginal condition." As readers it is interesting to ask ourselves what ..."

First Linda gave us "pillowy Peggotty" and now you give us a "creep[y] Heep."

We may be on to something here. Your suggestion of darts for Dartle works as well.

Peter wrote: Dickens's own personality was grand; indeed, do we dare say overbearing at times...Dickens is interesting in what he tries to hide or repress about his own life...

I am a big fan of Elizabeth Gaskell, and the Jenny Uglow bio of Gaskell details the clashes between Gaskell and Dickens. He was overbearing and patronizing. He was also enormously frustrated by Gaskell, who approached her work differently than he did his and balked when told to do things his way.

Claire Tomalin's bio of Dickens really delves into the work he did to hid aspects of his personal life from not only the world but friends and family. Her book "The Invisible Woman" about his affair with Nelly Ternan is fabulous--I still haven't seen the movie, though.

Sometimes it feels as if Dickens created for David a "cleaned up" version of his own life.

Vanessa wrote: "Peter wrote: "When Steerforth and David decide to visit the Peggotty's Steerforth comments "Let's see the natives in their aboriginal condition." As readers it is interesting to ask ourselves what ..."

Steerforth's coldness is chilling.

Jane wrote: "Peter wrote: Dickens's own personality was grand; indeed, do we dare say overbearing at times...Dickens is interesting in what he tries to hide or repress about his own life...

I am a big fan of E..."

I have not read the Uglow biography but did enjoy Tomalin's very much. I continue to think about your question concerning anyone who Dickens ever, as a child, adult, writer or man ever looked up to and admired with any sense or degree like David did to Steerforth.

Even in today's somewhat ego-centric or, its opposite, blasé world, most people will admit or comment on who their idol, hero or inspiration is, or was.

An interesting question, indeed.

Perhaps Steerforth represented an aspect of Dickens himself? He must have had plenty of experience of being admired and idolized.

I noticed that Mrs. Steerforth gives us another negative view of mothers, in her willingness to sacrifice her son's education to maintain his 'high spirits'. The Old Soldier (battle-axe?) continues to openly disregard her daughter's feelings. Are these more reflections of Dickens' own life and feelings about his parents after the blacking warehouse? As yet the only positive portrayals of mothers are surrogates: Peggotty and Aunt Betsey.

When Steerforth renames David (again) to Daisy, it reminded me that when they met, he asked David if he had a sister, and told him he would have liked to know her. This seems more unsettling now... Also an interesting comparison to Aunt Betsey, who although not letting go of the idea of a sister, doesn't go as far as Steerforth with the name.

Vanessa wrote: "Perhaps Steerforth represented an aspect of Dickens himself? He must have had plenty of experience of being admired and idolized.

I noticed that Mrs. Steerforth gives us another negative view of..."

Interesting point Vanessa. Dickens was certainly admired and idolized. It is said that, after Queen Victoria, he was the most well-known person in Victorian England. Apparently he enjoyed the attention very much.

Enjoying all your comments. I'm finding myself frustrated with all the underlying, or at least potential, deceptions. I find myself disappointed in Steerforth; his posturing as a good old chap and everyone's friend wears thin when we see how he talks of the Peggottys and Ham. He is an inveterate snob. If only David were not so blinded by his 'magnificence'. The Peggottys are such a lovely family. They did not need a Steerforth in their lives.

Tristram wrote: "unless he wants to follow Mr. Dick’s advice and become a “Brazier”"

Not one who grills hot dogs, but one who works in brass, as a glazier is one who works in glass. A manual laborer, lower in stature than a goldsmith or silversmith.

Tristram wrote: "In the Strong household, we learn of more trouble ahead..."

I feel quite sorry for Dr. Strong. He's pretty clearly going to be cuckolded, which I don't think he deserves.

Tristram wrote: "It is quite noteworthy that David, from the very beginning, is struck with an almost creepy admiration for Steerforth ..."

Unfortunate, yes, but I didn't see it as creepy. This was a man who befriended and helped him in an hour of great need, helped him fit into a strange and mysterious environment. In exchange, Steerforth got devotion, which was a fair trade for him. And here David again clearly benefits from his friendship. Let's keep in mind that the only male role models we see David having over the past several years are Mr. Dick, Dr. Strong, Uriah Heep, and Mr. Wickfield, none of whom seem to me very good role models for a developing young man. He has no father, and the closest to a father figure he has is essentially a drunkard who has made a virtual slave of his daughter.

Steerforth could provide him with the confidence to assert himself a bit in life, particularly with respect to waiters and other serving people.

But I agree with a later comment of yours that there seems to be developing a side of Steerforth which may not be quite all it should be (and which he candidly acknowledges).

Peter wrote: "While Uriah Heep is a cringe-worthy character, Dickens appears to be building, block by block, a far more evil character in Steerforth. From our first meeting with him at David's school, where Steerforth manages to maneuver both food and sleep time from David, Steerforth is painted more and more shades of black. "

I'm not seeing the blackness yet. I agree that there are some shades of concern, but so far they are more hints for me than clear signals.

One thing that surprises me, on reflection, is how David's experience as head boy at school didn't give him more self-assurance and confidence. My view has always been that the head boy at an English school was chosen to be that because of demonstrated leadership and being able to control the dormitory environment, as Steerforth does with David on his first arrival. The head boy is almost a member of the staff. It's an exalted position (as Wodehouse makes clear in some of his books, particularly as to a head girl), but David doesn't seem to have developed the confidence which I would have expected him to have or to have developed.

Hilary wrote: "...his [Steerforth's] posturing as a good old chap and everyone's friend wears thin when we see how he talks of the Peggottys and Ham. He is an inveterate snob."

In his defense, it was a very class conscious society, and he would have been brought up almost automatically to reflect that. David can have the affection he does for the fishermen because he was brought up in a respectable but far from upper class home, and they are related to his beloved Peggotty. Steerforth was brought up with more wealth, including a manservant, so it would hardly be unexpected that he should have that upper class consciousness of "slumming," though outwardly he does it very nicely and pleasantly and doesn't show to them his disdain for their lower class.

Yes indeed, Everyman, it was a very class-conscious society and still is, I fear. Nowadays, it tends to be less acceptable to regard people with disdain according to 'class'. This is not to say that it doesn't still exist, but it tends not to be flaunted, in Ireland and England, at least. Human beings by nature will, almost invariably, secretly or otherwise attempt to puff themselves up by treating others with condescension. In Steerforth's case, I believe that he thought himself to be a mighty fine specimen when allowing himself, as you say, to 'slum' it with the Peggottys. It's true that he appears not to be unaware of his shortcomings which is laudable, but such attitudes were neither right then nor now.

Everyman wrote: "Tristram wrote: "It is quite noteworthy that David, from the very beginning, is struck with an almost creepy admiration for Steerforth ..."

Unfortunate, yes, but I didn't see it as creepy. This was a man who befriended and helped him in an hour of great need, helped him fit into a strange and mysterious environment. ..."

While I agree that David was pretty destitute of role models (especially after Steerforth got rid of Mr. Mell), I question whether Steerforth really helped him at Creakle's school. Now that we know from Mrs. Steerforth the nature of her son's favoritism, his behaviour, looking back, appears even more callous and cowardly. He couldn't (or wouldn't) protect David from Creakle, but much worse, he told David after a beating that he wouldn't have stood it himself -- when it was his mother's money, not his own 'pluck', that protected him. When in church Steerforth let Traddles take a beating for him (regardless of having no risk himself), then praised him for not being a sneak, Steerforth was already lost in his own deceit.

I'm also wondering how much Steerforth actually helped David academically. He helped him with his sums, but I can't recall Steerforth ever reading. I'm curious whether his disdain of getting a degree (in the passage Tristram quoted) is due to laziness, or lack of ability -- perhaps his mother can't bail him out with her money this time.

Kim wrote: ""Oh, really? You know how ignorant I am, and that I only ask for information, but isn't it always so? I thought that kind of life was on all hands understood to be — eh?"

Illustration by Fred Bar..."

Thanks, Kim. What an odd, skewed portrait on the wall -- perhaps of the late Mr. Steerforth...? Interesting that he appears to looking at the young Steerforth.

Vanessa wrote: "Everyman wrote: "Tristram wrote: "It is quite noteworthy that David, from the very beginning, is struck with an almost creepy admiration for Steerforth ..."

Unfortunate, yes, but I didn't see it a..."

You offer us more evidence against Steerforth having any redeeming qualities. We would do well to keep our eyes on him.

I am afraid that Dickens was not a very pleasant person to deal with, but however much I dislike this idea, the same can probably be said of many a famous artist. Anthony Trollope, another of my favourite writers, is said to have been quite a curmodgeon and Bulwer-Lytton's greatest love seems to have been himself. Dostoyevsky was a religios fanaticist and a Pan-Slavist, and my favourite director John Ford ... oh the least said the better ...

I think there is even one thing worse than good writers or directors with bad characters, namely people with bad characters that are neither good writers nor directors ;-)

Haha Tristram! How true. ;-)

Tristram wrote: "I am afraid that Dickens was not a very pleasant person to deal with, but however much I dislike this idea, the same can probably be said of many a famous artist. Anthony Trollope, another of my fa..."

Nicely phrased. Whenever the thought "wouldn't it be great if I could have met (someone)" pops into my brain I chase it away. Best only to know and enjoy what the person has accomplished.

Spot on, Peter. I never want to meet my heroes. I'd prefer them on their pedestals. Then I don't have to deal with the fact that they, like me, have feet of clay.

Hilary wrote: "Spot on, Peter. I never want to meet my heroes. I'd prefer them on their pedestals. Then I don't have to deal with the fact that they, like me, have feet of clay."

Very true Hilary. Nothing is as good as it seems in real life, as opposed to what we conjure up in our imaginations. Long live the imagination!

Peter wrote: "Tristram wrote: "I am afraid that Dickens was not a very pleasant person to deal with, but however much I dislike this idea, the same can probably be said of many a famous artist. Anthony Trollope,..."

I agree with your caveat against meeting artists you adore - but maybe it would be great to meet authors whose works failed to impress you. What might it be like for example to meet Thomas Mann and tell him what a self-important humbug he was? ;-)

Tristram wrote: "Peter wrote: "Tristram wrote: "I am afraid that Dickens was not a very pleasant person to deal with, but however much I dislike this idea, the same can probably be said of many a famous artist. Ant..."

That would indeed be fun. Just imagine, however, if after we made our comments, the artist/writer smiled knowingly and replied " I agree with you." Oh my, what then ....

Yay for the imagination, Vanessa!

Hilary, maybe you intended this comment for Kate? But regardless, I appreciate it, and agree with the value of the imagination :)

Oops sorry, Vanessa! Yes, it was for you too! ;-)