Dickens, indeed, is so bound up with the old places of London that it
may be said that he has lent a peculiar flavour and charm to all town
peregrination. He certainly must be considered to have been the best
interpreter of the City to us. He supplied the tragic and comic
grotesque meaning of the old courts, shops, alleys, “all-alones,”
“rents,” etc. “The reminiscences of his stories,” says a late visitor,
“meet us at every turn, in the ancient churches, hemmed in on all sides
by gigantic warehouses, in their melancholy deserted graveyards, with
their ragged grass, their blackened trees, and neglected gravestones. In
the odd boarding-houses and unaccountable inns that had buried
themselves up strange courts, and lurked, half hidden, in unaccountable
alleys, and presented themselves in quiet behind-the-age squares. In the
spacious halls of opulent companies, which showed but an old-fashioned
porch in a narrow quiet lane, but which presented to those who were
permitted to enter their portals a superb range of apartments teeming,
mayhap, with old furniture and valuable pictures, and doubtless giving
on a quiet garden, worth no one knows what a square foot for building
purposes, but preserved from the ravages of the builder, merely to
gladden the eyes of the plump City sparrows, and of the master, the
wardens, and the clerk of these most worshipful corporations. So too in
the curious old banking-houses, in the mouldy old counting-houses where
so much money was made; in the difficult-to-find but cosy chop-houses
where you could get a chop or a steak--and such a chop or a
steak!--hissing hot from the gridiron; in the methodical old clerks, the
astonishing octogenarian housekeepers, the corpulent beadles in their
splendid gaberdines, in the ticket porters, the bankers’ clerks chained
to their pocket-books, the porters, the dockmen, the carters, the
brokers. Down by the waterside, along Thames Street, through the narrow
lanes and passages leading thereto, you continually saw some spot, some
character or incident that recalled something in one of the stories you
knew so well.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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