Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club (1837). Charles Dickens

Charles John Huffham Dickens - English writer, novelist, essayist
February 7 marks the 205th anniversary of the birth of the writer.

Charles Dickens
(1812-1870)
“A person cannot truly improve unless he helps others to improve.”

Charles Dickens was born in 1812 in Landport. His parents were John and Elizabeth Dickens. Charles was the second child of eight children in the family. His father worked at the naval base of the Royal Navy, but was not a hard worker, but an official.

Little Dickens inherited from his father a rich imagination, lightness of words, apparently adding to this some seriousness of life inherited from his mother, on whose shoulders all worldly concerns to preserve the well-being of the family fell.

The boy's rich abilities delighted his parents, and the artistically minded father literally tormented his son, forcing him to act out different scenes, tell his impressions, improvise, read poetry, etc. Dickens turned into a little actor, full of narcissism and vanity.

However, the Dickens family was suddenly ruined to the ground. The father was thrown into a debtor's prison for many years, the mother had to fight poverty. Pampered, frail in health, full of fantasy, in love with himself, the boy ended up in harsh operating conditions at a wax factory.

Throughout his subsequent life, Dickens considered this ruin of the family and this black polish of his as the greatest insult to himself, an undeserved and humiliating blow. He did not like to talk about it, he even hid these facts, but here, from the bottom of need, Dickens drew his ardent love for the offended, for the needy, his understanding of their suffering, understanding of the cruelty that they meet from above, a deep knowledge of the life of poverty and such horrendous social institutions, like the then schools for poor children and orphanages, like the exploitation of child labor in factories, like debtor's prisons, where he visited his father, etc.

Dickens carried out of his adolescence a great, gloomy hatred for the rich, for the ruling classes. Colossal ambition possessed the young Dickens. The dream of climbing back into the ranks of people who enjoyed wealth, the dream of outgrowing his original social place, winning for himself wealth, pleasure, freedom - that was what excited this teenager with a mop of chestnut hair over a deathly pale face, with huge , burning with healthy fire, eyes.

After his father's release from prison, Charles remained in his service at the insistence of his mother. In addition, he began attending Wellington Academy, graduating in 1827. In May of the same year, Charles Dickens got a job as a junior clerk in a law office, and a year and a half later, having mastered shorthand, he began working as a free reporter. In 1830 he was invited to the Moning Chronicle.

The public immediately accepted the novice reporter. His notes attracted the attention of many. In 1836, the first literary experiments of the writer were published - the moralistic "Essays of Boz". He mainly wrote about the petty bourgeoisie, its interests and state of affairs, painted literary portraits of Londoners and psychological sketches. It must be said that Charles Dickens, whose brief biography does not allow to cover all the details of his life, began to publish his novels in newspapers in separate chapters.

"Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club". The novel began to appear in 1836. The novel made an incredible sensation. The names of the heroes immediately began to be called dogs, give nicknames, wear hats and umbrellas like Pickwick's.

Charles Dickens, whose biography is known to every inhabitant of Foggy Albion, made the whole of England laugh. But it helped him to solve more serious problems. His next work was the novel The Life and Adventures of Oliver Twist. It is difficult now to imagine a person who does not know the story of the orphan Oliver from the London slums. Charles Dickens portrayed a broad social picture in his novel, touching on the problem of workhouses and showing the life of the wealthy bourgeois in contrast.

Dickens' fame grew rapidly. Both liberals saw him as their ally, because he defended freedom, and conservatives, because he pointed out the cruelty of new social relationships.
In 1843, the "Christmas Carol" was published, which became one of the most popular and read stories about this magical holiday.

In 1848, the novel "Dombey and Son" is published, which is called the best in the writer's work. His next work is "David Copperfield". To some extent, the novel is autobiographical. Dickens brings into the work the spirit of protest against capitalist England, the old foundations of morality.
The novel "Our Mutual Friend" attracts with its versatility, in which the writer takes a break from social topics. And this is where his style of writing changes. It continues to transform in the next works of the author, unfortunately, not finished.

In the 1850s Dickens reached the zenith of his fame. He was a darling of fate - a famous writer, ruler of thoughts and a rich man - in a word, a person for whom fate did not stint on gifts.

But Dickens' needs were wider than his income. His disorderly, purely bohemian nature did not allow him to introduce any kind of order into his affairs. He not only tormented his rich and fruitful brain, forcing it to overwork creatively, but being an unusually brilliant reader, he tried to earn huge fees by lecturing and reading passages from his novels. The impression of this purely acting reading was always colossal. Apparently, Dickens was one of the greatest reading virtuosos. But on his trips he fell into the hands of some entrepreneurs and, earning a lot, at the same time time brought himself to exhaustion.

His family life was difficult. Quarrels with his wife, some difficult and dark relationships with her entire family, fear for sickly children made Dickens from his family rather a source of constant worries and torment.

On June 9, 1870, fifty-eight-year-old Dickens, not old in years, but exhausted by colossal work, a rather hectic life and a lot of all sorts of troubles, dies in Gaideshill from a stroke.

Do you know that

∙ Charles Dickens always slept with his head to the north. Also, when he wrote his works, he sat facing in this direction.

∙ One of Charles Dickens's favorite pastimes was going to the Paris mortuary, where he could spend whole days captivated by the sight of unidentified remains.

∙ From the very beginning of the relationship, Charles Dickens declared to Catherine Hogarth, his future wife, that her main purpose was to bear children and do what he told her to do. During the years of their life together, she gave birth to ten children, and all this time unquestioningly followed any instructions from her husband. However, over the years, he began to simply despise her.

∙ Dickens was a very superstitious person: he touched everything three times - for good luck, considered Friday his lucky day, and on the day the last part of the next novel was released, he would certainly leave London.

∙ Dickens assured that he sees and hears the characters of his works. They, in turn, constantly get in the way, do not want the writer to do anything other than them.

∙ Charles very often fell into a trance, which his comrades noticed more than once. He was constantly haunted by a sense of deja vu.

Internet resources:

Dickens Charles. All books by the same author[Electronic resource] / Ch. Dickens / / RoyalLib.Com: electronic library. – Access mode: http://royallib.com/author/dikkens_charlz.html

Dickens Charles. All books by the author[Electronic resource] / Ch. Dickens / / Read books online: electronic library. – Access mode: http://www.bookol.ru/author.php?author=%D0%A7%D0%B0%D1%80%D0%BB%D1%8C%D0%B7%20%D0%94 %D0%B8%D0%BA%D0%BA%D0%B5%D0%BD%D1%81

Charles Dickens. Collected Works[Electronic resource] / Ch. Dickens // Lib.Ru: library of Maxim Moshkov. – Access mode: http://lib.ru/INPROZ/DIKKENS/

Charles Dickens: biography[Electronic resource] // Litra.ru. – Access mode: http://www.litra.ru/biography/get/wrid/00286561224697217406/

Charles Dickens. Articles. Speeches. Letters[Electronic resource] // Librarian. Ru.: electronic library of non-fiction. - Access mode: http://www.bibliotekar.ru/dikkens/

Aphorisms and quotes:

Our world is a world of disappointments, and often disappointments in those hopes that we cherish most of all, and in hopes that do great honor to our nature.

Tears cleanse the lungs, wash the face, strengthen eyesight and calm the nerves - so cry well!

There are some books that have the best thing - the spine and the cover.

Women can explain everything in a nutshell, unless they start to boil.

I decided that if my world can't be yours, I will make your world mine.

There is no repentance more cruel than useless remorse.

In this world, everyone benefits who lightens the burden of another person.

Not always high is that which occupies a high position. And it is not always low that which occupies a low position.

Printing is the greatest discovery in the world of art, culture and all technical inventions.

Why are we given life? So that we defend it bravely until the last breath.

Persistence will reach the top of any hill.

What is more courageous than the truth?

The key to your prosperity is hard work.

By helping others learn and develop, we improve ourselves.

Children feel and feel injustice more acutely and more subtly than adults.

A dead man is not as scary as a living, but devoid of mind person.

A lie is always a lie, whether you tell it or hide it.

Tears are the rain that washes away the earthly dust that covers our hardened hearts.

Any beautiful goal can be achieved by honest means. And if not, then this goal is bad.

CHAPTER IV Field maneuvers and bivouac; still new friends and an invitation to go out of town Many writers show not only unreasonable, but really shameful unwillingness to do justice to the sources from which they draw valuable material. We have no such desire. We are only striving to honestly fulfill the responsible duty arising from our publishing functions; and however, under other circumstances, ambition may impel us to claim authorship of these adventures, respect for truth forbids us to claim anything more than a careful arrangement of them and an impartial presentation. The Pickwick Papers are our New River Pond,* and we might be compared to the New River Company. Through the labors of others, a huge reservoir of essential facts has been created for us. We only serve them and let them flow clean and light with these issues (Originally, the novel was published monthly in separate issues.) - for the benefit of people who yearn for Pickwickian wisdom. In this spirit, and firmly leaning on our decision to pay tribute to those sources to which we have consulted, we openly declare that we are indebted to the notebook of Mr. conscience, we proceed without further comment. The next morning the inhabitants of Rochester and the towns adjoining it rose early from their beds in a state of extreme agitation and excitement. A large military review was to take place on the line of fortifications. The eagle eye of the commander of the troops will watch the maneuvers of half a dozen regiments; temporary fortifications have been erected, a fortress will be besieged and taken and a mine blown up. Mr. Pickwick was an enthusiastic admirer of the army, as our readers may have guessed from the brief excerpts we have given from his description of Chatham. Nothing could so delight him, nothing could so harmonize with the feelings of each of his companions, as the forthcoming spectacle. That is why they soon set off and headed for the scene of action, where crowds of people were already flocking from all sides. The view of the parade ground testified that the upcoming ceremony would be very majestic and solemn. Sentinels were posted to guard the beachhead, and battery-powered servants to guard the ladies' seats, and sergeants ran in all directions with leather-bound books under their arms, and Colonel Balder, in full dress uniform, galloped from place to place on horseback, and reined in his horse, crashing into the crowd, and making it prancing and jumping, and shouting very menacingly, and brought himself to the point that he was very hoarse and very flushed for no apparent reason or reason. The officers ran back and forth, first talking to Colonel Balder, then giving orders to the sergeants, and finally disappearing; and even the soldiers peered out from behind their lacquered leather collars with an air of enigmatic solemnity that clearly indicated the exceptional character of the event. Mr. Pickwick, with his three companions, placed himself in the front row of the crowd, and waited patiently for the ceremony to begin. The crowd grew with every second; and for the next two hours their attention was engrossed in the efforts they had to make to hold the position they had won. Sometimes the crowd would suddenly press on from behind, and then Mr. Pickwick would be thrown several yards forward with a speed and elasticity that did not at all correspond to his staid importance; sometimes the order to "go back" was given, and the butt of the gun either fell on Mr. Pickwick's big toe, reminding him of the order given, or rested on his chest, thereby ensuring the immediate execution of the order. Some cheerful gentlemen on the left, pushing in a crowd and crushing Mr. Snodgrass, who was undergoing inhuman torments, wanted to know "where he was going," and when Mr. Winkle expressed his extreme indignation at the sight of this unprovoked onslaught, one of those standing behind put his hat over his eyes and asked if he would deign to put his head in his pocket. All these witty jokes, as well as the incomprehensible absence of Mr. Tupman (who suddenly disappeared and reappeared who knows where) created for the Pickwickians a situation on the whole rather unenviable than pleasant or desirable. Finally, that many-voiced rumble ran through the crowd, which usually heralds the onset of the expected event. All eyes turned to the fort, the sortie gate. A few seconds of tense waiting - and banners fluttered merrily in the air, weapons flashed brightly in the sun: column after column went out onto the plain. The troops stopped and lined up; the team ran down the line, guns rattled, and the troops took guard; the commander, accompanied by Colonel Balder and a retinue of officers, galloped to the front at a light gallop. All the military bands began to play; the horses reared up, galloped back and, waving their tails, rushed in all directions; dogs barked, the crowd yelled, the soldiers took their guns to their feet, and in all the space that the eye could cover, nothing was visible except red coats and white trousers, frozen in immobility. Mr. Pickwick, getting tangled in the legs of the horses and miraculously getting out from under them, was so absorbed in this that he did not have the leisure to contemplate the scene played out until it had reached the stage we have just described. When, at last, he got the opportunity to establish himself on his feet, his joy and delight were boundless. - Could there be anything more delightful? he asked Mr. Winkle. “No, it cannot,” replied this gentleman, who had just freed himself from a short fellow who had been standing on his feet for a quarter of an hour. “It is truly a noble and dazzling sight,” said Mr. Snodgrass, in whose breast a spark of poetry quickly flared up: “the valiant defenders of the country lined up in battle array before its peaceful citizens; their faces express not warlike cruelty, but civilized meekness, in their eyes flashes not the evil fire of robbery and revenge, but the soft light of humanity and reason! Mr. Pickwick fully appreciated the spirit of this laudatory speech, but could not completely agree with it, for the soft light of reason burned faintly in the eyes of the soldiers, since after the command "attention!" the viewer saw only a few thousand pairs of eyes staring straight ahead and devoid of any expression. “Now we are in an excellent position,” said Mr. Pickwick, looking around. The crowd around them gradually dispersed, and there was almost no one around. - Excellent! both Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle confirmed. - What are they doing now? inquired Pickwick, adjusting his spectacles. “I—I tend to think,” said Mr. Winkle, his face changing, “I tend to think they're going to shoot. - Nonsense! said Mr. Pickwick hastily. “I—I really think they want to shoot,” insisted Mr. Snodgrass, a little alarmed. “Impossible,” said Mr. Pickwick. He had hardly spoken these words when all six regiments aimed their guns, as if they all had one common target - and this target was the Pickwickians - and there was a volley, the most terrible and deafening that had ever shaken the earth to its very center or old gentleman to the core of his being. Under such embarrassing circumstances, Mr. Pickwick, under a hail of blank volleys, and under the threat of an attack by the troops who began to form up from the opposite side, showed the perfect composure and self-control, which are the indispensable attributes of a great spirit. He seized Mr. Winkle's arm, and, placing himself between this gentleman and Mr. Snodgrass, he insistently implored them to remember that they were not in immediate danger of shooting, if they could not be deafened by the noise. - And ... what if one of the soldiers mistakenly loaded a gun with a bullet? said Mr. Winkle, turning pale at the thought of such a possibility, which he himself invented. - I just heard - something whistled into the air, and very loudly: right under my ear. "Shouldn't we throw ourselves flat on the ground?" suggested Mr. Snodgrass. "No, no... it's all over already," said Mr. Pickwick. Perhaps his lips trembled and his cheeks grew pale. but not a single word of fear or excitement escaped the lips of this great man. Mr. Pickwick was right: the shooting had stopped. But he had scarcely had time to congratulate himself on the fact that his guess was correct, when the whole line began to move; rushing swiftly to the very place where Mr. Pickwick and his friends were encamped. Man is mortal, and there is a limit beyond which human courage cannot reach. Mr. Pickwick glanced through his spectacles at the approaching avalanche, and then resolutely turned his back on it, - let's not say - ran: firstly, this expression is common; secondly, Mr. Pickwick's figure was by no means adapted to this kind of retreat. He set off at a trot, as fast as his legs were capable of, so fast that he could fully appreciate the predicament of his situation when it was too late. The enemy troops, whose appearance had embarrassed Mr. Pickwick a few moments before, were arrayed to repulse the staged attack of the troops besieging the fortress; and as a result, Mr. Pickwick and his companions suddenly found themselves between two longest lines, of which one was advancing at a rapid pace, while the other, in battle formation, was waiting for a collision. - Hey! shouted the officers of the advancing line. - Get out of my way! shouted the officers of the motionless line. - Where should we go? yelled the alarmed Pickwickians. - Hey Hey hey! was the only answer. A moment of turmoil, a heavy thump of feet, a violent jolt, muffled laughter... Half a dozen regiments were already half a thousand yards away, and Mr. Pickwick's soles continued to flicker in the air. Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle made forced courbets with remarkable agility, and the first thing that the latter saw, sitting on the ground and wiping the life-giving stream from his nose with a yellow silk handkerchief, was his highly esteemed mentor, chasing his own hat, which, playfully bouncing , drifted away. Chasing one's own hat is one of those rare trials, funny and sad at the same time, that evoke little sympathy. Considerable composure and a considerable dose of prudence are required when capturing a hat. You should not rush - otherwise you will overtake her; you should not fall into the other extreme - otherwise you will completely lose it. The best way is to run lightly, keeping up with the object of persecution, be prudent and cautious, wait for an opportunity, gradually overtaking the hat, then dive quickly, grab it by the crown, put it on your head and smile good-naturedly all the time, as if it amuses you no less than all the others. There was a pleasant breeze, and Mr. Pickwick's hat rolled merrily into the distance. The wind puffed and Mr. Pickwick puffed, and the hat rolled and rolled briskly, like a nimble dolphin in the waves, and it would have rolled away from Mr. Pickwick, if by the will of Providence an obstacle had not appeared in its path just at the moment when this the gentleman was ready to leave her to her fate. Mr. Pickwick was exhausted and about to give up the pursuit, when a gust of wind carried his hat to the wheel of one of the carriages, which were standing in the very place to which he was rushing. Mr. Pickwick, seizing the opportunity, rushed forward quickly, took possession of his property, hoisted it on his head, and paused to catch his breath. In less than half a minute he heard a voice impatiently calling his name, and immediately recognized the voice of Mr. Tupman, and looking up, saw a sight that filled him with surprise and joy. In a four-seater carriage, from which horses were unleashed on account of the cramped conditions, stood a portly elderly gentleman in a blue frock coat with shiny buttons, plush trousers and high boots with lapels, then two young ladies in scarves and feathers, a young gentleman, apparently in love into one of the young ladies in scarves and feathers, a lady of indeterminate age, apparently the aunt of the ladies in question, and Mr. Tupman, who carried himself as casually and freely as if from the first days of infancy he had been a member of this family. A large basket was tied to the back of the carriage - one of those baskets that always awakens in the contemplative mind the thoughts of a cold bird, tongue and bottles of wine, and on the goats sat a fat red-faced fellow, sunk into a slumber. Every thinking observer could determine at a glance that it was his duty to distribute the contents of said basket when the moment was right for their consumption. Mr. Pickwick was hurriedly surveying these interesting details when the faithful student called him again. - Pickwick! Pickwick! exclaimed Mr. Tupman. Get in here! Hurry! “Please, sir, you are welcome,” said the portly gentleman. - Joe! Bad boy... He fell asleep again... Joe, put the footboard down. The fat guy slowly rolled off the goat, lowered the footboard, and held the carriage door affably open. At that moment Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle approached. "There's plenty of room for everyone, gentlemen," said the portly gentleman. - Two in the carriage, one on the goats. Joe, make room on the gantry for one of these gentlemen. Well, sir, please! And the gentleman of the road put forth his hand, and dragged first Mr. Pickwick, and then Mr. Snodgrass, into the carriage. Mr. Winkle climbed onto the box, and the fat fellow waddled over to the same perch and fell asleep instantly. "Very glad to see you, gentlemen," said the portly gentleman. “I know you very well, although you may not remember me. Last winter I spent several evenings at your club ... Met my friend Mr. Tupman here this morning and was very pleased with him. How are you, sir? Your look is blooming. Mr. Pickwick thanked him for the compliment, and shook the hand of a portly gentleman in cuffed boots in a friendly manner. - Well, how do you feel, sir? continued the portly gentleman, addressing Mr. Snodgrass with paternal solicitude. - Great, right? Well, that's great, that's great. And you, sir? (Turning to Mr. Winkle.) I'm very glad you're feeling well, very, very glad. Gentlemen, these girls are my daughters, and this is my sister, Miss Rachel Wardle. She is a miss, although she does not understand her mission in such a way ... What, sir, how? And the portly gentleman playfully nudged Mr. Pickwick in the side with his elbow, and laughed heartily. - Ah, brother! exclaimed Miss Wardle with a reproachful smile. “Why, I speak the truth,” said the portly gentleman, “no one can deny it. Excuse me, gentlemen, this is my friend Mr. Trundle. Well, now that everyone is familiar with each other, I propose to settle down without any hesitation, and let's see what's going on there. Here's my advice. With these words, the portly gentleman put on his spectacles, Mr. Pickwick took up his telescope, and all in the carriage stood up and began to contemplate the military evolutions over the heads of the spectators. These were amazing evolutions: one rank fired over the heads of another rank, after which it ran away, then this other rank fired over the heads of the next and ran in turn; the troops lined up in a square, and the officers were placed in the center; then they descended the ladders into the ditch and climbed out of it with the help of the same ladders; knocked down barricades of baskets and showed the greatest valor. With tools resembling giant mops, shells were hammered into cannons; and there were so many preparations for firing, and the volley thundered so deafeningly that the air resounded with women's cries. The young Miss Wardles were so frightened that Mr. Trundle was literally forced to support one of them in the carriage, while Mr. Snodgrass supported the other, and Mr. Wardle's sister became so nervously excited that Mr. Tupman considered it absolutely necessary to wrap his arm around her waist. so that she doesn't fall. Everyone was excited except the fat guy; he, on the other hand, slept sweetly, as if the roar of cannons had replaced his lullaby since childhood. - Joe! Joe! cried the portly gentleman, when the fortress was taken, and the besiegers and the besieged sat down to dine. - Unbearable boy, he fell asleep again! Be so kind as to pinch him, sir... please, on the leg, otherwise you won't wake him up... thank you very much. Untie the basket, Joe! The fat fellow, whom Mr. Winkle had successfully awakened by pinching a piece of thigh with his thumb and forefinger, rolled off the box again and began to untie the basket, showing more promptness than could be expected from him, judging by his passivity up to this point. "Now we'll have to move a little," said the portly gentleman. There were jokes that the sleeves of the lady's dresses would wrinkle in tight quarters, there were playful suggestions, which caused a bright blush on the lady's cheeks, to put them on the knees of the gentlemen, and, finally, everyone settled into the carriage. The portly gentleman began to pass various things to the carriage, which he took from the hands of a fat guy, who climbed up on the back of the carriage for this purpose. - Knives and forks, Joe! Knives and forks were served; the ladies and gentlemen in the carriage, and Mr. Winkle on the box, were supplied with these useful utensils. _ Plates, Joe, plates! The same procedure was repeated as when distributing knives and forks. - Now the bird, Joe. The insufferable boy - he fell asleep again! Joe! Joe! (Several blows to the head with the cane, and the fat guy woke up from his lethargy with some difficulty.) Live, serve a snack! There was something about that last word that made the fat guy jump. He jumped up; his pewter eyes, gleaming from behind his swollen cheeks, stared greedily at the provisions as he began to remove them from the basket. “Come on, move on,” said Mr. Wardle, for the fat fellow leaned lovingly over the capon and seemed unable to part with him. The guy took a deep breath and, casting a fiery glance at the appetizing bird, reluctantly handed it over to his master. - That's right ... look at both. Come on tongue... dove pate. Be careful not to drop the veal and ham... Don't forget the lobster... Take the salad out of the napkin... Give the sauce. These orders slipped from Mr. Wardle's lips as he handed out the dishes in question, transferring the plates to everyone's hands and knees. - Wonderful, isn't it? inquired this cheerful gentleman, when the process of destroying food began. - Wonderful! said Mr. Winkle, sitting on the box and cutting up the bird. - A glass of wine? - With the greatest pleasure. - Take a bottle to your goats. - You are very kind. - Joe! - What do you want, sir? (This time he did not sleep, for he had just managed to steal a veal patty.) - A bottle of wine for the gentleman on the box. Very pleased to meet you, sir. - Thank you. Mr. Winkle drained his glass and placed the bottle beside him on the rack. - May I drink to your health, sir? said Mr. Trundle to Mr. Winkle. "Very pleasant," said Mr. Winkle, and the two gentlemen drank. Then they all drank a glass, except for the lady. - How our dear Emily flirted with someone else's gentleman! whispered the spinster aunt to her brother, Mr. Wardle, with all the envy of an aunt and spinster. - Well, so what? said the jolly old gentleman. - I think it's very natural ... nothing surprising. Mr Pickwick, would you like some wine, sir? Mr. Pickwick, who had thoughtfully examined the contents of the pâté, readily agreed. “Emily, my dear,” said the maiden aunt patronizingly, “don't talk so loud, my dear. - Ah, aunt! “Auntie and that old gentleman do everything to themselves and nothing to others,” whispered Miss Isabella Wardle to her sister Emily. The young ladies laughed merrily, and the old lady tried to put on an amiable face, but she did not succeed. “Young girls are so lively,” said Miss Wardle to Mr. Tupman in such a sympathetic tone, as if the animation were contraband, and the man who made no secret of it was committing a great crime and sin. - Oh yeah! said Mr. Tupman, not understanding what answer was expected of him. - It's charming. “Um…” said Miss Wardle incredulously. - Allow me? said Mr. Tupman, in his sweetest tone, touching the charming Rachel's fingers with one hand, and lifting the bottle with the other. Allow me? - Oh, sir! Mr. Tupman looked very imposing, and Rachel expressed her apprehension that the firing would not resume, for even then she would have to resort to his support again. - What do you think, is it possible to call my dear nieces pretty? the loving aunt asked Mr. Tupman in a whisper. - Perhaps if their aunt were not here, the resourceful Pickwickian answered, accompanying his words with a passionate look. “Ah, naughty… but seriously… If their complexion was a little better, they might look pretty… in the evening light?” “Yes, perhaps,” said Mr. Tupman in an indifferent tone. - Oh, what a mocker you are ... I know perfectly well what you wanted to say. - What? inquired Mr. Tupman, who did not want to say anything at all. - You thought that Isabella was hunched over ... yes, yes, you thought! You men are so observant! Yes, she stoops, that cannot be denied, and certainly nothing disfigures young girls more than this habit of stooping. I often tell her that several years will pass and it will be terrible to look at her. And yes, you are a joker! Mr. Tupman had nothing against such a reputation acquired at such a cheap price, he drew himself up and smiled enigmatically. What a sarcastic smile! Rachel said admiringly. - Really, I'm afraid of you. - Are you afraid of me? - Oh, you won't hide anything from me, I know perfectly well what that smile means. - What? asked Mr. Tupman, who did not know it himself. “You mean,” continued the pretty aunt, lowering her voice, “you mean to say that Isabella’s stoop is not such a great misfortune compared to Emily’s swagger. And Emily is very cheeky! You can't imagine how this sometimes upsets me! I cry for hours and my brother is so kind, so trusting, he doesn't notice anything, I'm pretty sure it would break his heart. Perhaps it is only the manner of behaving that is to blame. I would like to think so ... I console myself with this hope ... (Here the loving aunt let out a deep sigh and shook her head dejectedly.) Emily Wardle to her sister - I'm sure of it, she has such an angry face. - You think? Isabella replied. - Hm... Dear aunt! - What, honey? - Aunt, I'm so afraid that you will catch a cold ... please put on a scarf, wrap your dear old head ... really, you need to take care of yourself at your age! Although retribution was made with the same coin and on merit, but it was hardly possible to think of revenge more cruel. It is not known in what form the aunt would have poured out her indignation if Mr. Wardle had not intervened, who, suspecting nothing, changed the topic of conversation, calling energetically to Joe. “The insufferable boy,” said the old gentleman, “he has fallen asleep again!” - Amazing boy! said Mr. Pickwick. Does he always sleep like this? - Asleep! said the old gentleman. - He always sleeps. In his sleep he follows orders and snores while serving at the table. - Highly strange! said Mr. Pickwick. “Yes, very strange,” agreed the old gentleman. - I'm proud of this guy... I wouldn't part with him for anything in the world. This is a miracle of nature! Hey Joe, Joe, clear the dishes and pop another bottle, do you hear? The fat guy got up, opened his eyes, swallowed a huge piece of cake, which he was chewing at the moment when he fell asleep, and slowly carried out his master's order: he collected the plates and put them in a basket, devouring the remnants of the feast with his eyes. Another bottle was served and drunk; the basket was tied up again, the fat guy took his place on the box, the spectacles and spyglass were again removed. In the meantime, the maneuvers resumed. The whistle, the shooting, the fright of the lady, and then, to everyone's delight, the mine was also blown up. As the smoke from the explosion cleared, the troops and spectators followed suit and dispersed as well. Don't forget," said the elderly gentleman, shaking Mr. Pickwick's hand and ending the conversation that had begun during the final stages of the maneuvers, you are our guest tomorrow. “Certainly,” said Mr. Pickwick. - Do you have an address? "Menor Farm, Dingley Dell," said Mr. Pickwick, looking into his notebook. "That's right," said the old gentleman. “And remember, I won’t let you go until a week later, and I’ll make sure that you see everything worthy of your attention. If you are interested in village life, please come to me and I will give it to you in abundance. Joe! - Insufferable boy: he fell asleep again! Joe, help Tom get the horses! The horses were harnessed, the coachman climbed onto the box, the fat guy sat next to him, they said goodbye, and the carriage drove off. When the Pickwickians looked back for the last time, the setting sun cast a bright glow on the faces of those sitting in the carriage and illuminated the figure of the fat guy. His head drooped on his chest, he slept a sweet dream.

Quote from The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, 1836 - 1837, an English writer (1812 - 1870), ch. four:

"The pursuit of one's own hat is one of those rare trials, funny and sad at the same time, - which cause little sympathy. Considerable composure and a considerable dose of prudence are required when capturing a hat. You should not rush - otherwise you will overtake it; you should not fall into the other extreme - otherwise you will completely lose it. it amuses you as much as everyone else.

There was a pleasant breeze, and Mr. Pickwick's hat rolled merrily into the distance. The wind puffed and Mr. Pickwick puffed, and the hat rolled and rolled briskly, like a nimble dolphin in the waves, and it would have rolled away from Mr. Pickwick, if by the will of Providence an obstacle had not appeared in its path just at the moment when this the gentleman was ready to leave her to her fate.

Mr. Pickwick was exhausted and about to give up the pursuit, when a gust of wind carried his hat to the wheel of one of the carriages, which were standing in the very place to which he was rushing. Mr. Pickwick, seizing the favorable moment, rushed forward quickly, took possession of his property, hoisted it on his head and stopped to take a breath.

Translation into Russian by A.V. Krivtsova and Evgenia Lanna.

English text:

There are very few moments in a man's existence when he experiences so much ludicrous distress, or meets with so little charitable commiseration, as when he is in pursuit of his own hat. A vast deal of coolness, and a peculiar degree of judgment, are requisite in catching a hat. A man must not be precipitation, or he runs over it; he must not rush into the opposite extreme, or he loses it altogether. The best way is to keep gently up with the object of pursuit, to be wary and cautious, to watch your opportunity well, get gradually before it, then make a rapid dive, seize it by the crown, and stick it firmly on your head ; smiling pleasantly all the time, as if you thought it as good a joke as anybody else.

There was a fine gentle wind, and Mr. Pickwick's hat rolled sportively before it. The wind puffed, and Mr. Pickwick puffed, and the hat rolled over and over as merrily as a lively porpoise in a strong tide: and on it might have rolled, far beyond Mr. Pickwick's reach, had not its course been providentially stopped, just as that gentleman was on the point of resigning it to its fate.

Mr. Pickwick, we say, was completely exhausted, and about to give up the chase, when the hat was blown with some violence against the wheel of a carriage, which was drawn up in a line with half a dozen other vehicles on the spot to which his steps had been directed. Mr. Pickwick, perceiving his advantage, darted briskly forward, secured his property, planted it on his head, and paused to take breath.

Charles Dickens "Oliver Twist"

The Adventures of Oliver Twist is Dickens' most famous novel.

The story of a boy who turned out to be an orphan, forced to wander through the gloomy slums of London. The vicissitudes of the fate of the little hero, numerous meetings on his way and a happy ending to difficult and dangerous adventures - all this is of genuine interest to many readers around the world.


For some reason, it always seemed to me that this is a very sad story, where at the end the main character must die. And since I am an impressionable nature, I put off reading this book for a long time. And in vain :) As it turned out, Dickens was a kind person, and not wanting to upset his readers, he ended almost all his works with a happy ending.

Oliver Twist is a wonderful story about the victory of good over evil, about overcoming difficulties and believing in miracles. The book looks a bit like a soap opera, in its best traditions)) Those who read it will understand what I mean)) I think that younger readers will generally like the book with a bang!

Charles Dickens "Greater Hope"

The novel "Great Expectations" - one of the last works of Dickens, the pearl of his work - tells the story of the life and collapse of the hopes of the young Philip Pirrip, nicknamed Pip in childhood. Pip's dreams of a career, love and prosperity in the "world of gentlemen" are shattered in an instant, as soon as he learns the terrible secret of his unknown patron, who is being pursued by the police. Money stained with blood and marked with the seal of crime, as Pip is convinced, cannot bring happiness. But what can be done in this case? And where will the hero of his dreams and high hopes lead?

I got goosebumps while reading this book! A story of great hopes, and no less big crashes... It is easy to read, it is even, to some extent, a detective story, so the book will not let you go, I promise :)

And again, thanks to Dickens for his kindness... I know, the author originally planned a different ending...

Charles Dickens "David Copperfield"

The Life of David Copperfield is truly Dickens' most popular novel. A novel translated into all languages ​​of the world, filmed dozens of times - and still captivating the reader with its simplicity and perfection.
This is the story of a young man who is ready to overcome any obstacles, endure any hardships and, for the sake of love, commit the most desperate and courageous deeds. The story of the infinitely charming David, the grotesquely insignificant Uriah, and the sweet, charming Dora. A story that embodies the charm of "good old England", nostalgia for which is amazingly felt today by people living in different countries on different continents.

Here in Dickens, if a villain, then such that one can see for a kilometer! And if positive, then just an angel with wings :) Perhaps this book is my favorite of the works presented here. The book describes David's life from birth to old age, everything is full of events, adventures and experiences.

I liked the part about the hero's childhood more than about his adult life. But in general, the book is very worthy, I recommend it for reading, however, like any other by this author. Dickens has an amazing style of writing books, this is such a wonderful, lively style, there is a lot of humor in his books, at some moments I really laughed, which you don’t expect in general from classic books (well, or I don’t expect ..))

The transition from The Pickwick Club, a comic epic, where Dickensian jolly humor prevails, to Oliver Twist, Dickens' first socially accusatory novel, should not seem unexpected, this is a natural moment of creative evolution.

To choose the profession of a writer Dickens was prompted not only by the need for constant work that meets his creative vocation, vanity and ambition and is able to provide him with material conditions of existence, but also the need for influential civic activity. Dickens was convinced of the high social significance of art, as well as that it is able to fulfill this purpose when it combines beauty, ideal and truth. “The stubborn struggle for truth in art,” he noted, “is the joy and sorrow of all true ministers of art.” It takes high civic conviction and active courage to endure this stubborn struggle. One can consider Dickens's civil and creative motto his words: "Where I am sure of the truth, I will not dissemble with a single person."

Success, recognition, finally, fame came to Dickens without hesitation or delay, as soon as The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club were published. However, it took him stamina and courage not to deviate to the side and not change his conviction and vocation. Passing from a realized idea to a new one, from The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club to The Adventures of Oliver Twist, Dickens asserted his right as an artist to choose a subject at his own discretion, to write not only about the "cream" of society, but also about its "scum", if, he remarked in brackets (in the preface to a new novel), their "speech does not offend the ear"; write about "scum" not in the way it was in popular literature before him and in his time, not embellishing life, not making evil and vice seductive, but showing the "harsh truth".

When the reader, contemporary to Dickens, turned to his novels, expecting to find in them the usual exciting adventures - dizzying "galloping over the moorland" and cheerful, welcoming thugs from the "high road", he was in for disappointment. Such a “usual thread of adventure”, which, as he says about it in his memoirs, young Korolenko was looking for, getting to know Dickens, was not in his novels.

The narrative of Dickens is based on the sequence of events; Adventure episodes, including abductions and persecutions, also contribute to the dynamism of the description. One of the brightest and most memorable episodes from the first Dickens novel is the chase episode with the participation of Mr. Pickwick. The shameless schemer, businessman, liar and deceiver Alfred Jingle - in the hope of profiting - carried away Miss Rachel, an old maid, thirsting for marriage bonds. The deceit is revealed, followed by noise, fuss, then a frenzied chase on frenzied horses harnessed to the carriage. But the fact of Mr. Pickwick's participation in the chase gives the adventure an unusual character, both comical and pathetic. And the description of the adventure, everything connected with it - people and horses, the place and time of action, the noise and pace of the turmoil, the state of mind and the momentary reflection of the protagonist - everything is conveyed with extraordinary liveliness, accuracy and conciseness, so that both details and the overall picture, both background and foreground are perceived easily and holistically. Such liveliness and freedom of epic narration, when the pen is able to grasp and in the exact word convey diverse objects and phenomena in their tangible materiality and combine everything into a holistic moving image - with the help of description, replicas, dialogue, internal monologue, combine the sharpness of the plot movement and changeability psychological states and make everything expressive and illustrative - such a narrative stood out against the backdrop of the most striking examples of the highly developed art of English prose and became a model for new searches in adventure literature and in the genre of the psychological novel.

If the initial moment of the conception of the "Pickwick Club" was a chance, then the conception of "Oliver Twist" was initially determined by the author's attitude, journalistic in its pathos and civil in its essence.

Dickens portrayed the world of thieves following Defoe and Fielding, and this is noticeable: he repeats some motives, takes into account some descriptive techniques, even imitates them. Carefree joker and amusing Charles

Bates, the witty Trickster are able to recall the "merry fellow and nice fellow" Major Jack, the youngest of the three Jacks, the heroes of Defoe's novel "Colonel Jack", and the brutalized Sikes - Captain, Jack, the eldest of the Jacks, distinguished by "stupid bloodthirstiness". However, more noticeable and significant in this literary dependence is that Dickens, taking into account the experience of his great predecessors, relies on his own experience and the experience of the new era, takes into account the level, possibilities and tasks of the literature of his time, responds to current events and creates a completely original work, a novel, which was and remains one of the most popular and widely read works of English literature.

It was rightly noted by Igor Katarsky in his remarkable study "Dickens in Russia":

“Children's images in the work of Dickens can rightfully be called an artistic discovery for European literature of the 19th century. None of the literatures of Western Europe could penetrate so deeply into the spiritual world of a child until the last third of the 18th century, until the appearance of Goldsmith's "Weckfield Priest" and Rousseau's "Confessions" 1 . To this we can and should add: not just the "children's images" created by Dickens, taken separately from each other or in their totality, were an artistic discovery.

"Children's images" occupied the imagination of Dickens throughout his creative life, they are present in all his novels, from the first to the last, and almost each of these images really testifies to such a deep penetration into the spiritual world of a child that no great writer before Dickens possessed. . But in order to appreciate the "artistic discovery" of Dickens, this statement is not enough.

The world of children as a special world and at the same time inseparable from the world of adults, depending on it and influencing it, the world is diverse, complex, little studied, difficult to comprehend, and fragile, and durable, requiring close attention, deep comprehension and sensitive care, such the world for the first time in fiction was discovered and recreated by Dickens. This discovery was recognized and extremely appreciated by small and great writers, most of all by those who were worried about the "damned questions" of the adult world, including Tolstoy and Dostoevsky in the first place.

Dickens' special interest in childhood and adolescence was due to his own early experiences, his understanding of disadvantaged childhood and sympathy for him, understanding that the position and condition of the child reflects the position and condition of the family and society as a whole. Dickens was indignant at the ignorance in the treatment of children in the family and at school, as well as at children's institutions that disfigure the souls of children. He wrote about children, guided by the need to change and improve their living conditions, working conditions, education, upbringing with the hope and confidence that a truthful, revealing and inspiring word can decisively contribute to all this.

The heroes of Dickens from the world of childhood - children and adolescents - healthy in spirit, morally pure, persistent and courageous, acutely endure conflict situations, are able to endure sorrows and hardships, repay kindness with kindness, resist injustice in feelings, thoughts and actions. Often through their eyes, Dickens looks at the world, at different spheres of social life, at people and nature, and judges everything by the measure of their state of mind, both sad and joyful, influencing the reader by expressing a whole range of feelings experienced by the hero and empathized by the author. Robert Louis Stevenson, more consistently and more fully than other English writers, will perceive and develop this Dickensian tradition.

The Adventures of Oliver Twist had not yet been published, and Dickens was already writing new adventures - Nicholas Nickleby. It was a common practice of Dickens' professional work, continuous work, when one idea is replaced by another and book after book.

Dickens's novels were published in parts, in releases, before appearing in separate editions, and the author had to take special care of the entertaining development of the plot, to maintain the reader's interest in interrupted reading. The events in Dickens's novels are designed to sharpen the reader's interest, but in essence they are meaningful, connected with different aspects of reality, able to clarify a lot in the life of the hero, in his character, in the life of the country and people.

However, the main interest in Dickens's novels is not the events, but the characters, the strings of characters he created, allowing the reader to imagine how and how the people of Dickensian time lived, what features of their psychology and behavior turned out to be tenacious, what their social and moral essence.

In the preface to The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby, Dickens formulated an important principle for him to create characters, already prepared by his previous works, but for the first time consistently implemented in this novel. Society, he wrote, "rarely allows the appearance in a novel of a person with pronounced qualities, good or bad, while remaining plausible." Dickens filled many of his novels with such people. They can and often do seem implausible and simply fantastic, especially when viewed outside the artistic world he created. For Dickens, fiction, like art in general, is a special nature, created on the basis of life and for the sake of life, developing depending on social nature, but following its own laws - the laws of art.

They say - and rightly - that the characters created by Dickens were affected by his predilection for the theater, his early, still childish interest in folk performances. However, this enthusiasm found a practical outlet in the method and techniques of representation only because and after reality itself exposed fantastic contrasts and fantastic forms of their expression before his penetrating gaze. In the sharp sharpness and opposition of characters in Dickens's novels, his civic passion, his journalistic pathos, aroused by the discontent of the masses and the Chartist movement, found expression. Chartism, according to V. I. Lenin, “the first broad, really mass, politically shaped, proletarian-revolutionary movement” 2 . The scale and depth, strength and passion of the critical principle in Dickens's work are associated with this movement, reflecting the discontent and indignation of the working class and the working masses. Dickens sympathized with the workers, but did not share the convictions of the Chartists, and was opposed to revolutionary violence.

The big city, London, directly influenced Dickens, his idea of ​​the life of capitalist England, influenced his creative imagination, and, it can be argued, his principles for creating characters, what seems fantastic in his artistic world. To really feel this impact of the English capital on Dickens, one should carefully read the description of London in the novel "Nicholas Nickleby" and recreate in one's imagination "an ever-changing, continuously varied panorama", which impressed the author himself as "some kind of wild bacchanalia".

The sharpness of everyday and social contrasts, the phantasmagoria of mobile and frozen forms, the flashy variegation of color shades are reflected in sharply contrasting and bizarre characters. Dickens wouldn't be Dickens if London wasn't in his life.

In the novels of Dickens, there are strings of characters with pronounced qualities. Squeers and Ralph Nickleby are the first to introduce a string of hideous creatures in human form, figures so vile that they seem fantastic, but they are quite real. "Mr Squeers," according to Dickens, "is a representative of his class, and not a separate individual." This owner of a boarding school in which unfortunate children are tortured and spiritually maimed is a typical businessman in the field of education and upbringing. His name has become a household name, an expression of businesslike arrogance and hypocrisy.

Ralph Nickleby, uncle of Nicholas Nickleby, the hero of the novel, is close to Squeers in character traits and life aspirations, but this is a businessman of a different, much broader scope. The strength and power of Squeers extends only to the school he owns, to a group of unfortunate children. Ralph Nickleby claims to be omnipotent. Under the influence of the conviction that there is no power higher than the power of money, the lust for profit, his leading passion, develops in him to a mania. For Ralph Nickleby, anyone who does not recognize the power of money, much less protests against it, is an adversary who must be subdued, punished or crushed. "Cunning miser with cold blood" - such is his repentant self-characterization. Dickens is not satisfied with it, he goes further, points to Ralph Nickleby as an ominous phenomenon of the complete emasculation of the soul due to the power of money and its voluntary recognition, support and praise. Primordial human feelings and principles - love, compassion, honor, conscience, kinship and civic duty - everything that makes a person a person, all this is destroyed in the soul of Ralph Nickleby. The theorist and practitioner of profit, he hides his greedy essence under numerous guises, and his figure seems all the more mysterious and sinister, and the atmosphere surrounding him is mysterious and sinister. Similar sinister figures and a suffocating atmosphere are depicted with simple clarity and symbolic generalization in the next, fourth Dickens novel, in The Antiquities Shop.

Notes.

1 Katharsky I. Dickens in Russia. Mid 19th century. M., Nauka, 1966, p. 275-276.

2. Lenin V. I. Poly. coll. cit., vol. 38, p. 305.