I.—Jingle and the Theatre
The little Theatre here must be interesting to us from the fact of Jingle’s having been engaged to play there with the officers of the 52nd Regiment on the night of May 15th, 1827. Jingle was described as “a strolling actor,” and belonged to the “Kent circuit,” that is, to the towns of Canterbury, Rochester, Maidstone, &c. To this circuit also belonged “Dismal Jemmy,” who was “no actor,” yet did the “heavy business.” It does not appear that he, also, was engaged for the officers’ performance. We often wonder whether Jingle did perform on the night in question; or did Dr. Payne and Lieutenant Tappleton tell the story of his behaviour to their brethren: of his passing himself off as a gentleman, his wearing another gentleman’s clothes, and his insults to Dr. Slammer. Tappleton scornfully recommended Mr. Pickwick to be more nice in the selection of his companions. No doubt Jingle was suggested to the officers by the manager: “knew a really smart chap who will just do for the part.” On the whole, I think they must have had his services, as it was too late to get a substitute. Jingle, as we know, was played successfully by Sir Henry Irving in the early ’seventies, tempore Bateman. His extraordinary likeness to the Phiz portrait struck every one, and it was marked, not only in face, but in figure, manner, &c. The adaptation of “Pickwick,” however, was very roughly done by the late James Albery, who merely tacked together the Jingle scenes. Those, where there is much genial comedy, such as the Ball scene at Rochester, were left out. It is likely that the boy, Boz, noticed Dismal Jemmy among the strollers, and possibly may have seen a Jingle himself. But the characters of Jingle and his confederate, Job, were certainly suggested by Robert Macaire and Jacques Strop, which, a little before the appearance of Pickwick, were being played in London—in “L’Auberge des Adrets.”
Mr. Pickwick had discovered in the morning that Jingle was “connected with the Theatre in that place, though he is not desirous to have it generally known.”
Now considering generally the different “games” he was pursuing, his passing himself off as an officer, an amateur of cricket, &c., it was not altogether desirable to have his profession known. Knowing also that Mr. Pickwick intended staying at Rochester, and that the gay Tupman or Snodgrass would find out his engagement and witness his performance, he likely enough confided his secret to Mr. Pickwick. “Dismal Jemmy,” the odd being who appears at Rochester for a short time, had promised Mr. Pickwick a tale which he never gave him. At the end of the story, Boz, having forgotten the engagement, is driven to supply a far-fetched reason. He was Job’s brother, and went to America “in consequence of being too much sought after here.” It will be recollected he was of a depressed and gloomy cast, and on the Bridge at Rochester talked of suicide. He also told the dismal “stroller’s tale.” Now, it is plain that Boz drew him as a genuine character, and his behaviour to the stroller was of a charitable kind. Boz, in fact, meant him to be a suitable person to relate so dismal an incident. However, all this was forgotten or put aside at the end, and having become Job’s brother, he had to be in keeping. The reformed Jingle declared he was “merely acting—clever rascal—hoaxing fellow.” His brother Job added that he himself was the serious one, “while Jemmy never was.” Mr. Pickwick then presumed that his talk of suicide was all flam, and that his dismals were all assumed. “He could assume anything,” said Job. Boz, too, forgot that his name was James Hutley, whereas the brothers’ was Trotter—though this may have been an assumed one.
The condition of the Rochester stage must have been rather low, when we find two such persons as Jingle and Dismal Jemmy members of the corps. Jingle’s jerky system of elocution would seem a complete disqualification. From sheer habit, it would have been impossible for him to say his lines in any other fashion—which in all the round of light “touch and go” comedy, would have been a drawback.
The little Theatre is at the farther end of the town, where the road turns off to the fields, a low, unpretending building with a small
portico. I recall it in the old days, on a walk from Gads Hill, when I paused to examine the bills of the benefit of a certain theatrical family of the Crummles sort—father, mother, sons, and daughters, who supplied everything. The head founded his claims to support on being a fellow townsman, winding up with Goldsmith’s lines:
And as the hare, whom hounds and horns pursue,
Pants to the spot from whence at first it flew;
I still had hopes, my lengthened wanderings past,
Here to return, and die at home at last.
Boz was hugely amused when I rehearsed this to him at lunch.
He himself, on his later visit, noted the strange encroachments that were being made on the Theatre. A wine merchant had begun on the cellars, and was gradually squeezing himself into the box-office, and would no doubt go on till he secured the auditorium, the lobbies, etc. When I last passed by that way, it had become the Conservative Club, or some such institution.
The wonderful picture, given in “Nickleby,” of the Portsmouth playhouse, with all its characters and accessories and inner life, shows the most intimate familiarity with all the ways and fashions of the old Provincial Theatre. Every touch—Crummles, Folair, Lenville, Snivelicci—proves clearly that he knew perfectly the life behind the scenes, and that he wrote of it con amore. There was a firm belief at the Theatre Royal, Portsmouth, that all the performers in “Nickleby” were personal sketches of this corps. One actor told my friend, Mr. Walter Pollock, that they could even identify Folair, Lenville & Co., and that there was a playbill still extant in which either the names or the pieces corresponded. But in this theory, however, little faith can be placed; for at the time the family was at Portsmouth, Dickens was but a child not more than ten or twelve years old, and not likely, therefore, to be taken behind the scenes, or to pick up or observe much. It is certain that the whole description of the Theatre and its company, with the minute and intimate details of stage life, was drawn from this little house at Rochester. But we can go beyond mere speculation.
In one of his retrospections, Boz tells us of a visit he paid to Rochester in the fifties, “scenes among which my early days were past.” The town he calls Dullborough, which is a little hard on the
place. He went to look at the old theatre, and reveals to us how it brought back to him a number of reminiscences, which shows that he was much associated with stage matters when a youth, for he describes Richard III. and Macbeth all “cast” and mounted exactly as Mr. Crummles would have mounted them. “There was Richard in a very uncomfortable wig, and sleeping in war time on a sofa that was much too short for him, and his conscience fearfully troubled his boots.” There was the lovely young woman, “who went out gleaning, in a narrow, white muslin apron, with five beautiful bars of five different colours across it. The witches bore an awful resemblance to the Thanes and other inhabitants of Scotland; while the good King Duncan couldn’t rest in his grave, but was constantly coming out of it and calling himself somebody else.” These are all Crummles touches, only he refrained from going again over the old ground. But one point further favours the theory—he recalls his alarm when Richard in his terrific combat was “backing up against the stage box.” He was in the stage box then, and therefore a privileged person at the theatre. His uncle, “Dr. Slammer,” no doubt was thus complimented as being “in Her Majesty’s service.” “Of course,” he goes on, “the town had shrunk fearfully since I was a child there.”
The description of the outlaw drama which Nicholas Nickleby saw on the night of his arrival is exactly in the key of the account of the performance of “Richard III.” just given: also the account of the London manager, who was in the boxes; still more so when Mr. Crummles and all the company died at him. And as in Nickleby we have “the Comic Countryman” who so inopportunely caught a bluebottle when Mrs. Crummles was making her great point for the London Manager: so in the account of Dullborough we are told of “the Funny Countryman” who sustained the comic, bucolic parts. This alone would show that the Rochester and Portsmouth Theatres were the same, while the beautiful young lady in the white apron performed the same sort of characters that Miss Bravassa, or Miss Snivelicci did.
And in this connection may be supplied a further speculation which is interesting. In Boz’s earlier works it is plain that he relies for his most striking effects of character on his own recollections and
personal observations. They might be considered passages from his autobiography. I have thought that much in “Nickleby” of Nicholas’s career and Nicholas’s own character was drawn from himself. Nicholas suggests Boz in appearance, in his spirit and vehemence, and in some of his adventures. Some years ago a remarkable letter appeared in the papers, in which Dickens, then a mere youth, made an application to one of the managers, Mr. Webster I think, for a situation in his theatre. He wanted to go on the stage. Was not this like Nicholas? This desire was surely founded on intimate acquaintance with the boards and amateur experience.
“I had entertained the impression,” he goes on, “that the High Street was as wide as Regent Street—I found it little better than a lane. There was a public clock in it which I had supposed to be the finest clock in the world, whereas it now turned out to be as inexpressive, moon-faced and weak a clock as ever I saw.” The Town Hall was a “mean little brick heap, like a demented chapel.”