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Updated: July 8, 2025
The fact is, any attempt to give the novelist's characters a learning which the novelist does not possess is always hazardous.
Within the twelvemonth, a distraint was levied upon him for non-payment of moneys that were owing. Lemer, one of his biographers, narrates that, paying a visit to Les Jardies at this date, for the purpose of soliciting the novelist's collaboration in an international album, he not only received a promise of help but an invitation for himself and a companion to remain and dine off a leg of mutton.
No moral was everlastingly perking itself in the reader's face, no labored lecture to prove what was self-evident interrupted the progress of the story. There is scarcely an allusion to any of the events which had checkered the novelist's career.
Strictly speaking, the very first Reading given by Charles Dickens anywhere, even privately, was that which took place in the midst of a little home-group, assembled one evening in 1843, for the purpose of hearing the "Christmas Carol," prior to its publication, read by him in the Lincoln's-Inn Square Chambers of the intimate friend to whom, eighteen years afterwards, was inscribed, as "of right," the Library Edition of all the Novelist's works collectively.
Now it is difficult to keep asunder the names of Goncourt and Degas. To us they are too often unwisely bracketed. The style of the painter has been judged as analogous to the novelist's; yet, apart from a preference for the same subjects for the "modernity" of Paris, there is not much in Degas that recalls Goncourt's staccato, febrile, sparkling, "decomposed", impressionistic prose.
But as they were walking together, after passing Northend, a curious thing happened. Summers started back suddenly and nudged the novelist's arm without a word. Fetherston, looking in the direction indicated, halted, utterly staggered by what met his gaze. It was inexplicable incredible! He looked again, scarcely believing his own eyes, for what he saw made plain a ghastly truth.
The final test of the fineness of fiction lies in its veracity. "Romance is the poetry of circumstance," as Stevenson tells us, and "drama is the poetry of conduct"; we may be tolerant and easy-going in our acceptance of a novelist's circumstances, but we ought to be rigorous as regards conduct.
Around Madame de Balzac, now seated on one of the trunks, other passers-by had gathered and listened to the novelist's excited comments on his predicament. The occurrence was certainly extraordinary. At length, the locksmith was brought and the gate was forced.
'Let Mr Biffen bear in mind, said one of these sages, 'that a novelist's first duty is to tell a story. 'Mr Biffen, wrote another, 'seems not to understand that a work of art must before everything else afford amusement. 'A pretentious book of the genre ennuyant, was the brief comment of a Society journal.
His three brothers, John, Thomas, and Daniel, and his sister Anne, all figure in the records; but little is heard of John and not much of Anne. The date of the novelist's birth was 15th August 1771, the place, 'the top of the College Wynd, a locality now whelmed in the actual Chambers Street face of the present Old University buildings, and near that of Kirk of Field.
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