ROCHESTER.
This place will be interesting to readers of Dickens for its several associations with his books, including “Pickwick,” “Great Expectations,” “The Seven Poor Travellers,” and “The Mystery of Edwin Drood,” his latest and uncompleted work. In chapter 3 of this last-mentioned tale is the following description:—
“An ancient city, Cloisterham, and no meet dwelling-place for any one with hankerings after the noisy world. A monotonous, silent city, deriving an earthly flavour throughout, from its Cathedral crypt. . . . A drowsy city, Cloisterham, whose inhabitants seem to suppose, with an inconsistency more strange than rare, that all its changes lie behind it, and that there are no more to come. . . . So silent are the streets of Cloisterham (though prone to echo on the smallest provocation), that of a summer day the sunblinds of its shops scarce dare to flap in the south wind; while the sun-browned tramps who pass along and stare, quicken their limp a little that they may the sooner get beyond the confines of its oppressive respectability. This is a feat not difficult of achievement, seeing that the streets of Cloisterham city are little more than one narrow street by which you get into it, and get out of it; the rest being mostly disappointing yards with pumps in them and no thoroughfare—exception made of the Cathedral-close, and a paved Quaker settlement. . . . In a word, a city of another and a bygone time is Cloisterham, with its hoarse Cathedral bell, its hoarse rooks hovering about the Cathedral tower, its hoarser and less distinct rooks in the stalls far beneath. Fragments of old wall, saint’s chapel, chapter-house, convent, and monastery have got incongruously or obstructively built into many of its houses and gardens, much as kindred jumbled notions have become incorporated into many of its citizens’ minds. All things in it are of the past.”
Entering the busier part of the town by the Eastgate thoroughfare, we may shortly observe, on the right, Eastgate House, now occupied by the City of Rochester Workmen’s Club. It is a fine old Elizabethan building; a well-preserved specimen of the domestic architecture of the sixteenth century. The building abuts on the street, with a large courtyard and entrance at the side; and a spacious garden is attached at the back of the house. For more than fifty years (until about twenty years since) this establishment flourished as a ladies’ boarding-school, and is referred to in the pages of “Edwin Drood” as The Nuns’ House, the seminary conducted by the eminently respectable Miss Twinkleton—
“In the midst of Cloisterham stands the Nuns’ House; a venerable brick edifice, whose present appellation is doubtless derived from the legend of its conventual uses. On the trim gate enclosing its old courtyard, is a resplendent brass plate flashing forth the legend, ‘Seminary for young Ladies. Miss Twinkleton.’ The house-front is so old and worn, and the brass plate is so shining and staring, that the general result has reminded imaginative strangers of a battered old beau with a large modern eye-glass stuck in his blind eye.”
On the opposite side of the High Street (Nos. 146 and 147) stands Mr. Sapsea’s House. It will be remembered that we are introduced to Mr. Thomas Sapsea, auctioneer and Mayor of Cloisterham, in the 4th chapter of the same book, as being “the purest jackass” in the town; adopting, in his voice and style, the professional mannerism of his superiors—
“Mr. Sapsea ‘dresses at’ the Dean; has been bowed to for the Dean, in mistake; has even been spoken to in the street as My Lord, under the impression that he was the Bishop come down unexpectedly, without his chaplain. Mr. Sapsea is very proud of this, and of his voice, and of his style. He has even (in selling landed property) tried the experiment of slightly intoning in his pulpit, to make himself more like what he takes to be the genuine ecclesiastical article. So, in ending a Sale by Public Auction, Mr. Sapsea finishes off with an air of bestowing a benediction on the assembled brokers, which leaves the real Dean—a modest and worthy gentleman—far behind.”
Much of the humorous element of the tale is connected with this character. According to local tradition, Mr. S. is supposed to be a combination of two well-known townsmen, formerly resident in Rochester; a councilman who lived at the above address, and an auctioneer, once mayor of the city, over whose door the pulpit spoken of in “Edwin Drood” could have been seen—
“Over the doorway is a wooden effigy, about half life-size, representing Mr. Sapsea’s father, in a curly wig and toga, in the act of selling. The chastity of the idea, and the natural appearance of the little figure, hammer, and pulpit, have been much admired.”
Both the aforesaid local prototypes have departed this life some time since, and the premises have been occupied by others (equally competent, but less pretentious) of that ilk.
We now turn on the left into Crow Lane; at the further end of which, on the south side, stands Restoration House, another specimen of the Elizabethan style, in the present occupation of Stephen T. Aveling, Esq. This residence is of interest as being the Satis House of “Great Expectations,” in which Miss Havisham lived. We may recollect the circumstance of Pip being escorted in Mr. Pumblechook’s chaise-cart to this address, “to play” for the diversion of Miss Havisham. Here he first met Estella, who then treated him with extreme contempt, but with whom he fell desperately in love notwithstanding. Pip says, when speaking of his departure from the house:—
“I set off on the four-mile walk to our forge, pondering, as I went along, on all I had seen, and deeply revolving that I was a common labouring-boy: that my hands were coarse; that my boots were thick; that I had fallen into a despicable habit of calling knaves Jacks; that I was much more ignorant than I had considered myself last night, and generally that I was in a low-lived bad way.”
[Joe Gargery’s Forge and wooden house were in the little village of Cooling, six miles north of Rochester. The greater part of the parish is marsh-land, extending to the Thames. Mr. Forster recalls, in his biography, the occasion when he and his friend stood on the spot; Dickens saying that “he meant to make it the scene of the opening of his story—Cooling Castle ruins, and the desolate church lying out among the marshes, seven miles from Gadshill.” Here it was that Pip met the convict Magwitch—by secret appointment—and supplied him with “wittles” and a file, thus materially influencing his own future fortunes.]
Turning to the left, we reach the Promenade and Recreation Ground, called “The Vines,” an open space of more than three acres, formerly the vinery of the ancient Priory. It is referred to in “Edwin Drood,” chapter 14, as the Monk’s Vineyard, in which, near a wicket-gate in a corner, Edwin met the old woman from the opium-smoking den in the East end of London, from whom he received warning of a threatened danger. This is the last occasion that we read of Edwin Drood previous to his mysterious disappearance—
“The woman’s words are in the rising wind, in the angry sky, in the troubled water, in the flickering lights. There is some solemn echo of them even in the Cathedral chime, which strikes a sudden surprise to his heart as he turns in under the archway of the Gate house. And so he goes up the postern stair.”
Passing on the right the handsome residence of the Head Master of the Grammar School, we cross the Vines, and turn on the right hand to Minor Canon Row, a terrace of seven red-brick houses at the north end of St. Margaret Street and on the south side of the Cathedral Close. This locality bears the appellation, in the before-mentioned book, of Minor Canon Corner, the residence of the Rev. Septimus Crisparkle and his mother, the “china shepherdess.” In chapter 6 we find the following pleasant reference to the same:—
“Minor Canon Corner was a quiet place in the shadow of the Cathedral, which the cawing of the rooks, the echoing footsteps of rare passers, the sound of the Cathedral bell, or the roll of the Cathedral organ, seemed to render more quiet than absolute silence. . . . Red-brick walls harmoniously toned down in colour by time, strong-rooted ivy, latticed windows, panelled rooms, big oaken beams in little places, and stone-walled gardens where annual fruit yet ripened upon monkish trees, were the principal surroundings of pretty old Mrs. Crisparkle and the Reverend Septimus as they sat at breakfast.”
Immediately north of this position stands the old Cathedral of Rochester, with its “well-known massive grey square tower,” in which, we may remember, the respected Mr. John Jasper was engaged as Lay Precentor; with the reputation of being devoted to his art, and “having done such wonders with the choir.” In the interior, on the wall of the south-west transept, is a quaint monument to the memory of Richard Watts, a prominent townsman to whom further reference will be made. Underneath this is placed a brass memorial-tablet, inscribed—
“Charles Dickens.—Born at Portsmouth, seventh of February 1812. Died at Gadshill Place, by Rochester, ninth of June 1870. Buried in Westminster Abbey. To connect his memory with the scenes in which his earliest and his latest years were passed, and with the associations of Rochester Cathedral and its neighbourhood, which extended over all his life, this tablet, with the sanction of the Dean and Chapter, is placed by his executors.”
The author’s latest suggestive sketch, in association with this ancient fane, may be here suitably recalled:—
“A brilliant morning shines on the old city. Its antiquities and ruins are surpassingly beautiful, with the lusty ivy gleaming in the sun, and the rich trees waving in the balmy air. Changes of glorious light from moving boughs, songs of birds, scents from gardens, woods, and fields—or, rather, from the one great garden of the whole cultivated island in its yielding time—penetrate into the Cathedral, subdue its earthy odour, and preach the Resurrection and the Life. The cold stone tombs of centuries ago grow warm; and flecks of brightness dart into the sternest marble corners of the building, fluttering there like wings.”
The Crypts below contain the “buried magnates of ancient time and high degree,” with whom Durdles, the stonemason, was on terms of intimate familiarity—
“In the demolition of impedimental fragments of wall, buttress, and pavement he has seen strange sights. . . . Thus he will say, ‘Durdles come upon the old chap, by striking right into the coffin with his pick. The old chap gave Durdles a look with his open eyes, as much as to say, Is your name Durdles? Why, my man, I’ve been waiting for you a Devil of a time!’ And then he turned to powder. With a two-foot rule always in his pocket, and a mason’s hammer all but always in his hand, Durdles goes continually sounding, and tapping all about and about the Cathedral; and whenever he says to Tope, ‘Tope, here’s another old ’un in here,’ Tope announces it to the Dean as an established discovery.”
It is believed that the prototype of this character was an old German working stonemason, who lived at Rochester many years since. He employed himself by carving various grotesque figures out of odd fragments of soft stone found in the Cathedral crypt, which he begged for the purpose; and it is recollected that he was accustomed to carry these articles of vertu about the town, tied up in a coloured handkerchief; also that, whenever he succeeded in effecting a sale, he immediately celebrated the transaction by getting very tipsy. He lodged at a public-house named “The Fortune of War,” now known as “The Lifeboat.”
Chapter 12, headed “A Night with Durdles,” contains a description of the ascent of the Cathedral Tower, to the following effect:—
“They go up the winding staircase . . . among the cobwebs and the dust. Twice or thrice they emerge into level low-arched galleries, whence they can look down into the moonlight nave. . . Anon they turn into narrower and steeper staircases, and the night air begins to blow upon them, and the chirp of some startled jackdaw or frightened rook precedes the heavy beating of wings in a confined space, and the beating down of dust and straws upon their heads. At last, leaving their light behind a stair—for it blows fresh up here—they look down on Cloisterham, fair to see in the moonlight: its ruined habitations and sanctuaries of the dead, at the tower’s base: its moss-softened red-tiled roofs and red-brick houses of the living, clustered beyond: its river winding down from the mist on the horizon, as though that were its source, and already heaving with a restless knowledge of its approach towards the sea.”
Before leaving the Cathedral precincts, on the north side we soon pass St. Nicholas Church, and may note its pleasant little graveyard—“where daisies blossom on the verdant sod”—lying near the old walls of the Castle and its contiguous gardens. It is said that this is the spot which Dickens himself would have preferred as his last resting-place.
We now approach the High Street by The College Gate (facing Pump Lane), an old gatehouse with archway, having two exterior doors, standing angle-wise in the street, with a small postern at the back of the gate. The house, now occupied by the assistant verger, is a gabled wooden structure of two storeys, built over the stone gateway beneath. Students of Dickens will remember that this was the residence of Mr. Tope, “chief verger and showman” of the Cathedral, with whom lodged Mr. John Jasper, the uncle of Edwin Drood. It is first referred to in the 2nd chapter of the book: “an old stone gatehouse crossing the Close, with an arched thoroughfare passing beneath it,” decorated by “pendant masses of ivy and creeper covering the building’s front.” Here Mr. Jasper entertained his nephew and his nephew’s friend; and we also read of Mr. Grewgious climbing “the postern stair.” On this latter occasion the old lawyer called on Mr. Jasper, visiting Cloisterham in preparation for their formal release as trustees on Edwin’s attaining his majority.
Turning to the right, on the opposite side of the High Street, we soon reach a stone-fronted edifice, with small windows and three gables, known as The Poor Travellers’ House. This charity was established 1579, by a local philanthropist, Richard Watts, formerly citizen of Rochester, who rose from a humble position to be Member of Parliament for the City. He entertained Queen Elizabeth at his mansion (in 1573), a white house situated near the Castle gardens, and called Satis House. It will be recollected that Dickens transferred this name to Restoration House, situated in Crow Lane. It is said that the appellation was bestowed on the mansion by the virgin queen herself, in recognition of the “satisfactory” entertainment afforded by her host. Estella gives another explanation of the title: “It meant, when it was given, that whoever had this house could want nothing else. They must have been easily satisfied.”
Watts’s Charity, the Travellers’ Rest aforesaid, is associated with the Christmas Number of Household Words (1854), entitled “The Seven Poor Travellers;” in which the inscription over the quaint old door is reproduced as follows:—
RICHARD WATTS, ESQ.,
by his will dated 22 August 1579,
founded this charity
for six poor travellers,
Who not being Rogues, or Proctors
may receive gratis for one night,
Lodging, Entertainment,
and four-pence each.
The entertainment herein specified comprises for each traveller, a supper of half a pound of freshly-cooked meat, one pound of bread, and a half-pint of beer, which is given in addition to the stated fourpence payable in the morning.
[This gentleman’s memory is also perpetuated in the charitable annals of the district by a handsome pile of buildings, in the Elizabethan style, on the Maidstone Road, called Watts’s Almshouses—with pleasure-grounds in front, affording accommodation for ten men and ten women, who also receive twelve shillings each per week. The Institution is superintended by a matron and governed by sixteen trustees.]
We are doubtless familiar with the Christmas Eve entertainment here provided by the narrator of “The Seven Poor Travellers,” as above:—
“It was settled that at nine o’clock that night a Turkey and a piece of Roast Beef should smoke upon the board, and that I, faint and unworthy minister for once of Master Richard Watts, should preside as the Christmas-supper host of the six Poor Travellers.”
And we must all have a vivid recollection of the processional order of supply on that festive opportunity:—
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“Myself with the pitcher.
Ben with Beer.
Inattentive Boy with hot plates.
Inattentive Boy with hot plates.
The Turkey.
Female carrying sauces to be heated on the spot.
The Beef.
Man with Tray on his head, containing Vegetables and
Sundries.Volunteer Hostler from Hotel, grinning,
and rendering no assistance.”
After hearty discussion of the orthodox plum-pudding and mince-pies which crowned the feast, the company drew round the fire, and the “brown beauty” of the host—the pitcher, carried first in the procession—was elevated to the table. It proved to be “a glorious jorum” of hot Wassail, prepared from the chairman’s special and private receipt, the materials of which, “together with their proportions and combinations,” he declines to impart. Glasses being filled therefrom, the toast of the evening was duly and reverently honoured: “Christmas! Christmas Eve, my friends; when the Shepherds, who were poor travellers too, in their way, heard the angels sing, ‘On earth peace. Goodwill toward men!’”
The pen of the “Inimitable” was never in more genial feather than when inditing this Christmas story, the cheery and sympathetic humour of which is not excelled even by the “Carol” itself.
Another Dickensian association with this Rochester Charity may be quoted in connection with Miss Adelaide Procter. During ’54 this lady had been a valued contributor to Household Words, under the assumed name of “Berwick,” and some speculation arose in the editorial department as to the real personality of the writer. The nom de plume being, in course of time, relinquished, and the secret told, Mr. Dickens sent a letter of congratulation and appreciation to the young authoress—dated December 17th, 1854—which thus concluded: “Pray accept the blessing and forgiveness of Richard Watts, though I am afraid you come under both his conditions of exclusion.”
Retracing the High Street route, we again pass the Gate-house of the Cathedral Close, and come, immediately on the left, to the noted Bull Hotel, a commodious establishment of ancient and respectable repute, and the principal posting-house of the town. This is the celebrated hostelry at which the Pickwickians sojourned on the occasion of their first visit to Rochester, per “Commodore” coach from London. In the large assembly-room upstairs—“a long room, with crimson-covered benches, and wax candles in glass chandeliers, with the musicians securely confined in an elevated den”—the memorable Ball took place, on the evening of their arrival, which was attended by Mr. Tupman and his seductive friend Jingle; the latter affording some information as to the exclusive character of Rochester society:—
“‘Wait a minute,’ said the stranger, ‘fun presently—nobs not come yet—queer place. Dockyard people of upper rank don’t know Dockyard people of lower rank. Dockyard people of lower rank don’t know small gentry—small gentry don’t know tradespeople—Commissioner don’t know anybody.’”
Here Mr. Jingle, on that fateful occasion, gave dire offence to Doctor Slammer, of the 97th Regiment, by making himself obtrusively agreeable to the rich little widow, Mrs. Budger; and we may remember how the Doctor, with his “hitherto bottled-up indignation effervescing from all parts of his countenance in a perspiration of passion,” insisted on a hostile meeting.
The hotel has a frontage of about 90 feet, with wide pillared gateway, and extensive stabling at the back. Proceeding past the Guildhall on the right, towards the end of the street, facing Rochester Bridge, we arrive at The Crown Hotel, pleasantly situated at the corner of the Esplanade and High Street, one side of the house facing the Medway; a white-brick edifice lately rebuilt. It is referred to in chapter 18 of “Edwin Drood” as “The Crozier,” the orthodox hotel at which Mr. Datchery took up his temporary abode, previous to settling in Cloisterham as “a single buffer—an idle dog who lived upon his means.” Other visitors to Rochester may advantageously imitate Mr. Datchery’s example, the position and conduct of the house being alike excellent.
Round the corner to the left, commences The Esplanade, extending under the castle walls, and along the bank of the river for a considerable distance. This promenade is mentioned in the 13th chapter of “Edwin Drood,” being the scene of the last interview between Edwin and Rosa, when they mutually agreed to cancel the irksome bond between them—
“They walked on by the river. They began to speak of their separate plans. He would quicken his departure from England, and she would remain where she was, at least as long as Helena remained. The poor dear girls should have their disappointment broken to them gently, and, as the first preliminary, Miss Twinkleton should be confided in by Rosa, even in advance of the reappearance of Mr. Grewgious. It should be made clear in all quarters that she and Edwin were the best of friends. There had never been so serene an understanding between them since they were first affianced.”
Leaving Rochester by The Bridge, crossing the Medway, we may bestow a passing thought on Richard Doubledick as he came over the same, “with half a shoe to his dusty feet,” in the year 1799, limping into the town of Chatham. (See “The Seven Poor Travellers,” previously mentioned.)
On the north side of the river, the Rambler enters the town of Strood, and may proceed through the same, about two miles on the Gravesend Road, to