Chapter VII: Book 4: ) (4)

“An ancient city, Cloisterham, and no meet dwelling-place for any one
with hankerings after the noisy world. A monotonous, silent city,
deriving an earthly flavour throughout, from its Cathedral crypt. . .
. A drowsy city, Cloisterham, whose inhabitants seem to suppose,
with an inconsistency more strange than rare, that all its changes
lie behind it, and that there are no more to come. . . . So silent
are the streets of Cloisterham (though prone to echo on the smallest
provocation), that of a summer day the sunblinds of its shops scarce
dare to flap in the south wind; while the sun-browned tramps who pass
along and stare, quicken their limp a little that they may the sooner
get beyond the confines of its oppressive respectability. This is a
feat not difficult of achievement, seeing that the streets of
Cloisterham city are little more than one narrow street by which you
get into it, and get out of it; the rest being mostly disappointing
yards with pumps in them and no thoroughfare—exception made of the
Cathedral-close, and a paved Quaker settlement. . . . In a word, a
city of another and a bygone time is Cloisterham, with its hoarse
Cathedral bell, its hoarse rooks hovering about the Cathedral tower,
its hoarser and less distinct rooks in the stalls far beneath.
Fragments of old wall, saint’s chapel, chapter-house, convent, and
monastery have got incongruously or obstructively built into many of
its houses and gardens, much as kindred jumbled notions have become
incorporated into many of its citizens’ minds. All things in it are
of the past.”

[Picture: Eastgate House, Rochester]

Entering the busier part of the town by the Eastgate thoroughfare, we may shortly observe, on the right, Eastgate House, now occupied by the CITY OF ROCHESTER WORKMEN’S CLUB. It is a fine old Elizabethan building; a well-preserved specimen of the domestic architecture of the sixteenth century. The building abuts on the street, with a large courtyard and entrance at the side; and a spacious garden is attached at the back of the house. For more than fifty years (until about twenty years since) this establishment flourished as a ladies’ boarding-school, and is referred to in the pages of “Edwin Drood” as The Nuns’ House, the seminary conducted by the eminently respectable _Miss Twinkleton_—

“In the midst of Cloisterham stands the Nuns’ House; a venerable
brick edifice, whose present appellation is doubtless derived from
the legend of its conventual uses. On the trim gate enclosing its
old courtyard, is a resplendent brass plate flashing forth the
legend, ‘Seminary for young Ladies. Miss Twinkleton.’ The
house-front is so old and worn, and the brass plate is so shining and
staring, that the general result has reminded imaginative strangers
of a battered old beau with a large modern eye-glass stuck in his
blind eye.”

On the opposite side of the High Street (Nos. 146 and 147) stands Mr. Sapsea’s House. It will be remembered that we are introduced to _Mr. Thomas Sapsea_, auctioneer and Mayor of Cloisterham, in the 4th chapter of the same book, as being “the purest jackass” in the town; adopting, in his voice and style, the professional mannerism of his superiors—

“Mr. Sapsea ‘dresses at’ the Dean; has been bowed to for the Dean, in
mistake; has even been spoken to in the street as My Lord, under the
impression that he was the Bishop come down unexpectedly, without his
chaplain. Mr. Sapsea is very proud of this, and of his voice, and of
his style. He has even (in selling landed property) tried the
experiment of slightly intoning in his pulpit, to make himself more
like what he takes to be the genuine ecclesiastical article. So, in
ending a Sale by Public Auction, Mr. Sapsea finishes off with an air
of bestowing a benediction on the assembled brokers, which leaves the
real Dean—a modest and worthy gentleman—far behind.”

Much of the humorous element of the tale is connected with this character. According to local tradition, Mr. S. is supposed to be a combination of two well-known townsmen, formerly resident in _Rochester_; a councilman who lived at the above address, and an auctioneer, once mayor of the city, over whose door the pulpit spoken of in “Edwin Drood” could have been seen—

“Over the doorway is a wooden effigy, about half life-size,
representing Mr. Sapsea’s father, in a curly wig and toga, in the act
of selling. The chastity of the idea, and the natural appearance of
the little figure, hammer, and pulpit, have been much admired.”

Both the aforesaid local prototypes have departed this life some time since, and the premises have been occupied by others (equally competent, but less pretentious) of that ilk.

[Picture: Restoration House, Rochester]

We now turn on the left into _Crow Lane_; at the further end of which, on the south side, stands Restoration House, another specimen of the Elizabethan style, in the present occupation of Stephen T. Aveling, Esq. This residence is of interest as being the _Satis House_ of “Great Expectations,” in which _Miss Havisham_ lived. We may recollect the circumstance of _Pip_ being escorted in _Mr. Pumblechook’s_ chaise-cart to this address, “to play” for the diversion of Miss Havisham. Here he first met _Estella_, who then treated him with extreme contempt, but with whom he fell desperately in love notwithstanding. Pip says, when speaking of his departure from the house:—

“I set off on the four-mile walk to our forge, pondering, as I went
along, on all I had seen, and deeply revolving that I was a common
labouring-boy: that my hands were coarse; that my boots were thick;
that I had fallen into a despicable habit of calling knaves Jacks;
that I was much more ignorant than I had considered myself last
night, and generally that I was in a low-lived bad way.”

[Joe Gargery’s Forge and wooden house were in the little village of _Cooling_, six miles north of Rochester. The greater part of the parish is marsh-land, extending to the Thames. Mr. Forster recalls, in his biography, the occasion when he and his friend stood on the spot; Dickens saying that “he meant to make it the scene of the opening of his story—Cooling Castle ruins, and the desolate church lying out among the marshes, seven miles from Gadshill.” Here it was that Pip met the convict _Magwitch_—by secret appointment—and supplied him with “wittles” and a file, thus materially influencing his own future fortunes.]

Turning to the left, we reach the _Promenade and Recreation Ground_, called “The Vines,” an open space of more than three acres, formerly the vinery of the ancient Priory. It is referred to in “Edwin Drood,” chapter 14, as the Monk’s Vineyard, in which, near a wicket-gate in a corner, Edwin met the old woman from the opium-smoking den in the East end of London, from whom he received warning of a threatened danger. This is the last occasion that we read of Edwin Drood previous to his mysterious disappearance—

“The woman’s words are in the rising wind, in the angry sky, in the
troubled water, in the flickering lights. There is some solemn echo
of them even in the Cathedral chime, which strikes a sudden surprise
to his heart as he turns in under the archway of the Gate house. And
so he goes up the postern stair.”

Passing on the right the handsome residence of the Head Master of the Grammar School, we cross the Vines, and turn on the right hand to Minor Canon Row, a terrace of seven red-brick houses at the north end of _St. Margaret Street_ and on the south side of the Cathedral Close. This locality bears the appellation, in the before-mentioned book, of Minor Canon Corner, the residence of the _Rev. Septimus Crisparkle_ and his mother, the “china shepherdess.” In chapter 6 we find the following pleasant reference to the same:—

“Minor Canon Corner was a quiet place in the shadow of the Cathedral,
which the cawing of the rooks, the echoing footsteps of rare passers,
the sound of the Cathedral bell, or the roll of the Cathedral organ,
seemed to render more quiet than absolute silence. . . . Red-brick
walls harmoniously toned down in colour by time, strong-rooted ivy,
latticed windows, panelled rooms, big oaken beams in little places,
and stone-walled gardens where annual fruit yet ripened upon monkish
trees, were the principal surroundings of pretty old Mrs. Crisparkle
and the Reverend Septimus as they sat at breakfast.”

Immediately north of this position stands the old Cathedral of Rochester, with its “well-known massive grey square tower,” in which, we may remember, the respected _Mr. John Jasper_ was engaged as Lay Precentor; with the reputation of being devoted to his art, and “having done such wonders with the choir.” In the interior, on the wall of the south-west transept, is a quaint monument to the memory of _Richard Watts_, a prominent townsman to whom further reference will be made. Underneath this is placed a brass memorial-tablet, inscribed—

“CHARLES DICKENS.—Born at Portsmouth, seventh of February 1812. Died
at Gadshill Place, by Rochester, ninth of June 1870. Buried in
Westminster Abbey. To connect his memory with the scenes in which
his earliest and his latest years were passed, and with the
associations of Rochester Cathedral and its neighbourhood, which
extended over all his life, this tablet, with the sanction of the
Dean and Chapter, is placed by his executors.”

The author’s latest suggestive sketch, in association with this ancient fane, may be here suitably recalled:—

“A brilliant morning shines on the old city. Its antiquities and
ruins are surpassingly beautiful, with the lusty ivy gleaming in the
sun, and the rich trees waving in the balmy air. Changes of glorious
light from moving boughs, songs of birds, scents from gardens, woods,
and fields—or, rather, from the one great garden of the whole
cultivated island in its yielding time—penetrate into the Cathedral,
subdue its earthy odour, and preach the Resurrection and the Life.
The cold stone tombs of centuries ago grow warm; and flecks of
brightness dart into the sternest marble corners of the building,
fluttering there like wings.”

The Crypts below contain the “buried magnates of ancient time and high degree,” with whom Durdles, the stonemason, was on terms of intimate familiarity—

“In the demolition of impedimental fragments of wall, buttress, and
pavement he has seen strange sights. . . . Thus he will say,
‘Durdles come upon the old chap, by striking right into the coffin
with his pick. The old chap gave Durdles a look with his open eyes,
as much as to say, Is your name Durdles? Why, my man, I’ve been
waiting for you a Devil of a time!’ And then he turned to powder.
With a two-foot rule always in his pocket, and a mason’s hammer all
but always in his hand, Durdles goes continually sounding, and
tapping all about and about the Cathedral; and whenever he says to
Tope, ‘Tope, here’s another old ’un in here,’ Tope announces it to
the Dean as an established discovery.”

It is believed that the prototype of this character was an old German working stonemason, who lived at Rochester many years since. He employed himself by carving various grotesque figures out of odd fragments of soft stone found in the Cathedral crypt, which he begged for the purpose; and it is recollected that he was accustomed to carry these articles of _vertu_ about the town, tied up in a coloured handkerchief; also that, whenever he succeeded in effecting a sale, he immediately celebrated the transaction by getting very tipsy. He lodged at a public-house named “The Fortune of War,” now known as “_The Lifeboat_.”