John Forster | Page 7

my opinion in suspense till the close. I am not to be caught as you are, by mere flowers." He was in fact distinct from the rest, all under the influence of emotion. Harness is shown weeping, Jerrold softened, etc. These rooms, as is well known, were Mr. Tulkinghorn's in the novel, and over Forster's head, as he wrote, was the floridly-painted ceiling, after the fashion of Verrio, with the Roman pointing. This was effaced many years ago, but I do not know when.
By all his friends Forster was thought of as a sort of permanent bachelor. His configuration and air were entirely suited to life in chambers: he was thoroughly literary; his friends were literary; there he gave his dinners; married life with him was inconceivable. He had lately secured an important official post, that of Secretary to the Lunacy Commissioners, which he gained owing to his useful services when editing the Examiner. This necessarily led to the Commissionership, which was worth a good deal more. Nowadays we do not find the editors of the smaller papers securing such prizes. I remember when he was encouraging me to "push my way," he illustrated his advice by his own example: "I never let old Brougham go. I came back again and again until I wore him out. I forced 'em to give me this." I could quite imagine it. Forster was a troublesome customer, "a harbitrary cove," and not to be put off, except for a time. It was an excellent business appointment, and he was admitted to be an admirable official.
In one of Dickens' letters, published by his children, there is a grotesque outburst at some astounding piece of news: an event impending, which seemed to have taken his breath away. It clearly refers to his friend's marriage. Boz was so tickled at this wonderful news that he wrote: "Tell Catherine that I have the most prodigious, overwhelming, crushing, astounding, blinding, deafening, pulverising, scarifying, secret of which Forster is the hero, imaginable, by the whole efforts of the whole British population. It is a thing of the kind that, after I knew it (from himself) this morning, I lay down flat as if an engine and tender had fallen upon me." This pleasantly boisterous humour is in no wise exaggerated. I fancy it affected all Forster's friends much in the same way, and as an exquisitely funny and expected thing. How many pictures did Boz see before him--Forster proposing to the widow in his sweetest accents, his deportment at the church, &c. There was not much sentiment in the business, though the bride was a sweet, charming woman, as will be seen, too gentle for that tempestuous spirit. She was a widow--"Yes, gentlemen, the plaintiff is a widow," widow of Colburn, the publisher, a quiet little man, who worshipped her. She was well endowed, inheriting much of his property, even to his papers, etc. She had also a most comfortable house in Montague Square, where, as the saying is, Forster had only to move in and "hang up his hat."
With all his roughness and bluntness, Forster had a very soft heart, and was a great appreciator of the sex. He had some little "affairs of the heart," which, however, led to no result. He was actually engaged to the interesting L. E. L. (Letitia Landon), whom he had no doubt pushed well forward in the Examiner; for the fair poetess generally contrived to enlist the affections of her editors, as she did those of Jerdan, director of the once powerful Literary Gazette. We can see from his Memoirs how attracted he was by her. The engagement was broken off, it is believed, through the arts of Dr. Maginn, and it is said that Forster behaved exceedingly well in the transaction. Later he became attached to another lady, who had several suitors of distinction, but she was not disposed to entrust herself to him.
No one so heartily relished his Forster, his ways and oddities, as Boz; albeit the sage was his faithful friend, counsellor, and ally. He had an exquisite sense for touches of character, especially for the little weaknesses so often exhibited by sturdy, boisterous natures. We again recall that disposition of Johnson, with his "bow to an Archbishop," listening with entranced attention to a dull story told by a foreign "diplomatist." "The ambassador says well," would the sage repeat many times, which, as Bozzy tells, became a favourite form in the c?terie for ironical approbation. There was much of this in our great man, whose voice became of the sweetest and most mellifluous key, as he bent before the peer. "Lord ----," he would add gently, and turning to the company, "has been saying, with much force," etc.
I recall the Guild f��te down at Knebworth, where Forster was