The train of nods which the fat boy gave by way of assent, communicated a blanc-mange like motion to his fat cheeks.

Background.

• ‘The train of nods which the fat boy gave by way of assent, communicated a blanc-mange like motion to his fat cheeks‘ is a quotation from The Pickwick Papers (Chapter 8).

• The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, more commonly referred to now as The Pickwick Papers, was Charles Dickens’s first novel, originally published as a monthly serial between March 1836 and October 1837. Its popularity helped propel Dickens to one of the foremost writers of the time.

Context.

This quotation is a description of Joe, a servant to Mr. Wardle. Joe who has no surname, is referred to as the ‘Fat Boy’ and is afflicted with medical issues, including a form of sleep apnea.

In Chapter 8 of The Pickwick Papers, whilst at Mr. Wardle’s farm at Dingley Dell, the elderly character Tracy Tupman declares his affections for Rachael, Mr. Wardle’s spinster sister. Tupman takes Rachael to an arbour in the gardens where he kisses her. The scene is witnessed by Joe, who startles the couple.

The following day Joe reports Tupman’s romance to Mrs. Wardle, mother of Mr. Wardle and Rachael. Knowing the revelation will annoy and anger the old lady, Joe says to her that I wants to make your flesh creep before he reveals the secret meeting he saw in the arbour. When Mrs. Wardle learns it is Rachael she shouts ‘My da’ater!‘ [my daughter] which Joe confirms by vigorously nodding his effect, which has the effect of shaking the excess skin of his cheeks, which Dickens compares to that of the movement of a blanc-mange pudding.

Blanc-mange (also spelt blancmange) is a sweet dessert commonly made with milk or cream and sugar, along with thickening ingredients such as cornflour and gelatine. The word blanc (French for white) is from the traditional colour of this jelly-type pudding.

Source.

Taken from the following passage of Chapter 8 (STRONGLY ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE POSITION, THAT THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE IS NOT A RAILWAY) of The Pickwick Papers:

The old lady was timorous—most old ladies are—and her first impression was that the bloated lad was about to do her some grievous bodily harm with the view of possessing himself of her loose coin. She would have cried for assistance, but age and infirmity had long ago deprived her of the power of screaming; she, therefore, watched his motions with feelings of intense horror which were in no degree diminished by his coming close up to her, and shouting in her ear in an agitated, and as it seemed to her, a threatening tone—

‘Missus!’

Now it so happened that Mr. Jingle was walking in the garden close to the arbour at that moment. He too heard the shouts of ‘Missus,’ and stopped to hear more. There were three reasons for his doing so. In the first place, he was idle and curious; secondly, he was by no means scrupulous; thirdly, and lastly, he was concealed from view by some flowering shrubs. So there he stood, and there he listened.

‘Missus!’ shouted the fat boy.

‘Well, Joe,’ said the trembling old lady. ‘I’m sure I have been a good mistress to you, Joe. You have invariably been treated very kindly. You have never had too much to do; and you have always had enough to eat.’

This last was an appeal to the fat boy’s most sensitive feelings. He seemed touched, as he replied emphatically—’I knows I has.’

‘Then what can you want to do now?’ said the old lady, gaining courage.

‘I wants to make your flesh creep,’ replied the boy.

This sounded like a very bloodthirsty mode of showing one’s gratitude; and as the old lady did not precisely understand the process by which such a result was to be attained, all her former horrors returned.

‘What do you think I see in this very arbour last night?’ inquired the boy.

‘Bless us! What?’ exclaimed the old lady, alarmed at the solemn manner of the corpulent youth.

‘The strange gentleman—him as had his arm hurt—a-kissin’ and huggin’—’

‘Who, Joe? None of the servants, I hope.’ ‘Worser than that,’ roared the fat boy, in the old lady’s ear.

‘Not one of my grandda’aters?’

‘Worser than that.’

‘Worse than that, Joe!’ said the old lady, who had thought this the extreme limit of human atrocity. ‘Who was it, Joe? I insist upon knowing.’

The fat boy looked cautiously round, and having concluded his survey, shouted in the old lady’s ear—

‘Miss Rachael.’

‘What!’ said the old lady, in a shrill tone. ‘Speak louder.’

‘Miss Rachael,’ roared the fat boy.

‘My da’ater!’

The train of nods which the fat boy gave by way of assent, communicated a blanc-mange like motion to his fat cheeks.

‘And she suffered him!’ exclaimed the old lady. A grin stole over the fat boy’s features as he said—

‘I see her a-kissin’ of him agin.’

Characters.

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