Dickens's Châlet, now in Cobham Park.Dickens's Châlet, now in Cobham Park.
By the special permission of his lordship, we see the famous Swiss châlet, which is now erected in the terrace flower-garden at the back of Cobham Hall, having been removed to its present position some years ago from another part of the grounds. It stands on an elevated open space surrounded by beautiful trees—the rare Salisburia, tulip, cedar, chestnut and others—and makes a handsome addition to the garden, irrespectiveof its historical associations. The châlet is of dark wood varnished, and has in the centre a large carving of Dickens's crest, which in heraldic terms is described as: "a lion couchant 'or,' holding in the gamb a cross patonce 'sable.'"
There are two rooms in the châlet, each about sixteen feet square, the one below having four windows and a door, and the one above (approached in the usual Swiss fashion by an external staircase), which is much the prettier, having six windows and a door. There are shutters outside, and the overhanging roof at first sight gives the building somewhat of a top-heavy appearance, but this impression wears off after a time, and it is found to be effective and well-proportioned. "The five mirrors" which Dickens placed in the châlet have been removed from the upper room, but they are scarcely necessary, the views of rich and varied foliage and flowers seen from the open windows, through which the balmy air passes, forming a series of pictures in the bright sunlight of the August afternoon delightfully fresh and beautiful. We sit down quietly for a few minutes and enjoy the privilege; we ponder on the many happy and industrious hours spent by its late owner in this now classic building; and we leave it sadly, with the recollection that here were penned the last lines which the "vanished hand" was destined to give to the world.
The Earl of Darnley generously allows his neighbours to have a key of his park, and Dickens had one of such keys, a privilege greatly appreciated by him and his friends. Recently his lordship has erected a staircase round one of the highest trees in the park, called the "crow's nest," from whence a very pretty peep at the surrounding country is obtained.
During our visit we venture to ask the portly housekeeper if she remembers Charles Dickens? The ray of delight that illumines her good-natured countenance is simply magical.
"Oh," she says, "I liked Mr. Dickens very much. He was always so full of fun. Oh! oh! oh!" the recollection of which causes a fit of suppressed laughter, which "communicates a blancmange-like motion to her fat cheeks," and she adds: "He used to dine here, and was always very popular with the family, and in the neighbourhood."
We cannot help thinking that such delightful places as Cobham Hall were in Dickens's mind when, inBleak House(à proposof Chesney Wold), he makes the volatile Harold Skimpole say to Sir Leicester Dedlock—"The owners of such places are public benefactors. They are good enough to maintain a number of delightful objects for the admiration and pleasure of us poor men, and not to reap all the admiration and pleasure that they yield, is to be ungrateful to our benefactors."
Leaving the park by a pretty undulating walk, and passing on our way a large herd of deer, their brown and fawn-coloured coats contrasting prettily with the green-sward, we come upon the picturesque village of Cobham, where Mr. Tupman sought consolation after his little affair with the amatory spinster aunt. Of course the principal object of interest is the Leather Bottle, or "Dickens's old Pickwick Leather Bottle," as the sign of the present landlord now calls it, wherein Dickens slept a night in 1841, and visited it many times subsequently. There is a coloured portrait of the President of the Pickwick Club on the sign, as he appeared addressing the members. A fire occurred at the Leather Bottle a few years ago, but it was confined to a back portionof the building; unfortunately its restoration and so-called "improvements" have destroyed many of the picturesque features which characterized this quiet old inn when Dickens wrote the famous Papers. Here is his description of it after Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Snodgrass, and Mr. Winkle had walked through Cobham Park to seek their lost friend:—
The "Leather Bottle" Cobham
"'If this,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking about him; 'if this were the place to which all who are troubled with our friend's complaint came, I fancy their old attachment to this world would very soon return.'"'I think so too,' said Mr. Winkle."'And really,' added Mr. Pickwick, after half an hour's walking had brought them to the village, 'really for a misanthrope's choice, this is one of the prettiest and most desirable places of residence I ever met with.'"In this opinion also, both Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass expressed their concurrence; and having been directed to the Leather Bottle, a clean and commodious village ale-house, the three travellersentered, and at once inquired for a gentleman of the name of Tupman."'Show the gentlemen into the parlour, Tom,' said the landlady."A stout country lad opened a door at the end of the passage, and the three friends entered a long, low-roofed room, furnished with a large number of high-backed leather-cushioned chairs, of fantastic shapes, and embellished with a great variety of old portraits, and roughly-coloured prints of some antiquity. At the upper end of the room was a table, with a white cloth upon it, well covered with a roast fowl, bacon, ale, and etceteras; and at the table sat Mr. Tupman, looking as unlike a man who had taken his leave of the world, as possible."On the entrance of his friends, that gentleman laid down his knife and fork, and with a mournful air advanced to meet them."'I did not expect to see you here,' he said, as he grasped Mr. Pickwick's hand. 'It's very kind.'"'Ah!' said Mr. Pickwick, sitting down, and wiping from his forehead the perspiration which the walk had engendered. 'Finish your dinner, and walk out with me. I wish to speak to you alone.'"Mr. Tupman did as he was desired; and Mr. Pickwick having refreshed himself with a copious draught of ale, waited his friend's leisure. The dinner was quickly despatched, and they walked out together."For half an hour, their forms might have been seen pacing the churchyard to and fro, while Mr. Pickwick was engaged in combating his companion's resolution. Any repetition of his arguments would be useless; for what language could convey to them that energy and force which their great originator's manner communicated? Whether Mr. Tupman was already tired of retirement, or whether he was wholly unable to resist the eloquent appeal which was made to him, matters not; he didnotresist it at last."'It mattered little to him,' he said, 'where he dragged out the miserable remainder of his days: and since his friend laid so much stress upon his humble companionship, he was willing to share his adventures.'"Mr. Pickwick smiled; they shook hands; and walked back to rejoin their companions."
"'If this,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking about him; 'if this were the place to which all who are troubled with our friend's complaint came, I fancy their old attachment to this world would very soon return.'
"'I think so too,' said Mr. Winkle.
"'And really,' added Mr. Pickwick, after half an hour's walking had brought them to the village, 'really for a misanthrope's choice, this is one of the prettiest and most desirable places of residence I ever met with.'
"In this opinion also, both Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass expressed their concurrence; and having been directed to the Leather Bottle, a clean and commodious village ale-house, the three travellersentered, and at once inquired for a gentleman of the name of Tupman.
"'Show the gentlemen into the parlour, Tom,' said the landlady.
"A stout country lad opened a door at the end of the passage, and the three friends entered a long, low-roofed room, furnished with a large number of high-backed leather-cushioned chairs, of fantastic shapes, and embellished with a great variety of old portraits, and roughly-coloured prints of some antiquity. At the upper end of the room was a table, with a white cloth upon it, well covered with a roast fowl, bacon, ale, and etceteras; and at the table sat Mr. Tupman, looking as unlike a man who had taken his leave of the world, as possible.
"On the entrance of his friends, that gentleman laid down his knife and fork, and with a mournful air advanced to meet them.
"'I did not expect to see you here,' he said, as he grasped Mr. Pickwick's hand. 'It's very kind.'
"'Ah!' said Mr. Pickwick, sitting down, and wiping from his forehead the perspiration which the walk had engendered. 'Finish your dinner, and walk out with me. I wish to speak to you alone.'
"Mr. Tupman did as he was desired; and Mr. Pickwick having refreshed himself with a copious draught of ale, waited his friend's leisure. The dinner was quickly despatched, and they walked out together.
"For half an hour, their forms might have been seen pacing the churchyard to and fro, while Mr. Pickwick was engaged in combating his companion's resolution. Any repetition of his arguments would be useless; for what language could convey to them that energy and force which their great originator's manner communicated? Whether Mr. Tupman was already tired of retirement, or whether he was wholly unable to resist the eloquent appeal which was made to him, matters not; he didnotresist it at last.
"'It mattered little to him,' he said, 'where he dragged out the miserable remainder of his days: and since his friend laid so much stress upon his humble companionship, he was willing to share his adventures.'
"Mr. Pickwick smiled; they shook hands; and walked back to rejoin their companions."
The Old Parlour of the "Leather Bottle."The Old Parlour of the "Leather Bottle."
Cobham Church
In order to preserve the historical associations of the place, the landlord of the Leather Bottle has added to the art collection in the fine old parlour (that still contains "the high-backed leather-cushioned chairs of fantastic shapes") many portraits of Dickens and illustrations from his works, including a copy of the life-like coloured Watkins photograph previously referred to. It has been already suggested that the neighbourhoodof Kit's Coty House probably gave rise to the famous archæological episode of the stone with the inscription—"Bill Stumps, his mark," inPickwick, which occurred near here, rivalling the "A. D. L. L." discovery of the sage Monkbarns in Scott'sAntiquary.
Time presses with us, so, after a refreshing cup of tea, we just have a hasty glance at the beautiful old church, which contains some splendid examples of monumental brasses, which for number and preservation are said to be unique. They are erected to the memory of John Cobham, Constable of Rochester, 1354, his ancestors and others.[37]There are also some fine old almshouses which accommodate twenty pensioners. These almshouses are a survival of the ancient college. We then take our departure, returning through Cobham woods.
Shorne Church
Turning off at some distance on the left, and passing through the little village of Shorne, with its pretty churchyard, a very favourite spot of Charles Dickens, and probably described by him inPickwickas "one of the most peaceful and secluded churchyards in Kent, where wild flowers mingle with the grass, and the soft landscape around, forms the fairest spot in the garden of England"—we make for Chalk church. It will be remembered, that the first number ofPickwickappeared on the 31st March, 1836, and on the 2nd of April following Charles Dickens was married, and came to spendhis honeymoon at Chalk, and he visited it again in 1837, when doubtless the descriptions of Cobham and its vicinity were written. To this neighbourhood, "at all times of his life, he returned, with a strange recurring fondness."
Mr. Kitton has favoured me with permission to quote the following extract from his Supplement toCharles Dickens by Pen and Pencil, being the late Mr. E. Laman Blanchard's recollections of this pleasant neighbourhood:—
"In the year Charles Dickens came to reside at Gad's Hill, I took possession of a country house at Rosherville, which I occupied for some seventeen years. During that period a favourite morning walk was along the high road, of many memories, leading from Gravesend to Rochester, and on repeated occasions I had the good fortune to encounter the great novelist making one of his pedestrian excursions towards the Gravesend or Greenhithe railway station, where he would take the train to travel up to town. Generally, by a curious coincidence, we passed each other, with an interchange of salutations, at about the same spot. This was on the outskirts of the village of Chalk, where a picturesque lane branched off towards Shorne and Cobham. Here the brisk walk of Charles Dickens was always slackened, and he never failed to glance meditatively for a few moments at the windows of a corner house on the southern side of the road, advantageously situated for commanding views of the river and the far-stretching landscape beyond. It was in that house he had lived immediately after his marriage, and there many of the earlier chapters ofPickwickwere written."
It is a long walk from Cobham to Chalk church,—the church, by the bye, being about a mile from the village, as is usual in many places in Kent,—and as the shades ofevening are coming upon us, and as we are desirous of having a sketch of the curious stone-carved figure over the entrance porch, we hurry on, and succeed in effecting our object, though under the difficulty of approaching darkness.
Curious Old Figure over the Porch, Chalk Church.Curious Old Figure over the Porch, Chalk Church.
This figure represents an old priest in a stooping position, with an upturned vessel (probably a jug), about which we were informed there is probably a legend. Dickens used to be a great admirer of this quaint carving, and it is said that whenever he passed it, he always took off his hat to it, or gave it a friendly nod, as to an old acquaintance. [We regretfully record the fact that since our visit, both porch and figure have been demolished.]
Amid the many strange sounds peculiar to summer nightin the country, a very weird and startling effect is produced in this lonely spot, in the dusk of the evening, by the shrill whistle of the common redshank (Totanus calidris), so called from the colour of its legs, which are of a crimson-red. This bird, as monotonous in its call-note as the corn-crake, to which it is closely allied, doubtless has its home in the marshes hereabout, in which, and in fen countries, it greatly delights. The peculiar whistle is almost ventriloquial in its ubiquity, and must be heard to be properly appreciated.
We retrace our steps to the Dover road, and by the light of a match applied to our pipes, see that our pedometer marks upwards of fifteen miles for this tramp—"a rather busy afternoon," as Mr. Datchery once said.
Since these lines were written, the third volume of theAutobiography and Reminiscencesof W. P. Frith, R.A., has been published, in which there is a most interesting reminiscence of Dickens; indeed, there are many scattered throughout the three volumes, but the one in question refers to "a stroll" which Dickens took with Mr. Frith and other friends in July 1868. Mr. Cartwright, the celebrated dentist, was one of the party, and the "stroll" was in reality, as the genial R. A. describes it, "a fearfully long walk" such as he shall never forget; nor the night he passed, without once closing his eyes in sleep, after it. "Dickens," continues Mr. Frith, "was a great pedestrian. His strolling was at the rate of perhaps a little under four miles an hour. He was used to the place,—I was not, and suffered accordingly."
Having a shrewd suspicion that this referred to one of the long walks taken in our tramp, the present writer communicated with Mr. Frith on the subject, and he was favoured with the following reply:—
"The stroll I mentioned in my third volume was through Lord Darnley's park, but after that I remember nothing. As the time spent in walking was four hours at least, we must have covered ground far beyond the length of the park.
"On another occasion,—Dickens, Miss Hogarth, and I went to Rochester to see the Castle, and the famous Pickwickian inn. On another day we went to the Leather Bottle at Cobham, where Dickens was eloquent on the subject of the Dadd parricide, showing us the place where the body was found, with many startling and interesting details of the discovery."
The subject of the Dadd parricide alluded to by Mr. Frith was a very horrible case; the son—an artist—was a lunatic, and was subsequently confined in Bethlehem Hospital, London. There are two curious pictures by him in the Dyce and Forster collection at South Kensington; one is inscribed "Sketches to Illustrate the Passions—Patriotism. By Richard Dadd, Bethlehem Hospital, London, May 30, 1857, St. George's-in-the-Fields." It has much minute writing on it. The other is "Leonidas with the Wood-cutters," and illustrates Glover's poem,Leonidas. It is inscribed, "Rd. Dadd, 1873." He died in Bethlehem Hospital in 1887.
The Dover Road! What a magic influence it has over us, as we tramp along it in the quiet summer evening, and recall an incident that happened nearly a hundred years ago, what time the Dover mail struggled up Shooter's Hill on that memorable Friday night, and Jerry Cruncher, who had temporarily suspended his "fishing" operations, and being free from the annoyances of the "Aggerawayter," caused consternation to the minds of coachman, guard, and passengers of the saidmail, by riding abruptly up,à lahighwayman, and demanding to speak to a passenger named Mr. Jarvis Lorry, then on his way to Paris,—as faithfully chronicled inA Tale of Two Cities. Again, in the early part of the present century, when a certain friendless but dear and artless boy, named David Copperfield,—who having been first robbed by a "long-legged young man with a very little empty donkey-cart, which was nothing but a large wooden-tray on wheels," of "half a guinea and his box," under pretence of "driving him to the pollis," and subsequently defrauded by an unscrupulous tailor named one Mr. Dolloby ("Dolloby was the name over the shop-door at least") of the proper price of "a little weskit," for which he, Dolloby, gave poor David only ninepence,—trudged along that same Dover road footsore and hungry, "and got through twenty-three miles on the straight road" to Rochester and Chatham on a certain Sunday; all of which is duly recorded inThe Personal History of David Copperfield.
In after years, when happier times came to him, David made many journeys over the Dover road, between Canterbury and London, on the Canterbury Coach. Respecting the earliest of these (readers will remember Phiz's illustration, "My first fall in life"), he says:—
"The main object on my mind, I remember, when we got fairly on the road, was to appear as old as possible to the coachman, and to speak extremely gruff. The latter point I achieved at great personal inconvenience; but I stuck to it, because I felt it was a grown-up sort of thing."
In spite of this assumption, he is impudently chaffed by "William the coachman" on his "shooting"—on his "county" (Suffolk), its "dumplings," and its "Punches," and finally, at William's suggestion, actually resigns his box-seat in favourof his (William's) friend, "the gentleman with a very unpromising squint and a prominent chin, who had a tall white hat on with a narrow flat brim, and whose close-fitting drab trousers seemed to button all the way up outside his legs from his boots to his hips." In reply to a remark of the coachman this worthy says:—"There ain't no sort of 'orse that I 'ain't bred, and no sort of dorg. 'Orses and dorgs is some men's fancy. They're wittles and drink to me—lodging, wife, and children—reading, writing, and 'rithmetic—snuff, tobacker, and sleep."
"That ain't a sort of man to see sitting behind a coach-box, is it, though?" says William in David's ear. David construes this remark into an indication of a wish that "the gentleman" should have his place, so he blushingly offers to resign it.
"Well, if you don't mind," says William, "I think it would be more correct."
Poor David, "so very young!" gives up his box-seat, and thus moralizes on his action:—
"I have always considered this as the first fall I had in life. When I booked my place at the coach-office, I had had 'Box Seat' written against the entry, and had given the book-keeper half-a-crown. I was got up in a special great coat and shawl, expressly to do honour to that distinguished eminence; had glorified myself upon it a good deal; and had felt that I was a credit to the coach. And here, in the very first stage, I was supplanted by a shabby man with a squint, who had no other merit than smelling like a livery-stables, and being able to walk across me, more like a fly than a human being, while the horses were at a canter."
"I have always considered this as the first fall I had in life. When I booked my place at the coach-office, I had had 'Box Seat' written against the entry, and had given the book-keeper half-a-crown. I was got up in a special great coat and shawl, expressly to do honour to that distinguished eminence; had glorified myself upon it a good deal; and had felt that I was a credit to the coach. And here, in the very first stage, I was supplanted by a shabby man with a squint, who had no other merit than smelling like a livery-stables, and being able to walk across me, more like a fly than a human being, while the horses were at a canter."
Pip, inGreat Expectations, also made very many journeys to and from London, along the Dover road (the London road it is called in the novel), but the two most notable were,firstly, the occasion of his ride outside the coach with the two convicts as fellow-passengers on the back-seat—"bringing with them that curious flavour of bread-poultice, baize, rope-yarn, and hearth-stone, which attends the convict presence;" and secondly, that in which he walked all the way to London, after the sad interview at Miss Havisham's house, where he learns that Estella is to become the wife of Bentley Drummle:—
"All done, all gone! So much was done and gone, that when I went out at the gate the light of day seemed of a darker colour than when I went in. For awhile I hid myself among some lanes and bypaths, and then started off to walk all the way to London. . . . It was past midnight when I crossed London Bridge."
"All done, all gone! So much was done and gone, that when I went out at the gate the light of day seemed of a darker colour than when I went in. For awhile I hid myself among some lanes and bypaths, and then started off to walk all the way to London. . . . It was past midnight when I crossed London Bridge."
One more reference is made to the Dover road inBleak House, where that most lovable of the many lovable characters in Dickens's novels, Esther Summerson, makes her journey, with her faithful little maid Charley, to Deal, in order to comfort Richard Carstone:—
"It was a night's journey in those coach times; but we had the mail to ourselves, and did not find the night very tedious. It passed with me as I suppose it would with most people under such circumstances. At one while, my journey looked hopeful, and at another hopeless. Now, I thought that I should do some good, and now I wondered how I could ever have supposed so."
"It was a night's journey in those coach times; but we had the mail to ourselves, and did not find the night very tedious. It passed with me as I suppose it would with most people under such circumstances. At one while, my journey looked hopeful, and at another hopeless. Now, I thought that I should do some good, and now I wondered how I could ever have supposed so."
When speaking of Dickens's characters, some critics have said that "he never drew a gentleman." One ventures to ask, Where is there a more chivalrous, honourable, or kind-hearted gentleman than Mr. John Jarndyce? Sir Leicester Dedlock in the same novel too, with some few peculiarities, is a thoroughly high-minded and noble gentleman of the old school. This by the way.
"There's Milestones on the Dover Road"
After walking some distance, we are able to verify one of those sage experiences of Mr. F.'s aunt:—"There's milestones on the Dover road!" for, by the light of another match, the darkness closing in, and there being no moon, we read "4 miles to Rochester." However, we tramp merrily on, with "the town lights right afore us," our minds being full of pleasant reminiscences of the scenes we have passed through, and this expedition, like many a weightier matter, "comes to an end for the time."
* * * * * *
We had on another occasion the pleasure of a long chat with Mrs. Latter of Shorne, one of the daughters of Mr. W. S. Trood, for many years landlord of the Sir John Falstaff. She said her family came from Somersetshire to reside at Gad's Mill in the year 1849, and left in 1872. The Falstaff was then a little homely place, but it has been much altered since. She knew Charles Dickens very well, and saw him constantly during his residence at Gad's Hill Place. Mrs. Latter lost two sisters while she lived at the Falstaff—one died at the age of eleven, and the other at nineteen. Thelast-mentioned was named Jane, and died in 1862 of brain fever. Dickens was very kind to the family at the time, took great interest in the poor girl, and offered help of "anything that his house could afford." She remembers her mother asking Dickens if it would be well to have the windows of the bedroom open. At those times people were fond of keeping invalids closed up from the air. Dickens said—"Certainly: give her plenty of air." He liked fresh air himself. Mrs. Latter said in proof of this that the curtains were always blowing about the open windows at Gad's Hill Place.
When her sister Jane died, the funeral took place at Higham Church, and was very quiet, there being no show, only a little black pall trimmed with white placed over the coffin, which was carried by young men to the grave. Dickens afterwards commended what had been done, saying: "It showed good sense," and adding—"Not like an army of black beetles."
It will be remembered that inGreat Expectationsand elsewhere the ostentation, mummery, and extravagance of the "undertaking ceremony" are severely criticised. The same feeling, and a desire for funeral reform, no doubt prompted Dickens to insert the following clause in his Will:—
"I emphatically direct that I be buried in an inexpensive, unostentatious, and strictly private manner; that no public announcement be made of the time or place of my burial; that at the utmost not more than three plain mourning-coaches be employed; and that those who attend my funeral wear no scarf, cloak, black bow, long hatband, or other such revolting absurdity."
Mrs. Latter then told us the story of the two men with performing bears:—
It appears that soon after Dickens came to Gad's Hill a lot of labourers from Strood—some thirty or forty in number—had been for an outing in breaks to Cobham to a "bean-feast," or something of the kind, and some of them had got "rather fresh." On the return journey they stopped at the Falstaff, and at the time two men, who were foreigners, were there with performing bears, a very large one and a smaller one. The labourers began to lark with the bears, teased them, and made them savage, "becalled" the two men to whom they belonged, and a regular row followed. The owners of the bears became exasperated, and were proceeding to unmuzzle the animals, when Dickens (hearing the noise) came out of his gate holding one of his St. Bernard dogs by a chain. He told Mrs. Latter's father to take the bears up a back lane, said a few words to the crowd, and remonstrated with the Strood men on their conduct. The effect was magical; the whole affair was stilled in a minute or two.
* * * * * *
On a subsequent occasion we called upon the Rev. John Joseph Marsham of Overblow, near Shorne. This venerable clergyman, a bachelor, and in his eighty-fifth year, is totally blind, but in other respects is in the full possession of all his faculties, and remarked that he was much interested to hear anybody talk about old friends and times. He was inducted as Vicar of Shorne in the year 1837, came to live there in 1845, and resigned his cure in 1888, after completing his jubilee. He is a "Kentish man," having been born at Rochester. In our tramp the question of "Kentish man," or "man of Kent," often cropped up, and we had an opportunityof having the difference explained to us. A "Kentish man" is one born on the east side of the river Medway, and a "man of Kent" is one born on the west side.
The position of the residence "Overblow" is delightful. It stands on a little hill, the front having a fine view of the Thames valley and the marshes, the side looking on to the pretty hollow, in the centre of which stands Shorne Church, and the back being flanked in the distance by the beautiful Cobham Woods.
The reverend gentleman told us that he was a schoolfellow of the Right Honourable W. E. Gladstone and Sir Thomas Gladstone, his brother, at Eton, and had dined with the former at Hawarden on the occasion of his being thrice Premier, although he helped to turn his old friend out at Oxford in 1865, when he was succeeded by the Right Honourable Gathorne Hardy, now Lord Cranbrook.
Mr. Marsham was a neighbour of Charles Dickens, occasionally dined with him at Gad's Hill, and also met him at dinner sometimes at Mr. Hulkes's at the Little Hermitage. He spoke of him as a nice neighbour and a charming host, but he rarely talked except to his old friends. He frequently met Dickens in his walks, and had many a stroll with him, and always found him very interesting and amusing in his conversation. Once they were coming down from London together in a saloon carriage which contained about twelve or fourteen people. Dickens was sitting quietly in a corner. It was at the time that one of his serial novels was appearing, and most of the passengers were reading the current monthly number. No one noticed Dickens, and when the train stopped at Strood, he said—"We did not have much talk." "No," said Mr. Marsham, "the people were much betterengaged," at which Dickens laughed. Charles Dickens did Mr. Marsham the kindness to send him early proofs of his Christmas stories before they were published.
After Dickens's death (which he heard of in London, and never felt so grieved in his life) Mr. Charles Dickens the younger, and Mr. Charles Collins, his brother-in-law, came to select a piece of ground on the east side of Shorne churchyard, which was one of Dickens's favourite spots, but in consequence of the arrangements for the burial in Westminster Abbey this was of course given up.
Mr. Marsham was staying in London, at Lord Penrhyn's, at the time of Dickens's death, and Lady Louisa Penrhyn told him that by accident she was in Westminster Abbey at about ten o'clock on the morning of 14th June, the day of the funeral, and noticing some persons standing round an open grave, her ladyship went to see it, and was greatly impressed on looking in to read the name of Charles Dickens on the coffin, on which were numerous wreaths of flowers.
Our venerable friend possesses a souvenir of the novelist in the two exquisite plaster statuettes, about eighteen inches high, of "Night" and "Morning," which he purchased at the Gad's Hill sale.
The reverend gentleman spoke of the great improvements in travelling as compared with times within his recollection. He said that before the railways were constructed he went to London by boat from Gravesend, and the river was so bad that he had to keep his handkerchief to his nose all the way to avoid the stench. This was long before the days of Thames Embankments and other improvements in travelling by river and road.
"You have been in every line I have ever read, since I first came here, . . . you have been in every prospect I have ever seen since—on the river, on the sails of the ships, on the marshes, in the clouds, in the light, in the darkness, in the wind, in the woods, in the sea, in the streets."—Great Expectations.
"The magic reel, which, rolling on before, has led the Chronicler thus far, now slackens in its pace, and stops. It lies before the goal; the pursuit is at an end. . . . Good-night, and heaven send our journey may have a prosperous ending."—The Old Curiosity Shop.
Itis the morning of Saturday, the first of September, 1888, when our wonderfully pleasant week's tramp in "Dickens-Land" comes to an end. We have carried out every detail of our programme, without a singlecontretempsto mar the enjoyment of our delightful holiday; we have visited not only the spots where the childhood and youth of Charles Dickens were passed, and where the influence of the environment is specially traceable in the tone of both his earlier and later writings, but we have gone over and identified (as we proposed to do) a number of places in which he delighted, and often described in those writings, peopling them with airy characters (but to us most real), in whose footsteps we have walked. We have seen the place where he was born; we have seen nearly all the houses in which he lived in after life; and wehave been over the charming home occupied by him for fourteen years, where his last moments passed away under the affectionate and reverential solicitude of his sons and daughters, and of Miss Hogarth, his sister-in-law, "the ever-useful, self-denying, and devoted friend."
And now we linger lovingly about a few of the streets and places in "the ancient city," and especially in the precincts of the venerable Cathedral, all sanctified by the memory of the mighty dead. We fain would prolong our visit, but the "stern mandate of duty," as Immanuel Kant called it, prevails, and we bow to the inevitable; or as Mr. Herbert Spencer better puts it, "our duty is our pleasure, and our greatest happiness consists in achieving the happiness of others." We feel our departure to-day the more keenly, as everything tempts us to stay. Listening for a moment at the open door—the beautiful west door—of the Cathedral, in this glorious morning in early autumn, we hear the harmonies of the organ and choir softly wafted to us from within; we feel the delicious morning air, which comes over the old Castle and burial-ground from the Kentish hills; we see the bright and beautiful flowers and foliage of the lovely catalpa tree, through which the sunlight glints; a solemn calm pervades the spot as the hum of the city is hushed; and, although we have read them over and over again, now, for the first time, do we adequately realize the exquisitely touching lines on the last page ofEdwin Drood, written by the master-hand that was so soon to be stilled for ever:—
Doorway Rochester Cathedral
"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, woodsand fields—or, rather, from the one great garden of the whole of the 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."
"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, woodsand fields—or, rather, from the one great garden of the whole of the 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."
Having time to reflect on our experiences, we are able to understand how greatly our feelings and ideas have been influenced for good, both regarding the personality of the novelist and his writings.
In the course of our rambles we have interviewed many people in various walks of life who knew Dickens well, and their interesting replies, mostly given in their own words, vividly bring before our mental vision themanas he actually lived and moved among his neighbours, apart from any glamour with which we, as hero-worshippers, naturally invest him. We see him in his home, beloved by his family, taking kindly interest, as a country gentleman, in the poor of the district, entering into and personally encouraging their sports, and helping them in their distress. To his dependents and tradesmen he was kind, just, and honourable; to his friends genial, hospitable, and true; in himself eager, enthusiastic, and thorough. No man of his day had more friends, and he kept them as long as he lived. His favourite motto, "courage—persevere," comes before us constantly. All that we heard on the other side was contained in the expression—"rather masterful!" Rather masterful? Of course he was rather masterful—otherwise he would never have been Charles Dickens. What does he say in that unconscious description of himself, which he puts into the mouth of Boots atThe Holly-Tree Inn, when referring to the father of Master Harry Walmers, Junior?
"He was a gentleman of spirit, and good-looking, and held his head up when he walked, and had what you may call Fire about him. He wrote poetry, and he rode, and he ran, and he cricketed, and he danced, and he acted, and he done it all equally beautiful. . . . He was a gentleman that had a will of his own and a eye of his own, and that would be minded."
"He was a gentleman of spirit, and good-looking, and held his head up when he walked, and had what you may call Fire about him. He wrote poetry, and he rode, and he ran, and he cricketed, and he danced, and he acted, and he done it all equally beautiful. . . . He was a gentleman that had a will of his own and a eye of his own, and that would be minded."
Perfectly true do we find the summing up of his character, in his home at Gad's Hill, as given by Professor Minto in the last edition of theEncyclopædia Britannica(one of the most faithful, just, and appreciative articles ever written about Dickens):—"Here he worked, and walked, and saw his friends, and was loved and almost worshipped by his poorer neighbours, for miles around."
Although tolerably familiar with most of the writings of Dickens from our youth, and, like many readers, having our favourites which may have absorbed our attention to the exclusion of others, we are bound to say that our little visit to Rochester and its neighbourhood—our "Dickens-Land"—rendered famous all the world over in the novels and minor works, gives a freshness, a brightness, and a reality to our conceptions scarcely expected, and never before experienced. The faithful descriptions of scenery witnessed by us for the first time in and about the "quaint city" of Rochester, the delightful neighbourhood of Cobham, the glorious old city of Canterbury, the dreary marshes and other localities: the more detailed pictures of particular places, like the Castle, the Cathedral, its crypt and tower, the Bull Inn, the Vines, Richard Watts's Charity, and others—the point of the situation in many of these cannot be realized without personal inspection and verification.
And further, as by a sort of reflex action, another feelingcomes uppermost in our minds, apart from the mere amusement and enjoyment of Dickens's works: we mean the actual benefits to humanity which, directly or indirectly, arise out of his writings; and we endorse the noble lines of dedication which his friend, Walter Savage Landor, addressed to him in hisImaginary Conversations of Greeks and Romans(1853):—
"Friends as we are, have long been, and ever shall be, I doubt whether I should have prefaced these pages with your name, were it not to register my judgment that, in breaking up and cultivating the unreclaimed wastes of Humanity, no labours have been so strenuous, so continuous, or half so successful, as yours. While the world admires in you an unlimited knowledge of mankind, deep thought, vivid imagination, and bursts of eloquence from unclouded heights, no less am I delighted when I see you at the school-room you have liberated from cruelty, and at the cottage you have purified from disease."
We have before us—its edges browned by age—a reprint of a letter largely circulated at the time, addressed by Dickens toThe Times, dated "Devonshire Terrace, 13th Novr., 1849," in which he describes, in graphic and powerful language, the ribald and disgusting scenes which he witnessed at Horsemonger Lane Gaol on the occasion of the execution of the Mannings. The letter is too long to quote in its entirety, but the following extract will suffice:—"I have seen habitually some of the worst sources of general contamination and corruption in this country, and I think there are not many phases of London life that could surprise me. I am solemnly convinced that nothing that ingenuity could devise to be done in this city in the same compass of time could work such ruin as one public execution, and I stand astounded and appalledby the wickedness it exhibits." The letter contains an urgent appeal to the then Home Secretary, Sir George Grey, "as a solemn duty which he owes to society, and a responsibility which he cannot for ever put away," to originate an immediate legislative change in this respect. Forster says in allusion to the above-mentioned letter:—"There began an active agitation against public executions, which never ceased until the salutary change was effected which has worked so well." Dickens happily lived to see the fruition of his labours, for the Private Execution Act was passed in 1868, and the last public execution took place at Newgate on 26th May of that year. As indicative of the new state of feeling at that time, it may be mentioned that the number of spectators was not large, and they were observed to conduct themselves with unusual decorum.
It is valuable to record this as one of many public reforms which Dickens by his writings and influence certainly helped to accomplish. In his standard work onPopular Government(1885), Sir Henry Sumner Maine says:-"Dickens, who spent his early manhood among the politicians of 1832, trained in Bentham's school, [Bentham, by the bye, being quoted inEdwin Drood,] hardly ever wrote a novel without attacking an abuse. The procedure of the Court of Chancery and of the Ecclesiastical Courts, the delays of the Public Offices, the costliness of divorce, the state of the dwellings of the poor, and the condition of the cheap schools in the North of England, furnished him with what he seemed to consider, in all sincerity, the true moral of a series of fictions."
* * * * * *
We bid a kindly adieu to the "dear old City" where so many genial friends have been made, so many happy hourshave been passed, so many pleasant memories have been stored, and for the time leave
"the pensive glory,That fills the Kentish hills,"
to take our seats in the train for London, with the intention of paying a brief visit to South Kensington, where, in the Forster Collection of the Museum, are treasured the greater portion of the manuscripts which constitute the principal works of Charles Dickens. It will be remembered that the Will of the great novelist contained the following simple but important clause:—"I also give to the said John Forster (whom he previously referred to as 'my dear and trusty friend') such manuscripts of my published works as may be in my possession at the time of my decease;" and that Mr. Forster by his Will bequeathed these priceless treasures to his wife for her life, in trust to pass over to the Nation at her decease. Mrs. Forster, who survives her husband, generously relinquished her life interest, in order to give immediate effect to his wishes; and thus in 1876, soon after Mr. Forster's death, they came into the undisturbed possession of the Nation for ever.
Besides the manuscripts there are numbers of holograph letters, original sketches (including "The Apotheosis of Grip the Raven") by D. Maclise, R.A., and other interesting memorials relating to Charles Dickens.The Handbook to the Dyce and Forster Collectionsrightly says that:—"This is a gift which will ever have the highest value, and be regarded with the deepest interest by people of every English-speaking nation, as long as the English language exists. Not only our own countrymen, but travellers from every countryand colony into which Englishmen have spread, may here examine the original manuscripts of books which have been more widely read than any other uninspired writings throughout the world. Thousands, it cannot be doubted, who have been indebted for many an hour of pleasurable enjoyment when in health, for many an hour of solace when in weariness and pain, to these novels, will be glad to look upon them as each sheet was sent last to the printer, full of innumerable corrections from the hand of Charles Dickens."
The manuscripts are fifteen in number, bound up into large quarto volumes, and comprise:—
1.Oliver Twist—two Volumes, with Preface to thePickwick Papers, and matter relating toMaster Humphrey's Clock.
2.Sketches of Young Couples.
3.The Lamplighter, a Farce. This MS. is not in the handwriting of Dickens.
4.The Old Curiosity Shop—two Volumes, with Letter to Mr. Forster of 17th January, 1841, and hints for some chapters.
5.Barnaby Rudge—two Volumes.
6.American Notes.
7.Martin Chuzzlewit—two Volumes, with various title-pages, notes as to the names, &c., and dedication to Miss Burdett Coutts.
8.The Chimes.
9.Dombey and Son—two Volumes, with title-pages, headings of chapters, and memoranda.
10.David Copperfield—two Volumes, with various title-pages, and memoranda as to names.
11.Bleak House—two Volumes, with suggestions for title-pages and other memoranda.
12.Hard Times—with memoranda.
13.Little Dorrit—two Volumes, with memoranda, Dedication to Clarkson Stanfield, and Preface.
14.A Tale of Two Cities—with Dedication to Lord John Russell, and Preface.
15.Edwin Drood—unfinished, with memoranda, and headings for chapters.
John Forster says:—"The last page ofEdwin Droodwas written in the châlet in the afternoon of his last day of consciousness."
Of the above-mentioned, thecalligraphyof Nos. 1, 2, 3 and 4, is seen at a glance to be larger, bolder, and to have fewer corrections. In Nos. 5 to 15 it is smaller, and more confused by numerous alterations. According to Forster—"His greater pains and elaboration of writing became first very obvious in the later parts ofMartin Chuzzlewit."
The manuscripts of the earliest works of the Author,Sketches by Boz,Pickwick,Nicholas Nickleby, &c., were evidently not considered at the time worth preserving. The manuscript ofOur Mutual Friend, given by Dickens to Mr. E. S. Dallas—in grateful acknowledgment of an appreciative review which (according to an article inScribner, entitled "Our Mutual Friend in Manuscript") Mr. Dallas wrote of the novel forThe Times, which largely increased the sale of the book, and fully established its success,—is in the library of Mr. G. W. Childs of Philadelphia; and that ofA Christmas Carol—given by Dickens to his old friend and school-fellow, Tom Mitton—was for sale in Birmingham a few years ago, and might have been purchased for two hundred and fifty guineas! It is now owned by Mr. Stuart M. Samuel, and has since been beautifully reproduced in fac-simile, with anIntroduction by my friend and fellow-tramp, Mr. F. G. Kitton. Mr. Wright, of Paris, is the fortunate possessor ofThe Battle of Life. The proof-sheets ofGreat Expectationsare in the Museum at Wisbech. Messrs. Jarvis and Son, of King William Street, Strand, sold some time since four of the MSS. of minor articles contributed by Dickens toHousehold Wordsin 1855-6, viz.The Friend of the Lions,Demeanour of Murderers,That other Public, andOur Commission, for £10 each.
At the sale of the late Mr. Wilkie Collins's manuscripts and library by Messrs. Sotheby, Wilkinson, and Hodge, 18th June, 1890, the manuscript ofThe Frozen Deep, by Wilkie Collins and Charles Dickens, 1856 (first performed at Tavistock House, 6th January, 1857), together with the narrative written forTemple Bar, 1874, and Prompt Book of the same play, was sold for £300. A poem written by Charles Dickens, as a Prologue to the same play, andThe Song of the Wreck, also written by Charles Dickens, were sold for £11 11s.each.The Perils of Certain English Prisoners, a joint production of Wilkie Collins and Charles Dickens, for the Christmas number ofHousehold Words, 1857, realized £200; and the drama ofNo Thoroughfare(imperfect), also a joint production, fetched £22.
The manuscripts now belonging to the Nation at South Kensington are placed in a glazed cabinet, standing in the middle of the room, on the right of which looks down the life-like portrait of the great novelist, painted by W. P. Frith, R.A., in 1859. The manuscript volumes are laid open in an appropriate manner, so that we have an opportunity of examining and comparing them with one another, and of observing how the precious thoughts which flowed from the fertile brain took shape and became realities.
Where corrections have been made, the original ideas are so obscured that it is scarcely possible to decipher them. This is effected, not by the simple method of an obliteration of the words, as is common with some authors, by means of a line or two run through them at one stroke of the pen, but by a series of connected circles, or scroll-work flourishes, thus,flourisheswhich must have caused greater muscular labour in execution. Let any one try the two methods for himself. Dickens was fond of flourishes, as witness his first published autograph, under the portrait which was issued withNicholas Nickleby(1839). Some evidence of "writer's cramp," as it is termed, appears where the C in Charles becomes almost a G, and where the line-like flourishes to the signature thirty years later, under the portrait forming the frontispiece toEdwin Drood, are much shorter and less elaborate. All the earlier manuscripts are in black ink—the characteristicblueink, which he was so fond of using in later years, not appearing untilHard Timeswas written (1854), and this continued to be (with one exception,Little Dorrit) his favourite writing medium, for the reason, it is said, that it was fluent to write with and dried quickly.
From a valuable collection of letters (more than a dozen—recently in the possession of Messrs. Noel Conway and Co., of Martineau Street, Birmingham, and kindly shown to me by Mr. Charles Fendelow), written by the novelist between 1832 and 1833 to a friend of his earlier years—Mr. W. H. Kolle—and not hitherto published, it appears that he had not then acquired that precise habit of inscribing the place, day of the week, month, and the year which marked his later correspondence (as has been pointed out by Miss Hogarth and Miss Dickens in the preface to theLetters of Charles Dickens), veryfew of the letters to Mr. Kolle bearing any record whatever except the day of the week, occasionally preceded by Fitzroy Street or Bentinck Street, where he resided at the time. It would be extremely interesting to ascertain the reason which subsequently led him to adopt the extraordinarily precise method which almost invariably marked his correspondence from the year 1840 until the close of his life. Possibly arrangements with publishers and others may have given him the exact habit which afterwards became automatic.
In addition to the manuscripts in the Forster Collection in the Museum there are corrected proofs of a portion of thePickwick Papers,Dombey and Son,David Copperfield,Bleak House, andLittle Dorrit. Some of the corrections inDombey and Sonare said to be in the handwriting of Mr. Forster. All these proofs show marvellous attention to detail—one of the most conspicuous of Dickens's characteristics. Nothing with him was worth doing unless it was done well. As an illustration of work in this direction, it may be mentioned that a proof copy of the speech delivered at the meeting of the Administrative Reform Association at Drury Lane Theatre on Wednesday, June 27th, 1855, in the possession of the writer of these lines, has over a hundred corrections on the nine pages of which it consists, and many of these occur in punctuation. On careful examination, the alterations show that the correction in every case is a decided improvement on the original. The followingfac-similesfrom theHand-Bookto theDyce and Forster Collection, and from Forster'sLife, illustrate the earlier, later, and latest handwritings of Charles Dickens as shown in the MSS. ofOliver Twist, 1837,Hard Times, 1854, andEdwin Drood, 1870.