The Battle of Life: A Love Story

By Charles Dickens

First published in 1846, Charles Dickens's novella “The Battle of Life: A Love Story” is the fourth of his five "Christmas Books", published between “The Cricket on the Hearth” and “The Haunted Man”. The only of the five to not contain any supernatural or overt religious reference, it focuses on Grace and Marion, two sisters who are driven apart only to be reunited once more. Dickens's Christmas novels perfectly enraptured the spirit of the Victorian Christmas revival and even inspired a number of traditional aspects of the holiday, including seasonal food and drink, family gatherings, dancing, and more. Charles John Huffam Dickens (1812–1870) was an English writer and social critic famous for having created some of the world's most well-known fictional characters. His works became unprecedentedly popular during his life, and today he is commonly regarded as the greatest Victorian-era novelist thanks to his humour, satire, and astute observations concerning society and character. This classic work is being republished now in a new edition complete with a specially-commissioned new biography of the author.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Read & Co. Books
• Release date: May 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781528789691

Charles Dickens

Charles Dickens (1812-1870) was an English writer and social critic. Regarded as the greatest novelist of the Victorian era, Dickens had a prolific collection of works including fifteen novels, five novellas, and hundreds of short stories and articles. The term “cliffhanger endings” was created because of his practice of ending his serial short stories with drama and suspense. Dickens’ political and social beliefs heavily shaped his literary work. He argued against capitalist beliefs, and advocated for children’s rights, education, and other social reforms. Dickens advocacy for such causes is apparent in his empathetic portrayal of lower classes in his famous works, such as The Christmas Carol and Hard Times.

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THE

BATTLE OF LIFE

A LOVE STORY

By

CHARLES DICKENS

First published in 1846

Copyright © 2020 Read & Co. Books

This edition is published by Read & Co. Books,

an imprint of Read & Co.

This book is copyright and may not be reproduced or copied in any

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from the British Library.

Read & Co. is part of Read Books Ltd.

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This

Christmas Book

is Cordially Inscribed

to

my English Friends

in Switzerland

Contents

Charles Dickens

PART THE FIRST

PART THE SECOND

PART THE THIRD

Charles Dickens

Charles John Huffam Dickens was born in Landport, Portsmouth in 1812. When he was ten years old, his family settled in Camden Town, a poor neighbourhood of London. A defining moment in the young Dickens' life came only two years later, when his father – the inspiration for the character of Mr Micawber in David Copperfield – was imprisoned in the Marshalsea debtor's prison. As a result, Dickens was sent to Warren's blacking factory, where he worked in appalling conditions and gained a first-hand acquaintance with poverty. After three years Dickens resumed his education, but the experience was highly formative for him, and would later be fictionalised in both David Copperfield and Great Expectations.

Dickens' writing career began in around 1830, when he started to write for the journals The Mirror of Parliament and The True Sun. Three years later, he became parliamentary journalist for The Morning Chronicle, and also began to have some successes with his fiction: His first short story, A 'Dinner at Popular Walk', appeared in the Monthly Magazine in December of 1833, and his first book, a collection titled Sketches by Boz, was published in 1836. However, his real breakthrough came in 1837, with the serialised publication of Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club – the work was hugely popular, and transformed Dickens into a well-known literary figure.

Over the next few years, at an almost incredible rate, Dickens wrote Oliver Twist (1837-39), Nicholas Nickleby (1838-39) and The Old Curiosity Shop and Barnaby Rudge (1840-41). In 1842, he travelled with his wife to the United States and Canada (where he gave lectures denouncing slavery), and in the years following produced his five 'Christmas Books'. During the fifties, after brief spells living in Italy and Switzerland, he continued to write at a seemingly inexhaustible pace, producing some of his best work: David Copperfield (1849-50), Bleak House (1852-53), Hard Times (1854), Little Dorrit (1857), A Tale of Two Cities (1859), and Great Expectations (1861).

During the latter stages of his life, Dickens turned his focus from writing to giving readings. In 1869, during one such reading, he collapsed, showing symptoms of a mild stroke. He died at home one year later, aged 58. He was buried in the Poets' Corner of Westminster Abbey, where the inscription on his tomb reads: He was a sympathiser to the poor, the suffering, and the oppressed; and by his death, one of England's greatest writers is lost to the world. Dickens is now regarded as the greatest writer of the Victorian era, and one of the greatest English authors since Shakespeare.

THE

BATTLE OF LIFE

A Love Story

PART THE FIRST

Once

upon a time, it matters little when, and in stalwart England, it matters little where, a fierce battle was fought. It was fought upon a long summer day when the waving grass was green. Many a wild flower formed by the Almighty Hand to be a perfumed goblet for the dew, felt its enamelled cup fill high with blood that day, and shrinking dropped. Many an insect deriving its delicate color from harmless leaves and herbs, was stained anew that day by dying men, and marked its frightened way with an unnatural track. The painted butterfly took blood into the air upon the edges of its wings. The stream ran red. The trodden ground became a quagmire, whence, from sullen pools collected in the prints of human feet and horses’ hoofs, the one prevailing hue still lowered and glimmered at the sun.

Heaven keep us from a knowledge of the sights the moon beheld upon that field, when, coming up above the black line of distant rising-ground, softened and blurred at the edge by trees, she rose into the sky and looked upon the plain, strewn with upturned faces that had once at mothers’ breasts sought mothers’ eyes, or slumbered happily. Heaven keep us from a knowledge of the secrets whispered afterwards upon the tainted wind that blew across the scene of that day’s work and that night’s death and suffering! Many a lonely moon was bright upon the battle-ground, and many a star kept mournful watch upon it, and many a wind from every quarter of the earth blew over it, before the traces of the fight were worn away.

They lurked and lingered for a long time, but survived in little things, for Nature, far above the evil passions of men, soon recovered Her serenity, and smiled upon the guilty battle-ground as she had done before, when it was innocent. The larks sang high above it, the swallows skimmed and dipped and flitted to and fro, the shadows of the flying clouds pursued each other swiftly, over grass and corn and turnip-field and wood, and over roof and church-spire in the nestling town among the trees, away into the bright distance on the borders of the sky and earth, where the red sunsets faded. Crops were sown, and grew up, and were gathered in; the stream that had been crimsoned, turned a watermill; men whistled at the plough; gleaners and haymakers were seen in quiet groups at work; sheep and oxen pastured; boys whooped and called, in fields, to scare away the birds; smoke rose from cottage chimneys; sabbath bells rang peacefully; old people lived and died; the timid creatures of the field, and simple flowers of the bush and garden, grew and withered in their destined terms: and all upon the fierce and bloody battle-ground, where thousands upon thousands had been killed in the great fight.

But there were deep green patches in the growing corn at first, that people looked at awfully. Year after year they re-appeared; and it was known that underneath those fertile spots, heaps of men and horses lay buried, indiscriminately, enriching the ground. The husbandmen who ploughed those places, shrunk from the great worms abounding there; and the sheaves they yielded, were, for many a long year, called the Battle Sheaves, and set apart; and no one ever knew a Battle Sheaf to be among the last load at a Harvest Home. For a long time, every furrow that was turned, revealed some fragments of the fight. For a long time, there were wounded trees upon the battle-ground; and scraps of hacked and broken fence and wall, where deadly struggles had been made; and trampled parts where not a leaf or blade would grow. For a long time, no village-girl would dress her hair or bosom with the sweetest flower from that field of death: and after many a year had come and gone, the berries growing there, were still believed to leave too deep a stain upon the hand that plucked them.

The Seasons in their course, however, though they passed as lightly as the summer clouds themselves, obliterated, in the lapse of time, even these remains of the old conflict; and wore away such legendary traces of it as the neighbouring people carried in their minds, until they dwindled into old wives’ tales, dimly remembered round the winter fire, and waning every year. Where the wild flowers and berries had so long remained upon the stem untouched, gardens arose, and houses were built, and children played at battles on the turf. The wounded trees had long ago made Christmas logs, and blazed and roared away. The deep green patches were no greener now than the memory of those who lay in dust below. The ploughshare still turned up from time to time some rusty bits of metal, but it was hard to say what use they had ever served, and those who found them wondered and disputed. An old dinted corslet, and a helmet, had been hanging in the church so long, that the same weak half-blind old man who tried in vain to make them out above the whitewashed arch, had marvelled at them as a baby. If the host slain upon the field, could have been for a moment reanimated in the forms in which they fell, each upon the spot that was the bed of his untimely death, gashed and ghastly soldiers would have stared in, hundreds deep, at household door and window; and would

Reviews for The Battle of Life

[markbstephenson · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I loved this short novel especially because, like Dr, Jeddler,one of the main characters, I have two delightful daughters who are all the world to me. It's Dickens-what more can I say?

[souloftherose · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The fourth of Dickens' Christmas Books, I thought this one was the least Christmassy of the five books. Dickens uses a fictional battle which took place to illustrate the mental/emotional battles of life we all face. The tale follows Dr Jeddler who refuses to take anything in life seriously and his two beautiful daughters. It's a difficult book to describe without giving away too much of the plot but in the end, the self-sacrifice of his daughters leads to the reform of the Doctor. I enjoyed this book but thought the means by which the self sacrifice was achieved was a little bit unbelievable. 3.75 starsInterestingly, Dickens himself was not completely satisfied with how this idea had been worked out in this short novella and was eventually persuaded by a friend to rework the idea in a full length novel which was called A Tale of Two Cities.

[mbmackay · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This is the fourth of Dickens' series of Christmas books, but it is quite different from the earlier volumes. It lacks the supernatural element of the previous works, and is more like a long modern short story. After a theme setting prologue about an ancient battle field, the 'short story' starts briskly with the scene set (summer in the countryside) and characters introduced (two daughters of a country doctor, dancing among apple harvesters). It is very Somerset Maugham. Of course, it is Dickens, not Maugham, so the story ends with a complicated twist, and the obligatory happy ending. I enjoyed this book, perhaps because it was different in many ways from other Dickens' works - the writing is concise, the characters interesting without being caricatures, the comic elements understated. Wikipedia tells me that it is one of Dickens' lesser known works and has never attained a high. It seems that I am out of step with popular opinion. Read February 2012.