Part 13

In striking contrast to the sturdy ruggedness of hoary Haddon is princely Chatsworth. The comparison may be likened to that between a mediæval knight and a gorgeous cavalier. The art treasures and sumptuous magnificence of Chatsworth, the elaborate and graceful carvings (which by the way are not nearly all by the hand of Gibbons, but by a local man named Samuel Watson), and the beauty of the gardens, make it rightly named the "Palace of the Peak." But it is its association with the luckless Mary Queen of Scots which adds romantic interest to the mansion,--not that the existing classical structure can claim that honour, for nothing now remains of the older building, a battlemented Tudor structure with an entrance like the gatehouse of Kenilworth Castle, and a "gazebo" on either side of the western front. It is odd, however, that Lord Burleigh should have selected it as "a mete house for good preservation" of a prisoner "having no toure of resort wher any ambushes might lye," for there were no less than eight towers, but presumably not the kind the Lord High Treasurer meant. During her twelve years' captivity in Sheffield (where, by the way, "Queen Mary's Chamber," with its curious heraldic ceiling, may still be seen in the manor-house), she was frequently at Chatsworth and Wingfield Manor under the guardianship of George Talbot, sixth Earl of Shrewsbury, the fourth husband of that remarkable woman, Bess of Hardwick, who was not a little jealous of her husband's fascinating captive, and circulated various scandalous stories, about which the Earl thought fit to justify himself in his own epitaph in St Peter's church, Sheffield. When the important prisoner was under his custody in that town, she was not permitted to go beyond the courtyard, and usually took her exercise upon the leads. But at Chatsworth her surveillance was less strict, although truly John Beaton, the master of her household (who predeceased his mistress, and was buried at Edensor close by, where a brass to his memory remains), had strict instructions regarding her. Her attendants, thirty-nine in all, were none of them allowed to go beyond the precincts of the grounds without special permission, nor was anybody allowed to wait upon the queen between nine o'clock at night and six in the morning. None were sanctioned to carry arms; and when the fair prisoner wished to take the air, Lord Shrewsbury had to be informed an hour beforehand, that he and his staff might be upon the alert. One can picture Mary and her maids of honour engaged in needlework upon the picturesque moated and balustraded stone "Bower" near the river, with guards around ever on the watch. This and the old Hunting-tower high up among the trees, a massive structure with round Elizabethan towers, are the only remains to take us back to the days of the Scots queen's captivity.

To see Chatsworth to perfection it should be visited when the wooded heights in the background are rich in their autumnal colouring. The approach from Beeley village through the park and along the bank of the Derwent at this season of the year, and the view from the house and avenues of the river and park, are particularly beautiful. The elaborate waterworks recall the days of the grand monarque, and an _al fresco_ shower-bath may be enjoyed beneath a copper willow tree, the kind of practical joke that was popular in the old Spring Gardens in London in Charles II.'s time. In addition to the splendid paintings, are numerous sketches by Raphael, Michael Angelo, Titian, etc., which came from the famous forty days' sale of 1682, when the works collected by Sir Peter Lely were dispersed.

Of the stately mansions erected by Bess of Hardwick, the building Countess of Shrewsbury,--Chatsworth, Oldcotes, Hardwick, Bolsover, and Worksop,--Hardwick is the most untouched and perfect. The last remaining bit of the older Chatsworth House was removed just a century after Bess's death, so the present building must not be associated with her name, nor indeed can any rooms at Hardwick have been occupied by Mary Queen of Scots, as is sometimes stated, for the house was not begun until after her death. If the queen was ever at Hardwick, it was in the older mansion, of which very considerable ruins remain. The error, of course, arises from one of the rooms at Hardwick being named "Mary Queen of Scots' room," which contains the bed and furniture from the room she occupied at Chatsworth; and the velvet hangings of the bed bearing her monogram, and the rich coverlet, are indeed in her own needlework.

Bess of Hardwick in many respects was like her namesake the strong-minded queen; and when her fourth better-half had gained his experience and sought sympathy from the Bishop of Lichfield, he received the following consoling reply: "Some will say in yor L. behalfe tho' the Countesse is a sharpe and bitter shrewe, and, therefore, licke enough to shorten yr life, if shee shulde kepe you company. Indede, my good Lo. I have heard some say so; but if shrewdnesse or sharpnesse may be a just cause of sep[ar]acon betweene a man and wiefe, I thinke fewe men in Englande woulde keepe their wiefes longe; for it is a common jeste, yet treue in some sense, that there is but one shrewe in all the worlde, and evy man bathe her; and so evy man might be rydd of his wife, that wolde be rydd of a shrewe." But with all her faults the existence of Hardwick and Bolsover alone will cover a multitude of sins. A fortune-teller predicted that so long as she kept building she would never die; and had not the severity of the winter of 1607 thrown her masons out of employment, her ladyship might have survived to show us what she could do with the vacant space at Aldwych.

There is something peculiarly majestic and stately about Hardwick Hall. It is one mass of lofty windows. It is rarely occupied as a dwelling, and one would like to see it lighted up like Chatsworth at Christmas time. But with the setting sun shining on the windows it looks a blaze of light--a huge beacon in the distance. With the exception of the ornamental stone parapet of the roofs, in which Bess' initials "E.S." stand out conspicuously, the mansion is all horizontal and perpendicular lines; but the regularity is relieved by the broken outline of the garden walls, with their picturesque array of tall halberd-like pinnacles.

Like Knole and Ham House, the interior is untouched, and every room is in the same condition since the time of its erection. Some of the wonderful old furniture came from the older Chatsworth House, including, as before stated, the bedroom furniture of Mary Queen of Scots. Nowhere in England may be seen finer tapestries than at Hardwick; they give a wealth of colour to the interior, and in the Presence-chamber the parget-work in high relief is also richly coloured. Here is Queen Elizabeth's State chair overhung by a canopy, and the Royal arms and supporters are depicted on the pargeting. The tapestries lining the walls of the grand stone staircase are superb, and the silk needlework tapestry in some of the smaller rooms a feast of colour. Everywhere are the grandest old cushioned chairs and settees, and inlaid cabinets and tables. The picture-gallery extends the entire length of the house, and abounds in historical portraits, including Bess of Hardwick dressed in black, perhaps for one of her many husbands, with a black head-dress, large ruff, and chain of pearls. Here also is a full-length portrait of her rival, the luckless queen, very sad and very pale, painted, during her nineteen years of captivity, at Sheffield in 1678, and a portrait of her little son James at the age of eight,--a picture sent to comfort the poor mother in her seclusion. The future king's cold indifference to his mother's fate was not the least unpleasant trait of his selfish character. In a discourse between Sir John Harrington and the monarch, the latter did his best to avoid any reference to the poor queen's fate; but he might have saved himself the trouble, for he was more affected by the superstitious omens preceding her execution. His Highness, he says, "told me her death was visible in Scotland before it did really happen, being, as he said, spoken of in secret by those whose power of sight presented to them a bloody head dancing in the air." From James we may turn to little Lady Arabella Stuart in a white gown, nursing a doll in still more antiquated costume, in blissful ignorance of her unhappy future. She was the granddaughter of Bess of Hardwick, and was born at Chatsworth close upon the time when the Queen of Scots was there. Looking at these two portraits of this baby and the boy, it is difficult to imagine that the latter should have sent his younger cousin to linger away her life and lose her reason in the Tower from the fact that she had the misfortune to be born a Stuart.

Horace Walpole in speaking of this room says: "Here and in all the great mansions of that age is a gallery remarkable only for its extent." But it is remarkable for its two huge fireplaces of black marble and alabaster, for its fine moulded plaster ceiling, for its fifteenth-century tapestry, and quaint Elizabethan easy-chairs. The great hall is a typical one of the period, with open screen and balustraded gallery, a flat ceiling, big open fireplace, and walls embellished with antlers and ancient pieces of armour. When the mansion was completed in 1597 the older one was discarded and the furniture removed, and the walls were gradually allowed to fall into ruin. It is now but a shell; but one may get a good idea of the style of building and extent, as well as of the internal decorations. It appears to be of Tudor date, almost Elizabethan in character, and over the wide fireplaces are colossal figures in bold relief, emblematic, perhaps, of the giant energy of Bess of Hardwick, who spent the greater part of her lifetime in those old rooms. Tradition says she died immensely rich, but without a friend. She survived her fourth husband seventeen years and was interred in the church of All-Saints', Derby, where the mural monument of her recumbent effigy had been erected under her own superintendence.

To the south-west of Hardwick, and midway between Derby and Sheffield, are the ruinous remains of another old residence of Lord Shrewsbury's, associated with the captivity of Mary Queen of Scots. This is South Wingfield manor-house, whither she was removed from Tutbury Castle prior to her first sojourn at Chatsworth, and whence she was removed back to Tutbury in 1585. By this time Shrewsbury had freed himself of the responsible custodianship: a thankless and trying office, for Elizabeth was ever suspicious that he erred on the side of leniency. A letter addressed from Wingfield Manor, from Sir Ralph Sadleir to John Manners, among the Belvoir manuscripts, and dated January 6, 1584-85, runs as follows: "The queenes majestie hath given me in chardge to remove the Queene of Scots from hence to Tutbury, and to the end she should be the better accompanyed and attended from thither, her highness hath commanded me to gyve warning to some of the gentlemen of best reputation in this contry to prepare themselfs to attend upon her at the time of her removing. I have thought good to signify the same unto you emonge others, and to require you on her Majesties behalf to take so much paine as to be heere at Wingfield upon wednesday the xiiith of this moneth at a convenient tyme before noone to attend upon the said queene the same day to Derby and the next day after to Tutbury." Of the State apartments occupied by her there are no remains beyond an external wall, but the battlemented tower with which they communicated, and from which the royal prisoner is said to have been in secret touch with her friends, is still tolerably perfect.

In the Civil War the brave old manor-house stood out stoutly for the Royalists, but at length was taken by Lord Grey. The governor, Colonel Dalby, was on the point of making his escape from the stables in disguise when he was recognised and shot. The stronghold shortly afterwards was dismantled, but in Charles II.'s reign was patched up again and made a residence, and so it continued until little more than a century ago. The village of Ashover, midway between Wingfield and Chesterfield, is charmingly situated on the river Amber amidst most picturesque scenery. Here in 1660, says the parish register, a certain Dorothy Mady "forswore herself, whereupon the ground opened and she sank overhead!" There are some old tombs to the Babingtons, of which family was Anthony of Dethick-cum-Lea, nearer Matlock, where are slight remains of the old family seat incorporated in a farmhouse. As is well known, it was the seizure of the Queen of Scots' correspondence with this young desperado, who with Tichborne, Salisbury, and other associates was plotting Elizabeth's assassination, that hastened her tragic end at Fotheringay.

Bolsover Castle, which lies directly north of Hardwick, has a style of architecture peculiar to itself. It is massive, and grim, and prison-like, with a strange array of battlements and pinnacles; and Bess of Hardwick showed her genius in making it as different as possible from her other residences. And the interior is as fantastic and original as the exterior. Altogether there is something suggestive of the fairy-tale castle; and the main entrance, guarded by a giant overhead and bears on either side, has something ogre-like about it. The rooms are vaulted and supported by pillars, some of them in imitation of the earlier castle of the eleventh and twelfth centuries. They are a peculiar mixture of early-English and Renaissance, but the effect is very pleasing and picturesque. The main arches of the ceiling of the "Pillar parlour" are panelled and rest on Elizabethan vaulting-shafts, and the ribs are centred in heavy bosses. The semicircular intersections of the walls are wainscoted walnut wood, richly gilt and elaborately carved, and there are early-Jacobean hooded fireplaces and queer old painted and inlaid doors and window-shutters. The largest of these rooms is the "Star chamber," so called from the golden stars on the ceiling depicted on blue ground, representing the firmament. In these gorgeous rooms Charles I. was sumptuously entertained by the first Duke of Newcastle. In what is called the "Riding house," a roofless Jacobean ruin of fine proportions, Ben Jonson's masque, _Love's Welcome_, was performed before the king and queen. Clarendon speaks of the stupendous entertainment (that cost some fifteen thousand pounds) and excess of feasting, which, he says, "God be thanked!--no man ever after imitated." The duke (then marquis), who had been the king's tutor, was a playwriter of some repute, though Pepys does not speak highly of his ability, saying his works were silly and tedious.[30] His eccentric wife had also literary inclinations, and wrote, among other things, a high-flown biography of her spouse, which the Diarist said showed her to be "a mad, conceited, ridiculous woman, and he an asse to suffer her to write what she writes to him and of him." This romantic and theatrical lady was one of the sights of London when she came to town in her extravagant and antiquated dress, and always had a large crowd around her. The practical joke played upon her at the ball at Whitehall, mentioned in de Gramont's _Memoirs_, is amusing, but commands our sympathy, and is a specimen of the bad taste of Society at the time.

The romantic situation of the castle, perched upon a steep promontory overlooking a dense mass of trees, must have been quite to the old duchess's taste; and one can picture her walking in state in the curious old gardens as she appears in her theatrical-looking portrait at Welbeck. According to local tradition there is a subterranean passage leading from the castle to the church, which was formerly entered by a secret staircase running from the servants' hall; and there are stories of a hidden chapel beneath the crypt, and ghosts in Elizabethan ruffles. The Cavendish Chapel in the church was erected by Bess of Hardwick's younger son, Sir Charles Cavendish, father of the first Duke of Newcastle, and contains his tomb, a gorgeous Jacobean monument.

Some of the remote villages in the wild and beautiful Peak district have strong faith in their traditional superstitions and customs. An excellent way for a young damsel to discover who her future husband is to be is to go to the churchyard on St. Valentine's Eve, and when the clock strikes the hour of midnight, if she runs round the church she will see the happy man running after her. It has never been known to fail, perhaps from the fact that it has never been tried, for it is very doubtful if a girl could be found in Derbyshire or any other county with sufficient pluck to test it. An old remedy for the toothache was to attract the "worm" into a glass of water by first inhaling the smoke of some dried herbs. Those who had plenty of faith, and some imagination, have actually seen the tiny offender. Maypoles and the parish stocks are still to be found in nooks and corners of the Peak and farther south, and that pretty custom once prevailed of hanging garlands in memory of the village maidens who died young. From a little crown made of cardboard, with paper rosettes and ornaments, pairs of gloves cut out of paper were suspended fingers downwards, with the name of the young deceased and her age duly recorded upon them. And so they hang from the oak beams of the roof. In Ashford church, near Haddon, there is quite a collection of them suspended from a pole in the north aisle. The oldest dates from 1747, but the custom was discontinued about ninety years ago. In Hampshire, however, these "virgins' crowns" are still made. At the ancient village church of Abbotts Ann, near Andover, there are about forty of them, and only the other day one was added with due ceremony. The garland was made of thin wood covered with paper, and decorated with black and white rosettes, with fine paper gloves suspended in the middle. It was carried before the coffin by two young girls dressed in white, with white shawls and hoods, who each held one end of a white wand from which the crown depended. During the service it was placed upon the coffin by one of the bearers, and at the close was again suspended from the wand and borne to the grave. It was afterwards laid on a thin iron rod branching from a small shield placed high up on the wall of the nave of the church. One of these garlands may still be seen in St. Albans Abbey.

Another pretty custom is that of "well-dressing," which yet survives at the village of Tissington above Ashbourne, and of recent years has been revived in other Derbyshire villages, like the modern modified May-day festivities. It dates from the time of the Emperor Nero, when the philosopher Lucius Seneca told the people that they should show their gratitude to the natural springs by erecting altars and offering sacrifices. The floral tributes of to-day, which are placed around the wells and springs on Holy Thursday, are of various devices, made mostly of wild flowers bearing biblical texts; and the village maidens take these in formal procession and present them after a little consecration service in the church. One would like to see this pretty custom revived in other counties.

At Hathersage, beautifully situated among the hills some eight miles above Bakewell, Oak Apple Day is kept in memory by suspending a wreath of flowers on one of the pinnacles of the church tower. The interior, with its faded green baize-lined box-pews duly labelled with brass plates bearing the owners' names, has a charming old-world appearance. In the church is a fine altar-tomb and brasses to the Eyres of North Lees, an ancient house among the hills of the Hoodbrook valley.

The ancient ceremony of rush-bearing at Glossop, formerly connected with the church, has, we understand, degenerated into a "public-house show"; which is a pity. In Huntingdonshire, however, there was until some years back a somewhat similar custom of strewing green rushes, from the banks of the river Ouse, on the floor of the old church of Fenstanton, near St. Ives; but in Old Weston, in the same county, newly mown grass is still strewn upon the floor of the parish church upon the village feast Sunday: the festival of St. Swithin. The original ceremony of "rush-bearing," a survival of the ancient custom of strewing the floors of dwellings with marsh rushes, was a pretty sight. A procession of village maidens, dressed in white, carried the bundles of rushes into the church (accompanied, of course, by the inevitable band), and hung garlands of flowers upon the chancel rails. The festival at Glossop, and in places in the adjoining county of Cheshire, however, was more like the last survival of May-day: the monopoly of sweeps,--a cart-load of rushes was drawn round the village by gaily bedecked horses with a motley band of morris-dancers accompanying it, who, having made a collection, resorted to the public-house before taking their bundles to the church. Had they reversed the order of things it is possible the custom in some places would have been suffered to continue. Until a comparatively recent date the floor of Norwich Cathedral was strewn with rushes on Mayor's day; and there is still preserved among the civic treasures a wonderful green wickerwork dragon hobby-horse, or rather hobby-dragon, with wings, and movable jaws studded with nails for teeth, which always made its appearance in the streets on these days of public festival.

FOOTNOTES:

[29] They have been reproduced most carefully for the drawing-room of the Cedar House at Hillingdon.

[30] _Pepys' Diary_, March 18, 1667-68.

NOOKS IN YORKSHIRE

In a journey across our largest county, so famous for its grand cathedrals and ruined castles and abbeys, one could not wish for greater variety either in scenery or association. Between the Queen of Scots' prison in Sheffield Manor and the reputed Dotheboys Hall a few miles below the mediæval-looking town of Barnard Castle, there is vast difference of romance; and yet what more unromantic places than Bowes or Sheffield! Indeed, take them all round, the towns and villages of Yorkshire have a grey and dreary look about them; and the houses partake of the pervading character, or want of character, of the busy manufacturing centres. But the natural scenery is quite another matter, and with such lovely surroundings one often sighs that the picturesque and the utilitarian are so opposed to one another. We do not, however, merely allude to the buildings in the southern part of the county, for many villages in the prettiest parts have nothing architecturally attractive about their houses. The snug creeper-clad cottage, so familiar in the south of England, is, comparatively speaking, a rarity, and one misses the warmth of colour amid the everlasting grey.

The express having dropped us in nearly the southernmost corner, our object is to get out of the busy town of Sheffield as quickly as possible; but, as before stated, romance lingers around the remains of the ancient seat of the sixth Earl of Shrewsbury, who lies buried in the parish church, for under his charge the Scots' queen remained here a prisoner for many years; and Wolsey, too, was brought here on his way to Leicester.