The University of Texas at Austin

Law in Popular Culture collection

ALSA Forum
Volume 6, Number Number 2 (1982)
reprinted by permission Legal Studies Forum

DICKENS AND HIS LAWYERS

RONALD BAUGHMAN*

     Dickens used a repeated and consistent pattern in
presenting lawyers in his works. This pattern suggests that the
author intended his lawyers to have some significance beyond
their surface value. Most critical opinions, however, have
neglected the possible implications of this pattern. Generally,
the lawyers have been treated simply as parts of other
investigations, or as objects of Dickens' contempt. William
Holdsworth's Charles Dickens as a Legal Historianl attempts the
most exacting study of the law and the lawyer in Dickens'
works. Holdsworth's purpose, however, is not an interpretation
of the lawyer; rather, he uses Dickens' fictionalized legal
accounts as a means of illuminating nineteenth-century English
law. Robert D. Neely's The Lawyers of Dickens and Their
Clerks lists and describes the lawyers, but does not offer any
discussion of the novelist's art or of the place of lawyers in
Dickens' view of life. He does express the opinion, however,
that Dickens had a disdain for lawyers. "One of the most
marked prejudices was his dislike of lawyers, and all that
pertained to the machinery of government."2
     This hatred is explained and justified in various ways.
Philip Collins in Dickens and Crime states that the author was
following a literary tradition in treating the lawyers
vituperatively.3 In Charles Dickens: His Tragedy and Triumph
Edgar Johnson sees Dickens' treatment of lawyers as one more
aspect of his hatred of business.4 And Humphrey House in The
Dickens World views the lawyer similarly to Johnson; House
states that the lawyer has only a business, professional approach
to people and to life.5 Thus, the lawyers are dismissed without
any careful examination of their part in the novels or in
Dickens' picture of life.
     Apparently, Dickens felt there was a similarity between the
young lawyer and the young artist, for he dramatized the two as
having parallel occupational goals. Dickens indicates in David
Copperfield that the young artist and the young lawyer must
approach their occupations with the same earnestness of heart
and mind; they both must work hard at their trade to achieve
success. The novelist himself expressed a desire to be in law.
Collins refers to Forster's brief mention of this desire.

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About the same time Dickens was telling another friend:
'I am (nominally, God knows!) a Law student, and have a
certain number of 'terms to keep' before I can be called
to the Bar; and it would be well for me to be called as
there are many little pickings to be got pretty easily
within my reach - which can only be bestowed on
Barristers.'
     What Forster fails to mention - probably he never knew of
it - is the fact that this desire to be a magistrate was more than
a mere "outbreak of momentary discontent" in 1846, but,
represented a long-held ambition.6

     Dickens' repeated consistent pattern in describing the
lawyers is a key to finding the meaning of these characters.
The descriptions of the lawyers pay particular attention to the
head, the eyes, the hands, plus an over-all darkness of
complexion, with facial hair and wigs contributing to this
darkness. Second, the lawyers have a public or "professional"
facade covering their inner feelings; a facade producing a
duality in their personalities. Strongly independent men, they
rely mostly, if not solely, on themselves; conversely, in the social
situation, they are often inarticulate and awkward. Third, the
lawyers place an emphasis on accuracy of thoughts, feelings, and
facts. Because they are bachelors, unsuccessful suitors, or at
best, unorthodox husbands, they have a degree of asexuality in
their character. And lastly, they are connected with questions
of life and of death; they are involved with the guilty, the
damned, and the dead.
     Mr. Jaggers in Great Expectations is probably Dickens' most
inclusive, finished view of a lawyer. Since his portrait seems to
be the culmination of many preceding lawyer characters, Jaggers
will be the main consideration in this essay. His description
establishes the primary pattern for the interpretation of the
other lawyers, since many of the details associated with him are
repeated in the other characters. The initial description of
Jaggers best illustrates Dickens's symbolic method with the
lawyers.
He was a burly man of an exceedingly dark complexion,
with an exceedingly large head and a correspondingly
large hand.... He was prematurely bald on the top of
his head, and had bushy black eyebrows that wouldn't
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lie down, but stood up bristling. His eyes were set
very deep in his head, and were disagreeably sharp and
suspicious. He had a large watch-chain, and strong
black dots where his beard and whiskers would have been
if he had let them. (Vol. XXI, p. 95)7
     The main references, again, are the head, the hands, the
eyes, and the darkness of complexion. Dickens suggests the
center of reason, the place of intellect, in Jaggers's "exceedingly
large head." The "correspondingly large hand" connotes the
powerful tool of the intellect, the machine of the brain which
accomplishes the reason's deeds. The emphasis on the eyes
suggests great ability to perceive, which lends further strength
to the power embodied in the head and hands. That the eyes
are "very deep in his head" justifies their power by associating
them with intellect and reason. That they are "disagreeably
sharp and suspicious" implies that what they see is not always
pleasant; the truth Jaggers sees must be confronted even though
it is embittering and painful at times.
     The large watch-chain also becomes a significant object
associated with Jaggers; it suggests his professional demand for
accuracy. The watch, as an instrument of precision, reflects the
lawyer's dealings with people; he treats others with a metallic,
instrument-like coldness. The watch-chain, then, suggests
Jaggers's professional efficiency; he demands an accuracy in
speech and in feelings regarding facts. The scene in which Pip
asks for money illustrates Jaggers's demand for accuracy.
"Well! How much do you want?"
I said I didn't know how much
"Come!" said Mr. Jaggers. "Let's get at it. Twice five;'
will that do? Three times five; will that do? Four times
five; will that do?
I said I thought it would do handsomely.
"Now, what do you make of four times five?"
"I suppose you make it twenty pounds," said I smiling.
"Never mind what I make it, my friend," observed Mr.
Jaggers ... "I want to know what you make it." (p. 189)
     Jaggers's dark complexion establishes his ambiguity; he is
inscrutable to almost all the other characters in the novel. Just
as his facial hair hides his face, Jaggers's darkness projects a
mysterious quality separating him from the public. His darkness
can be associated also with the shadow cast by questions of life
or death over his law practice; the gloom of death is always

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with him.
     In conjunction with this interpretation of his darkness,
Jaggers's bachelorhood provides another symbolic inference; his
remaining a bachelor emphasizes his distance from people.
Jaggers manipulates the events affecting the lives of many of the
characters in the novel, while remaining emotionally uninvolved,
seeking an intellectual aloofness. His power over others is like
that of the artist controlling the lives of characters.
     Figuratively, Jaggers remains a sterile man disengaged from
society. Just as he repeatedly washes his hands-washing away
any trace of involvement or of guilt or participation--so too are
his dealings with others clinical and detached. His bachelorhood
serves to make him asexual in a sense; he is not involved with
men or women, but rather he observes and directs them.
"Mind you, Mr. Pip," said Wemmick..."I don't know that
Mr. Jaggers does a better thing than the way in which he
keeps himself so high. He's always so high. His constant
height is of a piece with his immense abilities ... don't
you see?-and so he has 'em, soul and body." (p. 106)
First, he took two secret men.
"Now, I have something to say to you," said Mr. Jaggers,
throwing his finger at them. "I want to know no more than
I know ... "
"We thought, Mr. Jaggers - " one of the men began, pulling
on his hat.
"That's what I told you not to do ... You thought! I think
for you; that is enough for you ... "
"And now you .. Now, I tell you what ... Once for all. If
you don't know that your Bill's in good hands, I know it.
And if you come here, bothering about your Bill, I'll
make an example of both your Bill and you, and let him
slip through my fingers." (pp. 191-192)
     Thus, Jaggers's engagement with people is essentially
directive. He possesses his clients in "soul and body," does their
thinking and their "bothering," but threatens to let them "slip
through his fingers" should they not follow his advice. His
directiveness, consequently, depends upon complete submission, in
mind and in body, on the part of his clients.
     In combination with his physical characteristics, Jaggers
repeats certain actions which take on a symbolic significance.
There was an expression of contempt on his face, and he
bit the side of his great forefinger ... he looked at
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everybody coldly and sarcastically.
He stood with his head on one side and himself on one
side, in a bullying interrogative manner, and he threw
his forefinger at Mr. Wopsle-as it were to mark him
out before biting it again. (pp. 155-56)
     The forefinger - an extension of the hand, the intellect's
tool - is bitten continually when Jaggers confronts people. Yoked
with his contempt, coldness, and sarcasm, this can possibly be
interpreted as a reflection of his biting and harsh dealings with
others. He also uses the forefinger as a weapon to intimidate
while interrogating; he points it accusingly to make his point.
His sharp and biting intellect is given, consequently, a vehicle
for his cold and unsentimental approach to people.
     The head image is also emphasized, but in a significantly
unique respect. Dickens suggests that a division occurs in
Jaggers; his head is on one side while his body is on one side.
This implies a division between the intellect and the body, or
possibly, between the intellectual world and the emotional world.
Jaggers, then, keeps separate the intellectual world of his
profession from his own private world of his emotions.
      The division in Jaggers's personality is also reflected in his
environment-his places of work, particularly his office, and his
home. These locations dramatize and extend many of his
personal qualities and physical characteristics. Jaggers's places
of work-Smithfield, Little Britain, and Newgate-are actual
locations of filth and death. Smithfield is "all asmear with filth
and fat and blood and foam ... " Newgate is a "grim, stone
building" throwing gloom into Pip. Jaggers's office, however, is
the most significant location, for it reflects in great detail his
personal characteristics.
Mr. Jaggers's room was lighted by a skylight only, and was
a most dismal place; the skylight, eccentrically patched
like a broken head, and the distorted adjoining houses
looking as if they had twisted themselves to peep down
at me through it. There were not so many papers about,
as I should have expected to see; and there were some
odd objects about that I should have not expected to
see-such as an old rusty pistol, a sword in a scabbard,
several strange-looking boxes and packages, and two
dreadful casts on a shelf, of faces peculiarly swollen,
and twitchy about the nose. Mr. Jaggers's own high-
backed chair was of a deadly black horsehair, with
rows of brass nails around it, like a coffin; and I
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fancied I could see how he leaned back in it, and bit
his forefinger at the clients. The room was but small,
and the clients seemed to have had a habit of backing
up against the wall; especially opposite Mr. Jaggers's
chair, being greasy with shoulders. (pp. 188-89)
     Dickens very carefully selected the details of this office,
making them an extension of Jaggers. The novelist turns such
ordinary objects as skylights, chairs, and masks into grotesque,
terrifying objects, just as Jaggers himself is a grotesque,
terrifying man. Such other aspects of the offices as the weapons
and the "faces peculiarly swollen" are associated with the guilty
and the dead, the clientele of this lawyer.
     As a feature of his office, the skylight suggests Jaggers's
psychological make-up. Two features of this skylight should be
considered: it corresponds to the head imagery of the lawyer;
moreover, by receiving its light from above, as well as being
positioned above, it carries a celestial connotation. Just as the
priest functions between people and God's laws, so too does the
lawyer act as the mediator between people and the principles of
civil law. The head imagery is distinctly referred to here. The
skylight suggests violent nature, in that it is "eccentrically
patched, like a broken head;" it evokes fear in Pip by causing
the " ... distorted adjoining houses" to "twist ... themselves to peep
down ... through it." This is the same flavor of violence found in
Smithfield, Little Britain, and Newgate. The law, the source of
thought for the lawyer, is fragmented by each individual lawyer,
just as the sunlight is fragmented through each skylight. And just
as each skylight transmits the sunlight, so too does each lawyer
transmit the law. Because Jaggers is involved with the "filth and
fat and blood and foam" of a violent life, and because the law
for Dickens is a distorted and eccentric framework of thought,
Jaggers's psychological composition is given a graphic parallel in
the skylight.
     The lawyer is surrounded in his office by objects that
either evoke fear or are fearful in themselves. The death masks,
for example, changing in their appearances, reflect Pip's changing
emotional responses to Jaggers. The lawyer's chair, too, equated
with a coffin, lends him an appearance of being immersed in
death. Jaggers lives in the midst of death; he leans back into
his coffin-chair and points his finger imperatively at the living.
Thus, he is surrounded by death and is ultimately seen as a
connecting force between life and death.
     Jaggers's home also reflects his personality and physical
characteristics, but with an important difference. His home is

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...rather a stately house ... The furniture was all very
solid good, like his watch-chain. It had an official
look, however, and there was nothing merely ornamental.
(p. 205)
     The home, then, reeks with a sense of the "bare, gloomy
and little used," reflecting his professional, no-nonsense curtness.
Yet, the interior of the home becomes the setting for such few
and select gatherings as the dinner with Herbert Pocket and Pip;
in the same manner the interior of the man allows a few, select
people to view his own private nature, such as Pip and Pocket
during the dinner. Thus, Jaggers's physical and environmental
descriptions have shown his "professional" nature. The home,
however, suggests a division in the man; it suggests a different
sort of inner nature beneath this surface appearance.
     One important scene reveals his inner self, showing an
inner warmth and tenderness. The scene occurs when Pip
mentions Wemmick's home to Jaggers. This reference surprises
Jaggers.
...Mr. Jaggers relaxed into something like a smile...
"What's all this? ... You with an old father and you with
pleasant and playful ways?"
Again, they exchanged their former odd looks, each
apparently still distrustful that the other was taking
him in.
"You with a pleasant home?" said Mr. Jaggers...
Mr. Jaggers nodded his head retrospectively two or three
times, and actually drew a sigh. "Pip," said he, "we
won't talk about 'poor dreams;' you know more about such
things than 1, having much fresher experience of that
kind." (p. 484)
Here Jaggers's amazement seems more like envy; his candidness
not only embarrasses him, but it also conjures up thoughtful
retrospection. The intrusion of Mike, his messenger, crying,
saves Jaggers from revealing more personal feelings. With much
relief from the situation, Wemmick and Jaggers blast Mike from
the office: '"Now look here, my man,' said Mr. Jaggers,
advancing a step, and pointing to the door, 'Get out."' (p. 484)
The lawyer's horror of revealing "feelings" seems too
exaggerated; one immediately submits that he protests too much.
The occurrence prior to Mike's entrance supports this idea and
undermines Jaggers's outcry. Jaggers wishes to hide his

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emotional responsiveness behind his mask of professionalism.
     While Jaggers clearly defines the overall descriptive
pattern of the lawyer, other individual lawyers illustrate single
points of this pattern. They emphasize these points while still
manifesting many, if not all, of the traits shown in the general
pattern. Grimwig and Uriah Heep, for example, through the
contrast of their personalities establish a general trait of the
lawyer's facade: the outer appearance of the lawyer usually
indicates an opposite inner nature.
     Grimwig's name, his most immediately noticed feature,
reflects his character duality. The word grim, the first half of
his name, represents Grimwig's appearance to almost everyone in
the novel; he is sharp and grim. With the addition of wig,
however, another dimension of his character is shown. His name
implies grimness; but, just as a wig is a facade covering the
head of an English lawyer, so is his grimness a facade concealing
his tenderness. Grimwig maintains a tough exterior to conceal a
tender interior. In contrast, Heep's "umble" appearance disguises
an inner selfish ambition for power.
     The lawyers generally are bachelors, unsuccessful suitors,
or unorthodox husbands. They are independent men who do not
lend themselves readily to involvement with others; they maintain
an aloofness from people that denies intimacy. Carton pursues
Lucie Manette, but fails to win her. Uriah Heep pursues Agnes,
but also fails. Eugene Wrayburn finds his escape from
dissipation and lack of purpose through marriage to Lizzie
Hexam, but, for the most part, he is seen alone. Tulkinghorn,
Grewgious, Grimwig, and Jaggers seem to be complacent
bachelors. Metaphorically there is a strain of sterility in the
lawyer's composition which helps place them further outside the
social order; they appear to be symbolically asexual,
consequently.
     Sally and Sampson Brass -the most important
personifications of asexuality, are mateless and childless. More
importantly, the Brasses, brother and sister exchange sexual
roles; Sally assumes a masculine, directive control of the law
office, while Sampson assumes a feminine, subservient role to his
sister's will. Primarily, the law is, like the statue of justice,
blindfolded to sex and station in its justice. It is an arbitrary
set of ideas demanding that its practitioners be as equally
neutral. The lawyers, then, as the progeny of the law, reflect
this parental trait of neutrality.
     Integrated with the idea of asexuality is the association of
sterility and of death. Since the lawyers are essentially
detached and independent men, they appear as symbolically

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sterile men in society. As an extension of their personal
sterility, the lawyers may be seen as representatives of death.
Professionally and personally the lawyers are actively engaged
with death; Carton and Tulkinghorn meet violent deaths;
Wrayburn undergoes a metaphorical death and rebirth; and
Grewgious, Grimwig, and Jaggers remain aloof and passive to
such a degree as to appear almost inhuman. They seem rather
to be dead in the midst of life.
     The lawyers' association with death is best personified by
Tulkinghorn. He is an omniscient man, like Jaggers, who carries
a sense of timelessness with him. His omniscience, like the
death hovering over the lawyers, remains detached and
indifferent. The dust associated with Tulkinghorn and the law is
the universal dust of humankind; it touches all, animate and
inanimate. The law and the lawyers are composed of this dust;
they are made of the same dried material. This image, however,
enlarges into the more pregnant image of the dust-to-dust aspect
of the law. The lawyers, through their association with this
dust, are engaged with the universal predicament of humanity;
their involvement in this predicament is expressed in terms of
their knowledge of and comradeship with death. They are
involved not only with people in life, directing and controlling
their actions, but also with the end, the cessation, the
eradication of people-death.
     Eugene Wrayburn and Sydney Carton appear as obvious
contradictions to such lawyers as Tulkinghorn and Jaggers; the
younger men portray the lawyer in terms of the Romantic
character. Carton and Jaggers when juxtaposed form a
continuum-each representing an extreme pole-of one personality.
Carton exhibits in a greater degree the Romantic qualities of
the lawyers-their tender, inner nature-while Jaggers manifests
the neo-Romantic, the man who has grown wise to the world,
forcing his inner nature behind a toughened protective covering.
The essential trait shared by both Wrayburn and Carton is that
of obtaining a purpose in life. In relation to these Romantic
men, Dickens's syllogism appears to equate personal purpose with
a meaningful life. With the acquisition of love, Wrayburn and
Carton gain their purpose in much the same manner as David
Copperfield when he begins his writing career; they now
approach life with a "disciplined and steady heart." 
     In many respects, Mr. Grewgious offers a fitting finale to
the lawyer character. As the last lawyer of Dickens, Grewgious
presents a comic perspective on the lawyer, while still
maintaining an important function in the overall picture of the
lawyer. Dickens's treatment of Grewgious, by utilizing the

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details from his own descriptive formula for lawyers, ultimately
parodies his own material. Though he is comic in appearance,
Grewgious nonetheless manifests the lawyer's great concern for
accuracy in any form of communication. The lawyers' concern
for accuracy manifests their intelligence and their perceptive
abilities. They seek to manipulate and to direct their clients by
treating thoughts and feelings factually, as if they were exhibits
for examination. Using this procedure, the lawyer seeks to
arrive at the "essence" or truth of the human situation.

     Dickens's portrayal of the lawyer suggests a possible
affinity between the lawyer and the artist. Before the equation
of lawyer to artist can be fully explored, however, Dickens's
antithesis of the artist should be considered. For Dickens,
Harold Skimpole in Bleak House typifies the bohemian and the
dilettante.8 In Skimpole, Dickens illustrates who and what the
artist is not.
     Significantly, Skimpole, who calls himself an "amateur
artist," reverses the descriptive pattern applied to lawyers.
Also, he is contrasted to a lawyer, Mr. Vholes. Because this
lawyer is introduced late in the novel, and because he has little
apparent purpose or necessity in the resolution of its plot, Mr.
Vholes seems as if he were created solely as a direct contrast
to Skimpole.
     As his name implies, Skimpole is a man who skims the
surface of things; he literally lives on the surface of life.
...we were presented to Mr. Skimpole. He was a little
bright creature with a rather large head, but delicate
face and a sweet voice, and there was a perfect charm
in him. All he said was so free from effort and
spontaneous and was said with such a captivating gaiety
that it was fascinating to hear him talk .... There was
an easy negligence in his manner and even in his dress
(his hair carelessly disposed, and his neckerchief loose
and flowing, as I have seen artists paint their own
portrait.) (Vol. XVI, pp. 83-84)9
     Essentially, Dickens reverses the descriptive points of the
lawyer in presenting Skimpole. In contrast to the lawyer's
darkness, there is a sense of brightness and of frivolity in
Skimpole. Rather than embodying the social awkwardness of a
Carton or Grewgious, Skimpole is an articulate and an effortless

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man. His social grace and personal charm immediately involve
him with people. He is not the secretive, self-conscious man
who seeks accuracy in thoughts and in feelings; rather, he
depends upon spontaneity and, consequently, is intellectually
diffuse, though socially "captivating." Here also Skimpole is
shown as the studied, narcissistic man posing as the artist; he
dresses and postures as if he were having his portrait painted.
The lawyers generally feel a strong sense of purpose and of
intention, as did David Copperfield upon entering a writing
career. Skimpole, however, glories in his inability to work, he
purposely lacks a sense of direction and of responsibility. He
sees himself as being made for less practical endeavors than
work, and embodies a fashionable indifference towards working.
Skimpole would rather pose as an artist than strive to be one.
Mr. Skimpole...betook himself to beginning some sketch in
the park which he never finished, or to playing fragments
of airs on the piano, or to singing of songs, or to lying
down on his back under a tree and looking at the sky-
which he couldn't help thinking, he said, was what he
was meant for; it suited him so exactly. (p. 306)
     Permeating his "art," is the sense of fragmentation; he
lacks the persistence to complete his works. The features of
incompleteness and of irresponsibility are graphically illustrated
by his family.
     Skimpole is the father of three daughters.
"You must see my daughters. I have a blue-eyed daughter
who is my Beauty daughter, I have a Sentiment daughter,
and I have a comedy daughter. You must see them all."
(p. 186)
     Presumably, these three daughters, or elements-Beauty,
Sentiment and Comedy-would compose the art sired by Skim-
pole should he complete any of his beginnings. Like Skimpole,
his daughters project a sense of hedonism.
"In this family we are all children, and I am the
youngest ... we can't cook anything whatever. A needle
and thread we don't know how to use. We admire the
people who possess the practical wisdom we want, but we
don't quarrel with them. Then why should they quarrel
with us? Live and let live, we say to them. Live upon
your practical wisdom, and let us live upon you."
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He laughed, but as usual seemed quite candid and really to
mean what he said.
"We have sympathy, my roses," said Mr. Skimpole,
"Sympathy for everything. Have we not?"
"In fact, that is our family department," said Mr.
Skimpole, "in this hurly burly of life. We are capable
of looking on and of being interested, and we do look
on, and we are interested. What more can we do?"
(p. 189)
     As shown here, Skimpole glories in his inability to perform
ordinary functions requiring a "practical wisdom." Instead, he
chooses to "look on" life, to be "interested," and to "live upon"
those able to operate in the practical world. In trying to justify
why Skimpole is "such a child," Mr. Jarndyce suggests:
"Why ... he is all sentiment, and-and susceptibility, and-
and sensibility, and-and imagination. And those
qualities regulated in him, somehow. I suppose the
people who admire him for them in his youth attached too
much importance to them and too little to any training
that would have balanced and adjusted them, and so he
became what he is." (p. 183)
     As a man and an "artist"' Skimpole remains stunted in the
embryo stage; he is little else than a childish man in. thought and
in action, responding with an ineffectual and an inappropriate
"sympathy for everything." If, as Jarndyce reflects, Skimpole
had received "training," and had "regulated" his
sentiment ... susceptibility ... sensibility...imagination," he perhaps
would have matured as a man and an artist. Instead, however,
he merely touches the surface of art and of life. As Dickens
states, in "The Sensational Williams," appearing in All the Year
Round, and attributed to Dickens by Monroe Engel: "...the
difference between an artist who can look into the psychology of
crime and terror, and the botcher who can do nothing more than
lay on the carmine with a liberal brush is so great as to be
essential." (p. 14)10 Because he is unable to "look into crime
and terror," restricting himself instead to Beauty, Sentiment, and
Comedy, Skimpole is a "botcher," applying "carmine with a liberal
brush." He represents the false, would-be artist.
     Vholes, in contrast to Skimpole, is a man involved in the
"psychology of crime and terror," and a man with a personal
direction and purpose.

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"Sir ... it is a part of my professional duty to know best.
It is a part of my professional duty to study and to
understand a gentleman who confides his interest to me.
In my professional duty I shall not be wanting, sir, if
I know it." (pp. 300-301)
     Vholes does more than merely "look on" life; his
"professional duty" is to study and to understand. His training
in the law regulates and disciplines his study.
     Vholes, like Skimpole, has three daughters-Emma, Jane, and
Caroline. These daughters are plain, insignificant characters,
but precisely because they are plain, they offer a meaningful
contrast to Skimpole's daughters. Like their father, Vhole's
daughters have no frills nor fanciness; presumably, they are the
"practical" beings Skimpole lives upon. Consequently, Vholes
produces responsible, stable offspring, while Skimpole creates
nothing but effervescent, empty fragments.
     Thus Dickens negates the idea that the dilettante and the
undisciplined person exemplifies the artist. Instead, he presents
the artist in terms similar to those which define the lawyer who
is disciplined and directive. In regard to his being "interested,"
and his looking on life, Skimpole asks: "What more can I do?"
Dickens seems to agree with Skimpole, as his satirical treatment
suggests: as an "amateur artist" there is little else Skimpole can
do. But as a mature artist, Dickens supplies a different answer
as to what the artist is and how one functions with society.
      The lawyer illustrates Dickens's demand for an
unsentimental, regulated vocation in life. The lawyer is a person
whose heart, like David Copperfield's, is disciplined and resolute.
The lawyer confronts the total of society with a stoic and an
impartial eye, and is, consequently, an important instructor and
director of society. Dickens, as an artist, felt a personal
affinity with the lawyer. And it is with this perspective that
the lawyer will be interpreted as having an affinity with the
artist, a worker functioning with, not in, society.
     Since both the lawyer and the artist are concerned with
society, they must impose an order that does not necessarily
exist to a specific human situation. That is, given a conflict
between two opposing forces-the material for a dramatic
situation as well as for a court proceeding-instead of dissipating
the conflict, the lawyer and the artist must isolate, define, and
bring the conflict to a climax and a resolution. The tools
necessary for this process involve the intellect, the power of
perception, and an ability to translate these features into actual
accomplishments-an ability to work. These aspects, it has been

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suggested, have been symbolically represented by the head, the
eyes, and the hands, respectively.
     The lawyers, as directive and instructive people, demand an
accuracy of perceptions and of intelligence in order to work
efficiently. The lawyer and the artist both must critically and
dispassionately analyze while being emotionally committed, like
Vholes, who carries an "inward And dispassionate manner." (p.
458) Consequently, a two-fold nature is employed in their
performance of work wherein a paradox exists; the lawyer and
the artist have an emotional commitment as well as an
intellectual aloofness.
     In the article "Writing for Periodicals," appearing
September 23, 1865, in All the Year Round Dickens presents a
purely mechanical parallel between ibe artist and the lawyer
illustrating their dispassionate approach to work.
Periodical writers occasionally have to handle topics
with which they are little familiar, exactly as barristers
are liable to be called upon to plead in cases of whose
technical details they are completely ignorant ... A
writer, like a barrister, may take the trouble to get
up his subject, "cramming" for it, in examination phrase,
making himself acquainted with all the minutes of the
matter in dispute, before addressing the court or the
public. Not a bad plan is first to get together all
available evidence and information-bushels of books,
packets of documents, plans, maps, drawings-not
neglecting personal visits, inspection and inquiry,
should such be needed-and then mentally to digest the
whole, applying to the work such common sense and
acuteness as one happens to be gifted with. (p. 304)11
In this parallel the artist's approach to work is exactly the same
as the lawyer's. It might be argued that this view makes the
artist appear as a mental bricklayer. Careful consideration of
the passage, however, will indicate that the novelist is
advocating an exacting, dispassionate, almost clinical approach to
writing. Hard work and thorough knowledge of one's material
seem to be essential not only to the lawyer but to the artist as
well.
     The mere act of putting pen to paper and producing words
involves an amount of cold calculations. Although the writer's
words may evoke strong emotional responses, the good writer
must be in control of emotions and of thoughts to guide these
responses. One must have control of one's material, rather than

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to allow the material to control. Similarly, the lawyers seek
control of their clients' thoughts and feelings while conducting
their "professional duty." It is this attitude of controlled
calculation which causes such lawyers as Tulkinghorn and Jaggers
to demand precision of thoughts, of feelings, and of facts. It is
this attitude of dispassion which, also creates a gap between the
lawyer and the public, the artist and the mass.
     The lawyers, especially Jaggers and Tulkinghorn, seek this
dispassionate approach in their work. They attempt a
'professional method" that raises them above emotions.
Tulkinghorn operates behind an "expressionless mask," while
Jaggers wants "no feelings" in his office. Carton, too, hides
behind a "gloomy" crust. The interior of the lawyers is hidden
beneath their exterior; this schizophrenic division in the lawyers
creates their ambiguity to others. The lawyers' distance from
people is also heightened by their symbolic asexuality; they
remain sterile in society, detached from people. In this manner,
the lawyer is seen as existing outside the social context; more of
a director than a participator in society. The artist also
remains outside of the general mass in order "to study and to
understand" as does Vholes.
In both the poetry and fiction of the nineteenth century
are examples of persistent desire for the artist not to
care ... related attitudes are expressed in the theories
of art developed by such different writers as Flaubert
and Yeats. While-perhaps because-Flaubert himself
suffered from hyperaesthesia, he conceived the ideal
novelist as coldly detached, performing his examination
with the deft impassivity of the surgeon. Yeats, the
"last Romantic," found the construction of a mask, or
anti-self, necessary to poetic creation, and insisted
that the anti-self be cold and hard-all that he as
poet and feeling man was not.12
     What Robert Strange has mentioned as the "desire... not
to care," can be labeled the dispassionate approach advocated by
Dickens. This method, however, should not be interpreted as not
caring; otherwise, there would be little reason to approach art
at all. Rather, this manner of operation serves as a means of
protecting the artist and the lawyer from "all that he as poet
and feeling man" is. It is a means of putting the thoughts and
the emotions of an artist into perspective in order to dissect
and to resolve material accurately.
     Henry Miller states: "There will always be a gulf between

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the creative artist and the public because the latter is immune
to the mystery inherent in and surrounding all creation."13 It is
this idea of "mystery," together with the "gulf between ... artist
and the public," that is represented in Dickens's treatment of the
lawyer. The lawyer, or the artist, shields self behind a critical
eye, a vantage point attained by an exterior facade.
     Finally, the lawyer and the artist are concerned with the
ultimate predicament of humanity; they are involved in the life-
death aspect of existence. Tulkinghorn, Carton, and Jaggers
express this acquaintance with death most readily. Tulkinghorn's
omniscience concerning people, as well as his apathy towards
people, illustrates the lawyer's stoic response to death. Carton
goes to his death romantically for the love of a woman and is
said to have "a sublime and prophetic look." Jaggers is seen as
a connecting force between life and death; he holds the power
of life and death for many characters, just as he personifies life
in the midst of death. The darkness of the lawyers' complexion
indicates the shadow of death impressed upon their intellect. .
John Hagan, Jr. said of Jaggers: ... (he) simply saw too
much of life."14
There will always be men like Jaggers.--to act as the link
between the underground man and the rest of society. As
a defender of criminals, Jaggers is the great flaw of
society's repression of its victims; he is their hope of
salvation and resurrection. He knows everybody's secrets;
he is the man to whom the lines between the high and the
low, the man of property and the dispossessed, are no
barrier.15
     Jaggers has seen much of life, but it is precisely because
he has seen that he is able to act and to influence as he does.
His ability to link the "underground man and the rest of
society," to give "hope of salvation and resurrection," enables
Jaggers to connect the living and the dead. The person of
property and the person dispossessed retain the same stamp of
humanity which Jaggers treats impartially. The artist, too, tends
to view people with a similar leveling of station; seeking the
inner essence, rather than the social surface, of people. And
just as Grewgious occupies an important role in Bazard's drama
"The Thorn of Anxiety" -or society-so too do Jaggers and the
other lawyers become involved in this drama of life. It is this
thorn in their intellect, the seeing of too much of life which
compels them to comment about and to instruct people. It is
this thorn of society's which causes the lawyer-artist to be

[183]

expelled from the social mythos, aloof from its barbs. This
thorn and this aloofness give the lawyer and the artist, when
confronted with death, an ultimate look of the "sublime and
prophetic."

[184]

* College of Applied Professional Sciences, University of 
South Carolina.
Reprinted with permission from Drury College Alumni 
Review, 1967.

ENDNOTES

l. William Holdsworth, Charles Dickens as a Legal Historian.
New Haven: Yale University Press, 1929.

2. Robert D. Neely, The Lawyers of Dickens and Their
Clerks (Boston: Christopher Publishing House, 1936), p.9.

3. Philip Collins, Dickens and Crime (London: Macmillan and
Co., 1964), p. 174. 

4. Edgar Johnson, Charles Dickens: His Tragedy and 
Triumph, (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1952), p. 990.

5. Humphrey House, The Dickens World (London: Oxford
Press, 1941), pp. 55-56.

6. Collins, pp. 177-78.

7. Charles Dickens, Great Expectations (New York: Charles
Scribner's Sons, 1899), Vol. XVI p. 13.

8. John Forster, The Life of Charles Dickens (New York:
Charles Scribner's Sons, 1900),Vo1. XXXVI, pp. 123-34.

9. Charles Dickens, Bleak House (New York: Charles
Scribner's Sons, 1899), Vol. XVI, pp. 83-84.

10. Monroe Engel, "Dickens on Art," Modern Philology
53:25-38, August, 1955, p. 37.

11. "Writing for Periodicals," All the Year Round (London:
Chapman and Hall, 1865), Vol. XIV, September 23, pp. 200-
204. It was a well-known fact that Dickens was a tyrannical
"conductor" of this periodical. Consequently, this unsigned
article reflects Dickens's personal belief, if he did not write it
himself.

12. Robert Stange, "Expectations Well Lost: Dickens's Fable
for His Time," College English 16: 9-17, October, 1954, p. 16.

13. Henry Miller, "Obscenity and the Law of Reflections,"
Remember to Remember (New York: New Directions, 1947), 
p. 280.

14. John Hagan, Jr., "Structural Patterns in Dickens's Great
Expectations," English Literary History, 21: 54-66, March, 
1954.

15. John Hagan, Jr., "The Poor Labyrinth:  The Theme of 
Social Injustice in Dickens' Great Expectations", Nineteenth-
Century Fiction, 9: 169-178, December, 1954, p. 178