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Vol.1 f.051 recto (Chapter 3 i.e. 4)
In the venerable suburb -- it was a suburb once -- of Clerkenwell, towards that part of its confines which is nearest to the Charter House, and in one of those cool, shady streets, of which a few, widely scattered and dispersed, yet remain in such old parts of the metropolis, -- each tenement quietly vegetating like an ancient citizen who long ago retired from business, and dozing on in its infirmity until in course of time it tumbles down, and is replaced by some extravagant young heir, flaunting in stucco and ornamental work, and all the vanities of modern days, -- in this quarter, and in a street of this description, the business of the present chapter lies.
At the time of which it treats, though only six-and-sixty years ago, a very large part of what is London now had no existence. Even in the brains of the wildest speculators, there had sprung up ...connecting Highgate with Whitechapel, no assemblages of palaces in the swampy levels, nor little cities in
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Vol.1 f.052 recto
Although this part of town was then, as now, parcelled out in streets, and plentifully peopled, it wore a different aspect. There were gardens to many of the houses, and trees by the pavement side; with an air of freshness breathing up and down, which in these days would be sought in vain. Fields were nigh at hand, through which the New River took its winding course, and where there was merry haymaking in the summer time. Nature was not so far removed, or hard to get at, as in these days; and although there were busy trades in Clerkenwell, and working jewellers by scores, it was a purer place, with farm-houses nearer to it than many modern Londoners would readily believe, and lovers' walks at no great distance, which turned into squalid courts, long before the lovers of this age were born or, as the phrase goes, thought of. In one of these streets, the cleanest of them all, and on the shady side of the way -- for good housewives know that sunlight damages their cherished furniture, and so Choose the shade rather than its intrusive glare -- there stood the house with which we have to deal. It was a modest building, not very straight, not large, not tall; not bold-faced, with great staring windows, but a shy, blinking house, with a conical roof going up into a peak over its garret window of four small panes of glass, like a cocked hat on the head of an elderly gentleman with one eye. It was not built of brick or lofty stone, but of wood and plaster; it was not planned with a dull and wearisome regard to regularity, for no one window matched the other, or seemed to have the slightest reference to anything besides itself. The shop -- for it had a shop -- was, with reference to the
Vol.1 f.053 recto
3 53 first floor, where shops usually are;, and there all resemblance between it and any other shop, stopped short and ceased. ??? ?? did??? People who went in and out, didn't go up a flight of steps to it, or walk in easily up in upon a level with the street, ??? but dived down three steep stairs, as into a cellar. Its floor was Paved with stone and brick, as that of any other cellar ...
With all these oddities, there was not a neater, more scrupulously tidy, or more punctiliously ordered house, in Clerkenwell, in London, in all England. There were not cleaner windows, or whiter floors, or brighter stoves, or more highly shining auricles of furniture in old mahogany; there was not more rubbing, scrubbing, burnishing and polishing, in the whole street put together. Nor was this excellence attained without some cost and trouble and great expenditure of voice, as the neighbours were frequently reminded when the good lady of the house overlooked and assisted in its being put to rights on cleaning days -- which were usually from Monday morning till Saturday night, both days inclusive. Leaning against the door-post of this, his dwelling, the lock-smith stood early on the morning after he had met with the wounded man, gazing disconsolately at a great wooden emblem of a key, painted in vivid yellow to resemble gold, which dangled from the house-front, and swung to and fro with a mournful creaking noise, as if complaining that it had nothing to unlock
Vol.1 f.053 verso
* Its floor was paved with stone and brick, as that of any other cellar might be, and in lieu of window framed and glazed, it had a great black shutter wooden shutter flap or shutter, nearly breast high from the ground, which turned back in the day time, and let in admitting as much cold air as light [a] and very often more.