Part 19
Intimately connected with Warwick Castle and its former lords, is the Beauchamp Chapel attached to St. Mary’s Church. The chapel is one of the most exquisitely beautiful buildings remaining in this country, and ought to be seen by every visitor to Warwick. It is placed on the south side of the choir of the church, from which it is entered by a descent of several steps beneath a doorway said to have been carved by a mason of Warwick in 1704, but probably being only a freshening and touching up, or restoration, of the original design. The size of the chapel is 58 feet in length, 25 in breadth, and 32 in height, and its design and finish are of the most chaste and beautiful and elaborate character. It was built in the reign of Henry VI., in accordance with the will of its founder, Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, who died in 1439. The foundation was laid in 1443, and in 1475 the chapel was consecrated, and the body of its founder with much solemnity laid therein. It is stated to have cost £2,481 4_s._ 7_d._, an enormous sum in those days, when the value of a fat ox was only 13_s._ 4_d._: and the contracts for some of the work are still preserved. In the chapel is the monument of the founder, which is, with only one exception, the most splendid monument of its kind in the kingdom. It is an altar-tomb of Purbeck marble, bearing the recumbent effigy of the great earl, in fine latten brass, gilt. His head, uncovered, rests upon a helmet, and at his feet are a bear and a griffin. The tomb is surmounted by one of the few “hearses” that yet remain in our churches. It consists of six hoops of brass, extended by five transverse brass rods, on which formerly was hung a pall, “to keep the figure reverently from the dust.” Around the tomb, in niches, are fourteen figures in “divers vestures, called weepers,” friends and relatives of the deceased who mourn his loss. Between the weepers are smaller niches, raised upon pillars, containing whole-length figures of angels holding scrolls, inscribed “Sit deo laus in gloria, defunctis misericordia.” The effigy of the earl is the finest of its class, and it is a perfect figure, the armour on the back, and all the details being as highly and carefully finished as those on the front of the figure. For this effigy in brass, William Austen was paid (exclusive of cost of workmen, carriage, &c.) £40, and the goldsmith, Bartholomew Lambespring, was paid £13 for gilding it; the “weepers” cost in brass, 13_s._ 4_d._ each, and the angels 5_s._ each; and the gilding of these, and preparing them for gilding, cost also a considerable sum—the contracts being of the highest interest, and very minute in every particular.
In the same chapel are monuments, &c., to Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, and his Countess Lettice, 1588; to Ambrose Dudley, Earl of Warwick, 1589; to Robert Dudley, Lord Denbigh, 1584; to Lady Katherine Leveson, and others.
The windows were filled with stained glass, for which the contract with John Prudde of Westminster is preserved; but it has undergone much change and mutilation: it still, however, especially that of the east window, is of great beauty.[35] Adjoining the chapel is an exquisite little oratory, with a confessional near; of these we give engravings.
The Church of St. Mary is of considerable antiquity, and is mentioned in Domesday Book. The Norman Earl, Henry de Newburgh, formed the intention of uniting the endowments of St. Nicholas within the Castle with St. Mary’s, which was carried out by his son, whose grant of incorporation was executed in 1123. Probably the church was built about that time, as the crypt is of Norman character. In the reign of Edward III., Thomas Beauchamp ordained by his will in 1369, that a choir should be erected; and many alterations have at one time or other been made. A great part of the church was burnt down in 1694, and rebuilt at a cost of £5,000, to which Queen Anne contributed £1,000. In the crypt is preserved the ducking stool.
It is desirable to add a word or two concerning “Guy’s Cave” and the “Statue of Guy” at Guy’s Cliff, to which the visitor ought by all means to “wend his way.” Indeed, the town of Warwick, and the whole of the neighbourhood by which it is surrounded, is one grand assemblage of interesting objects, of which the mind cannot tire or become satiated. To all we have described—the towers, the lodges, the several apartments of the castle, and to the gardens and grounds—the publicly is freely, graciously, and generously admitted: a boon for which we are sure every visitor will be grateful.
One of the few remaining “antiques” that yet endure to the town we have selected for engraving—the EAST GATE; but, as will be seen, the base only can be considered ancient; it has been “transmogrified,” yet is still striking and interesting. The Earl of Leicester’s Hospital, founded by Robert Dudley in 1586, is a singularly beautiful and perfect specimen of the half-timber houses; it escaped the great fire that nearly destroyed the town in 1694. There are not many other ancient edifices in the venerable town.
Thus, it will be readily understood that a day at Warwick supplies a rare treat; not only to the antiquary, and the historian, but to the lover of nature. The best views of the Castle are obtained from the opposite side of the Avon, near a narrow stream crossed by a bridge, which is part of the main road;[36] of the old bridge there are some remains, rendered highly picturesque by ivy and lichens that grow in profusion there, and near the old mill, the date of which is coeval with that of the Castle. Superb trees grow in the immediate grounds, huge chestnuts and gigantic cedars, that have sheltered the stout earls time out of mind: the walls are grey with age; but it is a sober livery that well suits the stronghold of the bold barons, and suggests the tranquillity of repose after the fever of battles, sieges, and deeds that cannot fail to be summoned from history as one looks from the filled-up moat to the towers and battlements that still smile or frown upon the environing town they controlled or protected.
It demands but little imagination to carry the visitor of to-day back through long-past centuries, from the moment we enter the picturesque yet gloomy passage cut through the rock, covered with ivy, lichens, and wild flowers in rich abundance, and pass under the portcullis that yet frowns above the porter’s lodge: the whole seems so little changed by time, that one might wait for the king-maker and his mighty host to issue through the gateway, and watch the red rose or the white rose on the helmets of attendant knights; by no great stretch of fancy one might see the trembling Gaveston, the petted minion of a weak monarch, dragged forth to death: a hundred events or incidents are associated with these courts and towers, inseparably linked with British history; and it is impossible to resist a feeling of reverence approaching awe while pacing peacefully among them.
The “frowning keep,” nearly hidden by the green foliage of surrounding trees, may be accepted as an emblem of the Castle; where tranquillity and peace are in the stead of fierceness and broil. Warwick, while it has lost little of its grandeur, has obtained much of grace from time; Time which
“Moulders into beauty many a tower, That when it frowned with all its battlements Was only terrible.”
HADDON HALL.
HADDON HALL is, perhaps, the most interesting, and is certainly the most attractive, of all the ancient mansions of England: and none have been so fertile of material to Artists. Situate in one of the most picturesque, if not the most beautiful, of our English shires, absolutely perfect as an example of the Baronial Halls of our ancestors, and easily accessible by charming routes from populous towns, it is not surprising that it should be visited annually by tens of thousands; and that in America it is regarded as one of the places in the “Old Country,” which no visitors, even of a week, to the classic land of their History, should neglect to see, examine, and describe.
HADDON HALL is distant fourteen miles from BUXTON; perhaps the most fashionable, as it certainly is one of the most cheerful, and, we believe, the most healthful of all the Baths of England. Its waters are as efficacious, in certain ailments, as are those of Southern Germany; while the surrounding district is so grand and beautiful, so happily mingling the sublime and the graceful, as to compete, and by no means unfavourably, with the hills and valleys that border the distant Rhine.
The poet, the novelist, the traveller, the naturalist, the sportsman, and the antiquary have found appropriate themes in Derbyshire, in its massive rocks—“Tors”—and deep dells; its pasture-lands on mountain-slopes; its rapid, yet never broad, rivers—delights of the angler; its crags and caves; its rugged and ragged or wooded steeps; above all, its relics of the earlier days when Briton, Roman, Saxon, and Norman, held alternate sway over the rich lands and prolific mines of this lavishly endowed county; and of a later time, when shrewd monks planted themselves beside the clear streams and rich meadows, to which they bequeathed magnificent ruins to tell of intellectual and material power in the time of their vigorous and prosperous strength.
Unequivocal evidence exists that the Romans knew the curative properties of the Baths at Buxton; and it is almost certain, from the many Celtic barrows and stone circles found in the neighbourhood, that a still earlier race was acquainted with them. Probably, therefore, for more than a thousand years Buxton has been one of the principal “health-resorts” of this island. Yet few remains of antiquity exist in the town. The dwelling—in which was lodged Mary, Queen of Scots, on her several visits, while in custody of the Earl of Shrewsbury, and to which “good Queen Bess,” while sojourning at Kenilworth, sent the Earl of Leicester, that he might drink of the healing waters, “twenty days together”—was removed just a century ago: a handsome and very commodious hotel occupies the site: it is still called the “Old Hall;” and immediately behind it are the two springs—the Saline and the Iron—the Chalybeate and the Tonic. On a window-pane of one of the rooms in this Old Hall, Mary, Queen of Scots, is said to have scratched the following touching and kindly farewell—the pane of glass having been preserved until recent years:—
“Buxtona, quæ calidæ celebrare nomine lymphæ, Forte mihi posthac non adeunda vale!”
Cheerfulness is the handmaid of health: and, although there are many patients in and about Buxton, they do not seem to suffer much: there are more smiles than moans in the pump-room; and rheumatism is not a disease that makes much outer show of anguish.
It would be difficult to find in any part of the British dominions a drive so grandly beautiful as that between Buxton and Haddon. Within half a mile of its centre is “the Duke’s Drive” (formed in 1795 by the then Duke of Devonshire): it runs through Ashwood Dale, Miller’s Dale, and Monsal Dale, passing “the Lover’s Leap” and “Chee Tor”—stupendous crags, from the crevices of which grow small trees, partially crowned and covered with ivy, ferns, and lichens, groups of varied foliage intervening; with here and there umbrageous woods; and the river Wye—not the “sylvan Wye, thou wanderer through the woods,” of Wordsworth, but its namesake of lesser fame, that has its source a mile or two north of Buxton—journeying all the way, until at Rowsley it joins the Derwent (not the Derwent of the English lakes), from whence the blended waters, running by Matlock, Belper, and Derby, flow into the Trent, and so make their way to the sea.
To give a list of the several objects that delight the eye and mind during this comparatively short drive, would fill more pages than we have at our disposal. The lowest part of the town of Buxton is one thousand feet above the level of the sea; the naturalist, the botanist, and the geologist will find treasure-troves in any of the surrounding hills and valleys: while natural marvels abound, within a few miles, in all directions—such as Poole’s Hole, the Blue-John Mine, the Ebbing and Flowing Well, and the Peak Cavern, with its summit crowned by the fine old castle of “Peveril of the Peak.” Majestic Chatsworth—to which, on certain days, the people are admitted, the park being at all times freely open to all comers—is distant about three miles from Haddon, across Manners Wood and intervening hills: in short, there are a hundred places of deep interest within a drive of Buxton, and, if it be a long drive, Dovedale—the loveliest dale in England—is easily reached; so, indeed, is far-famed Alton Towers.
From Manchester and Buxton the way to Haddon is through the ancient town of Bakewell, to the venerable parish church of which we shall, in due course, conduct the reader—for it contains the monuments of THE VERNONS. But before entering the old Hall, we must ask the reader to glance at another route to Haddon—that which he will probably take if his tour be made direct from London.
No doubt many visitors to Haddon will start from DERBY; and if the road from Buxton is charming, so also is that from the capital of the shire: it is more open; the vales are wider; the views are more extensive; there are the same attractions of hill and dell and rock and river; cottages embosomed in foliage; church steeples seen among richly-clad trees; clean and happy-looking villages; and distant towns, never indicated, except in one case—that of Belper—by the chimneys and sullen shadows of manufactories. For more than twenty miles there is an unbroken continuation of scenic loveliness, such as, in its calm and quiet charm, its simple grace, and all the attractions of home nature, can be found nowhere else in the wide world.
Leaving Derby, and passing by the famous “Boar’s Head” cotton manufactory of Messrs. Evans on the left, and Breadsall on the right, the first station arrived at is Duffield, a delightful village, where was once the castle of the Peverels, and so on to Belper, famous for its cotton mills of the Messrs. Strutt; thence through a delightful country to the pleasant Junction of Ambergate, from whence the railway runs by the picturesque village of Cromford, the creation of one great man, Sir Richard Arkwright; Matlock Bath, the most popular and beautiful of inland watering-places, whose villa residences peep out from the heights in every direction, and whose “High Tor” frowns down upon the railway beneath; Matlock Bridge, whose hill-side of Matlock Bank is studded with famous hydropathic establishments; and Darley Dale, with its fine old church, and grand old yew tree, the largest in the kingdom, until the train stops at Rowsley. Here the passenger for Haddon, or Chatsworth, will alight, and here he will find conveyances, should he care to ride on. Here too he will find a pleasant hostel, “The Peacock,” in which to refresh the inner man.
“The Peacock” at Rowsley is one of the prettiest and pleasantest inns in “all England:” it has ever been in high favour with “brethren of the angle”—long before the neat and graceful railway station stood so near it that the whistle of the train is audible a dozen times a day, and twice or thrice at night. The fine old bridge close at hand throws its arches across the Derwent; neatly and gracefully trimmed gardens skirt the banks of that clear and bright river, into which flows the Wye about a furlong off; and rivers, meadows, rocks and dells, and hills and valleys “all round about,” exhibit to perfection the peculiarities of the vale, so rich in the beautiful and the picturesque. “The Peacock” is the nearest inn to Haddon; and here hundreds of travellers from all parts of the world have found not only a tranquil resting-place, but a cheerful home.[37] We have thought it well to picture it, and have placed at its doors one of the waggonettes that drive hither and thither from Buxton and other places; and the tourist may rest assured that this pretty inn is indeed a place at which he may “rest, and be thankful.”
At Rowsley the tourist is but three miles from Chatsworth, and two miles from Haddon. A pleasant walk through the valley brings him in sight of Haddon Hall; and from this road he obtains, perhaps, the best view of it. Partly hidden, as it is, by tall and full-leaved trees, its grandeur is not at once apparent; but the impression deepens as he ascends the steep pathway and pauses before the nail-studded door that opens into the court-yard.
Before we proceed to describe the HALL, however, we shall give some accounts of its earlier owners—the VERNONS—reserving for an after-part the history of their successors, the illustrious family of MANNERS, from their origin, as knights, to the period of their high elevation, as Earls and Dukes of Rutland, and so down to the present time.
The history of Haddon, unlike that of most of our ancient baronial residences, has always been one of peace and hospitality, not of war and feud and oppression; and however much its owners may, at one period or other, have been mixed up in the stirring events of the ages in which they lived, Haddon itself has taken no part in the turmoils. It has literally been a stronghold: but it has been the stronghold of home and domestic life, not of armed strife.
* * * * *
HADDON, at the time of taking the Domesday survey, when the manor of Bakewell belonged to, and was held by, the king, was a berewite of the manor; and there one carucate of land was claimed by Henry de Ferrars. Over-Haddon, a village two or three miles off, on the hills, was also another berewite of the same manor. To whom Haddon belonged in the Saxon period is not clear; the first owner of which there is any distinct knowledge is this Henry de Ferrars, who held it in 1086, and who, by grant of the Conqueror, had no less than 114 manors in Derbyshire alone; he built Duffield Castle, and founded the Church of the Holy Trinity, near the Castle of Tutbury.
Haddon was at a very early period held, it is said, by tenure of knight’s service, by William Avenell, who resided there, and was possessed of much land in the neighbourhood. Soon after the foundation of Roche Abbey, in 1147, William de Avenell, Lord of Haddon, gave to that establishment the grange of Oneash and its appurtenances. One of the daughters and co-heiresses of William de Avenell, Elizabeth, married Simon Bassett, of the fine old family of Bassett, owners of much property in this and the neighbouring counties; the other married Richard de Vernon; and thus Haddon passed into that noted family, of which we proceed to give some particulars.