In a literary sense, Manchester can boast of other Dickensian associations, for here resided the originals of the delightful Cheeryble Brothers, who (the author assures us in his preface to “Nicholas Nickleby”) were “very slightly and imperfectly sketched” from life. “Those who take an interest in this tale,” he adds, “will be glad to learn that the Brothers Cheeryble live; that their liberal charity, their singleness of heart, their noble nature, and their unbounded benevolence, are no creation of the author’s brain, but are prompting every day (and oftenest by stealth) some munificent deed in that town of which they are the pride and honour.” The actual models whence he portrayed the Cheerybles with approximate accuracy were the brothers Grant, William and Daniel, merchants, of Ramsbottom and Manchester, with whom the novelist declared he “never interchanged any communication in his life.” From evidence recently forthcoming, however, we learn that in 1838 (the year prior to the publication of “Nickleby”) he and Forster were the guests of Mr. Gilbert Winter, of Stocks House, Cheetham Hill Road, Manchester, to whom they went with a letter of introduction from Harrison Ainsworth. Stocks House (demolished in 1884) was formerly surrounded by a moat, a portion of which was filled up at the time of the construction of the old road to Bury, the fine old mansion probably representing the manor-house of Cheetham Manor, given as a reward to the Earls of Derby after the Battle of Bosworth Field. It was at Stocks House that Dickens became acquainted with the Grants; indeed, Forster practically admits this when he says: “A friend now especially welcome was the novelist Mr. Ainsworth, with whom we visited, during two of those years (1838 and 1839), friends of art and letters in his native Manchester, from among whom Dickens brought away the Brothers Cheeryble....” The Rev. Hume Elliot informs us that although William and Daniel Grant had residences in Manchester, they preferred to live together at Springside, Ramsbottom, “which they made a veritable home of hospitality and good works,”[75] and it is fair to assume that Dickens must have seen at their home the original of David, “the apoplectic butler,” or ascertained from an authentic source the peculiarities of Alfred, who served the Grants in a like capacity and possessed similar idiosyncrasies.
There are two houses in Manchester associated with the Grants. One of these, now a parcel-receiving office of the London and North-Western Railway Company, is in Mosley Street, and the other (a more important place) stands at the lower end of Cannon Street (No. 15), a large, roomy warehouse, occupied by a paper dealer, who caused the name “Cheeryble House” to be placed on the front of the building.[76]
The rare combination of the qualities of charity and humanity with sound business instincts, such as are ascribed to the Cheeryble Brothers, was exactly true of the Grants. On the death of William Grant (the elder brother) in 1842, the novelist (writing from Niagara Falls to his American friend, Professor Felton), said: “One of the noble hearts who sat for the Cheeryble Brothers is dead. If I had been in England I would certainly have gone into mourning for the loss of such a glorious life. His brother is not expected to survive him. [He died in 1855, at the age of seventy-five.] I am told that it appears from a memorandum found among the papers of the deceased that in his lifetime he gave away £600,000, or three million dollars.” There is a marble tablet to the memory of William Grant in St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church, Ramsbottom, recording his “vigour of understanding, his spotless integrity of character, and his true benevolence of heart.... If you are in poverty,” the inscription continues, “grieve for the loss of so good a friend; if born to wealth and influence, think of the importance of such a trust, and earn in like manner by a life of charitable exertion the respect and love of all who knew you, and the prayers and blessings of the poor.” Honoured descendants of the two philanthropists are still surviving in the city which cherishes their memory.
In 1847 the novelist presided at a meeting of the Mechanics’ Institute in Leeds, thus proving his practical interest in the welfare of working men—an interest again testified in 1855, when he visited Sheffield for the purpose of reading the “Christmas Carol” in the Mechanics’ Hall on behalf of the funds of the Institute in that busy town. After the reading, the Mayor begged his acceptance of a handsome service of table cutlery and other useful articles of local manufacture, the gift of a few gentlemen in Sheffield, as a substantial manifestation of their gratitude to him.
In a letter to Wilkie Collins, dated August 29, 1857, Dickens said: “I want to cast about whether you and I can go anywhere—take any tour—see anything—whereon we could write something together. Have you any idea tending to any place in the world? Will you rattle your head and see if there is any pebble in it which we could wander away and play at marbles with?” This was written just after the conclusion of the readings and theatrical performances in aid of the Douglas Jerrold fund, Dickens experiencing a sense of restlessness when the excitement attending them had subsided, and seeming anxious “to escape from himself” by means of a pilgrimage with a congenial companion, and such as might provide material for a series of papers in Household Words. Arrangements were speedily made with this object, and the two friends started forthwith “on a ten or twelve days’ expedition to out-of-the-way places, to do (in inns and coast corners) a little tour in search of an article and in avoidance of railroads.” They decided for a foray upon the fells of Cumberland, Dickens having discovered (in “The Beauties of England and Wales” and other topographical works) descriptions of “some promising moors and bleak places thereabout.” To the Lake district they accordingly departed in September, and their adventures are related in “The Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices” (published in Household Words during the latter part of the same year), the authors skilfully collaborating in the preparation of the record, nearly all the descriptive passages emanating from the pen of Dickens. Almost the first thing attempted by the travellers was the climbing of Carrock Fell, “a gloomy old mountain 1,500 feet high.” “Nobody goes up,” said Dickens to Forster; “guides have forgotten it.” The proprietor of a little inn, however, volunteered his services as guide, and the party of enthusiasts ascended in a downpour of rain. The Two Idle Apprentices (who bear the respective names Francis Goodchild and Thomas Idle, the former being the pseudonym favoured by Dickens) concluded that to perform the feat “would be the culminating triumph of Idleness.” “Up hill and down hill, and twisting to the left, and with old Skiddaw (who has vaunted himself a great deal more than his merits deserve, but that is rather the way of the Lake country) dodging the apprentices in a picturesque and pleasant manner. Good, weatherproof, warm, pleasant houses, well white-limed, scantily dotting the road.... Well-cultivated gardens attached to the cottages.... Lonely nooks, and wild; but people can be born, and married, and buried in such nooks, and can live, and love, and be loved there as elsewhere, thank God!” The village is portrayed as consisting of “black, coarse-stoned, rough-windowed houses, some with outer staircases, like Swiss houses, a sinuous and stony gutter winding up hill and round the corner by way of street.”[77] The ascent of the mountain was safely achieved, but during the descent Collins unfortunately fell into a watercourse and sprained his ankle, an accident which proved to be a serious hindrance. They slept that night at Wigton, which (we are told) “had no population, no business, no streets to speak of.” In Household Words may be found an elaborate, amusing (but doubtless accurate) description of Wigton marketplace as seen at night nearly fifty years ago, and written with Dickens’s customary power, illustrating his marvellous acuteness of observation:
“Wigton market was over, and its bare booths were smoking with rain all down the street.... ‘I see,’ said Brother Francis, ‘what I hope and believe to be one of the most dismal places ever seen by eyes. I see the houses with their roofs of dull black, their stained fronts, and their dark-rimmed windows, looking as if they were all in mourning. As every little puff of wind comes down the street, I see a perfect train of rain let off along the wooden stalls in the market-place and exploded against me. I see a very big gas-lamp in the centre, which I know, by a secret instinct, will not be lighted to-night. I see a pump, with a trivet underneath its spout whereon to stand the vessels that are brought to be filled with water. I see a man come to the pump, and he pumps very hard; but no water follows, and he strolls empty away.... I see one, two, three, four, five linen-drapers’ shops in front of me. I see a linen-draper’s shop next door to the right, and there are five more linen-drapers’ shops round the corner to the left. Eleven homicidal linen-drapers’ shops within a short stone’s-throw, each with its hands at the throats of all the rest! Over the small first-floor of one of these linen-drapers’ shops appears the wonderful inscription: BANK.... I see a sweet-meat shop, which the proprietor calls a ‘Salt Warehouse.’... And I see a watchmaker’s, with only three great pale watches of a dull metal hanging in his window, each on a separate pane.
“... There is nothing more to see, except the curl-paper bill of the theatre ... and the short, square, chunky omnibus that goes to the railway, and leads too rattling a life over the stones to hold together long. Oh yes! Now I see two men with their hands in their pockets ... they are looking at nothing very hard, very hard ... they spit at times, but speak not. I see it growing darker, and I still see them, sole visible population of the place, standing to be rained upon, with their backs towards me, and looking at nothing very hard.
“... The murky shadows are gathering fast, and the wings of evening and the wings of coal are folding over Wigton.... And now the town goes to sleep, undazzled by the large unlighted lamp in the market-place; and let no man wake it.”[78]
From Wigton the friends proceeded to Allonby, on the coast of Cumberland, here resolving to begin their writing, to record their impressions while fresh in their minds. They found a comfortable lodging, a “capital little homely inn,” the Ship, overlooking the watery expanse, and by a curious coincidence the landlady previously lived at Greta Bridge, Yorkshire, when Dickens went there in quest of the cheap boarding-schools.
