CHAPTER XI. MR. PICKWICK’S PROTOTYPE
We had a narrow escape of losing our Pickwick and his familiar type. The original notion was to have “a tall, long, thin man,” and only for the late Edward Chapman, who providentially thought of the Richmond gentleman, Foster, we should have lost for ever the short, rotund Pickwick that we so love and cherish. A long, thin Pickwick! He could not be amiable, or benevolent, or mild, or genial. But what could such a selection mean? Why, that Boz saw an opening for humorous treatment in introducing a purblind, foolish Professor, or scientist—one with spectacles—prying into this and that, taking notes &c. As Winkle was the sportsman, Tupman, the lover, Snodgrass, the poet, so Mr. Pickwick was to be a sort of Pangloss or Dominie Sampson. His curiosity and love of enquiry were to get him into scrapes, just as Mr. Winkle’s sham sportsmanship was to get him into embarrassments. In fact, the first appearance in Seymour’s plate—the scene with the cabman—shows him as quite a different Pickwick; with a sour, cantankerous face; not in “tights,” but in a great coat; he is scarcely recognisable. Seymour was then determined to show him after his own ideal. But when the poor artist destroyed himself the great man was brought up to the fitting type. So undecided were the parties about that type that the author had to leave it altogether an open question—a tabula rasa—not announcing that his hero was either tall or short, fat or lean, pale or rosy; all he commits himself to in his opening chapter is that he was bald, that he wore tights and gaiters, and, what is rather singular, circular spectacles. I suppose, in contrast to the more elongated glasses.
It might be an interesting question for the “paper of questions,” “Why did Mr. Pickwick wear circular spectacles?” Was there any local weakness? The artist never forgot this direction. In the author of the Tittlebatian system, &c., the “circular spectacles” would impart a sort of wise and owl-like stare. It was, of course, due to Chapman, the publisher, and was another of his “happy suggestions.”
This Mr. Foster, of Richmond—fortunately for himself—was not known to be the original of “Pickwick,” though many must have been struck by the likeness, both in physique and costume, to the picture. It is not stated that the features were copied, though, no doubt, Chapman would have vividly described them also; and Seymour was so ready and deft with his pencil that he must have certainly caught the likeness even from the description. We could fancy him rapidly making trial sketches, “Is that near it?” “No, fatter in the cheeks.” “Is that?” “No, forehead a little higher, more bald,” and so on. I myself was at Richmond, having just come from school, about ten years after the appearance of Pickwick—and for aught I know may have seen this Foster promenading it on the Hill. There was no particular interest then in Pickwick—which was somewhat forgotten, the interest being absorbed in the newer and brilliant works which Boz was bringing out. The society there was thoroughly Pickwickian; there were many old-fashioned figures, including the Mr. Jesse at whom the “Ponto” story was directed. We were gay enough. The old Star and Garter was flourishing. There were the Assembly Rooms at the Castle Inn, with “Almack’s Balls”; barges coming down on Regatta days, when people danced on the deck and feasted in the cabin. There were private parties and dinners, and the old Theatre—Kean’s, with the manager’s house adjoining—was still standing on the Green, opening fitfully enough for a few nights, and then closing as fitfully. There I saw “The Green Bushes.” Such a little Bandbox as it was! There were the two wooden staircases outside, of quaint appearance. Mr. Tupman may have been then alive and walking on the Terrace. He had retired there just twenty years before. He had probably rooms on the Green, near Maid of Honour Row. This little sketch shows clearly that Richmond is very nearly
associated with Pickwick. But here comes in another reminiscence of Richmond, for there rises before me, about a dozen years after the appearance of the book, the image of a very Pickwickian figure—bald and “circular,” cozy, wearing a white tie and glasses—a favourite gossip with all the ladies—no other indeed than Maria Edgworth’s brother. He was a florid, good-humoured personage, a great talker, knew everybody in the place, and, like Mr. Pickwick, was an old bachelor, and kept an important housekeeper. He was genial and hospitable, would give parties, dinners, and dances. But the likeness in physique was the oddest part.
As the outside of Foster, of Richmond, supplied Mr. Pickwick’s outside and habit as he lived, so his “in’ards,” or character, was also turned to profit and not wasted. And here suggests itself a very likely speculation. This image of the Richmond Foster was before him; through the book he thought of the old Beau and the ladies’ protests. The amorous element would not do for his hero, for whom he had other work; but while he left the physique to Pickwick he certainly transferred the character to one of his leading figures. That this is not fanciful will be seen. Mr. Chapman described Foster as “a fat old Beau”: he was very popular, or, it may be, exceedingly well off. And at a place like Richmond he would be very recherché. But is it not exactly suggestive of Tupman—this “fat old Beau” devoted to the ladies? (“Because you are too old, sir; and too fat, sir,” said his chief.) And on the first opportunity he did get into tights, viz., as the brigand. What is more convincing is that at the close Boz sent Tupman back to Richmond whence he came, and where we are carefully assured “he walks constantly on the Terrace during the summer months with a youthful and jaunty air which has rendered him the admiration of the numerous elderly dames of single condition who reside in the vicinity.” Seeing Mr. Foster’s occupation, I really think that this accounts for the novelist’s selection of Richmond.
Mr. Chapman recalled that not even the persuasion of the Richmond ladies could induce Mr. Foster, of Richmond, to forego his “tights” and gaiters—and much amusement was caused by the idiosyncrasy. This persistence, it is clear, was before Boz, who makes Mr. Pickwick abandon his gaiters only at the Ball at Manor Farm,
but we are distinctly told “that it was the first time” he did so “within the memory of his oldest friends.” Thus we have Foster, of Richmond, brought into actual touch with his double. Thus much for his physique, which, it is admitted, was all that was drawn from Foster. But that friendly manner; that genial, amiable nature which made him think “the whole world akin;” whence did Boz import all that? I believe he found this genial, friendly type in the very man who had suggested Foster, of Richmond, to him. That this is not purely fanciful will be seen from an account of Edward Chapman kindly supplied to me by one of his family.
“He was a short, stoutish person, very good-humoured, an affectionate family man, unaffected, and fond of the country. But touching his character; the first feature that came into my mind was his extreme justice; in my very earliest years I remember being impressed by it—one felt it: all actions and motives were judged with a catholicity and charity that made us trust him implicity, and I see my sister has the same remembrance. He was naturally of a quiet, easy disposition; not much of a talker, but when he spoke he was always worth listening to. I see also she mentions his sense of humour, when his eyes would light up with a merry twinkle. I never remember hearing him say an unkind word to anyone. It is very pleasant to hear that papa is to be mentioned in connection with Pickwick, and I will gladly tell you all I can regarding my impressions of his character and tastes, &c. We only saw him for a short hour in the evening when he was tired after his day’s work and little inclined to talk, but we always had a child-like instinct of his great justice and impartiality—an impression that I retained all through his life.
“Later on, at Tunbridge Wells, where we saw more of him, I learned to admire his vast store of knowledge, as there was hardly a subject that I asked for information on that he did not know a great deal about. Also he had a great love of beauty in nature, and was never so happy as when he had his favourite, shabby old hat on and a long stick, which he had cut himself, in his hand, and poked about the grounds which surrounded our house, inspecting the holly hedge and shrubs he had planted—in fact it used to be a standing joke that he