Charles Dickens' world

We are looking at some Victorian literature in class at the moment, Jane Eyre to begin with. And it has taken me back to an early and enduring love of mine, Charles Dickens. In fact, I can’t remember a time when there was no Dickens, his prolific imagination so fills a young impressionable mind, it’s the sort of big furniture of the English Imagination. So big it jumps out of the page at you. An old faithful friend and companion to many a quiet evening.

First memories; as a small boy, leafing through my father’s lovely-smelling old childhood copy of Nicholas Nickleby. How long and dense it seemed, full of strange pictures of another age, but more strange than mere time can make past ages, thanks to the magical illustrations by the wonderful Hablot Browne (aka “Phiz”). They opened doors on to a fairy tale, dream and nightmare land of brave adventurous boys and girls, ogres and ogresses in Victorian attire, top hats, frockcoats, canes, long flowing dresses and curls. Here is Phiz’s “The Internal Economy of Dotheboys Hall”:

 

The bent, out-of-shape figures of children are so typically Dickensian, bodies and minds crushed by ignorant bullies and institutions. And their small heads on long bodies, not really children’s proportions, as if forced into the suffering of adult life too early. One of my favourite vilains is Mr Squeers, the headmaster of this dreadful school. Poor Nicholas finds himself teaching there and witnesses this first memorable class in “practical” spelling. Only Dickens can denounce social injustice with such humour:

 

   This is the first class in English spelling and philosophy, Nickleby,' said Squeers, beckoning Nicholas to stand beside him. 'We'll get up a Latin one, and hand that over to you. Now, then, where's the first boy?'

'Please, sir, he's cleaning the back-parlour window,' said the temporary head of the philosophical class.

   'So he is, to be sure,' rejoined Squeers. 'We go upon the practical mode of teaching, Nickleby; the regular education system. C-l-e-a-n, clean, verb active, to make bright, to scour. W-i-n, win, d-e-r, der, winder, a casement. When the boy knows this out of book, he goes and does it. It's just the same principle as the use of the globes. Where's the second boy?'

   'Please, sir, he's weeding the garden,' replied a small voice.

   'To be sure,' said Squeers, by no means disconcerted. 'So he is. B-o-t, bot, t-i-n, tin, bottin, n-e-y, ney, bottinney, noun substantive, a knowledge of plants. When he has learned that bottinney means a knowledge of plants, he goes and knows 'em. That's our system, Nickleby: what do you think of it?'

   'It's very useful one, at any rate,' answered Nicholas.

   'I believe you,' rejoined Squeers, not remarking the emphasis of his usher. 'Third boy, what's horse?'

   'A beast, sir,' replied the boy.

   'So it is,' said Squeers. 'Ain't it, Nickleby?'

   'I believe there is no doubt of that, sir,' answered Nicholas.

   'Of course there isn't,' said Squeers. 'A horse is a quadruped, and quadruped's Latin for beast, as everybody that's gone through the grammar knows, or else where's the use of having grammars at all?'

   'Where, indeed!' said Nicholas abstractedly.

   'As you're perfect in that,' resumed Squeers, turning to the boy, 'go and look after MY horse, and rub him down well, or I'll rub you down. The rest of the class go and draw water up, till somebody tells you to leave off, for it's washing-day tomorrow, and they want the coppers filled.'

   So saying, he dismissed the first class to their experiments in practical philosophy, and eyed Nicholas with a look, half cunning and half doubtful, as if he were not altogether certain what he might think of him by this time.

  'That's the way we do it, Nickleby,' he said, after a pause.

from chapter 8 of The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby (1839/1839) by Charles Dickens