8
kens Fellowship and with the towering
personality of Chesterton who voiced its
opinion when he wrote those often quoted
lines at the end of his Dickens biography
that comradeship and serious joy are not
interludes in our travel; but that rather our
travels, along a twisting road such as Mr.
Pickwick travelled, are interludes in com
radeship and joy, which through God shall
endure for ever; that the inn does not point
to the road but the road points to the inn.
If you divide mankind into Pickwickians
and Blottonians, he was decidedly a Pic
kwickian and, I must confess, so am I. I
fell in love with The Pickwick Papers
when I was a boy at boarding school and I
have remained true to my first love; if I
may say so, I am lucky to remain true to
it. For let us not forget that we all have a
big advantage over Charles Dickens him
self. We have the privilege of leaning back
in our chairs and chosing at our leisure the
Dickens we like best: the young Dickens
of Pickwick, the radical Dickens of Hard
Times or the more somber Dickens of
Edwin Drood. Charles Dickens himself did
not have this choice for he still had to
create his characters and when he grew old
he could not go back to the days of Pick
wick, because Pickwick formed part of the
youth he had lost. Dickens had to develop
himself from Pickwick to Edwin Drood.
As for us, we are unhampered by Dic
kens's personal history and some of us - I
at least know some - have developed them
selves from Drood to Pickwick. And
Dickens was provident in this respect,
provident without knowing. As if he had a
presentiment that his life would take a
more sombre turn than the life of the hero
of his first book, he made Mr. Pickwick
immortal. Pickwick never grows old, is fit
as a fiddle and as strong as an ox; he
belongs to no time or age and is only
confined with regard to place; for he is
English to the core and would not and
could not prosper anywhere outside En
gland. Think only of that sad book by
Reynolds Pickwick Abroad and you will
know what I mean. And yet I venture to
say, that this night he is indeed abroad, he
has crossed the North Sea and is here in
Haarlem in our midst. And so is his crea
tor who has assembled us here. Therefore
ladies and gentlemen, let us stand and
raise our glasses and let us drink to the
immortal memory of Charles Dickens.
