The Pickwickians first went to Rochester, Chatham, Dingley Dell, and perhaps to Gravesend. Mr. Pickwick with Wardle then pursued Jingle to town, returning thence to the Dell, which he at once left for Cobham, where he found his friend Tupman. The party then returned to town. Next we have the first visit to Ipswich—called Eatanswill—from which town Mr. Pickwick and Sam
posted to Bury St. Edmunds; thence to London. Next came their third expedition to Dingley Dell for the Christmas festivities. Then the second visit to Ipswich. Then the journey to Bath, and that from Bath to Bristol. Later a second journey to Bristol—another from Bristol to Birmingham, and from Birmingham to London, Mr. Pickwick’s final junketing before retiring to Dulwich.
Yet another interesting side of the Pickwick story is its almost biographical character. Boz seems to take us with him from his very boyhood. During the old days when his father was at Chatham he had seen all the Rochester incidents, sat by the old Castle and Bridge, noted with admiring awe the dockyard people, the Balls at “The Bull,” the Reviews on the Lines. The officers—like Dr. Slammer, all the figures—fat boy included—were drawn from this stage of his life. The Golden Cross, which figures also in Copperfield, he had constantly stopped at. He knew, too, the inns in the Boro’. The large legal element
and its odd incidents and characters he had learned and studied during his brief apprenticeship to the Law. The interior economy of the Fleet Prison he had learned from his family’s disastrous experiences; the turnkeys, and blighted inhabitants he had certainly taken from life. But he shifted the scene from the Marshalsea to the King’s Bench Prison—the former place would have been too painful a reminiscence for his father. To his reporting expeditions we owe the Election scenes at Ipswich, and to another visit for the same object, his Bath experiences. Much of the vividness and reality of his touchings, particularly in the case of Rochester and its doings, is the magnifying, searching power resulting from a life of sorrow in childhood, family troubles working on a keen, sensitive nature; these made him appreciate and meditate on all that was going on about him, as a sort of relief and relaxation. All the London scenes the meetings at taverns—were personal experiences. Among his friends were medical
students and many odd beings. We can trace his extraordinary appreciation of Christmas—and its genial, softening festivities—which clung to him till it altogether faded out, to the same sense of relief; it furnished an opportunity of forgetting for a time (at least), the dismal, gloomy home.
Boz, if he drew his characters from life, did not draw wholesale; he would take only a portion of a character that pleased him and work it up in combination with another distinct character. It was thus he dealt with Leigh Hunt, borrowing his amusing, airy frivolity, and combining it with the meanness and heartlessness of Skimpole. I have always fancied that Dowler in “Pickwick” was founded—after this composite principle—on his true-hearted but imperious friend, Forster. Forster was indeed also a perfect reproduction of Dr. Johnson and had the despotic intolerance—in conversation certainly—of that great man. Like him “if his pistol missed fire, he knocked you down with the
butt end of it.” He could be as amiable and tender-hearted as “old Sam” himself. Listening to Dowler at the coach office in Piccadilly we—who knew Forster well—seemed to hear his very voice. “It was a stern-eyed man of about five-and-forty, who had large black whiskers. He was buttoned up to the chin in a brown coat and had a large seal-skin cap and a cloak beside him. He looked up from his breakfast as Mr. Pickwick entered with a fierce and peremptory air, which was very dignified, and which seemed to say that he rather expected somebody wanted to take advantage of him, but it wouldn’t do” . . . “Are you going to Bath?” said the strange man. “I am, sir,” replied Mr. Pickwick. “And these other gentleman?” “They are going also,” said Mr. Pickwick. “Not inside—I’ll be damned if you’re going inside,” said the strange man. “Not all of us,” said Mr. Pickwick. “No—not all of you,” said the strange man, emphatically. “We take two places. If they try and squeeze six people
into an infernal box that only holds four I’ll take a post-chaise and bring an action. It won’t do,” etc. This recalls the pleasant story about Forster and the cabman who summoned him. The latter was adjudged to be in the wrong and said he knew it, but “that he was determined to show him up, he were such a harbitrary cove.” None enjoyed this story more than Forster himself, and I have heard him say to a lady humorously, “Now you must. You know I am ‘such a harbitrary cove.’” Dear good old Forster!
I must confess all Pickwickians would like to know biographical details, as one might call them, about the personages engaged in the trial. I need not repeat that Judge Stareleigh was drawn from Mr. Justice Gazalee, or that Buzfuz was founded on Mr. Serjeant Bompas, or Bumpus. Charles Carpenter Bompas was his full designation. He was made a Serjeant in 1827, the very year of the memorable trial. He obtained a Patent of Precedence in 1834. “Buzfuz’s son”—Mr.
W. Bompas, Q.C., who will pardon the freedom of the designation—was born in the year of the celebrated trial. He was the youngest son and had a very distinguished career both at College and at the Bar, being a “leader” on his circuit, revising barrister, bencher, recorder, and was last year appointed a County Court judge.