Books: The Inns and Taverns of Pickwick
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B.W. Matz >> The Inns and Taverns of Pickwick
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"'Close by, sir,' said the waiter, 'not above five hundred yards,
sir. Mr. Winkle is a wharfinger, sir, at the canal, sir. Private
residence is not--oh dear no, sir, not five hundred yards, sir.'
Here the waiter blew a candle out and made a feint of lighting it
again, in order to afford Mr. Pickwick an opportunity of asking any
further questions, if he felt so disposed.
"'Take anything now, sir?' said the waiter, lighting the candle
in desperation at Mr. Pickwick's silence. 'Tea or coffee, sir?
Dinner, sir?'
"'Nothing now.'
"'Very good, sir. Like to order supper, sir?'
"'Not just now.'
"' Very good, sir.' Here he walked softly to the door, and then
stopping short, turned round and said with great suavity:
"'Shall I send the chambermaid, gentlemen?'
"'You may if you please,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
"'If you please, sir.'
"'Bring some soda water,' said Bob Sawyer.
"'Soda water, sir? Yes, sir.' And with his mind apparently
relieved from an overwhelming weight by having at last got an order
for something, the waiter imperceptibly melted away. Waiters never
walk or run. They have a peculiar and mysterious power of skimming
out of rooms, which other mortals possess not."
Eventually Mr. Pickwick and his friends arrived safely at the house
of Mr. Winkle, and, having concluded the interview, all three
returned to the hotel and went "silent and supperless to bed."
The next day was a dreary and wet one, and, in contemplating the
aspect from his bedroom window, Mr. Pickwick was attracted by a
game cock in the stable yard, who, "deprived of every spark of
his accustomed animation, balanced himself dismally on one leg
in a corner." Then Mr. Pickwick discovered "a donkey, moping with
drooping head under the narrow roof of an outhouse, who appeared
from his meditative and miserable countenance to be contemplating
suicide." In the breakfast-room there was very little conversation;
even Mr. Bob Sawyer "felt the influence of the weather and the
previous day's excitement, and in his own expressive language, he
was 'floored.' So was Mr. Ben Allen. So was Mr. Pickwick."
[illustration: The Old Royal Hotel, Birmingham. Drawn by L. Walker]
The Pickwickians' visit, therefore, to the Royal Hotel was not a very
bright and lively one, but they endeavoured to make the best of it.
"In protracted expectation of the weather clearing up, the last
evening paper from London was read and re-read with an intensity of
interest only known in cases of extreme destitution; every inch of
the carpet was walked over with similar perseverance, the windows
were looked out of often enough to justify the imposition of an
additional duty upon them, all kinds of topics of conversation were
started, and failed; and at length Mr. Pickwick, when noon had
arrived without a change for the better, rang the bell resolutely
and ordered out the chaise."
And so they started on their journey back in spite of the miserable
'outlook, feeling it was "infinitely superior to being pent in a
dull room, looking at dull rain dripping into a dull street."
But Mr. Pickwick's lack of enthusiasm over the hotel was not due to
the hotel itself, but more on account of the weather. As a fact, it
was a very important hotel in those days. Attached to it were large
assembly and concert rooms, erected in 1772 by Tontine. It was
known as THE Hotel, the distinctive appellation of "Royal" being
prefixed in consequence of a visit of a member of the royal family
who took up his residence there for a time.
This is the only occasion the hotel has mention in the works of
Dickens, and although Mr. Pickwick and his friends had no reason for
being pleased with their visit to Birmingham's old inn, the reverse
can be said of Dickens himself, for on more than one occasion he had
pleasant associations of his stay there. The hotel has been
rebuilt, but the picture shows it as it was in Mr. Pickwick's day.
Dickens visited Birmingham some dozen times from 1840 to 1870, and on
most of the early occasions it is believed he stayed at the Old Royal
Hotel. On January 6, 1853, Dickens was presented with a silver "Iliad"
salver and a diamond ring by the people of Birmingham in grateful
acknowledgment of his "varied and well-applied talents." After the
presentation the company adjourned to the Old Royal Hotel (then Dee's
Hotel), where a banquet took place with the Mayor, Henry Hawkes, in
the chair, and Peter Hollins, the sculptor, in the vice-chair.
The company numbered 218, and the event is notable as the occasion
on which Dickens made a promise to give, in aid of the Birmingham
and Midland Institute, his first public reading from his books.
"It would take about two hours," he said, "with a pause of ten
minutes about half-way through. There would be some novelty in the
thing, as I have never done it in public, though I have in private,
and (if I may say so) with great effect on the hearers."
That was a notable event in Dickens's life, for it is well known
what followed from that initial public recital; and the place where
the step was taken naturally becomes a landmark in his life; and so
the Old Royal Hotel, Birmingham, if for no other reason, claims to
be remembered as a notable and important one in Dickens annals.
CHAPTER XVI
COVENTRY, DUNCHUBCH, AND DAVENTRY INNS,
AND THE "SARACEN'S HEAD," TOWCESTER
Continuing their journey, the Pickwickians duly reached Coventry.
The inn, however, where the post-chaise stopped to change horses is
not mentioned by name, but may have been the Castle Hotel there; at
any rate, the "Castle" has a Dickensian interest, for it was here
that a public dinner was given to Dickens in December, 1858, when he
was presented with a gold repeater watch of special construction as
a mark of gratitude for his reading of the Christmas Carol, given a
year previously in aid of the funds of the Coventry Institute. The
hotel was, at the time the Pickwickians arrived there, a posting
inn of repute. From Coventry Sam Weller beguiled the time with
anecdotes until they reached Dunchurch, "where a dry postboy and
fresh horses were procured"; the next stage was Daventry, and in
neither case is the name of an inn mentioned or hinted at.
At the end of each stage it rained harder than ever, with the result
that when they pulled up at the "Saracen's Head," Towcester, they
were in a disconsolate state. Bob Sawyer's apparel, we are told,
"shone so with the wet that it might have been mistaken for a full
suit of prepared oilskin." In these circumstances, and on the
recommendation of the wise Sam, the party decided to stop the night.
"There's beds here, sir," Sam assured his master as a further
inducement; "everything clean and comfortable. Very good little
dinner, sir, they can get ready in half an hour-pair of fowls, sir,
and a weal cutlet; French beans, 'taters, tart and tidiness. You'd
better stop vere you are, sir, if I might recommend." At this very
moment the host appeared, and, having confirmed Sam's statement,
Mr. Pickwick decided to take the "advice" of his trusted servant,
which caused the landlord to smile with delight.
[illustration: The Pomfret Anns (formerly the "Saracen's
Head"), Towcester. Drawn by C.G. Harp]
The pilgrim to Towcester to-day, searching for the sign of the
"Saracen's Head," would find himself on a fruitless errand, for it
was changed scores of years back to the Pomfret Arms. Indeed, it
was so called at the time The Pickwick Papers were first published,
having been altered in 1881 at the bidding of the new lord of the
manor when he succeeded to the titles and estates.
But doubtless Dickens knew it in his newspaper reporting days, and
described it from memory. In any case, he is historically correct
in retaining the old name, for the period of his book is 1827-28.
Beyond the change of name the hotel to-day is practically the same
as it was in those early days, the only material alteration being
the conversion of the kitchen into a bar-parlour and smoking-room,
where the open chimney and corner seats have given place to more
modern and ornate substitutes.
Situated in the main street this old posting house is a prominent
feature. The exterior is typical of the period. It is a low,
long-looking building with many windows, two stories high (unless
the dormer windows in the old red-tiled roof be counted another),
and is built of a light brownish sandstone brick, peculiar to the
neighbourhood. There is a picturesque bow window on the ground
floor to the left of the solid oak gateway leading into the coach
yard, and over this hangs the swinging sign-board flanked on each
side by two curious carved figures set in alcoves let into the wall;
the whole general setting is a pleasant survival of the old-time
days of the coaching era.
There always is an agreeable and comforting relief to the traveller
when he at last arrives at the inn at his journey's end, and that
feeling will not be dispelled to-day when the old "Saracen's Head" is
reached. But to the Pickwickians, on the occasion of their visit,
wet to the skin, tired, and sorely out at elbow with the raging
element they had just driven through, the "Saracen's Head" must have
been a haven of delight indeed; and those few words of instructions
from the landlord to make the room ready for them must have been
cheerful to their ears, and the result, as described in the
following paragraph, a joy to their hearts:
"The candles were brought, the fire was stirred up, and a fresh log
of wood thrown on. In ten minutes' time a waiter was laying the
cloth for dinner, the curtains were drawn, the fire was blazing
brightly, and everything looked (as everything always does in all
decent English inns) as if the travellers had been expected and
their comforts prepared for days beforehand."
So in this cosy room they gathered, after they had sufficiently
dried themselves, and eagerly waited for dinner to be served.
To them suddenly reappeared Sam Weller, accompanied by no less
a person than the notorious Mr. Pott of the Eatanswill Gazette--who,
that worthy had discovered, was also staying in the hotel. He was
on his way to the great Buff Ball, to be held at Birmingham the next
evening. Needless to say, he was heartily welcomed and an agreement
was made to club their dinners. Mr. Pott soon began to entertain
the company with gossip about his mission and firebrand intentions,
taking the opportunity of letting off some of his best abusive
expletives at the expense of his rival paper, the Eatanswill
Independent, and its editor.
Incidentally he extolled the genius of one of his staff, and
revealed the great secret of how he "crammed" for an article
on "Chinese Metaphysics" by turning up the two words in the
encyclopaedia and combining his information. He was in the midst of
enlivening the proceedings with extracts from his own lucubrations,
when his great rival, whom he was abusing, drove up, unknown to him,
and booked abed for himself at the same hotel. Mr. Slurk was also
making for the great Buff Ball at Birmingham, and, having ordered
some refreshment, retired to the kitchen (a custom in those days)
to smoke and read in peace.
"Now some demon of discord," writes Dickens, "flying over the
'Saracen's Head' at the moment," prompted Bob Sawyer to suggest to
his friends that "it wouldn't be a bad notion to have a cigar by the
kitchen fire." They all agreed that it was a good idea, and forth
they went--only to find, to their surprise, Mr. Slurk there before
them deep in the study of some newspaper. The rival editors both
started at each other, and gradually showed symptoms of their
ancient rivalry bubbling up, which, by slow but certain process,
developed until it eventually precipitated them into a free fight
with carpet bag and fire shovel as respective weapons.
The details of this fracas are too well known to need repetition
here. Suffice to say that, when the fray was at its height, Mr.
Pickwick felt it his duty to intervene, and called upon Sam Weller
to part the combatants. This he dexterously did by pulling a meal
sack over the head and shoulders of Mr. Pott and thus effectually
stopping the conflict. The scene, it will be remembered, was
depicted with much spirit by Phiz, the artist who illustrated
the book. The rivals parted, peace once more reigned, and the
company repaired to their respective beds. In the morning both
Mr. Pott and Mr. Slurk were careful to continue their journey in
separate coaches before the Pickwickians were stirring, whilst the
spectators of the exciting scene went forward to London in their
post-chaise a little later.
This incident is one of those that are best remembered in the book,
and has made the "Saracen's Head," Towcester, a notable Pickwickian
landmark. The old posting inn remains to-day as it was when the
book was written, and if the kitchen--as such--is not on view any
longer, the same room turned to other uses is there for the faithful
disciple to meditate in and visualize the scene for himself; and
no doubt he will find that the inn is as famous now for its "French
beans, 'taters, tarts and tidiness" as it used to be.
We would, however, suggest to the present owner that the words
"formerly the 'Saracen's Head' "should be added to those of the
Pomfret Arms Hotel on the sign now hanging so gracefully over the
pavement as a guide to the Dickens pilgrim seeking the Pickwickian
landmark of the town.
CHAPTER XVII
"OSBORNE'S," ADELPHI, AND TONY WELLER'S
PUBLIC-HOUSE ON SHOOTER'S HILL
There is a singular and conspicuous interest attaching to Osborne's
Hotel in the Adelphi, for the almost pathetic reason that it was in
one of its rooms that Mr. Pickwick first made the momentous
announcement of his intention of abandoning his nomadic life of
travel and adventure and settling down in "some quiet, pretty
neighbourhood in the vicinity of London, "where he had taken a house
which exactly suited his fancy. And so it may be said that within
its four walls the Pickwick Club brought its activities to an end,
for on Mr. Pickwick's decision to retire from its ramifications,
coupled with the fact that during his absence in the Fleet Prison
it had suffered much from internal dissensions, its dissolution was
imperative, and to use his own words with which he announced the
fact to his friends on the occasion in question, "The Pickwick Club
no longer exists."
That was an historic pronouncement, and the room in which it was
made naturally becomes a veritable landmark for Pickwickians; and a
fitting mark of this distinction might well be made, by the fixing
of a tablet on the walls of the historic building, which still
stands practically as it was in those adventurous days. The event
which first brought Mr. Pickwick and his friends to the hotel was
a domestic one; but the occasion did not pass without an awkward
adventure such as always dogged the footsteps of the Pickwickians.
Mr. Pickwick had just been released from the Fleet Prison and was
at Mr. Perker's office settling little details in connexion with
Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, when his old friend Wardle turned up
quite unexpectedly to seek the advice of the little lawyer on the
situation which had arisen by his daughter Emily's infatuation for
Mr. Snodgrass. He had brought his daughter up from Dingley Dell
and informed Mr. Pickwick that "she was at Osborne's Hotel in the
Adelphi at this moment, unless your enterprising friend has run away
with her since I came out this morning."
Mr. Perker made advice unnecessary, for he proved to both of them
that they were quite delighted at the prospect. Mr. Wardle
forthwith invited them to dine with him, and he sent the fat boy
to "Osborne's" with the information that he and Mr. Pickwick would
return together at five o'clock. Arriving at the hotel the fat boy
went upstairs to execute his commission.
"He walked into the sitting-room without previously knocking at the
door, and so beheld a gentleman with his arm clasping his young
mistress's waist, sitting very lovingly by her side on a sofa, while
Arabella and her pretty handmaid feigned to be absorbed in looking
out of a window at the other end of the room. At sight of which
phenomenon the fat boy uttered an interjection, the ladies a scream,
and the gentleman an oath, almost simultaneously.
"Wretched creature, what do you want here?" said the gentleman, who
it is needless to say was Mr. Snodgrass.
To this the fat boy, considerably terrified, briefly
responded, "Missis."
"What do you want me for?" enquired Emily, turning her head
aside, "you stupid creature."
"Master and Mr. Pickwick is a-going to dine here at five,"
replied the fat boy.
After being bribed by Snodgrass, Emily and Arabella, he was invited
by Mary to dine with her downstairs, where he regaled himself on
meat pie, steak, a dish of potatoes and a pot of porter. Here he
attempted to make love to Mary, and, having failed, "ate a pound or
so of steak with a sentimental countenance and fell fast asleep."
"There was so much to say upstairs, and there were so many plans
to concert for elopement and matrimony in the event of old Wardle
continuing to be cruel, that it wanted only half an hour to dinner
when Mr. Snodgrass took his final adieu. The ladies ran to Emily's
bedroom to dress, and the lover, taking up his hat, walked out of
the room. He had scarcely got outside the door when he heard
Wardle's voice talking loudly; and, looking over the banisters,
beheld him, followed by some other gentlemen, coming straight
upstairs. Knowing nothing of the house, Mr. Snodgrass in his
confusion stepped hastily back into the room he had just quitted,
and, passing from thence into an inner apartment (Mr. Wardle's
bedchamber), closed the door softly, just as the persons he had
caught sight of entered the sitting-room. These were Mr. Wardle
and Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Nathaniel Winkle and Mr. Benjamin Allen,
whom he had no difficulty in recognising by their voices."
In this dilemma Mr. Snodgrass remained, for the door was locked
and the key gone, and in desperation he sat himself down upon a
portmanteau and trembled violently. In the meantime Mr. Pickwick,
Mr. Wardle and the rest of the company settled down to dinner, at
which the fat boy made himself conspicuous "by smirking, grinning
and winking with redoubled assiduity." His state of mind grew
worse, when, having at Mr. Wardle's instructions, gone into the
next room to fetch his snuff-box from the dressing-table, he
returned with the palest face "that ever a fat boy wore." In
his effort to acquaint Mr. Pickwick with what he encountered in
the room, his manner became worse and worse, and on the instant
that Mr. Wardle was about to ring for the waiters to remove him
to a place of safety, Mr. Snodgrass, "the captive lover, his face
burning with confusion, suddenly walked in from the bedroom, and
made a comprehensive bow to the company."
"Mr. Snodgrass, who had only waited for a hearing, at once recounted
how he had been placed in his then distressing predicament; how the
fear of giving rise to domestic dissensions had alone prompted him
to avoid Mr. Wardle on his entrance; and how he merely meant to
depart by another door, but, finding it locked, had been compelled
to stay against his will. It was a painful situation to be placed
in; but he now regretted it the less, inasmuch as it afforded him an
opportunity of acknowledging before their mutual friends that he
loved Mr. Wardle's daughter deeply and sincerely, that he was proud
to avow that the feeling was mutual, and that if thousands of miles
were placed between them, or oceans rolled their waters, he could
never for an instant forget those happy days when first--et cetera,
et cetera.
"Having delivered himself to this effect Mr. Snodgrass bowed again,
looked into the crown of his hat, and stepped towards the door."
But he was stopped on the threshold, and Arabella, having taken up
the defence, called on Mr. Wardle to "shake hands with him and order
him some dinner. "A reconciliation took place and Mr. Snodgrass had
dinner at a side-table, and when he had finished drew his chair next
to Emily, without the smallest opposition on the old gentleman's
part. The remainder of the evening passed off very happily "and all
was smiles and shirt collars."
During the next few days much perturbation was evinced by the
Pickwickians at their leader's continual absence from the society
of his admiring friends, and it being unanimously resolved that
he should be called upon to explain himself, Mr. Wardle invited
the "full circle" to dinner again at Osborne's Hotel to give him
the opportunity. After the decanters "had been twice sent round"
Mr. Wardle called upon Mr. Pickwick for his explanation. This was
forthcoming in a pathetic speech, very affecting to all present,
announcing his unalterable decision of retiring for the rest of his
life into the quiet village of Dulwich. "If I have done but little
good," he said, by way of peroration, "I trust I have done less
harm, and that none of my adventures will be other than a source
of amusing and pleasant recollection to me in the decline of life.
God bless you all."
With these words Mr. Pickwick filled and drained a bumper with a
trembling hand; and his eyes moistened as his friends rose with one
accord and pledged him from their hearts. So runs the chronicle,
and so ended the immortal Pickwick Club, in the precincts of
Osborne's Hotel in the Adelphi, which also became the headquarters
of the relatives of Mr. Wardle during their stay in London for the
wedding of his daughter. From here the wedding party set out for
Mr. Pickwick's new abode at Dulwich, from which house the ceremony
took place, and where the wedding was celebrated by a happy
breakfast party afterwards.
[illustration: Osborne's Adelphi Hotel. From a photograph
by T.W.Tyrrell]
To have the distinction of being the venue for such notable events
is something that any self-respecting hotel should be proud of, and
we are sure that Osborne's Hotel will be remembered so long as it
stands for those reasons alone. But it has other reasons for fame,
even if they are more likely to be forgotten, or lightly passed over
by those who keep the records of London's notable landmarks. It
stands to-day in a neighbourhood distinguished for its history, and
has claims to a share in the making of that history.
It is situated, as it has always been, at the corner of John and
Adam Streets, and was first opened in 1777 as the Adelphi New Tavern
and Coffee House. Dickens no doubt knew it well, for the Adelphi
and its neighbourhood attracted him greatly, and its curious old
buildings, side streets and rambling arches often figure in his
books. When a mere boy at work in the blacking factory, down by
the river there, he continually wandered about its quaint byways.
"Osborne's" was a notable house in those days, and if its full
records were available, no doubt many an entertaining story
concerning its activities could be told. As it is, it is known
that "being completely fitted up in the most elegant and convenient
manner for the entertainment of noblemen and gentlemen," as it
boasted in its early days, many notable figures in past history
made it their headquarters.
On the 8th August, 1787, Gibbon stayed there on his arrival from
Lausanne with the completion of his "History," and wrote to Lord
Sheffield to apprise him of the fact. In 1802 Isaac D'Israeli, the
author of Curiosities of Literature and father of the famous Earl of
Beaconsfield, stayed in the hotel after his honeymoon. It is also
on record that George Crabbe, the poet, with his wife resided for a
time there, and that Rowlandson, the caricaturist, died in one of
its rooms in 1827.
Perhaps the most notorious of visitors to it were the King and Queen
of the Sandwich Islands in 1824. Unfortunately, both were victims
to the smallpox epidemic which raged at the time, and died in the
hotel, the latter on the 8th July of that year and the former on the
14th September. The visit of the "illustrious" king, we are told,
gave rise to the popular song, "The King of the Cannibal Islands."
During the war it was acquired as a house of utility for the military.
Before it was acquired for that purpose it was the favoured resort of
business men of the neighbourhood and of certain literary and artistic
coteries, and was the headquarters of the famous O.P. Club. However,
it has returned now to its old-time ways and methods, and we hope it
will long remain a landmark for the Dickens lover and particularly the
Pickwickian devotee.
The last tavern mentioned in The Pickwick Papers is the "excellent
public-house near Shooter's Hill, "to which Mr. Weller, senior,
retired. Unfortunately it was never named, nor has it been
identified. Continuing to drive a coach for twelve months after
the Pickwick Club had ceased to exist, he became afflicted with
gout and was compelled to give up his lifelong calling. The
contents of his pocket-book had been so well invested by Mr.
Pickwick, we are told, that he had a handsome independence for
the purpose of his last days. At Shooter's Hill he was quite
reverenced as an oracle, boasting very much of his intimacy with
Mr. Pickwick, and retaining a most unconquerable aversion to widows.
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