Who Was William Makepeace Thackeray?

Thackeray was born at Calcutta, and was descended form an ancient Yorkshire family. His father having died in 1816, the boy was sent to England for his education, and on the voyage home he had a glimpse of Napoleon, then a prisoner on St Helena. His school was the Charterhouse, and his college was Trinity College, Cambridge, which he entered in 1829. Both at school and college he struck his contemporaries as an idle and rather cynical youth, whose main diversions were sketching and lampooning his friends and enemies. The loss of his fortune drove him to seek some means of earning a living. For a time he had some intention of becoming an artist and studied art in Paris, but soon he turned to journalism. He contributed both prose and light verse to several periodicals, including Punch and Fraser’s Magazine, winning his way slowly and with much difficulty, for his were gifts that do not gain ready recognition. It was not till nearly the middle of the century that Vanity Fair (1847-48) brought him some credit, though at first the book was grudgingly received. Thenceforward he wrote steadily and with increasing favor until his death, which occurred with great suddenness. Before his death he had enjoined his executors not to publish any biography, so that of all the major Victorian writes we have of him the scantiest biographical materials.

For a considerable number of years Thackeray was groping for a means of expression, and wavered between verse, prose, and sketching. His earliest literary work consisted of light and popular contributions to periodicals. The most considerable of these are The Yellowplush Correspondence (1837-38), contributed to Fraser’s Magazine and dealing with the philosophy and experiences of Jeames, an imaginary footman, and The Book of Snobs (1849), which originally appeared in Punch as The Snobs of England. Snobs, who continued to be Thackeray’s pet abhorrence, are defined by him as those “who meanly admire mean things,” and in this early book their widespread activities are closely pursed and harried. The History of Samuel Titmarsh and the Great Hoggarty Diamond (1841), and The Fitzboodle Papers (1842-43) appeared first in Fraser’s Magazine. They are deeply marked with his biting humor and merciless observation of human weakness, but they found little acceptance. The Memoirs of Barry Lyndon (1844) is a distinct advance. It is a species of picaresque novel, telling of the adventures of a gambling rascal, an amiable scapegrace who prowls all over Europe. In range, the book is wider, and the grasp of incident and character is surer. In Vanity Fair (1847-48) the genius of Thackeray reaches high-water mark. In theme it is concerned chiefly with the fortunes of Becky Sharp, an adventuress. In dexterity of treatment, in an imaginative power that both reveals and transforms, and in a clear and mournful vision of the vanities of mankind the novel is among the greatest in the language. The History of Pendennis (1848-50) continues the method of Vanity Fair. Partly autobiographical, it portrays life as it appears to the author. Thackeray refuses to bow to convention and precedent, except when these conform to his ideals of literature. In this book Thackeray openly avows his debt to Fielding, the master whom he equals and in places excels. The History of Henry Esmond (1852) is a historical novel of great length and complexity, showing the previous excellences of Thackeray in almost undiminished force, as well as immense care and forethought, a minute and accurate knowledge of the times of Queen Anne, and an extraordinary faculty for reproducing both the style and atmosphere of the period. Some judge this book to be his best. His novel The New-comes (1853-55) is supposed to be edited by Pendennis. In tone it is more genial than its predecessors, but it ends tragically with the death of the aged Colonel Newcome. With The Virginians (1857-59) the list of the great novels is closed. This book, a sequel to Henry Esmond, is a record of the experiences of two lads called Warrington, the grandsons of Henry Esmond himself. In the story, a pale shadow of her former self, appears Beatrix Esmond, the fickle heroine of the earlier book.

In 1860 Thackeray was appointed first editor of The Cornhill Magazine, and for this he wrote Lovel the Widower (1860), The Adventures of Philip (1861-62), and a series of essays, charming and witty trifles, and The Roundabout Papers (1860-63). Both in size and in merit these last novels are inferior to their predecessors. At his death he left an unfinished novel, Denis Duval.

Like Dickens, Thackeray had much success as a lecturer on both sides of the Atlantic, though in his methods he did not follow his fellow-novelist. Two courses of lectures were published as The English Humourists of the Eighteenth Century (1853) and The Four Georges (1860). All his life he delighted in writing burlesques, the best of which are Rebecca and Rowena (1850), a comic continuation of Ivanhoe, The Legend of the Rhine (1845), a burlesque tale of medieval chivalry, and The Rose and the Ring (1855), an excellent example of his love of parody.

On the surface Thackeray’s verse appears to be frivolous stuff, but behind the frivolity there is always sense, often a barb of reproof, and sometimes a note of sorrow. The Ballads of Policeman X is an early work contributed in numbers to Punch. Others, such as The White Squall and The Ballad of Bouillabaisse, have more claims to rank as poetry, for they show much metrical dexterity and in places a touch of real pathos.

(a) While Dickens was in the full tide of his success Thackeray was struggling through neglect and contempt to recognition. Thackeray’s genius blossomed slowly, just as Fielding’s did; for that reason the fruit is more mellow and matured. Once he had gained the favour of the public he held it, and among outstanding English novelists there is none whose claim is so little subjects to challenge.

(b) “Since the author of Tom Jones was buried,” says Thackeray in his preface to Pendennis, “no writer of fiction among us has been permitted to depict to his utmost power a Man. We must drape him and give him a certain conventional simper.” Thackeray’s novels are a protest against this convention. Reacting against the popular novel of his day, and particularly against its romanticizing of rogues, he returns to the Fielding method: to view his characters steadily and fearlessly, and to set on record their failings as well as their merits and capacities. In his hands the results are not flattering to human nature, for most of his clever people are rogues and most of his virtuous folk are fools. But whether they are rogues, or fools, or merely blundering incompetents, his creations are rounded entire, and quite alive and convincing.

(c) Much has been made of the sneering cynicism of Thackeray’s humour, and a good deal of the criticism is true. It was his desire to reveal the truth, and satire is one of his most potent methods of revelation. His sarcasm, a deadly species, is husbanded for deserving objects, such as Lord Steyne and (to a lesser degree) Barnes Newcome. In the case of people who are only stupid, like Rawdon Crawley, mercy tempers justice; and when Thackeray chooses to do so he can handle a character with loving tenderness, as can be seen in the case of Lady Castlewood and of Colonel Newcome. In Pathos he is seldom sentimental, being usually quiet and effective. But at the thought of the vain, the arrogant, and the mean people of the world Thackeray barbs his pen, with destructive results.

(d) His life is very near to the ideal for a novelist. It is effortless, and is therefore unobtrusive, detracting in no wise from the interest in the story.

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