Charles Dickens as a Reader | Page 5

the
remembrance of many, been squandered in profusion upon the boards
of one of our London theatres in the getting up of a drama by the
master-dramatist. All this has tended, however, only to realise the more
painfully the inadequacy of the powers, no less of the leading star than
of his whole company, to undertake the interpretation of the dramatic
masterpiece. The spectacle which we are viewing in such an instance is,
no doubt, resplendent; but it is so purely as a spectacle. Everything
witnessed is--
"So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, We start, for soul is wanting there."
The result naturally is, that the public is disillusioned and that the
management is bankrupt. Another strikingly-contrasted experience of
the present generation is this, that, without any decorations whatever,
enormous audiences have been assembled together, in the old world
and in the new, upon every occasion upon which they have been
afforded the opportunity, to hear a story related by the lips of the writer
of it. And they have been so assembled not simply because the story
itself (every word of it known perfectly well beforehand) was worth
hearing again, or because there was a very natural curiosity to behold
the famous author by whom it had been penned; but, above all, because
his voice, his glance, his features, his every movement, his whole
person, gave to his thoughts and his emotions, whether for tears or for
laughter, the most vivid interpretation.
How it happened, in this instance, that a writer of celebrity like Charles
Dickens became a reader of his own works before large public
audiences may be readily explained. Before his first appearance in that
character professionally--that is, as a public reader, on his own
account--he had enjoyed more than twenty years of unexampled
popularity as a novelist. During that period he had not only securely
established his reputation in authorship, but had evidenced repeatedly,
at intervals during the later portion of it, histrionic powers hardly less
remarkable in their way than those gifts which had previously won for
him his wholly exceptional fame as a writer of imagination.
Among his personal intimates, among all those who knew him best, it

had long come to be recognised that his skill as an impersonator was
only second to his genius as a creator of humorous and pathetic
character. His success in each capacity sprang from his intense
sympathy and his equally intense earnestness. Whatever with him was
worth doing at all, was worth doing thoroughly. Anything he undertook,
no matter what, he went in at, according to the good old sea phrase,
with a will. He always endeavoured to accomplish whatever had to be
accomplished as well as it could possibly be effected within the reach
of his capabilities. Whether it were pastime or whether it were serious
business, having once taken anything in hand, he applied to it the whole
of his energies. Hence, as an amateur actor, he was simply
unapproachable. He passed, in fact, beyond the range of mere amateurs,
and was brought into contrast by right, with the most gifted
professionals among his contemporaries. Hence, again, as an
after-dinner speaker, he was nothing less than incomparable. "He spoke
so well," Anthony Trollope has remarked, "that a public dinner became
a blessing instead of a curse if he were in the chair--had its
compensating twenty minutes of pleasure, even if he were called upon
to propose a toast or thank the company for drinking his health." He did
nothing by halves, but everything completely. How completely he gave
himself up to the delivery of a speech or of a reading, Mr. Arthur Helps
has summed up in less than a dozen words of singular emphasis. That
keen observer has said, indeed quite truly, of Dickens,--"When he read
or spoke, the whole man read or spoke." It was thus with him
repeatedly, and always delightfully, in mere chance conversation. An
incident related by him often became upon the instant a little acted
drama. His mimetic powers were in many respects marvellous. In voice,
in countenance, in carriage, almost, it might be said, at moments, in
stature, he seemed to be a Proteus.
According to a curious account which has been happily preserved for
us in the memoirs of the greatest reader of the last century, Henderson
first of all exhibited his elocutionary skill by reciting (it was at
Islington) an Ode on Shakspere. So exactly did he deliver this in
Garrick's manner, that the acutest ear failed to distinguish the one from
the other. One of those present declared, years afterwards, that he was
certain the speaker must be either Garrick or Antichrist.

Imitative powers not one iota less extraordinary in their way were, at
any moment, seemingly, at the command of the subject of this
memorial. In