A field-marshal has his uniform; a bishop his silk apron; a counsellor his silk gown; a beadle his cocked hat. Strip the bishop of his apron, or the beadle of his hat and lace; what are they? Men. Mere men. Dignity, and even holiness too, sometimes, are more questions of coat and waistcoat than some people imagine."
In his next novel, Dickens has a word for those "who
pamper their compassion and need high stimulants to
rouse it," and indicates the cause of hysterical zeal on
the one hand or dull indifference on the other, equally
misplaced:[1]
"In short, charity must have its romance, as the novelist or
playwright must have his. A thief in fustian is a vulgar character,
scarcely to be thought of by persons of refinement;
but dress him in green velvet, with a high-crowned hat, and
change the scene of his operations, from a thickly peopled city,
to a mountain road, and you shall find in him the very soul of
poetry and adventure."
The romance of the picturesque is one of our weaknesses;
that of the mysterious is another. The latter is discussed
with reference to the machinations of the Gordon Riot:[2]
"To surround anything, however monstrous or ridiculous,
with an air of mystery, is to invest it with a secret charm, and
power of attraction which to the crowd is irresistible. False
priests, false prophets, false doctors, false patriots, false prodigies
of every kind, veiling their proceeding in mystery, have
always addressed themselves at an immense advantage to the
popular credulity, and have been, perhaps, more indebted to
that resource in gaining and keeping for a time the upper
hand of Truth and Common Sense, than to any half dozen
items in the whole catalogue of imposture."
