Rochester, by Edward Dayes, painted in 1799.
‘Rochester’, by English artist Edward Dayes (1763-1804), painted in 1799. Judging by Dicken’s description, not much had changed by the time Samuel Pickwick visited the city in 1827. We can see the old bridge, the castle and the countryside around, as well as some of the river boats. The bridge on which Pickwick stood entered service in 1391 and remained there, with improvements, until 1856, when it was demolished. A new road bridge was built, a short way downstream, but was felt to be unsatisfactory for the heavy river traffic and the current bridge replaced it in 1914.
Part 1 of 2
BRIGHT and pleasant was the sky, balmy the air, and beautiful the appearance of every object around, as Mr Pickwick leant over the balustrades of Rochester Bridge, contemplating nature, and waiting for breakfast. The scene was indeed one which might well have charmed a far less reflective mind, than that to which it was presented.
On the left of the spectator lay the ruined wall, broken in many places, and in some, overhanging the narrow beach below in rude and heavy masses. Huge knots of sea-weed hung upon the jagged and pointed stones, trembling in every breath of wind; and the green ivy clung mournfully around the dark and ruined battlements. Behind it rose the ancient castle, its towers roofless, and its massive walls crumbling away, but telling us proudly of its own might and strength, as when, seven hundred years ago, it rang with a clash of arms, or resounded with the noise of feasting and revelry.
Précis
One sunny morning before breakfast, Samuel Pickwick leant over the balustrade of Rochester Bridge, gazing out across the busy River Medway. His eye followed the course of the water-stained defences along the riverbank, green with weed, up to the ruinous masonry of the mediaeval castle rising behind them. (48 / 60 words)
Part Two
On either side, the banks of the Medway, covered with cornfields and pastures, with here and there a windmill, or a distant church, stretched away as far as the eye could see, presenting a rich and varied landscape, rendered more beautiful by the changing shadows which passed swiftly across it, as the thin and half-formed clouds skimmed away in the light of the morning sun. The river, reflecting the clear blue of the sky, glistened and sparkled as it flowed noiselessly on; and the oars of the fishermen dipped into the water with a clear and liquid sound, as the heavy but picturesque boats glided slowly down the stream.
Mr Pickwick was roused from the agreeable reverie into which he had been led by the objects before him, by a deep sigh, and a touch on his shoulder.
Précis
From the castle, Mr Pickwick’s gaze strayed to the countryside on either side of the river, dotted with farms and windmills. Then his attention returned to the river, where watermen were already hard at work, their oars plashing in the smooth waters of the Medway, until he was jerked from his thoughts by a tap upon his shoulder. (58 / 60 words)
