Ramble IV — Holborn Circus to Tottenham Court Road
Langdale’s Distillery—Barnard’s Inn; Pip’s Chambers—Furnival’s Inn; Dickens’s and John Westlock’s Apartments—Staple Inn; Mr. Grewgious’s Chambers, P.J.T.; Rooms of Neville Landless and Mr. Tartar; “The Magic Bean-Stalk Country”—Gray’s Inn; Mr. and Mrs. Traddles and “the girls;” Offices of Mr. Perker—The Bull Inn; Scene of Lewsome’s Illness—Kingsgate Street; Poll Sweedlepipe’s Shop; Sairey Gamp’s Apartments—Mrs. Billickin’s Lodgings in Southampton Street; Miss Twinkleton and Rosa Budd—Bloomsbury Square; Lord Mansfield’s Residence—Queen Square—The Children’s Hospital; Johnny’s Will—Foundling Hospital; “No Thoroughfare;” Walter Wilding—“The Boot Tavern”—No. 48 Doughty Street—Tavistock House, Tavistock Square—Mrs. Dickens’s Establishment, No. 4 Gower Street, North; Mrs. Wilfer’s Doorplate—No. 1 Devonshire Terrace—Mr. Merdle’s House, Harley Street—Mr. Dombey’s House—Madame Mantalini’s, Wigmore Street—Wimpole Street; Mr. Boffin’s West-end Residence—Welbeck Street; Lord George Gordon’s Residence—Brook Street, Claridge’s Hotel; Mr. Dorrit’s Return—Devonshire House; Guild of Literature and Art—Hatchett’s Hotel; White Horse Cellars; Mr. Guppy in attendance—193 Piccadilly; Messrs. Chapman and Hall—Golden Square; Ralph Nickleby’s Office—Apartments of the Kenwigs family—The Crown Inn—“Martha’s” Lodgings—Newman Street; Mr. Turveydrop’s Academy—Carlisle House; Doctor Manette and Lucie.
From Holborn Circus the Rambler now proceeds westward by the main thoroughfare of Holborn, passing Fetter Lane on the left, and arrives at (No. 26) the old premises, now partially rebuilt, formerly Langdale’s Distillery. Half of the same remains (at the moment), but will shortly be superseded by a modern building. The eastern portion is occupied by Messrs. Buchanan, whisky merchants, who have recently purchased the premises. This establishment was sacked (1780) by the Gordon rioters. Mr. Langdale being a Catholic, was obnoxious to the No-Popery mob; and the stores of liquor at this distillery afforded an additional temptation for the attack. The terrible scenes enacted on the occasion are powerfully described in “Barnaby Rudge,” chapters 67 and 68—
“At this place a large detachment of soldiery were posted, who fired, now up Fleet Market, now up Holborn, now up Snow Hill—constantly raking the streets in each direction. At this place too, several large fires were burning, so that all the terrors of that terrible night seemed to be concentrated in one spot.
“Full twenty times, the rioters, headed by one man who wielded an axe in his right hand, and bestrode a brewer’s horse of great size and strength, caparisoned with fetters taken out of Newgate, which clanked and jingled as he went, made an attempt to force a passage at this point, and fire the vintner’s house. Full twenty times they were repulsed with loss of life, and still came back again; and though the fellow at their head was marked and singled out by all, and was a conspicuous object as the only rioter on horseback, not a man could hit him....
“The vintner’s house, with half-a-dozen others near at hand, was one great, glowing blaze. All night, no one had essayed to quench the flames, or stop their progress; but now a body of soldiers were actively engaged in pulling down two old wooden houses, which were every moment in danger of taking fire, and which could scarcely fail, if they were left to burn, to extend the conflagration immensely.
“... The gutters of the street, and every crack and fissure in the stones, ran with scorching spirit, which being dammed up by busy hands, overflowed the road and pavement, and formed a great pool, into which the people dropped down dead by dozens. They lay in heaps all round this fearful pond, husbands and wives, fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, women with children in their arms and babies at their breasts, and drank until they died. While some stooped with their lips to the brink and never raised their heads again, others sprang up from their fiery draught, and danced, half in a mad triumph, and half in the agony of suffocation, until they fell, and steeped their corpses in the liquor that had killed them....
“On this last night of the great riots—for the last night it was—the wretched victims of a senseless outcry, became themselves the dust and ashes of the flames they had kindled, and strewed the public streets of London.”
It will be remembered that Mr. Langdale and Mr. Haredale, being in the house that night, were rescued by Edward Chester and Joe Willett, all four finding their way to safety by a back entrance.
“The narrow lane in the rear was quite free of people. So, when they had crawled through the passage indicated by the vintner (which was a mere shelving-trap for the admission of casks), and had managed with some difficulty to unchain and raise the door at the upper end, they emerged into the street without being observed or interrupted. Joe still holding Mr. Haredale tight, and Edward taking the same care of the vintner, they hurried through the streets at a rapid pace.”
This door gives into Fetter Lane (No. 79), and still exists for the inspection of the curious. The old house in Holborn has, for more than a century, replaced the premises so destroyed. Close at hand (by No. 23) is the entrance to Barnard’s Inn—
“The dingiest collection of shabby buildings ever squeezed together in a rank corner as a club for tom-cats.”
The locality is referred to in these complimentary terms by Mr. Pip (in the pages of “Great Expectations”), who lived here with his friend Herbert Pocket for a short time when he first came to London. Mr. Joe Gargery’s verdict is worth remembrance:—
“The present may be a wery good inn, and I believe its character do stand i; but I wouldn’t keep a pig in it myself, not in the case that I wished him to fatten wholesome, and to eat with a meller flavour on him.”
Pip further describes as follows:—
“We entered this haven through a wicket-gate, and were disgorged by an introductory passage into a melancholy little square that looked to me like a flat burying-ground. I thought it had the most dismal trees in it, and the most dismal sparrows, and the most dismal cats, and the most dismal houses (in number half-a-dozen or so), that I had ever seen.... A frowzy mourning of soot and smoke attired this forlorn creation of Barnard, and it had strewed ashes on its head, and was undergoing penance and humiliation as a mere dust-hole. Thus for my sense of sight; while dry rot, and wet rot, and all the silent rots that rot in neglected root and cellar—rot of rat, and mouse, and bug, and coaching stables near at hand besides—addressed themselves faintly to my sense of smell, and moaned, ‘Try Barnard’s Mixture.’”
Great alterations are now (1899) being carried out; the old buildings—as above referred to by Mr. Pip—have been demolished, and a new and better arrangement of the locality is in active progress for the improvement of the neighbourhood.
On the opposite side of Holborn are the handsome and extensive offices of The Prudential Assurance Company. These premises, with their frontage, occupy the site of Furnival’s Inn, which has recently disappeared, having been pulled down to make room for the extension of the Assurance offices above referred to—Sic transit memoria mundi.
Furnival’s Inn was an interesting locality, as associated with the earlier experience of Mr. Dickens himself. Here the young author resided in 1835, the year previous to the production of the “Pickwick Papers,” the first number of that work being published April 1, 1836. On the day following that notable date, Mr. Dickens married Miss Catherine Hogarth; and for some time the young couple resided on the third floor apartments at No. 15 Furnival’s Inn—on the right side of the square. A personal reminiscence of these early days is no doubt intended in chapter 59 of “David Copperfield;” a pleasant description being there given of the residential chambers of Mr. and Mrs. Traddles, as located in Gray’s Inn just beyond.
Mr. John Westlock had his bachelor apartments in this same place at Furnival’s Inn (vide “Martin Chuzzlewit”), and here he received the unexpected visit of Tom Pinch on his first arrival in London. We may remember the incidents of that cordial welcome, when
“John was constantly running backwards and forwards to and from the closet, bringing out all sorts of things in pots, scooping extraordinary quantities of tea out of the caddy, dropping French rolls into his boots, pouring hot water over the butter, and making a variety of similar mistakes, without disconcerting himself in the least.”
In the centre of the interior square, standing within the precincts of Furnival’s Inn during the past seventy-five years, and flourishing in recent days—a quiet oasis of retirement and good cheer amidst the bustle and noise of central London—there existed (until 1895) Woods’ Hotel. This hotel was associated with “The Mystery of Edwin Drood,” being the house at which Mr. Grewgious found accommodation for the charming Rosa Budd (on the occasion of her flight from the importunities of Jasper at Cloisterham), including an “unlimited head chambermaid” for her special behoof and benefit.
“Rosa’s room was airy, clean, comfortable, almost gay. The Unlimited had laid in everything omitted from the very little bag (that is to say, everything she could possibly need), and Rosa tripped down the great many stairs again, to thank her guardian for his thoughtful and affectionate care of her.
“‘Not at all, my dear,’ said Mr. Grewgious, infinitely gratified; ‘it is I who thank you for your charming confidence and for your charming company. Your breakfast will be provided for you in a neat, compact, and graceful little sitting-room (appropriate to your figure), and I will come to you at ten o’clock in the morning. I hope you don’t feel very strange indeed, in this strange place.’
“‘Oh no, I feel so safe!’
“‘Yes, you may be sure that the stairs are fire-proof,’ said Mr. Grewgious, ‘and that any outbreak of the devouring element would be perceived and suppressed by the watchmen.’
“‘I did not mean that,’ Rosa replied. ‘I mean, I feel so safe from him.’
“‘There is a stout gate of iron bars to keep him out,’ said Mr. Grewgious smiling; ‘and Furnival’s is fire-proof, and specially watched and lighted, and I live over the way!’ In the stoutness of his knight-errantry, he seemed to think the last-named protection all-sufficient. In the same spirit he said to the gate-porter as he went out, ‘If some one staying in the hotel should wish to send across the road to me in the night, a crown will be ready for the messenger.’ In the same spirit, he walked up and down outside the iron gate for the best part of an hour, with some solicitude; occasionally looking in between the bars, as if he had laid a dove in a high roost in a cage of lions, and had it on his mind that she might tumble out.”
The Hotel was originally built 1818–19, and was enlarged as recently as 1884. Woods was the proprietor for fifty years.
Crossing to the other side of the street, at a short distance onwards, opposite Gray’s Inn Road, the Rambler reaches (by No. 334 High Holborn) the gateway of Staple Inn; a little nook, composed of two irregular quadrangles behind the most ancient part of Holborn, where certain gabled houses, some centuries of age, still stand looking on the public way. Staple Inn was the favourite summer promenade of the meditative Mr. Snagsby (see “Bleak House”); and in this Inn Mr. Grewgious occupied a set of chambers. The house is No. 10, in the inner quadrangle, “presenting in black and white, over its ugly portal, the mysterious inscription, ‘P. J. T., 1747.’ Perhaps John Thomas, or Perhaps Joe Tyler.” And, under certain social conditions, “for a certainty, P. J. T. was Pretty Jolly Too.” Neville Landless also had rooms in this locality; the top set in the corner (on the right), overlooking the garden “where a few smoky sparrows twitter in the smoky trees, as though they had called to each other, ‘let us play at country.’” Close to these lived Mr. Tartar, in “the neatest, the cleanest, and the best-ordered chambers ever seen under the sun, moon, and stars.” And we may recall the writer’s delicate treatment of this, the blushing “beanstalk country” of dear little Rosa Budd. For the several associations herewith connected, reference should be made to our author’s last book, “The Mystery of Edwin Drood.”—See concluding paragraphs of chapter 21:—
“Rosa wondered what the girls would say if they could see her crossing the wide street on the sailor’s arm. And she fancied that the passers-by must think her very little and very helpless, contrasted with the strong figure that could have caught her up and carried her out of any danger, miles and miles without resting.
“She was thinking further, that his far-seeing blue eyes looked as if they had been used to watch danger afar off, and to watch it without flinching, drawing nearer and nearer: when, happening to raise her own eyes, she found that he seemed to be thinking something about them.
“This a little confused Rosebud, and may account for her never afterwards quite knowing how she ascended (with his help) to his garden in the air, and seemed to get into a marvellous country that came into sudden bloom like the country on the summit of the magic bean-stalk. May it flourish for ever!”
In this connection, the reader may be interested in chapter 22; the first part of which deals most tenderly and beautifully with “love’s awaking,” in the heart of the innocent heroine.
Recrossing to the other side of High Holborn, past Gray’s Inn Road (on the north), at No. 22, we reach the gateway of Gray’s Inn. At No. 2 South Square (formerly Holborn Court) we may find the upper chambers formerly occupied by Mr. Traddles and his wife Sophy, whose domestic arrangements included accommodation for “the beauty” and the other Devonshire sisters. Copperfield says, in the chapter before referred to:—
“If I had beheld a thousand roses blowing in a top set of chambers, in that withered Gray’s Inn, they could not have brightened it half so much. The idea of those Devonshire girls, among the dry law-stationers, and the attorneys’ offices; and of the tea and toast, and children’s songs, in that grim atmosphere of pounce and parchment, red-tape, dusty wafers, ink-jars, brief and draft paper, law reports, writs, declarations, and bills of costs, seemed almost as pleasantly fanciful as if I had dreamed that the Sultan’s famous family had been admitted on the roll of attorneys, and had brought the talking-bird, the singing-tree, and the Golden water into Gray’s Inn Hall.”
The offices of Mr. Perker, the legal adviser of Mr. Pickwick, were also located in Gray’s Inn. We read that the “outer door” of these chambers was to be found “after climbing two pairs of steep and dirty stairs;” but no indication is given of their exact situation.
Proceeding westward from Gray’s Inn, and passing the stately, elegant, and commodious First Avenue Hotel, between Warwick Court and Brownlow Street, and a half-a-dozen side streets beyond, we come, on the north side, at No. 92, to the Bull and Anchor Tavern. This is the house known in the pages of “Martin Chuzzlewit” as “The Bull Inn,” then a more important hostelry than at present. It will be remembered as the inn at which Mr. Lewsome, during his illness, was professionally attended by Sairey Gamp and Betsy Prig, “turn and turn about.”
Passing on to the next turning but one, we reach Kingsgate Street, where Poll Sweedlepipes—barber and bird-fancier—once had his business location, “next door but one to the celebrated mutton-pie shop, and directly opposite the original cat’s-meat warehouse.” At this place the immortal Mrs. Gamp had lodgings on the first floor, where she
“Was easily assailed at night by pebbles, walking-sticks, and fragments of tobacco pipes, all much more efficacious than the street-door knocker, which was so constructed as to wake the street with ease, and even spread alarms of fire in Holborn, without making the smallest impression on the premises to which it was addressed.”
It is recollected in the neighbourhood that, fifty years since, a barber by the name of Patterson (who was also a bird-dealer) lived in this street, at the second house on the left. The shop has been pulled down, is now absorbed by the corner premises in Holborn, and can be only identified by its position. Here, then, did Mr. Pecksniff arrive on his doleful mission, in accordance with the recommendation of Mr. Mould, the undertaker, with regard to the death of old Anthony Chuzzlewit; and here did that memorable teapot cause a lasting difference between two friends, as narrated in chapter 49 of “Martin Chuzzlewit.” “This world-famous personage, Mrs. Gamp, has passed into and become one with the language” whose vernacular she has adorned with her own flowers of speech. As Mr. Forster remarks, “she will remain among the everlasting triumphs of fiction, a superb masterpiece of English humour.” “Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale, her infinite variety.” At the Holborn corner of Kingsgate Street we may remember Mr. Bailey, junior, on the occasion when, at this exact spot, he collided with Poll Sweedlepipes, afterwards going “round and round in circles on the pavement,” the better to exhibit to Poll’s admiring gaze his fashionable livery as Tiger in the service of Mr. Montague Tigg, “rather to the inconvenience of the passengers generally, who were not in an equal state of spirits with himself.”
The next turning but one, westward, on the right, by the West Central Post Office (No. 126), is Southampton Street, leading to Bloomsbury Square.
Here it will be remembered that lodgings were taken by Mr. Grewgious for Miss Twinkleton and Rosa, of the redoubtable Mrs. Billickin, “the person of the ’ouse,” who, from prudential motives, suppressed her Christian name.
“Mr. Grewgious had his agreement-lines and his earnest-money ready. ‘I have signed it for the ladies, ma’am,’ he said, ‘and you’ll have the goodness to sign it for yourself, Christian and Surname, there, if you please.’
“‘Mr. Grewgious,’ said Mrs. Billickin in a new burst of candour, ‘no, sir! You must excuse the Christian name.’
“Mr. Grewgious stared at her.
“‘The door-plate is used as a protection,’ said Mrs. Billickin, ‘and acts as such, and go from it I will not.’
“Mr. Grewgious stared at Rosa.
“‘No, Mr. Grewgious, you must excuse me. So long as this ’ouse is known indefinite as Billickin’s, and so long as it is a doubt with the riff-raff where Billickin may be hidin’, near the street-door or down the airy, and what his weight and size, so long I feel safe. But commit myself to a solitary female statement, no, Miss! Nor would you for a moment wish,’ said Mrs. Billickin, with a strong sense of injury, ‘to take that advantage of your sex, if you were not brought to it by inconsiderate example.’
“Rosa reddening as if she had made some most disgraceful attempt to overreach the good lady, besought Mr. Grewgious to rest content with any signature. And accordingly, in a baronial way, the sign-manual Billickin got appended to the document.”
And we may here recall the incidental passage of arms between the worthy landlady and Miss Twinkleton, Mrs. B. being always in direct antagonism with the schoolmistress, against whom she “openly pitted herself as one whom she fully ascertained to be her natural enemy.” Witness “the B. enveloped in the shawl of State,” as she remarked to Miss Twinkleton that
“‘A rush from scanty feeding to generous feeding, from what you may call messing to what you may call method, do require a power of constitution, which is not often found in youth, particular when undermined by boarding-school.... I was put in youth to a very genteel boarding-school, the mistress being no less a lady than yourself, of about your own age, or it may be some years younger, and a poorness of blood flowed from the table, which has run through my life.’
“‘If you refer to the poverty of your circulation,’ began Miss Twinkleton, when again the Billickin neatly stopped her.
“‘I have used no such expressions.’
“‘If you refer, then, to the poorness of your blood—’
“‘Brought upon me,’ stipulated the Billickin, expressly, ‘at a boarding-school—’
“‘Then,’ resumed Miss Twinkleton, ‘all I can say is, that I am bound to believe, on your asseveration, that it is very poor indeed. I cannot forbear adding, that if that unfortunate circumstance influences your conversation, it is much to be lamented, and it is eminently desirable that your blood were richer.’”
Southampton Street is not a long one, and is now chiefly occupied by solicitors and architects; but there is reason to believe that the Billickins’ residence was, aforetime, to be found at No. 18, which is situated next door but one to an archway. As Mrs. B. herself candidly pointed out,
“The arching leads to a mews; mewses must exist.”
The mews aforesaid is now superseded by a factory. Mrs. Billickin has long since relinquished the cares of housekeeping and retired from public life. The present amiable landlady conducts the business on different principles, and will be at all times disposed to give her patrons satisfaction, whether they be of the scholastic persuasion or otherwise.
Southampton Street leads immediately northward into Bloomsbury Square. This place is mentioned in “Barnaby Rudge” as the locality in which Lord Mansfield’s residence was situated at the period of the Gordon Riots. In chapter 66 its destruction by the rioters is thus described:—
“They began to demolish the house with great fury; and setting fire to it in several places, involved in a common ruin the whole of the costly furniture, the plate and jewels, a beautiful gallery of pictures, the rarest collection of manuscripts ever possessed by any one private person in the world, and, worst of all, because nothing could replace the loss, the great Law Library, on almost every page of which were notes, in the judge’s own hand, of inestimable value; being the results of the study and experience of his whole life.”
The house occupied the site of No. 29, on the east side of the square. We subsequently read in the same book that two of the rioters—cripples—were hanged in this square, the execution being momentarily delayed, as they were placed facing the house they had assisted to despoil. Leaving the square at its north-east angle (right) by Bloomsbury Place, the Rambler shortly comes into Southampton Row, turning left, and proceeding for a short distance upwards to Cosmo Place on the right, a short cut which leads directly to the contiguous shades of Queen Square just beyond. It will be remembered that in this neighbourhood Richard Carstone had furnished apartments at the time when he was pursuing the experimental study of the Law under the auspices of Messrs. Kenge and Carboy (see “Bleak House,” chapter 18). There is reason to believe that the “quiet old” house intended was No. 28 Devonshire Street, leading from the south-east angle of the square.
Leaving Queen Square by Great Ormond Street (eastward), we immediately arrive, on the north side (No. 50), at The Children’s Hospital, adjacent to the Catholic Church and Convent of St. John. In 1858, February 9th, a public dinner was arranged, by way of charitable appeal, for funds necessary to carry on and develop the work. It was happily resolved to invite Charles Dickens to preside on that occasion, and he “threw himself into the service heart and soul.” His earnest, pathetic, but powerful appeal—“majestic in its own simplicity”—that night added more than £3000 to the treasury, which amount was, two months afterwards, substantially increased by the proceeds of a public reading of his “Christmas Carol.” It is pleasant to record that this institution has ever since flourished amain, thus fulfilling the prediction of Dickens when, suggesting that the enterprise could not be possibly maintained unless the Hospital were made better known, he continued as follows:—
“I limit myself to saying—better known, because I will not believe that, in a Christian community of fathers and mothers, and brothers and sisters, it can fail, being better known, to be well and richly endowed.”
We may here recall the scene narrated in chapter 9 of “Our Mutual Friend,” when Johnny makes his will and arranges his affairs, leaving “a kiss for the boofer lady”—
“The family whom God had brought together were not all asleep, but were all quiet. From bed to bed, a light womanly tread and a pleasant fresh face passed in the silence of the night. A little head would lift itself into the softened light here and there, to be kissed as the face went by—for these little patients are very loving—and would then submit itself to be composed to rest again.... Over most of the beds, the toys were yet grouped as the children had left them when they last laid themselves down, and in their innocent grotesqueness and incongruity they might have stood for the children’s dreams.”
Proceeding eastward by Great Ormond Street and turning (left) through Lamb’s Conduit Street, to its northern end, we face the entrance of the Foundling Hospital. This beneficent institution was established by Captain Thomas Coram, about the middle of the last century, and is associated with “No Thoroughfare,” the Christmas number (and last in the series) of “All the Year Round,” 1867. Visitors attending the morning service of the Foundling Church on Sundays are admitted to the children’s Dining-Hall thereafter, and so may have an opportunity of realising the scene portrayed by Dickens, when the “veiled lady” induced a female attendant to point out Walter Wilding:—
“The bright autumnal sun strikes freshly into the wards; and the heavy-framed windows through which it shines, and the panelled walls on which it shines, are such windows, and such walls as pervade Hogarth’s pictures. Neat attendants silently glide about the orderly and silent tables, the lookers-on move or stop as the fancy takes them; comments in whispers on face such a number, from such a window, are not unfrequent—many of the faces are of a character to fix attention. Some of the visitors from the outside public are accustomed visitors. They have established a speaking acquaintance with the occupants of particular seats at the table, and halt at those points to say a word or two.”
In “Little Dorrit,” too, reference is made to this institution, in re the adoption of Tattycoram by good Papa and Mamma Meagles. In the times of Barnaby Rudge, the London streets were not greatly extended northward beyond this (now central) neighbourhood. We may remember that the headquarters of the “Captain,” Sim Tappertit, Hugh, and Dennis were at The “Boot” Tavern, which is described as
“A lone place of public entertainment, situated in the fields at the back of the Foundling Hospital; a very solitary spot at that period, and quite deserted after dark. The Tavern stood at some distance from any high road, and was only approachable by a dark and narrow lane.”
Proceeding onwards through Guilford Street, we reach Doughty Street, Mecklenburgh Square, running transversely north and south. On the east side we may note No. 48 Doughty Street, as the house to which Dickens removed from Furnival’s Inn, in the early spring of 1837, and in which he lived two years and a half, previous to his longer residence at No. 1 Devonshire Terrace. In it “Oliver Twist” and “Nicholas Nickleby” were written; and here, too, the early friendship, which had been for some time steadily developing between Dickens and Forster, became cemented for life. His biographer says:—
“Nor had many weeks passed before he addressed to me from Doughty Street, words which it is my sorrowful pride to remember have had literal fulfilment. ‘I look back with unmingled pleasure to every link which each ensuing week has added to the chain of our attachment. It shall go hard, I hope, ere anything but death impairs the toughness of a bond now so firmly riveted.’”
The route being retraced to the Foundling Hospital, and thence continued through Guilford Street to Russell Square, we turn (right) by Woburn Place to Tavistock Square, on the south side of which (Tavistock Villas) is situated Tavistock House. To this residence Dickens removed (from Devonshire Terrace) in October 1851, retaining its possession for nearly ten years. During this time “Bleak House” was completed, and “Hard Times,” “Little Dorrit,” and the “Tale of Two Cities” were given to the world. Tavistock House is now transformed into a Jewish College. Hans Christian Andersen, visiting his friend in London, gives the following description:—
“In Tavistock Square stands Tavistock House. This and the strip of garden in front of it are shut out from the thoroughfare by an iron railing. A large garden, with a grass plat and high trees, stretches behind the house, and gives it a countrified look in the midst of this coal and gas steaming London. In the passage from street to garden hung pictures and engravings. Here stood a marble bust of Dickens, so like him, so youthful and handsome; and over a bedroom door were inserted the bas-reliefs of Night and Day, after Thorwaldsen. On the first floor was a rich library, with a fireplace and a writing-table, looking out on the garden; and here it was that in winter Dickens and his friends acted plays to the satisfaction of all parties. The kitchen was underground, and at the top of the house were the bedrooms.”
Leaving this locality at the north-west angle, passing Gordon Square, we turn (right) into Gordon Street, and (left) through Gower Place, to Gower Street, on the west side of which—opposite—is the house once bearing a large brass plate on the door, announcing Mrs. Dickens’s Establishment, being the place at which Mrs. Dickens (mother of Charles) endeavoured to set up a school during the difficult times of 1822. The family lived here for a short time, previous to the Marshalsea imprisonment of Dickens senior; Charles being then a boy ten years of age. In the first chapter of Forster’s Biography is the following:—
“A house was soon found at number four, Gower Street North; a large brass plate on the door announced Mrs. Dickens’s establishment; and the result I can give in the exact words of the then small actor in the comedy, whose hopes it had raised so high: ‘I left at a great many other doors a great many circulars, calling attention to the merits of the establishment. Yet nobody ever came to school, nor do I recollect that anybody ever proposed to come, or that the least preparation was made to receive anybody. But, I know that we got on very badly with the butcher and baker; that very often we had not too much for dinner; and that at last my father was arrested.’... Almost everything by degrees was pawned or sold, little Charles being the principal agent in these sorrowful transactions... until at last, even of the furniture of Gower Street, number four, there was nothing left except a few chairs, a kitchen table, and some beds. Then they encamped, as it were, in the two parlours of the emptied house, and lived there night and day.”
Gower Street has been rearranged since that time (there is now no Gower Street North), and the houses are renumbered. No. 145, near Gower Street Chapel, and other houses adjoining, are now in the occupation of Messrs. Maple & Co.; and this No. 145 was the house then enumerated as No. 4 Gower Street North. Mrs. Dickens’s experience, it will be remembered, has been pleasantly referred to in the pages of “Our Mutual Friend;” the stately Mrs. Wilfer therein making a similar experiment, with the same result. In chapter 4 we read of Rumpty’s return home from business: when
“Something had gone wrong with the house door, for R. Wilfer stopped on the steps, staring at it, and cried ‘Hal-loa?’ ‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Wilfer, ‘the man came himself with a pair of pincers and took it off, and took it away. He said that as he had no expectation of ever being paid for it, and as he had an order for another Ladies’ School door-plate, it was better (burnished up) for the interests of all parties.’”
On the opposite corner of the street is the Gower Street Station of the Metropolitan Railway, at which train may be taken to Baker Street. On arrival, we turn to the right, by Marylebone Road, to Devonshire Terrace, consisting of three houses at the northern end of High Street, Marylebone. No. 1, now occupied by a legal firm, was for twelve years the residence of Charles Dickens (when in town). It is described by Forster as
“A handsome house with a garden of considerable size, shut out from the New Road by a brick wall, facing the York Gate into Regent’s Park.”
To quote the ironical dictum of its future tenant when the choice was made, it was “a house of great promise (and great premium), undeniable situation, and excessive splendour.” During the period of the author’s residence here several of his best-known books were given to the world—“Master Humphrey’s Clock,” Christmas Books, and “David Copperfield” included. Proceeding forwards and eastward past Devonshire Place, we may take our way, turning on the right down Harley Street, of which we read in “Little Dorrit” that,
“Like unexceptionable society, the opposing rows of houses in Harley Street were very grim with one another. Indeed, the mansions and their inhabitants were so much alike in that respect that the people were often to be found drawn up on opposite sides of dinner tables, in the shade of their own loftiness, staring at the other side of the way with the dulness of the houses. Everybody knows how like the street the two dinner-rows of people who take their stand by the street will be. The expressionless uniform twenty houses, all to be knocked at and rung at in the same form, all approachable by the same dull steps, all fended off by the same pattern of railing, all with the same impracticable fire-escapes, the same inconvenient fixtures in their heads, and everything, without exception, to be taken at a high valuation—who has not dined with these?”
In this street lived that great financier and swindler Mr. Merdle, who had his residence in one of the handsomest of these handsome houses; but it would be, perhaps, invidious to point out any particular location for the same, Dickens himself having purposely omitted an exact address. Following the course of Harley Street, we come in due time to Queen Anne Street, running east and west. Adopting the leftward turning (east), we may find at the next corner—Mansfield Street—on the north side, Mr. Dombey’s House, as described in chapter 3 of “Dombey and Son”—
“Mr. Dombey’s house was a large one, on the shady side of a tall, dark, dreadfully genteel street in the region between Portland Place and Bryanston Square. It was a corner house, with great wide areas containing cellars, frowned upon by barred windows, and leered at by crooked-eyed doors leading to dust-bins. It was a house of dismal state, with a circular back to it, containing a whole suite of drawing-rooms looking upon a gravelled yard.”
It will be observed that the position and character of this mansion exactly correspond to the above description, being in its general style noteworthy and unique. This, then, was the private establishment and “home department” of the Dombey family, where died the gentle Paul; the lonely house in which the neglected Florence grew to lovely womanhood; what time the second wife—the stately Edith—held temporary sway.
Hence a short distance southward leads to Cavendish Square. In this neighbourhood we read that Madame Mantalini’s fashionable dressmaking establishment was situated, at which Kate Nickleby was for some few weeks engaged, on the recommendation of her uncle. The house intended was probably in Wigmore Street, No. 11. In the days of the Mantalini régime the business was advertised
“To the nobility and gentry by the casual exhibition, near the handsomely-curtained windows, of two or three elegant bonnets of the newest fashion, and some costly garments in the most approved taste.”
By the next turning (right) on the north side we come into Wimpole Street; on the east of which, at the corner of the third block, stands The West End Residence—No. 43—aforetime occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Boffin; which became, later on, the property of Mr. John Harmon and his wife. It is described as “a corner house, not far from Cavendish Square.” Near this house Silas Wegg—assuming some knowledge of its affairs—kept his street-stall. He was accustomed to refer to it as “Our House,” its (imaginary) inmates being Miss Elizabeth, Master George, Aunt Jane, and Uncle Parker.
Returning to Wigmore Street, we arrive by the next block at Welbeck Street, running transversely thereto. In this street was the London residence of Lord George Gordon, as referred to in the pages of “Barnaby Rudge.” The house is No. 64, the second from Wigmore Street on the left side. It is within the recollection of the present landlord that the old balcony—from which Lord George was wont to harangue the public—was many years since superseded by the present continuous railing.
We now come south into the West-end artery of Oxford Street, crossing same to Davies Street, by which we may soon reach Brook Street, Grosvenor Square, running east and west. On the south-eastern angle of its intersection stands Claridge’s Hotel. It will be remembered that on Mr. Dorrit’s return from the Continent, after the marriage of his daughter Fanny, “the Courier had not approved of his staying at the house of a friend, and had preferred to take him to an hotel in Brook Street, Grosvenor Square.” This was doubtless the establishment favoured by the Courier’s preference on that occasion; and where Mr. Merdle paid a state visit to Mr. Dorrit at breakfast-time the next morning; taking him afterwards in his carriage to the City.
Readers of “Dombey and Son” may be reminded that the Feenix Town House was situated in this same Brook Street; but no clue is afforded of its exact whereabouts. It is described as an aristocratic mansion of a dull and gloomy sort; and was borrowed by the Honourable Mrs. Skewton from a stately relative, on the occasion of her daughter’s marriage. Here also, in aftertime, the final interview between Florence and Edith took place.
Keeping on through Davies Street across Berkeley Square, we come through Berkeley Street to Piccadilly, in the close vicinity of Devonshire House, a mansion of fashionable and political repute, belonging to the Duke of Devonshire. Here, on the 27th of May 1851, in the great drawing-room and library, Dickens and his confrères of “The Guild of Literature and Art” performed, for the first time, Sir Bulwer Lytton’s comedy (written for the occasion) “Not so Bad as We Seem,” in the presence of the Queen, Prince Albert and a brilliant audience. The Duke not only afforded the necessary accommodation, but (as Mr. Forster writes), in his princely way, discharged all attendant expenses. Many distinguished authors and artists assisted at this performance, including Douglas Jerrold, Maclise, and John Leech.
Near at hand, on the eastern corner of the next turning down Piccadilly (Dover Street), is Hatchett’s Hotel, adjoining The White Horse Cellars, once a well-known coaching establishment. On the opposite side of the way stood in days of yore the old “White Horse Cellars,” of which Hazlitt writes:—
“The finest sight in the Metropolis is the setting out of the mail-coaches from Piccadilly. The horses paw the ground and are impatient to be gone, as if conscious of the precious burden they convey. There is a peculiar secrecy and despatch, significant and full of meaning, in all the proceedings concerning them. Even the outside passengers have an erect and supercilious air, as if proof against the accidents of the journey; in fact, it seems indifferent whether they are to encounter the summer’s heat or the winter’s cold, since they are borne through the air on a winged chariot.”
From this well-known Booking Office, Mr. Pickwick and his friends—accompanied by the fierce Dowler and his fascinating wife—started for Bath, one “muggy, damp, and drizzly morning, by the mail coach; on the door of which was displayed, in gilt letters of a goodly size, the magic name of ‘Pickwick’; a circumstance which seems to have occasioned some confusion of ideas in the mind of the faithful Sam, as evidenced by his indignant inquiry—‘An’t nobody to be whopped for takin’ this here liberty?’”
Readers of “Bleak House” will remember this locality as the destination of the Reading Coach; so indicated by Messrs. Kenge and Carboy in their first communication to Esther Summerson. Here she was met, one foggy November afternoon, on her arrival in London, by the susceptible Mr. Guppy, and by him conducted to Old Square, Lincoln’s Inn. The incident was afterwards feelingly referred to by that young gentleman, on the occasion of his offer of heart, hand, and income to Esther:—
“I think you must have seen that I was struck with those charms on the day when I waited at the Whytorseller. I think you must have remarked that I could not forbear a tribute to those charms when I put up the steps of the ’ackney coach.”
For the full narrative, see “Bleak House,” chapter 9.
The Rambler can now take an eastward course up Piccadilly, and may casually observe, on the left, past Burlington House, The Albany, where Mr. Fledgby had chambers. The next turning on the same side is Sackville Street, in which it may be recollected that Mr. and Mrs. Lammles resided during the short term of their social prosperity. Mention of these localities in such connection will be found in the pages of “Our Mutual Friend.” Passing onwards on the same side, we arrive at No. 28, St. James’s Hall. It was at this well-known place of assembly that several of those popular Readings were given by Charles Dickens, which always commanded the attention and sympathetic interest of his audience. On these occasions he invariably adopted the extreme of fashionable evening attire, being dressed in irreproachable style, with, perhaps, more of shirt-front than waistcoat; and so “got up” as to present a staginess and juvenility of appearance, possibly somewhat out of keeping with his time of life. Some of his hearers may have desired a more natural and less conventional mode; but they knew that beneath the big shirt and fashionable coat, there throbbed the genial heart of the man they loved, as he read of the sorrows of “Little Emily,” or stood with them in spirit at the bedside of “Paul Dombey.” On the occasion of his final Reading, given here in March 1870, he tendered his last public farewell to his London audience in the following words:
“It would be worse than idle, it would be hypocritical and unfeeling, if I were to disguise that I close this episode of my life with feelings of very considerable pain. For some fifteen years, in this hall and many kindred places, I have had the honour of presenting my own cherished ideas before you for your recognition; and, in closely observing your reception of them, have enjoyed an amount of artistic delight and enjoyment, which perhaps it is given few men to know. In this task and every other, I have ever undertaken as a faithful servant of the public—always imbued with a sense of duty to them, and always striving to do his best—I have been uniformly cheered by the readiest response, the most generous sympathy and the most stimulating support. Nevertheless, I have thought it well, at the full flood-tide of your favour, to retire upon those older associations between us, which date from much further back than these; and henceforth to devote myself exclusively to the art that first brought us together. Ladies and gentlemen, in but two short weeks from this time, I hope that you may enter, in your own homes, on a new series of Readings, at which my assistance will be indispensable; but from these garish lights I vanish now for ever, with one heartfelt, grateful, respectful, and affectionate farewell.”
On the right-hand side of Piccadilly, adjacent to the Prince’s Hall and Institute of Painters, there may be noted, en passant, the premises No. 193, now occupied by the Boys’ Messenger Co. This, for many years, was the address of Messrs. Chapman and Hall, the publishers of the works of Dickens. Previous to 1850, the earlier books—“Pickwick” to “Martin Chuzzlewit” inclusive—together with the first issue of their cheaper edition, were published by this well-known house at 186 Strand, the site now occupied by the premises of W. H. Smith and Son. The firm have, for many years past, removed their offices to No. 11 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden.
Passing on to Piccadilly Circus, and crossing northward from the same, we turn (left) into Sherwood Street, which leads, by a short walk, to Brewer Street, in the neighbourhood of Golden Square. Continuing by Lower James Street, opposite, we reach the square itself, in which was formerly situated the Office of Ralph Nickleby. Readers of Dickens will remember that it was a large house, with an attic storey, in which Ralph committed suicide. The house No. 6, on the east side, was probably the one assigned by the author as the usurer’s residence. It is now let off in various suites of offices, professional and otherwise. The neighbourhood has somewhat changed since the time when the “Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby” was first issued, and the following description, given by Dickens, became public property:—
“It is one of the squares that have been—a quarter of the town that has gone down in the world, and taken to letting lodgings. Many of its first and second floors are let, furnished, to single gentlemen, and it takes boarders besides. It is a great resort of foreigners. The dark-complexioned men who wear large rings and heavy watch-guards, and bushy whiskers, and who congregate under the Opera Colonnade, and about the box-office in the season between four and five in the afternoon, when they give away the orders—all live in Golden Square, or within a street of it. Two or three violins and a wind instrument from the opera-band reside within its precincts.”
We read in the same book of the whereabouts of Mr. Kenwigs as being in this neighbourhood—
“A bygone, faded, tumble-down street, with two irregular rows of tall meagre houses, which seem to have stared each other out of countenance years ago; the very chimneys appear to have grown dismal and melancholy from having had nothing better to look at than the chimneys over the way.”
There are many streets in the district of Soho, in this vicinity, which will in some respects correspond with the description given; but much alteration has taken place during the last sixty years. Recollecting that Newman Noggs lodged in the upper part of the same house, it must have been conveniently near Golden Square. In Carnaby Street (immediately north of the Square) there may be remarked a white-fronted, old-fashioned house (No. 48), which, being in proximity to Ralph Nickleby’s Office, may be assigned as aforetime comprising the apartments of the Kenwigs Family.
At the corner of Beak Street and Upper James Street is still existent “The Crown Inn,” well known to Newman Noggs; though, since his time, it must have undergone considerable alteration. In his first letter to Nicholas Nickleby, Newman writes:—
“If you ever want a shelter in London,... they know where I live at the sign of the Crown, Golden Square. It is at the corner of Silver Street” [now Beak Street] “and James Street, with a bar door both ways.”
In this neighbourhood, also, Martha’s Lodgings were situated, in the days of David Copperfield, who says:—
“She laid her hand on my arm, and hurried me on to one of the sombre streets of which there are several in that part, where the houses were once fair dwellings, in the occupation of single families, but have, and had, long degenerated into poor lodgings let off in rooms.”
Such a house may be found in Marshall Street, No. 53, close at hand. But at this distance of time it is difficult to assign the exact locality intended by Dickens. We are all familiar with the welcome episode in David’s history when Martha rescued Little Emily, bringing her to these lodgings, and Mr. Peggotty’s dream came true.—See chapter 50.
Proceeding half-way up Marshall Street, we turn (right) through Broad Street, to (left) Poland Street, by which we again attain the main thoroughfare of Oxford Street. Turning eastward, on the north side, we come at a short distance (by No. 90) to Newman Street, in which was situated Mr. Turveydrop’s Dancing Academy, “established in a sufficiently dingy house, at the corner of an archway” (Newman Passage), with Mr. Turveydrop’s great room built out into a mews at the back. The house intended is No. 26, on the east side of the street. Here Caddy Jellyby resided with her husband, Prince Turveydrop, in the upper rooms of the establishment, leaving the better part of the house at the disposal of Mr. Turveydrop, senior; that “perfect model” of parental and social “deportment.” Returning to Oxford Street and passing onwards on the south side, we shortly arrive at Dean Street, leading southward.
At a short distance, running east and west, is Carlisle Street, at the further end of which, to the right, is an old house (by name Carlisle House) which stands facing the observer. It is now occupied by Messrs. Edwards and Roberts, dealers in antique furniture. Readers of “The Tale of Two Cities” will recollect the lodgings of Doctor Manette and daughter Lucie, as described in the 6th chapter (Book the Second) of the Tale, being situated in a quiet street-corner, not far from Soho Square:—
“A quainter corner than the corner where the Doctor lived was not to be found in London. There was no way through it, and the front windows of the Doctor’s lodgings commanded a pleasant little vista of street that had a congenial air of retirement on it. There were few buildings then, north of the Oxford Road, and forest-trees flourished, and wild flowers grew, and the hawthorn blossomed, in the now vanished fields.”
The garden behind the house, referred to in the above-mentioned book, has been converted to the uses of a warehouse, a glass roof having been long ago built over the same. A paved court now exists at the side for the convenience of foot-passengers, giving egress at the end of Carlisle Street, so that the “wonderful echoes” which once resounded in this “curious corner” are now no longer to be heard.
It may be interesting to note that a thoroughfare leading from No. 119 Charing Cross Road to No. 6 Greek Street, Soho, is now named Manette Street; in remembrance of the worthy Doctor, whose London residence in Carlisle Street, as indicated, was near at hand.
We may return to Oxford Street through Soho Square, conveniently terminating the ramble at Tottenham Court Road, just beyond. From this central point there is omnibus communication to all parts of London; and a commodious resting-place may be here recommended to those disposed for dinner, at The Horseshoe Restaurant; which stands in a prominent position near at hand, on the east side of the street.