There is something peculiarly majestic and stately about Hardwick
Hall.
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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
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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
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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
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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 th
[Pg 217]
e 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.
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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
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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 pro
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montory 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.
GARLANDS, ASHFORD CHURCH.
( Photo by Rev. J. R. Luxmoore. )
Some of the remote villages in the wild and beautiful Peak district
have strong faith in their traditional superstitions and customs. An
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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
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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
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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
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"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.
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