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[Picture: Henley on Thames]
RAMBLES IN
DICKENS’ LAND
BY ROBERT ALLBUT
WITH INTRODUCTION BY
GERALD BRENAN
AND ILLUSTRATIONS BY
HELEN M. JAMES
[Picture: Logo]
LONDON
S. T. FREEMANTLE
217 PICCADILLY
1899
NOTICE
_The several Extracts from the Works of Dickens contained in this
Manual_, _are used for the better illustration of the text_, _by kind
permission of Messrs._ CHAPMAN & HALL.
* * * * *
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON and Co.
At the Ballantyne Press
CONTENTS
PAGE
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS vii
INTRODUCTION ix
AUTHOR’S PREFACE xxv
RAMBLE I
CHARING CROSS TO LINCOLN’S INN FIELDS 1
RAMBLE II
LINCOLN’S INN TO THE MANSION HOUSE 15
RAMBLE III
CHARING CROSS TO THAVIES INN, HOLBORN CIRCUS 31
RAMBLE IV
HOLBORN CIRCUS TO TOTTENHAM COURT ROAD 43
RAMBLE V
BANK OF ENGLAND TO HER MAJESTY’S THEATRE 67
RAMBLE VI
EXCURSION TO CHATHAM, ROCHESTER AND GADSHILL 82
RAMBLE VII
EXCURSION TO CANTERBURY AND DOVER 103
RAMBLE VIII
EXCURSION TO HENLEY-ON-THAMES 116
RAMBLE IX
BY GREAT EASTERN ROUTE FROM LONDON TO YARMOUTH 128
RAMBLE X
LONDON TO DORKING AND PORTSMOUTH 141
APPENDIX 150
INDEX 167
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
HENLEY-ON-THAMES _Frontispiece_
_To face page_
OLD ROMAN BATH 10
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 12
FOUNTAIN COURT, TEMPLE 21
DOORWAY IN STAPLE INN 48
THE CHILDREN’S HOSPITAL 53
TAVISTOCK HOUSE 56
THE DRAWING-ROOM, DEVONSHIRE HOUSE 61
THE “LEATHER BOTTLE,” COBHAM 84
EASTGATE HOUSE, ROCHESTER 89
RESTORATION HOUSE, ROCHESTER 90
GADSHILL PLACE 99
THE HOME OF AGNES 112
THE “KING’S HEAD,” CHIGWELL 129
THE “GREAT WHITE HORSE,” IPSWICH 132
DICKENS’ BIRTHPLACE 145
“THE SPANIARDS,” HAMPSTEAD HEATH 152
INTRODUCTION
It is one of the magic legacies left by the great romancers, that the
scenes and characters which they described should possess for most of us
an air of reality, so convincing as sometimes to put staid history to the
blush. The novelist’s ideals become actual to the popular mind; while
commonplace truth hides itself among its dry-as-dust records, until some
curious antiquary or insistent pedant drags it forth to make a nine days’
wonder. We sigh over “Juliet’s Tomb” in spite of the precisians, sup in
the inn kitchen at Pennaflor with Gil Blas at our elbow, and shudder
through the small hours outside the haunted House of the Black Cat in
Quaker Philadelphia. At Tarascon they show you Tartarin’s oriental
garden; and you must hide the irrepressible smile, for Tartarin is
painfully real to these good cap-shooters. The other day an illustrated
magazine published pictures of Alexander Selkirk’s birthplace, and
labelled them “The Home of Robinson Crusoe.” The editor who chose that
caption was still under the spell of Defoe. To him, as to the vast
majority, Crusoe the imaginary seemed vividly real, while the
flesh-and-blood Selkirk was but a name. And if you have that catholic
sympathy which is the true test of the perfect lover of romance, read
“David Copperfield” once again, and then, by way of experiment, spend an
afternoon in Canterbury. You will find yourself expecting at one moment
to see Mr. Micawber step jauntily out of the Queen’s Head Inn, at another
to catch a glimpse of the red-haired Heep slinking along North Lane to
his “’umble dwelling.” You will probably meet a dozen buxom “eldest Miss
Larkinses,” and obnoxious butcher-boys—perhaps even a sweet Agnes
Wickfield, or a Miss Betsy Trotwood driving in from Dover. And, above
all, you will certainly enjoy yourself, and thank your gods for Charles
Dickens.
Mr. Would-be Wiseman may affect to sneer at our pilgrimages to this and
other places connected with the imaginary names of fiction; but he must
recognise the far-reaching influence for good exercised by symbols and
associations over the human mind. The sight of a loved home after many
years—the flutter of one’s country’s flag in foreign lands—these things
touch keenly our better nature. In a like manner is the thoughtful man
impressed when he treads a pathway hallowed by the writings of some
favourite poet or romancer. The moral lesson which the author intended
to convey, his insight into character or loving eye for Nature’s
beauties, and many exquisite passages from his books appeal to us all the
more, when we recall them in the very rooms where they were written—among
the gloomy streets or breezy hills which he has filled with his
inventions. Says Washington Irving in his essay on Stratford: “I could
not but reflect on the singular gift of the poet; to be able thus to
spread the magic of his mind over the very face of Nature; to give to
things and places a charm and character not their own, and to turn this
‘working-day’ world into a perfect fairyland. He is indeed the true
enchanter, whose spell operates, not upon the senses, but upon the
imagination and the heart. Under the wizard influence of Shakespeare I
had been walking all day in a complete delusion. . . . I had been
surrounded with fancied beings; with mere airy nothings conjured up by
poetic power; yet which, to me, had all the charm of reality. I had
heard Jaques soliloquise beneath his oak; had beheld the fair Rosalind
and her companion adventuring through the woodlands; and, above all, had
been once more present in spirit with fat Jack Falstaff and his
contemporaries, from the august Justice Shallow down to the gentle Master
Slender and the sweet Anne Page. Ten thousand honours and blessings on
the bard who has thus gilded the dull realities of life with innocent
illusions.” Wherefore, in spite of the sneers of Master Would-be
Wiseman, let us continue to make these pleasant pilgrimages; not alone
for our own satisfaction and betterment, but also in memory of those who
have opened before us so many delectable lands of fancy, and given us so
many agreeable companions of the road.
This volume, then, is the pilgrim’s guide to Dickens’ Land—the loving
topography of that fertile and very populous region. No far away foreign
country is Dickens’ Land. It lies at our doors; we may explore it when
we choose, with never a passport to purchase nor a Custom House to fear.
The sojourner in London can scarce look from his windows without
beholding scores of its interesting places. To parody that passage which
describes Mr. Pickwick’s outlook into Goswell Street—Dickens’ Land is at
our feet; Dickens’ Land is on our right hand as far as the eye can reach;
Dickens’ Land extends on our left, and the opposite side of Dickens’ Land
is over the way. Nor do the bounds of this genial territory confine
themselves to London alone. Outlying portions spread north and south,
east and west, over England. There is even, as Sala showed, a Dickens’
quarter in Paris; and we have unexpectedly encountered small colonies of
Dickens’ Land across the wide Atlantic. But the best of it lies close to
the great heart of the world—in London, or in the counties thereabout;
and if “Rambles in Dickens’ Land” succeeds in guiding its readers with
pleasure and profit over this storied ground, it will have faithfully
fulfilled its mission.
Trouble has not been spared to make this topography accurate as well as
entertaining. Mr. Weller the younger, with all his “extensive and
peculiar” knowledge of London—Mr. Weller the elder and his brothers of
the whip, with _their_ knowledge of post-roads and coaching inns, could
hardly have identified the various localities more clearly than the
compiler has done. Wherever doubts and disputes arise—as in regard to
the site of the “Old Curiosity Shop”—all sides of the case are given, and
the reader is asked to sum up the arguments and judge for himself. In
nearly every instance a quotation is offered from the author, by means of
which the pilgrim is enabled to refresh his memory and bring his own
recollections of the book to bear upon the question of the site. These
quotations will be found to act admirably as aids to memory, and to
obviate the necessity of carrying a whole library of Dickens about on
one’s rambles. Take, for example, the excerpts from “David Copperfield”
in connection with the visit to Dover. The facetious answers of the
boatmen to David when, sitting ragged and forlorn in the Dover Market
Place, he inquires for his aunt’s house, bring back at a single touch the
whole sad story of the boy’s tramp from London to the coast. It does not
require much imagination to picture him sitting there “on the step of an
empty shop,” with his weary, pinched face and his “dusty sunburnt,
half-clothed figure,” while the sea-faring folk (lineal forbears of those
who frequent the place to-day) made mock of him with their clumsy japes,
until at length happened by the friendly fly-driver, who showed him how
to reach the residence of the old lady who “carries a bag—bag with a good
deal of room in it—is gruffish, and comes down upon you, sharp.” It is
easy, too, with the help of our guide, to follow the shivering child
along the cliffs to Miss Trotwood’s—nay, to identify the “very neat
little cottage, with cheerful bow-windows,” where that good soul looked
after Mr. Dick, and defended her “immaculate grass-plot” against
marauding donkeys. It is this present writer’s privilege to know a
charming elderly lady who boasts of Dover as her birthplace, and who,
when she has exhausted the other lions of that town, is accustomed to
close her remarks with the statement that she “lived for years within a
stone’s-throw of Miss Betsy Trotwood’s cottage.” Occasionally the
Superior Person (who, alas, is rarely absent nowadays!) points out with a
smile of tolerance that neither Miss Trotwood nor yet her house ever
existed save in the novelist’s brain. Whereupon this charming old lady
shakes her finger testily at the transgressor, and exclaims, “It is quite
evident that you have never lived in Dover. Miss Betsy Trotwood a myth,
indeed! Let me tell you that my own mother knew the dear woman well—yes,
and that delightful Mr. Dick too; and she remembered seeing Mr. Dickens
drive up in a fly from the railway station to visit them. Of course
their names were not ‘Trotwood’ and ‘Dick’ at all; it would never have
done for Mr. Dickens to put them in his book under the real names,
particularly as Mr. Dick was related to many good families in that part
of Kent. I have even a dim recollection of seeing Miss Trotwood being
wheeled about in a bath-chair when I was a very little girl and she a
very old woman. Myth, indeed! Why, there are old men in Dover now who
were warned off the grass-plot by David Copperfield’s aunt when they were
donkey-boys.” The animation of the speaker shows that she believes
everything she says. Perhaps a lady possessing the characteristics of
Miss Betsy did once upon a time inhabit the cottage in Dover. Perhaps
there was a real Mr. Dick. Otherwise these recollections are but another
example of that hypnotism exercised over posterity by the great
romancers, to which allusion has already been made.
Again, the many references and the quotations made from several of
Dickens’ works, illustrative of the Temple and the Lincoln’s Inn
quarter—(pages 2 to 25 in the ensuing “Rambles”)—are certain to be
appreciated by the Rambler. With their assistance he can summon back to
his memory the tender love story of Ruth Pinch, and so dream away a happy
hour in peaceful Fountain Court; follow in fancy Maypole Hugh and the
illustrious Captain Sim Tappertit as they ascended the stairs to Sir John
Chester’s chambers in Paper Buildings; stroll thoughtfully along King’s
Bench Walk with the spirit of Sidney Carton; and, in the purlieus of
Chancery Lane, review the legal abuses of the past—(perhaps even some of
those that survive to-day)—reflect upon “Jarndyce and Jarndyce,” or upon
the banished sponging-houses of this district, and once more admit that
Dickens the great novelist was also Dickens the great reformer.
An important feature of “Rambles in Dickens’ Land” will be found in the
exhaustive references to Dickens’ own haunts and homes, and the haunts
and homes of many of his relatives and friends. Naturally, these are in
numerous cases intimately bound up with the creations of his novels, for
Dickens did not “write out of an inkwell,” but looked for inspiration to
real life and real scenes. At Portsmouth our volume guides you to the
house where he was born, and to the old church register wherein the
christening is entered of—(how strangely the full name sounds!)—“Charles
John Huffham Dickens.” But the same venerable seaport is thronged with
memories of Nicholas Nickleby and his player-friends, Miss Snevellicci,
the Crummles family, poor Smike and the rest. It is interesting to
remember that an American writer once suggested the possibility that
Dickens had obtained Nickleby’s experiences as an actor from personal
adventures with a travelling “troupe” during his youth. This is not
impossible, although Forster makes no mention of such an adventure; the
early years of Dickens are by no means fully accounted for, and it is
certain that the stage had always a great fascination for him.
Back of old Hungerford Stairs, behind what is now Charing Cross Station,
you may visit the spot where the two boys—the real and the
imaginary—Charles Dickens and David Copperfield spent so many hours while
working for a scant pittance in that “crazy old house with a wharf of its
own abutting on the water when the tide was in, and on the mud when it
was out, and literally overrun with rats.” Gadshill, where Dickens lived
and died, is on the very borders of historic Rochester, teeming with
reminders of “Edwin Drood,” not to say of the genial Pickwick and his
companions. Of Furnival’s Inn where “Pickwick” was written, and where
its author spent the first months of his married life, only the site
remains; but these “Rambles” will help you to find all, or nearly all, of
his other homes, even to that last home of all—the grave in Westminster
Abbey, in which he was laid on the 14th of June 1870. His friends’
houses too, and the scores of spots noteworthy by reason of association
with him personally, you will be given an opportunity of visiting if you
follow this careful _cicerone_. At No. 58 Lincoln’s Inn Fields still
stands Forster’s house, where, in 1844, Dickens read “The Chimes” to
Carlyle, Douglas Jerrold, Maclise, and others, and which is also utilised
in “Bleak House” to supply a model for the dwelling-place of Mr.
Tulkinghorn. The office of _Household Words_, founded by Dickens, is now
part of the Gaiety Theatre. The old taverns about Hampstead, whither he
loved to resort for a friendly flagon “and a red-hot chop,” are much as
they were in the novelist’s day, save in one regrettable instance where
the proprietor has preferred, in order to cater to an unappreciative
class, to disfigure his inn into a mere modern public-house of the
conventional type, such that Dickens, who loved the place when it was
old-fashioned and comfortable, would utterly disown now. The ancient
“Spaniards,” however, is much the same as it was in the days of the
Gordon riots, when the then host of the quaint little tavern saved Lord
Mansfield’s country house at Caen Wood by allowing the rioters to
devastate his cellars, while he privily sent for the Guards. The
reckless waste of liquor on that occasion is said to have suggested to
Dickens the scene in “Barnaby Rudge,” where John Willet watches the sack
of his beloved “Maypole” and sees his cellars drained of their best, as
he lies bound and helpless in the bar. That the novelist frequently
visited the “Spaniards,” the old records of the house can show; and in
“Pickwick” he makes it the scene of a memorable tea-party, attended by
Mrs. Bardell, just before those “sharp practitioners,” Dodson and Fogg,
caused the injured lady’s arrest. The “Bull and Bush,” another old
Hampstead inn much frequented of Dickens, also exists unharmed by the
“renovator.” And while we are upon the subject of inns known to our
author, let us not forget the “Maypole” itself, here shown to be the
“King’s Head” at Chigwell. Dickens was in ecstasies over the “King’s
Head” and the surrounding neighbourhood, when a chance visit disclosed to
him their attractions; and the letters which he wrote to his friends at
this period are full of Chigwell and its picturesque hostelry. Little
wonder, therefore, that he afterwards made them famous in “Barnaby
Rudge.” The pilgrim will not be disappointed in the “King’s Head” of
to-day, if he accepts the good advice offered by the compiler of these
“Rambles,” _i.e._ to take his ideal of the place from Dickens’ own
description rather than from the elaborate drawing of Cattermole. He may
perhaps notice that in “Barnaby Rudge” no hint is conveyed of the close
proximity of Chigwell church, which is simply across the road. Doubtless
this is a sign of the novelist’s artistic sense. To have his “Maypole”
windows looking directly into the graveyard would have detracted from
that air of warmth and conviviality with which he wished to endow his
rare old inn. In most other respects the description exactly fits the
“King’s Head” as it must have been in “No Popery” times—as it is with
little alteration to-day. The trim green sward at the rear—once
evidently the bowling-green—is a famous resting-place in summer; and in
one of the small arbours Dickens is said to have written during his stay
here. The village, although showing signs of the approach of that fell
barbarian the Essex builder, is still sufficiently picturesque and
old-world to keep one’s illusions alive. There is a grammar school at
Chigwell, the boys of which are learned in neighbouring Dickens’ lore.
If you are credulous—as it becomes a pilgrim to be—these grammarians will
show you John Willet’s tomb in the churchyard, and Dolly Varden’s path
with the real Warren, on the skirts of Hainault Forest, at the farther
end of it. Both in Chigwell and Chigwell Row some village worthies are
still to be met with who have conversed with Charles Dickens and the
kindred spirits that came hither in his company. At the “King’s Head,”
if Mr. Willet’s successor be agreeable, one may lunch or sup in the
Dickens’ Room, also held to have been the chamber in which Mr. Haredale
and the elder Chester held their memorable interview.
Some other inns to which Dickens is known to have resorted are: the
“Bull” at Rochester, the “Leather Bottle” at Cobham, and the “Great White
Horse” at Ipswich—all with Pickwickian associations; the “Old Cheshire
Cheese” in Fleet Street, and the “George and Dragon” at Canterbury. To
many minor taverns in London he was also a frequent visitor, for he
sought his characters in the market-place rather than in the study. His
signature, with the familiar flourish underneath, is treasured in hotel
registers not a few, and it is esteemed a high honour to be permitted to
slumber in the “Dickens’ Room.”
To all and each of these places “Rambles in Dickens’ Land” leads the way,
if the reader chooses to follow. A notable advantage of these rambles is
the ease with which they may be undertaken. An ordinary healthy man or
woman may set forth without apprehension in the author’s footsteps from
the beginning to the end of any particular journey which he describes,
and even the invalid may saunter through a “Ramble” without fatigue.
Conveyances are only needed to bring the pilgrim to the starting-point of
the voyage, and in several instances even these aids to locomotion may be
dispensed with altogether when the sightseer is one after Dickens’ own
heart—a sturdy pedestrian. By pursuing the routes indicated, there is no
reason why a Grand Tour of Dickens’ Land should not be made by easy
stages and at slight cost. Or the pilgrim may pick out some particular
trip, when leisure and chance carry him in that direction. The volume is
in truth a serviceable guide-book, leading its clients by the best ways,
and even informing them where, when sight-seeing is over, a place may be
found for rest, refreshment, and reflection. And it is happier than most
guide-books in that it is never called upon to describe the stupid and
uninteresting, which have no existence in Dickens’ Land.
Into Dickens’ Land, therefore, my masters, an you will and when you will!
The high-roads thither are always open, the lanes and by-paths are free
for us to tread. He that found out this rare world has made it fully
ours. Let us visit our inheritance, or revisit it, if that be the better
word. Let us make real the scenes we have read of and dreamt of—peopling
them with the folk of Dickens, so that familiar faces shall look upon us
from familiar windows, familiar voices greet us as we pass. Shall we
travel abroad in the fashion of the corresponding committee of the
Pickwick Club? Then here is this book, with a wealth of shrewd
information between its covers, ready to be our own particular Samuel
Weller—to wear our livery, whether of sadness or of joy—to point out to
us the sights and the notabilities, to be garrulous when we look for
gossip, and silent when our mood is for silence—to act, in short, as that
useful individual whom we all “rayther want,” “somebody to look arter us
when we goes out a-wisitin’.”
Where, if you please, shall we “wisit” first? It is hard to choose,
since there is so much to choose from. We may ramble about London town,
where, like Mr. Weller, our guide is “werry much at home.” If so, we are
sure to encounter a host of old cronies. Perhaps we shall see the great
Buzfuz entering court, all in his wig and silk, nodding with lofty
condescension to his struggling brother, Mr. T. Traddles, which latter is
bringing “Sophy and the girls” to set Gray’s Inn a-blooming. Or Tom
Pinch going towards Fountain Court to meet the waiting Ruth. Or David
Copperfield joyously ushering J. Steerforth into his rooms in the
Adelphi. Or Captain Cuttle steering for the sign of the “Wooden
Midshipman,” which he may eventually find (and make a note of) at its new
moorings in the Minories. Or Dick Swiveller, poor soul, loafing to his
dingy lodgings. Or that precious pair, Bob Sawyer and Benjamin Allen,
startling the sullen repose of Lant Street with bacchanalian revelry.
And, if the London Dickens’ Land palls, doth not this most inviting
country stretch to all points of the compass? Northward goes yonder
well-appointed coach, whereof the driver has just been escorted from a
certain public-house in Portugal Street by a mottle-faced man, in company
with two or three other persons of stout and weather-beaten aspect—the
driver himself being stouter and more weather-beaten than all. Let us
take the box-seat by his side, and lead him on to talk of “shepherds in
wolves’ clothing,” until presently he tools us into Ipswich, pulling up
under the sign of that “rapacious animal” the Great White Horse. In
Ipswich we may catch a glimpse of a mulberry-coloured livery slinking by
St. Clement’s Church, and guess therefrom that one Alfred Jingle is here
at his old game of laying siege to the hearts of susceptible females with
money. Here, too, behind that green gate in Angel Lane, resides the
pretty housemaid soon to become Mrs. Sam Weller. But we must not linger
in Ipswich. Yarmouth lies before us, with its phantom boat-house still
upturned on the waste places towards the sea, with Little Em’ly, and the
Peggottys, and with Mr. Barkis waiting in the Market Place to jog us out
to sleepy “Blunderstone.”
Back again in London, there is another coach-of-fancy prepared to take us
into Kent, from the yard of the Golden Cross. Four gentlemen—one a
beaming, spectacled person in drab shorts—are outside passengers for
Rochester. And see, here is the ubiquitous Jingle again, clambering to
the roof with all his worldly goods wrapped up in a brown paper parcel.
“Heads—heads—take care of your heads,” he cries, as we rumble under the
old archway; and then, hey! for hopfields and cherry orchards, for
“mouldy old cathedrals” in “Cloisterham” or Canterbury, for jolly Kentish
yeomen and bright-eyed maids of Kent. . . . Who was that wan-faced,
coatless urchin we passed just now in a whirl of chalky dust? His name
is Copperfield, and he is on his way to Dover. And is not that Mr.
Wardle driving his laughing women-folk to the review? And again, yonder
on the brown common, by the Punch and Judy show, there is a grey old man,
pillowing in his loving arms a little blue-eyed girl. These, too, we
know; and our hearts go out to them, for who of us is there that has not—
“. . . with Nell, in Kentish meadows,
Wandered, and lost his way”?
Of introduction there is no more to be said. The book itself lies open
before you; and at your own sweet will you may ramble with it, high and
low, through all the land of Dickens.
G. B.
PREFACE
The great majority of English readers—on both sides of the Atlantic—claim
personal acquaintance with “Samivel” Weller, Mark Tapley, Oliver Twist,
and many more besides: the old companions of our schoolboy days. We
cherish pleasant remembrance of the familiar “green leaves” of Dombey,
David Copperfield, and the rest, as they first afforded us their monthly
quota of interest and enjoyment; and have always maintained intimate
relations with Captain Cuttle, Tom Pinch, Mr. Peggotty, and the more
recent _dramatis personæ_ of the works of Dickens. We sympathise with
Florence, Agnes, and Esther as with sisters, and keep corners of our
hearts sacred to the memory of Little Nell, Paul Dombey, and the
child-wife Dora.
The creations of “bonnie Prince Charlie” have thus become veritable
“household words”; part and parcel of our home associations, instinct
with personality and life. We never think of them as the airy nothings
of imaginative fiction, but regard them as familiar friends, having “a
local habitation and a name” amongst us; with whose cheerful acquaintance
we could ill afford to part, and who bear us kindly company on the hot
and dusty highway of our daily lives.
Charles Dickens was essentially a Londoner, always having a fond regard
for the highways and by-ways of this great Metropolis, and confessedly
deriving his inspiration from the varied phases of Town life and Society.
We accordingly find that the main incidents and characters of his novels
have here their _mise en scène_.
In homage to the genius of his favourite Author, the writer of the
following pages has endeavoured to localise many of the more familiar
associations of the great Novelist with as much exactitude as may be
possible; but it must be remembered that London has undergone
considerable alteration and reconstruction, during the last fifty years.
Thus far reads the original Preface to this Work, as written thirteen
years since; the first (and smaller) edition of which was published in
1886, under the title of _Rambles in London with Charles Dickens_. The
author now begs to thankfully acknowledge its favourable reception,
generously accorded by the Press in particular, and the reading-world in
general.
The present arrangement of the book includes some important additions as
well as considerable revision, the latter being rendered necessary by the
_disappearance_ of many houses and buildings in the course of intervening
years, and the steady progress of Metropolitan improvements. Thus it
comes to pass that only the memory of what has been remains, in regard to
many of these Dickensian localities and landmarks; and it has been the
object of the author (1899) to indicate the former whereabouts of these
old places, as heretofore existent. Especially in the Strand and
neighbourhood (Ramble I.), as well as in Chancery Lane and Holborn
(Rambles II. and IV.), many alterations have taken place, and another
London is springing up around a younger generation, not known to Dickens.
Our Author says (in _Martin Chuzzlewit_), “Change begets change; nothing
propagates so fast”: and the London of to-day, and the activities of our
Metropolitan County Council, at the close of this nineteenth century,
afford striking testimony to the truth of the aphorism, “The old order
changeth, giving place to new.”
The _Pall Mall Magazine_, July 1896, contains a contribution by Mr. C.
Dickens, junr.—“Notes on Some Dickens’ Places and People”—in which he
deprecates the endeavours of those inquirers who have attempted any
localisation of these places. “It is true,” says he, “that many of the
places described in Charles Dickens’s books were suggested by real
localities or buildings, but the more the question comes to be examined,
the more clear it is that all that was done with the prototype, was to
use it as a painter or a sculptor uses a sketch, and that, under the hand
of the writer and in the natural process of evolution, it has grown, in
almost every case, into a finished picture, with few, if any, very
salient points about it to render its origin unmistakable.” He also
quotes, with emphatic approval, from a review of Mr. P. Fitzgerald’s
_Bozland_, then recently published: “Dickens, like Turner in the sister
art of painting—like all real artists indeed—used nature, no doubt, but
used it as being his slave and in no wise his master. He was not content
simply to reproduce the places, persons, things that he had seen and
known. He passed them through the crucible of his imagination, fused
them, re-combined their elements, changed them into something richer and
rarer, gave them forth as products of his art. Are we not doing him some
disservice when we try to reverse the process?” “With these words I most
cordially agree.—CHARLES DICKENS THE YOUNGER.”
The author of this book would submit that the attempt to preserve the
memory of these localities in association with their original use by “the
Master,” does _not_ “reverse the process”; but, rightly considered, may
help the reader to a better comprehension of the genius and method of
Dickens. The dictum of the Rev. W. J. Dawson, given a few years since in
_The Young Woman_ (referring to a previous edition of this Work), is
worth consideration: “The book casts a new light upon Dickens’s methods
of work, and shows us how little he left to invention, and how much he
owed to exact observation.” And in this connection there may be quoted
the opinion of Sir Walter Besant, who published an appreciative article
in _The Queen_, 9th May 1896, anent these selfsame “Rambles,” which thus
concludes: “With this information in your hand, you can go down the
Strand and view its streets from north to south with increased
intelligence and interest. I am not certain whether peopling a street
with creations of the imagination is not more useful—it is certainly more
interesting—than with the real figures of the stony-hearted past.”
The writer, therefore, still believes that such a Dickensian Directory as
is now prepared will be found a valuable practical guide for those who
may desire to visit the haunts and homes of these old friends, whose
memory we cannot “willingly let die;” and to recall the many interests
connected with them by the way.
Though not professing to be infallible, he begs to assure those whom it
may concern that his information—gleaned from many sources—has been
collected _con amore_ with carefulness and caution; and he ventures to
hope that his book may be of service to many Metropolitan visitors, as
indicating (previous to the coming time when the New Zealander shall
meditate over the ruins of London) some few pleasant “Rambles in Dickens’
Land.”
R. A.
LONDON, _September_ 20, 1899.
RAMBLE I
_Charing Cross to Lincoln’s Inn Fields_
The Golden Cross; Associations with Pickwick and Copperfield—Craven
Street; Residence of Mr. Brownlow—Charing Cross Terminus—Hungerford
Stairs and Market; Lamert’s Blacking Manufactory; Micawber’s Lodgings;
Mr. Dick’s Bedroom—No. 3 Chandos Street; Blacking Warehouse—Bedfordbury;
“Tom All-Alone’s”—Buckingham Street; Copperfield’s Chambers—The Adelphi
Arches—The Adelphi Hotel; Snodgrass and Emily Wardle—“The
Fox-under-the-Hill”; Martin Chuzzlewit and Mark Tapley—The Residence of
Miss La Creevy—Offices of _Household Words_ and _All the Year
Round_—Covent Garden Market; Hummums and Tavistock Hotels, associated
with “Great Expectations,” etc.—Bow Street—Old Bow Street Police Court;
“The Artful Dodger”—Covent Garden Theatre—Broad Court; Mr.
Snevellicci—St. Martin’s Hall; Dickens’s First London Readings—Russell
Court; Nemo’s Burial Place—Clare Court; Copperfield’s Dining-Rooms—Old
Roman Bath; Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings—St. Clement Danes—Portsmouth Street;
“The Old Curiosity Shop”—The Old George the Fourth; “The Magpie and
Stump”—Portugal Street; “The Horse and Groom”; Mr. Tony Weller and his
Legal Adviser—Lincoln’s Inn Fields; Mr. John Forster’s House; Residence
of Mr. Tulkinghorn.
Starting from CHARING CROSS POST OFFICE as a convenient centre, and
taking an eastward course up the Strand, we immediately reach, on the
left-hand (north) side—a few doors from the Post Office—The Golden Cross
Hotel. Sixty years since this establishment was one of the principal
Coaching Houses of the Metropolis. It was the starting-point of the
Rochester Coach, by which, on May 13, 1827, _Mr. Pickwick_ and his
friends commenced their travels. Driving by cab from the vicinity of
that gentleman’s residence in Goswell Street, here it was that the
pugnacious cabman, having mistaken the purpose of Mr. P.’s note-book,
committed assault and battery upon the four Pickwickians, “sparring away
like clockwork,” from which unexpected attack they were rescued by the
redoubtable _Mr. Alfred Jingle_. In those days there was an arched
entrance leading from the Strand beneath the front of the hotel to the
coach-yard behind. Hence Mr. Jingle’s warning to his new
acquaintances—“Heads, heads; take care of your heads!” which
recommendation was followed by the first recorded anecdote as given by
that loquacious pretender—
“Terrible place—dangerous work—other day—five children—mother—tall
lady, eating sandwiches—forgot the arch—crash—knock—children look
round—mother’s head off—sandwich in her hand—no mouth to put it
in—head of a family off—shocking—shocking.”
This coach-yard and its entrance existed until the days of _Copperfield_,
who came to THE GOLDEN CROSS in the nineteenth chapter of his history,
having just finished his education at Dr. Strong’s. He arrived “outside
the Canterbury Coach,” and here met _Steerforth_, his former schoolboy
patron, who speedily arranged for his transference from No. 44, “a little
loft over a stable,” to No. 72, a comfortable bedroom next his own.
Here, says David, “I fell asleep in blissful condition . . . until the
early morning coaches rumbling out of _the archway underneath_ made me
dream of thunder and the gods.” This entrance was abolished in 1851,
giving place to a more convenient exterior arrangement and doorway; again
remodelled, 1897.
THE GOLDEN CROSS is again referred to in the Copperfield experience
(chapter 40) as the place where David conferred with _Mr. Peggotty_, one
snowy night, after their unexpected meeting opposite St. Martin’s Church
(close at hand on the north, at the corner of St. Martin’s Lane), when
_Martha_ listened at the door.
“In those days there was a side entrance” (Duncannon Street, now
appropriated by the London and North-Western Railway Company) “nearly
opposite to where we stood. I pointed out the gateway, put my arm
through his, and we went across. Two or three public rooms opened
out of the stable-yard; and looking into one of them, and finding it
empty, and a good fire burning, I took him in there.”
Opposite the principal entrance of THE GOLDEN CROSS is Craven Street,
leading to the Thames Embankment. It now mainly consists of private
hotels and boarding-houses, at which visitors to London may be
conveniently accommodated on reasonable terms. In the days of _Oliver
Twist_ these were, for the most part, private houses; and here was MR.
BROWNLOW’S RESIDENCE—taken after his removal from Pentonville—in which
was the back parlour where full confession was extorted from _Monks_,
_alias Edward Leeford_. The house, No. 39 (now _Barnett’s Private
Hotel_), centrally situated on the east side, is stated to have been
assigned as the residence aforesaid.
On the south side of the Strand we immediately reach the Charing Cross
Terminus of the South-Eastern Railway, built on the site of old
Hungerford Market. At No. 30 Hungerford Stairs, at the back of this
locality, Charles Dickens, when a lad, did duty at the Blacking
Manufactory of a relative, by name James Lamert, at a salary of six or
seven shillings a week, as his first employment in life. It was the last
house on the left-hand side of the way, a crazy, tumble-down old place
abutting on the river. Here his work was to cover and label the pots of
paste-blacking. To this episode of his youthful experience he refers in
the history of “David Copperfield,” chapter 11, David becoming “a
labouring hind” in the service of _Messrs. Murdstone and Grinby_. In old
Hungerford Market, too, was THE CHANDLER’S SHOP over which _Mr. Peggotty_
slept on the night of his first arrival in London; the bedroom being
afterwards appropriated by Mr. Dick.
“There was a low wooden colonnade before the door, which pleased Mr.
Dick mightily. The glory of lodging over this structure would have
compensated him for many inconveniences. . . . He was perfectly
charmed with his accommodation. Mrs. Crupp had indignantly assured
him that there wasn’t room to swing a cat there; but, as Mr. Dick
justly observed, ‘You know, Trotwood, I don’t want to swing a cat. I
never do swing a cat. Therefore, what does that signify to me!’”—See
“Copperfield,” chapters 32 and 35.
HUNGERFORD is also mentioned in the same book (chapter 57) as the place
where, previous to their departure for Australia, the MICAWBER FAMILY had
lodgings “in a little, dirty, tumble-down public-house, which in those
days was close to the stairs, and whose protruding wooden rooms overhung
the river.”
By a parallel street near at hand (next turning on the left of the
Strand—Agar Street) we come into Chandos Street, where are situated the
large stores of the Civil Service Supply Association, which, during
recent years, have been enlarged, extending westward in Chandos Street.
This extension occupies the former site of No. 3, whilom a chemist’s
shop, kept by a Mr. Wellspring. Here, in the days that are gone, was
established a second warehouse of Lamert’s blacking trade, the business
being removed in course of time to this address; and here Dickens, with
other lads, was often busily employed near the window. They acquired
such dexterity in finishing off the pots, that many persons would stand
outside, looking on with interest at the performance.
On the opposite side of Chandos Street is _Bedfordbury_—a northward
thoroughfare leading to New Street, Covent Garden—on the right of which
stands a range of five large five-storied blocks known as _Peabody’s
Buildings_. These afford respectable accommodation for artizans. This
was the locality of Tom All-Alone’s, that wretched rookery of evil repute
in the days of _Poor Joe_, as described in chapter 16 of “Bleak House.”
But, in these degenerate times, the black, dilapidated streets and
tumbling tenements have given place to wholesome dwellings, and the
neighbourhood is associated with the name of a great American
philanthropist.
Returning to the south side of the Strand, we next come to Buckingham
Street (turning on right, by No. 37), at the end house of which, on the
right, facing the river, was the top set of chambers in the Adelphi,
consisting of
“A little half-blind entry, where you could hardly see anything, a
little stone-blind pantry, where you could see nothing at all, a
sitting-room and a bedroom.”
Here _David Copperfield_ for some time resided under the housekeeping
supervision of Mrs. Crupp, and the residence was afterwards shared by
_Miss Betsy Trotwood_. At the next turning in the Strand—by No. 64, same
side of the way—we arrive at Durham Street, which leads to the no
thoroughfare of The Adelphi Arches, about and through which the lad
Charles Dickens loved in his leisure time to roam. David Copperfield
says—
“I was fond of wandering about the Adelphi, because it was a
mysterious place, with those dark arches. I see myself emerging one
evening from one of these arches, on a little public-house, close to
the river, with an open space before it, where some coal-heavers were
dancing.”
Of this place more anon.
Continuing our onward journey, we come to Adam Street (right-hand turning
by No. 72), looking down which may be seen, at the corner of John Street,
THE ADELPHI HOTEL. This hotel was known in the days of Pickwick as
Osborn’s Hotel, Adelphi. To this establishment, it will be remembered,
came _Mr. Wardle_, visiting London with his daughter Emily, after Mr.
Pickwick’s release from the Fleet Prison, also accompanied by his trusty
retainer, _the fat boy_, _Joe_. The last plate but one in the book
illustrates the plan adopted by _Mary_ when inducing that intelligent
youth to observe a discreet silence as to the visit of Mr. Snodgrass to
his young mistress at this hotel; and we may recollect the _contretemps_
which afterwards took place here at dinner-time, involving the detention
of the clandestine lover, and resulting in a very satisfactory
_dénouement_.—See “Pickwick,” chapter 54.
Passing the next block onwards, we arrive at the handsome frontage of the
HOTEL CECIL. In former days, at western corner of same, close to No. 75,
there existed a narrow and precipitous passage which was formerly the
approach to the halfpenny boats. It led to a little public-house, “The
Fox-under-the-Hill,” for a long time shut up and in ruinous
condition—once situated on the water-side, the site of which is now
covered by the west wing of the Hotel Cecil.
This place is spoken of in Mr. Forster’s Biography as being one of our
author’s _favourite localities_, and referred to in “Copperfield,” as
before mentioned, in connection with the Adelphi Arches. This, then, was
doubtless the tavern at which _Martin Chuzzlewit_, _junr._, was
accommodated, on his arrival in London, “in the humbler regions of the
Adelphi;” and where he was unexpectedly visited by _Mark Tapley_, who
then and there became his “nat’ral born servant, hired by fate,” and his
very faithful friend.—See “Martin Chuzzlewit,” chapter 13.
Farther onwards, on the same side, towards the centre of the Strand,
there stood near Savoy Street the house which in all probability was the
Residence of Miss La Creevy. It will be recollected that Ralph Nickleby,
visiting his relations at this address in the Strand, is described as
stopping
“At a private door, about halfway down that crowded thoroughfare.”
No. 111 was an old-fashioned house in just such a position, with a
private door—a somewhat unusual convenience in the Strand. A
photographer’s case had, for many years, displaced the “large gilt frame
screwed upon the street door,” in which Miss La Creevy aforetime
displayed her painted miniatures. The place has been pulled down,
together with the adjoining house. Handsome modern business premises are
erected on the double site.—See “Nicholas Nickleby,” chapter 2.
We now cross to the north side of the Strand, and take the next turning
on the left, _Wellington Street North_. Passing the Lyceum Theatre, we
may note, on the opposite side, the offices of the Gaiety Theatre, No.
16. For many years this was the Office of “Household Words”; this
well-known miscellany being started under the conductorship of Charles
Dickens, March 30, 1850.
It was afterwards removed to No. 26, higher up, on the same side of the
way, at which address the later issue of _All the Year Round_ was
published, as conducted by Charles Dickens, the son.
Proceeding a short distance onwards, and turning to the left, we come
into the precincts of Covent Garden Market. At the south corner of
_Russell Street_ we may note the position of the old HUMMUMS HOTEL,
mentioned in “Great Expectations” as the place where Pip slept, in
accordance with the warning received from Mr. Wemmick—“Don’t go home.”
The present establishment was erected on the site of the former hotel (as
it stood in the days of Mr. Pip’s sojourn), 1892; on completion of the
new Flower Market, THE TAVISTOCK HOTEL, Piazzas, on the north side of the
market, was the house at which were held the fortnightly meetings of “The
Finches of the Grove,” Herbert Pocket and Mr. Pip being members of the
Club known by this appellation in the book above mentioned. The end and
aim of this institution seemed to be “that the members should dine
expensively once a fortnight, to quarrel among themselves as much as
possible after dinner, and to cause six waiters to get drunk on the
stairs.”
A general description of _Covent Garden_ will be found in “Little Dorrit”
(chapter 14), and a graphic reference to “the seamy side” of this
locality is contained in the pages of “Our Mutual Friend” (chapter 9,
Book 4).
Returning by Russell Street, we soon reach _Bow Street_, and on the left
may observe an open space contiguous to the _Foreign Fruit Market_. On
this space there stood No. 4, in recent times occupied by Mr.
Stinchcombe, costumier. Some years since this was the situation of Bow
Street Police Court, now removed to the handsome new building facing
Covent Garden Theatre. This, therefore, was the place at which the
_Artful Dodger_, when committed for trial by the presiding magistrate,
thus reserved his defence:—
“This ain’t the shop for justice; besides which my attorney is
a-breakfasting this morning with the Vice-President of the House of
Commons; but I shall have something to say elsevere, and so will he,
and so will a wery numerous and respectable circle of acquaintances,
as’ll make them beaks wish they’d never been born.”—See “Oliver
Twist,” chapter 43.
At a short distance onwards, we may note Covent Garden Theatre, selected
by David Copperfield as his first place of entertainment in London, after
dinner at the Golden Cross Hotel—
“Being then in a pleasant frame of mind . . . I resolved to go to the
play. It was Covent Garden Theatre that I chose; and there, from the
back of a centre box, I saw “Julius Cæsar” and the new pantomime. To
have all those noble Romans alive before me, and walking in and out
for my entertainment, instead of being the stern taskmasters they had
been at school, was a most novel and delightful effect.”
This theatre, as attended by David, was destroyed by fire March 4, 1856,
six years after his autobiography was published, and afterwards rebuilt.
Exactly opposite the façade of the theatre is Broad Court, past the new
magisterial building above referred to. This was the location given by
_Mr. Snevellicci_ (at Portsmouth), on a convivial occasion, described in
“Nicholas Nickleby” (chapter 30), as his London address:—
“I am not ashamed of myself; Snevellicci is my name. I’m to be found
in Broad Court, Bow Street, when I’m in town. If I’m not at home,
let any man ask for me at the stage-door.”
There is also historical reference to _Bow Street_ in “Barnaby Rudge,” as
the place where “another boy was hanged,” after the suppression of the
Gordon riots.
Exactly facing the north end of Bow Street, which gives into Long Acre,
is a large building, now a stationer’s warehouse, recently used as the
Clergy Co-operative Stores. Thirty-five years since this site was
occupied by St. Martin’s Hall, in which Dickens gave his first series of
paid readings in London (sixteen nights), under the management of Mr.
Arthur Smith, 1858. The hall was a short time afterwards burnt down, and
the Queen’s Theatre was here erected in its stead by Mr. Wigan; which
theatre was since converted to the commercial uses of the Clergy as
aforesaid.
Proceeding up _Long Acre_ to _Drury Lane_, we turn to the right, and in
five minutes pass the back of Drury Lane Theatre. The second turning on
the same side is RUSSELL COURT, a narrow passage leading to Catherine
Street. The entire area between the two streets, for some distance, is
cleared for building improvements, so that the indications immediately
following refer to the past, and not practically to the present. These
things have been, but are not.