TRAVELS AND MARRIAGE
Mr. Gladstone spent the winter of 1838-9 in Rome. The physicians had
recommended travel in the south of Europe for his health and
particularly for his eyes, the sight of which had become impaired by
hard reading in the preparation of his book. He had given up lamps and
read entirely by candle-light with injurious results. He was joined at
Rome by his friend, Henry Manning, afterwards Cardinal, and in company
they visited Monsignor, afterwards Cardinal, Wiseman, at the English
College, on the feast of St. Thomas of Canterbury. They attended solemn
mass in honor of that Saint, and the places in the missal were found for
them by a young student of the college, named Grant, who afterwards
became Bishop of Southwark.
Besides visiting Italy he explored Sicily, and kept a journal of his
tour. Sicily is a beautiful and fertile island in the Mediterranean
Sea, and is the granary of Rome. His recorded observations show the
keenness of his perceptions and the intensity with which he enjoyed the
beautiful and wonderful in nature.
Mount Etna, the greatest volcano of Europe, and which rises 10,000 feet
above the sea, stirred his soul greatly, and he made an ascent of the
mountain at the beginning of the great eruption of 1838. Etna has many
points of interest for all classes of scientific men, and not least for
the student of arboriculture. It bears at the height of 4000 feet above
the level of the sea a wonderful growth--a very large tree--which is
claimed by some to be the oldest tree in the world. It is a venerable
chestnut, and known as "the father of the forest." It is certainly one
of the most remarkable as well as celebrated of trees. It consists not
of one vast trunk, but of a cluster of smaller decayed trees or portions
of trees growing in a circle, each with a hollow trunk of great
antiquity, covered with ferns or ivy, and stretching out a few gnarled
branches with scanty foliage. That it is one tree seems to be evident
from the growth of the bark only on the outside. It is said that
excavations about the roots of the tree showed these various stems to be
united at a very small depth below the surface of the ground. It still
bears rich foliage and much small fruit, though the heart of the trunk
is decayed, and a public road leads through it wide enough for two
coaches to drive abreast. Travelers have differed in their measurements
of this stupendous growth. Admiral Smyth, who takes the lowest estimate,
giving 163 feet, and Brydone giving, as the highest, 204 feet. In the
middle of the cavity a hut is built, for the accommodation of those who
collect and preserve the chestnuts. One of the Queens of Arragon is
reported to have taken shelter in this tree, with her mounted suite of
one hundred persons; but, "we may, perhaps, gather from this that
mythology is not confined to the lower latitudes."
Further up the mountain is another venerable chestnut, which, with more
reason, probably, may be described without fear of contradiction as the
largest chestnut tree in the world. It rises from one solid stem to a
remarkable height before it branches. At an elevation of two feet from
the earth its circumference was found by Brydone to be seventy-six feet.
These trees are reputed to have flourished for much more than a thousand
years. Their luxuriant growth is attributed in part to the humid
atmosphere of the Bosco, elevated above the scorching, arid region of
the coast, and in part to the great richness of the soil. The luxuriance
of the vegetation on the slopes of Etna attracts the attention of every
traveler; and Mr. Gladstone remarked upon this point: "It seems as
though the finest of all soils were produced from the most agonizing
throes of nature, as the hardiest characters are often reared amidst
the severest circumstances. The aspect of this side of Sicily is
infinitely more active and the country is cultivated as well as most
parts of Italy."
He and his party started on the 30th of October, and found the path
nearly uniform from Catania, but the country bore a volcanic aspect at
every step. At Nicolosi their rest was disturbed by the distant booming
of the mountain. From this point to the Bosco the scenery is described
as a dreary region, but the tract of the wood showed some beautiful
places resembling an English park, with old oaks and abundant fern.
"Here we found flocks browsing; they are much exposed to sheep-stealers,
who do not touch travelers, calculating with justice that men do not
carry much money to the summit of Etna." The party passed the Casa degli
Inglesi, which registered a temperature of 31°, and then continued the
ascent on foot for the crater. A magnificent view of sunrise was
here obtained.
"Just before we reached the lip of the crater the guide exultingly
pointed out what he declared to be ordinarily the greatest sight of the
mountain, namely, the shadow of the cone of Etna, drawn with the utmost
delicacy by the newly-risen sun, but of gigantic extent; its point at
this moment rested on the mountains of Palermo, probably one hundred
miles off, and the entire figure was visible, the atmosphere over the
mountains having become and continuing perfectly and beautifully
transparent, although in the hundreds of valleys which were beneath us,
from the east to the west of Sicily, and from the mountains of Messina
down to Cape Passaro, there were still abundant vapors waiting for a
higher sun to disperse them; but we enjoyed in its perfection this view
of the earliest and finest work of the greater light of heaven, in the
passage of his beams over this portion of the earth's surface. During
the hour we spent on the summit, the vision of the shadow was speedily
contracting, and taught us how rapid is the real rise of the sun in the
heavens, although its effect is diminished to the eye by a kind of
foreshortening."
The writer next describes in vivid and powerful language the scene
presented to the view at the very mouth of the crater. A large space,
one mile in circumference, which a few days before had been one
fathomless pit, from which issued masses of smoke, was now absolutely
filled up to within a few feet of the brim all round. A great mass of
lava, a portion of the contents of this immense pit, was seen to detach
itself by degrees from one behind. "It opened like an orange, and we saw
the red-hot fibres stretch in a broader and still broader vein, until
the mass had found a support on the new ground it occupied in front; as
we came back on our way down this had grown black." A stick put to it
took fire immediately. Within a few yards of this lava bed were found
pieces of ice, formed on the outside of the stones by Frost, "which here
disputes every inch of ground with his fierce rival Fire."
Mr. Gladstone and his fellow-travelers were the first spectators of the
great volcanic action of this year. From the highest peak attainable the
company gazed upon the splendid prospect to the east spread out before
them, embracing the Messina Mountains and the fine kindred outline of
the Calabrian coast, described by Virgil in the third book of the
Aeneid. Mr. Gladstone graphically describes the eruption which took
place and of which he was the enraptured witness. Lava masses of 150 to
200 pounds weight were thrown to a distance of probably a mile and a
half; smaller ones to a distance even more remote. The showers were
abundant and continuous, and the writer was impressed by the closeness
of the descriptions in Virgil with the actual reality of the eruption
witnessed by himself. On this point he observes:
"Now how faithfully has Virgil (Ae. iii, 571, et seq.) comprised these
particulars, doubtless without exaggeration, in his fine description!
First, the thunder-clap, or crack--
'Horrificis juxta tonat Aetna ruinis.'
Secondly, the vibration of the ground to the report--
'Et, fessum quoties mutet latus, intremere omnem
Murmure Trinacriam.'
Thirdly, the sheet of flame--
'Attolitque globos flarmmarum, et sidera lambit.'
Fourthly, the smoke--
'Et coelum subtexere fumo.'
Fifthly, the fire shower--
'Scopulos avulsaque viscera montis
Erigit erucatans, liquefactaque saxa sub auras
Cum gemitu glomerat, fundoque exae tuat imo.'
Sixthly the column of ash--
'Atram prorumpit ad aethera nubem
Turbine fumantem piceo et candente favilla.'
And this is within the limits of twelve lines. Modern poetry has its own
merits, but the conveyance of information is not, generally speaking,
one of them. What would Virgil have thought of authors publishing poems
with explanatory notes (to illustrate is a different matter), as if they
were so many books of conundrums? Indeed this vice is of very
late years."
The entire description, of which this is but an extract, is very
effective and animated, and gives with great vividness the first
impressions of a mind susceptible to the grand and imposing aspects
of nature.
"After Etna," says Mr. Gladstone in his diary, "the temples are
certainly the great charm and attraction of Sicily. I do not know
whether there is any one among them which, taken alone, exceeds in
beauty that of Neptune, at Paestum; but they have the advantage of
number and variety, as well as of highly interesting positions. At
Segesta the temple is enthroned in a perfect mountain solitude, and it
is like a beautiful tomb of its religion, so stately, so entire; while
around, but for one solitary house of the keeper, there is nothing,
absolutely nothing, to disturb the apparent reign of Silence and of
Death.... The temples enshrine a most pure and salutary principle of
art, that which connects grandeur of effect with simplicity of detail;
and, retaining their beauty and their dignity in their decay, they
represent the great man when fallen, as types of that almost highest of
human qualities--silent yet not sullen, endurance."
While sojourning at Rome Mr. Gladstone met Lord Macaulay. Writing home
from Rome in the same year, Lord Macaulay says: "On Christmas Eve I
found Gladstone in the throng, and I accosted him, as we had met, though
we had never been introduced to each other. He received my advances with
very great _empressement_ indeed, and we had a good deal of pleasant
talk." And again he writes: "I enjoyed Italy immensely; far more than I
had expected. By-the-by, I met Gladstone at Rome. We talked and walked
together in St. Peter's during the best part of an afternoon. He is
both a clever and an amiable man."
Among the visitors at Rome the winter that Mr. Gladstone spent in the
eternal city were the widow and daughters of Sir Stephen Richard Glynne,
of Hawarden Castle, Flintshire, Wales. He had already made the
acquaintance of these ladies, having been a friend of Lady Glynne's
eldest son at Oxford, and having visited him at Hawarden in 1835. He was
thrown much into their society while at Rome, and became engaged to the
elder of Lady Glynne's daughters, Catharine Glynne. It is strange to
relate that some time before this when Miss Glynne met her future
husband at a dinner-party, an English minister sitting next to her had
thus drawn her attention to Mr. Gladstone: "Mark that young man; he will
yet be Prime Minister of England." Miss Glynne and her sister were known
as "the handsome Miss Glynnes."
William E. Gladstone and Catharine Glynne were married July 25, 1839, at
Hawarden Castle. At the same time and place Miss Mary Glynne was married
to George William, fourth Lord Lyttleton, with whom Mr. Gladstone was on
the most intimate terms of friendship until his lordship's untoward and
lamented death. The brother of these ladies was Sir Stephen Glynne, the
then owner of Hawarden. Mrs. Gladstone was "in her issue heir" of Sir
Stephen Glynne, who was ninth and last baronet of that name.
The marriage ceremony has been thus described by an eye-witness:
"For some time past the little town of Hawarden has been in a state of
excitement in consequence of the anticipated nuptials of the two sisters
of Sir Stephen Glynne, Bart., M.P., who have been engaged for some time
past to Lord Lyttelton and to Mr. W. Ewart Gladstone. Thursday last
(July 25th) was fixed upon for the ceremony to take place; but in
consequence of the Chartists having attacked Lord Lyttelton's mansion in
Worcestershire, it was feared that the marriage would be delayed. All
anxieties on this subject were put an end to by orders being issued to
make ready for the ceremony, and the Hawarden folks lost no time in
making due preparations accordingly. The church was elegantly and
profusely decorated with laurels, while extremely handsome garlands,
composed of the finest flowers, were suspended from the venerable roof.
About half-past ten a simultaneous rising of the assembled multitude and
the burst of melody from the organ announced that the fair brides had
arrived, and all eyes were turned towards the door to witness the bridal
_cortege_. In a few minutes more the party arrived at the communion
table and the imposing ceremony commenced. At this period the _coup
d'oeil_ was extremely interesting. The bridal party exhibited every
elegance of costume; while the dresses of the multitude, lit up by the
rays of a brilliant sunlight, filled up the picture. The Rev. the Hon.
G. Neville performed the ceremony. At its conclusion the brides visited
the rectory, whence they soon afterwards set out--Lord and Lady
Lyttelton to their seat in Worcestershire, and Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone on
a visit to Sir Richard Brooke, Norton Priory Mansion, in Cheshire. The
bridal party having returned to the castle, the good folks of Hawarden
filled up the day with rambling over Sir Stephen Glynne's delightful
park, to which free access was given to all comers; and towards evening
a dance on the green was got up."
It is to be remarked that by his marriage Mr. Gladstone became allied
with the house of Grenville, a family of statesmen, which, directly or
in its ramifications, had already supplied England with four Prime
Ministers. Baron Bunsen, who made his acquaintance that year, writes
that he "was delighted with the man who is some day to govern England if
his book is not in the way."
Mrs. Gladstone is widely and deservedly known for her many philanthropic
enterprises, but even better, perhaps, has proved herself to be a noble
and devoted wife and mother. She has cheered by her sympathy her
illustrious husband in his defeats as well as in his triumphs, in the
many great undertakings of his political career, and been to him all the
late Viscountess Beaconsfield was to Mr. Gladstone's Parliamentary
rival. As a mother, she nursed and reared all her children, and ever
kept them in the maternal eye, carefully watching over and tending them.
One of the most interesting buildings at Hawarden is Mrs. Gladstone's
orphanage, which stands close to the castle. Here desolate orphans are
well cared for, and find, until they are prepared to enter on the
conflict and to encounter the cares of life, a happy home.
Mrs. Gladstone, although in many respects an ideal wife, was never able
to approach her husband in the methodical and business-like arrangement
of her affairs. Shortly after their wedding, the story runs, Mr.
Gladstone seriously took in hand the tuition of his handsome young wife
in book-keeping, and Mrs. Gladstone applied herself with diligence to
the unwelcome task. Some time after she came down in triumph to her
husband to display her domestic accounts and her correspondence, all
docketed in a fashion which she supposed would excite the admiration of
her husband. Mr. Gladstone cast his eye over the results of his wife's
labor and exclaimed in despair: "You have done them all wrong, from
beginning to end!" His wife, however, has been so invaluable a helpmeet
in other ways that it seems somewhat invidious to recall that little
incident. She had other work to do, and she wisely left the accounts to
her husband and his private secretaries.
The union of Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone has been blessed by eight children,
all of whom save two still survive. There were four sons, the eldest,
William Henry, was a member of the Legislature, and the second, the Rev.
Stephen Edward Gladstone, is rector of Hawarden. The third son is named
Henry Neville and the fourth Herbert John Gladstone. The former is
engaged in commerce and the latter is the popular member for Leeds. The
eldest daughter, Anne, is married to Rev. E.C. Wickham, A.M., headmaster
of Wellington College; and the second, Catharine Jessy Gladstone, died
in 1850; the third daughter, Mary, is married to Rev. W. Drew, and the
fourth, Helen Gladstone, is principal of Newnham College. As Sir John
Gladstone had the pleasure of seeing his son William Ewart become a
distinguished member of Parliament, so Mr. Gladstone in his turn was
able to witness his eldest son take his seat in the British Senate.
It was a sad bereavement when the Gladstones were called upon to part
with their little daughter, Catharine Jessy, April 9, 1850, between four
and five years old. Her illness was long and painful, and Mr. Gladstone
bore his part in the nursing and watching. He was tenderly fond of his
little children and the sorrow had therefore a peculiar bitterness. But
Mr. Gladstone has since had another sad experience of death entering the
family circle. July 4, 1891, the eldest son, William Henry Gladstone,
died. The effect upon the aged father was greatly feared, and the world
sympathized with the great statesman and father in his sad trial, and
with the afflicted family. In a letter dated July 9, the day after the
interment, Mr. Gladstone wrote:
"We, in our affliction are deeply sensible of the mercies of God. He
gave us for fifty years a most precious son. He has now only hidden him
for a very brief space from the sight of our eyes. It seems a violent
transition from such thoughts to the arena of political contention, but
the transition may be softened by the conviction we profoundly hold that
we, in the first and greatest of our present controversies, work for the
honor, well-being and future peace of our opponents not less than
for our own."
When away from the trammels of office, Mr. Gladstone taught his elder
children Italian. All the sons went to Eton and Oxford, and the
daughters were educated at home by English, French and German
governesses. A close union of affection and sentiment has always been a
marked characteristic of this model English family. Marriage and
domestic cares, however, made little difference in Mr. Gladstone's
mode of life. He was still the diligent student, the constant debater
and the copious writer that he had been at Eton, at Oxford and in
the Albany.
[Illustration: THE OFFICIAL RESIDENCE OF THE BRITISH PREMIER, No. 10
DOWNING STREET, LONDON.]
In the early days of their married life, Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone lived in
London with Lady Glynne, at 13 Carlton House Terrace. Later they lived
at 6 Carlton Gardens, which was made over to them by Sir John Gladstone;
then again at 13 Carlton House Terrace; and when Mr. Gladstone was in
office, at the official residence of the Prime Minister, Downing Street.
In 1850 Mr. Gladstone succeeded to his patrimony, and in 1856 he bought
11 Carlton House Terrace, which was his London house for twenty years;
and he subsequently lived for four years at 73 Harley Street. During the
parliamentary recess Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone divided their time between
Fasque, Sir John Gladstone's seat in Kincardineshire, and Hawarden
Castle, which they shared with Mrs. Gladstone's brother, Sir Stephen
Glynne, till in his death in 1874, when it passed into their sole
possession. In 1854 Mrs. Gladstone's brother added to the castle a new
wing, which he especially dedicated to his illustrious brother-in-law,
and which is fondly known as "The Gladstone Wing." And Mr. Gladstone,
having only one country house, probably spent as much time at Hawarden
as any other minister finds it possible to devote to residence out
of London.
Hawarden, usually pronounced Harden, is the name of a large market-town,
far removed from the centre and seat of trade and empire, in Flintshire,
North Wales, six miles southwest from the singular and ancient city of
Chester, of which it may be called a suburb. It is not pretty, but a
clean and tolerably well-built place, with some good houses and the
usual characteristics of a Welsh village. The public road from Chester
to Hawarden, which passes by the magnificent seat of the Duke of
Westminster, is not, except for this, interesting to the stranger. There
is a pedestrian route along the banks of the river Dee, over the lower
ferry and across the meadows. But for the most part the way lies along
dreary wastes, unadorned by any of the beautiful landscape scenery so
common in Wales. Broughton Hall, its pleasant church and quiet
churchyard, belonging to the Hawarden estate, are passed on the way. The
village lies at the foot of the Castle, and outside of the gates of
Hawarden Park. The parish contains 13,000 acres, and of these the estate
of Mr. Gladstone consists of nearly 7000. The road from the village for
the most part is dreary, but within the gates the park is as beautiful
as it is extensive. Richly wooded, on both sides of its fine drive are
charming vistas opening amongst the oaks, limes and elms. On the height
to the left of the drive is the ancient Hawarden Castle, for there are
two--the old and the new--the latter being the more modern home of the
proprietor.
[Illustration: THE PARK GATE, HAWARDEN.]
The ancient Castle of Hawarden, situated on an eminence commanding an
extensive prospect, is now in ruins. What, however, was left of the old
Castle at the beginning of the century stands to-day a monument of the
massive work of the early masons. The remnant, which ages of time and
the Parliamentary wars and the strange zeal of its first owner under
Cromwell for its destruction, allowed to remain, is in a marvelous state
of preservation, and the masonry in some places fifteen feet thick.
There is a grandeur in the ruin to be enjoyed, as well as a scene of
beauty from its towers. The old Castle, like the park itself, is open to
the public without restriction. Only two requests are made in the
interests of good order. One is that visitors entering the park kindly
keep to the gravel walks, while the other is that they do not inscribe
their names on the stone-work of the ancient ruin, which request has
been unheeded.
This ancient Castle was doubtless a stronghold of the Saxons in very
early times, for it was found in the possession of Edwin of Mercia at
the Norman Conquest, and was granted by William the Conqueror to his
nephew, Hugh Lupus. In later times Prince Llewelyn was Lord of Hawarden,
of which he was dispossessed by his brother, David. It was only after
Wales was conquered that Hawarden became an English stronghold, held
against the Welsh.
[Illustration: OLD HAWARDEN CASTLE.]
The Castle had its vicissitudes, both as to its condition and
proprietorship, for many years, even generations. Somewhere between 1267
and 1280 the Castle had been destroyed and rebuilt. It was rebuilt in
the time of Edward I or Edward II, and formed one link in the chain by
which the Edwards held the Welsh to their loyalty. Its name appears in
the doomsday-book, where it is spelled Haordine. It was presented by
King Edward to the House of Salisbury. Then the Earls of Derby came
into possession, and they entertained within its walls Henry VII in the
latter part of the fifteenth century. During the Parliamentary wars it
was held at first for the Parliament, and was taken by siege in 1643.
The royalists were in possession two years later, and at Christmas time,
in 1645, Parliament ordered that the Castle be dismantled, which was
effectively done. The latest proprietor of those times was James, Earl
of Derby. He was executed and the estates were sold. They were purchased
by Sergeant Glynne, Lord Chief Justice of England under Cromwell, from
whom in a long line of descent they were inherited, upon the death of
the last baronet, Sir Stephen Glynne, in 1874, by the wife of William E.
Gladstone. Sergeant Glynne's son, Sir William, the first baronet, when
he came into possession, was seized with the unaccountable notion of
further destroying the old Castle, and by the end of the seventeenth
century very little remained beyond what stands to-day.
[Illustration: A GLIMPSE OF THE CASTLE FROM THE PARK.]
Hawarden is supposed to be synonymous with the word Burg-Ardden, Ardin,
a fortified mound or hill. It is usually supposed to be an English word,
but of Welsh derivation, and is no doubt related to dinas, in Welsh the
exact equivalent to the Saxon _burg_. The Welsh still call it Penarlas,
a word the etymology of which points to a period when the lowlands of
Saltney were under water, and the Castle looked over a lake. The
earlier history of the Castle goes back to the time when it was held by
the ancient Britons, and stood firm against Saxon, Dane, or whatever
invading foe sought to deprive the people of their heritage in the
soil. On the invasion of William, as we have seen, it was in the
possession of Edwin, sovereign of Deira. "We find it afterwards," says
another account, "in the possession of Roger Fitzvalarine, a son of one
of the adventurers who came over with the Conqueror. Then it was held,
subordinately, by the Monthault, or Montalt, family, the stewards of the
palatinate of Chester. It is remarkable, as we noticed in our story of
Hughenden Manor, that as the traditions of that ancient place touched
the memory of Simon de Montfort, the great Earl of Leicester, so do they
also in the story of the old Castle of Hawarden. Here Llewelyn, the last
native prince of Wales, held a memorable conference with the Earl. With
in the walls of Hawarden was signed the treaty of peace between Wales
and Cheshire, not long to last; here Llewelyn saw the beautiful daughter
of De Montfort, whose memory haunted him so tenderly and so long. Again
we find the Castle in the possession of the Montalt family, from whom it
descended to the Stanleys, the Earl of Derby.... Here the last native
princes of Wales, Llewelyn and David, attempted to grasp their crumbling
sceptre, Here no doubt halted Edward I, 'girt with many a baron bold;'
here the Tudor prince, Henry VII, of Welsh birth, visited in the later
years of the fifteenth century; and this was the occasion upon which it
passed into the family whose representatives had proclaimed him monarch
on Bosworth field. But when James, Earl of Derby, was beheaded, after
the battle of Worcester, in 1651, the estate was purchased under the
Sequestration Act by Sergeant Glynne, whose portrait hangs over the
mantleshelf of the drawing-room; 'but,' says Mrs. Gladstone, in calling
our attention to it, 'he is an ancestor of whom we have no occasion to
be and are not proud.'"
This remark of Mrs. Gladstone's may be explained by the following from
the pen of a reputable author: "Sergeant Glynne, who flourished
(literally flourished) during the seventeenth century, was a most
unscrupulous man in those troubled times. He was at first a supporter of
Charles I, then got office and preferment under Cromwell, and yet again,
like a veritable Vicar of Bray, became a Royalist on the return of
Charles II. The Earl of Derby, who was taken prisoner at the battle of
Worcester, in 1661, was executed, and his estates forfeited. Of these
estates Sergeant Glynne managed to get possession of Hawarden; and
though on the Restoration all Royalists' forfeited estates were ordered
to be restored, Glynne managed somehow to remain in possession of the
property."
[Illustration: WATERFALL IN HAWARDEN PARK.]
It is very probable that Hawarden Castle was no exception to those cruel
haunts of feudal tyranny and oppression belonging to the days of its
power. Many years ago, when the rubbish was cleared away beneath the
Castle ruin, a flight of steps was found, at the foot of which was a
door, and a draw-bridge, which crossed a long, deep chasm, neatly faced
with freestone; then another door leading to several small rooms, all,
probably, places of confinement; and those hollows, now fringed with
timber trees, in those days constituted a broad, deep fosse.
The old Hawarden Castle, a curious ruin covered with moss and ivy, like
many other ancient piles of stone in historic England, is a reminder of
a past and warlike age, when an Englishman's home had to be a castle to
protect him and his family from his enemies. But times have changed for
the better, and long immunity from internal foes and invading armies has
had its peaceful effects upon the lands and the homes of men. As the
grounds of Hawarden show the remarkable cultivation produced by long
periods of peaceful toil, so the ancient castle has given way for the
modern dwelling, a peaceful abode whose only protecting wall is that
with which the law surrounds it.
Modern Hawarden Castle is a castle only in name. The new "Castle" has
been the home of the Glynns' for generations, and ever since the
marriage of Mr. Gladstone and Miss Glynn has been the dwelling of the
Gladstones. Mr. Gladstone has greatly improved the Hawarden estate and
the castle has not been overlooked. Among the improvements to the castle
may be named the additions to the library and the Golden Wedding Porch.
The new Castle was begun in 1752, by Sir John Glynne, who "created a
stout, honest, square, red-brick mansion;" which was added to and
altered in the Gothic style in 1814. The Glynnes lived in Oxfordshire
till early in the eighteenth century, when they built themselves a small
house, which was on the site of the present Castle. The new Hawarden
Castle stands in front of the massive ruin of the old Castle, which has
looked down on the surrounding country for six centuries. A recent
writer speaking of the new structure as a sham Castle, with its plaster
and stucco, and imitation turrets, says: "It would not have been
surprising if the old Castle had, after the manner of Jewish chivalry,
torn its hair of thickly entwined ivy, rent its garments of moss and
lichen, and fallen down prostrate, determined forever to shut out the
sight of the modern monstrosity."
However, the author somewhat relents and thus describes the modern
edifice:
"The aspect of the house is very impressive and imposing, as it first
suddenly seems to start upon the view after a long carriage-drive
through the noble trees, if not immediately near, but breaking and
brightening the view on either hand; yet, within and without, the house
seems like its mighty master--not pensive but rural; it does not even
breathe the spirit of quiet. Its rooms look active and power-compelling,
and we could not but feel that they were not indebted to any of the
aesthetic inventions and elegancies of furniture for their charm. Thus
we have heard of one visitor pathetically exclaiming, 'Not one _dado_
adorns the walls!' Hawarden is called a Castle, but it has not, either
in its exterior or interior, the aspect of a Castle. It is a home; it
has a noble appearance as it rises on the elevated ground, near the old
feudal ruin which it has superseded, and looks over the grand and
forest-like park, the grand pieces of broken ground, dells and hollows,
and charming woodlands."
[Illustration: COURT YARD, HAWARDEN CASTLE.]
The traditional history of Hawarden Church, as well as that of the
Castle, travels back to a very remote antiquity, and is the central
point of interest to many a tragedy, and some of a very grotesque
character. For instance, for many ages the inhabitants of Hawarden were
called "Harden Jews," and for this designation we have the following
legendary account. In the year 946, during the reign of Cynan ap Elisap
Anarawd, King of Gwynedd North, there was a Christian temple at Harden,
and a rood-loft, in which was placed an image of the Virgin Mary, with a
very large cross in her hands, which was called "holy rood." During a
very hot and dry summer the inhabitants prayed much and ardently for
rain, but without any effect. Among the rest, Lady Trowst, wife of
Sytsyllt, governor of Harden Castle, went also to pray, when, during
this exercise, the holy rood fell upon her head and killed her. Such
behavior upon the part of this wooden Virgin could be tolerated no
longer. A great tumult ensued in consequence, and it was concluded to
try the said Virgin for murder, and the jury not only found her guilty
of wilful murder, but of inattention in not answering the prayers of
innumerable petitioners. The sentence was hanging, but Span, of Mancot,
who was one of the jury, opposed this act saying it was best to drown,
since it was rain they prayed for. This was fiercely opposed by Corbin,
of the gate, who advised that she should be laid on the sands by the
river. So, this being done, the tide carried the lady, floating gently,
like another lady, Elaine, upon its soft bosom, and placed her near the
walls of Caerleon (now Chester), where she was found next day, says the
legend, drowned and dead. Here the inhabitants of Caerleon buried her.
Upon this occasion, it is said, the river, which had until then been
called the Usk, was changed to Rood Die, or Rood Dee. We need not stay
here to analyze some things belonging to locality and etymology, which
appear to us somewhat anachronistic and contradictory in this ancient
and queer legend.
Hawarden Church is a fairly large structure, externally a plain old
brick building with a low tower and a dwarf spire, standing in the midst
of a large population of graves. There is preserved in the annals of
the Church a list of the rectors of Hawarden as far back as 1180.
About forty years ago a fire broke out in the Church, and when all was
over, very little was left of the original structure except the walls.
It was restored with great expedition, and was re-opened within the same
year. The present building is a restoration to the memory of the
immediate ancestor, from whom the estate is derived by the present
family. It is the centre of hard, earnest work, done for an
exceptionally large parish. But the Church population is occasionally
recruited from all the ends of the earth.
It is here that the Gladstone family worship on the plain, uncushioned
pew, near the lectern and opposite the pulpit. When the estates came
into the hands of the Glynnes the living was bestowed upon a member of
the family. The Rector is Rev. Stephen Gladstone, second son of the
Premier. He is not a great preacher, but he is quietly earnest and
instructive. Mr. Gladstone was up early on Sunday mornings and seldom
failed to be in his pew at Church. Crowds filled the Church Sunday,
morning and evening, week after week, many of them strangers, to see the
Prime Minister of England, and behold him leave his pew and, standing at
the reading-desk, go through his part of the service--that of reading
the lessons for the day, in this obscure village Church. After church
Mr. Gladstone went to the rectory with his family, with his cloak only
over his shoulders, when the weather required, and as he walked along
the path through the churchyard would bow to the crowds that stood on
either side uncovered to greet him as he passed by. The two brothers,
until recently, lived at the rectory, and the whole family seemed to
live in the most beautiful harmony together.
Both Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone attribute much of his health to the fact
that he will have his Sabbath to himself and his family, undisturbed by
any of the agitations of business, the cares of State, or even the
recreations of literature and scholastic study. This profound public
regard for the day of rest, whether in London or at Hawarden, awakens a
feeling of admiration and puts us in mind of his great predecessor in
statesmanship, Cecil, Lord Burleigh, who, when he arrived at Theobalds
on a Saturday evening would throw off his cloak or chain of office and
exclaim, "Lie there and rest, my good lord treasurer."
[Illustration: THE REV. H. DREW, WARDEN OF ST. DENIOL'S.]
One of the main points of interest at the home of Mr. Gladstone is the
library. There is not a room in Hawarden Castle in which there is not an
abundance of books, which are not all collected in the library, but
distributed all over the house. Where other people have cabinets for
curiosities, china, etc., there are here shelves and cases full of
books. In ante-room and bed-room dressing-room and nursery they are
found, not by single volumes, but in serried ranks; well-known and
useful books. But it is in the library where Mr. Gladstone has collected
by years of careful selection, a most valuable and large array of
books, from all parts of the world, upon every subject. These books are
classified and so arranged as to be of immediate use. All those on one
particular subject are grouped together.
[Illustration: DOROTHY'S DOVECOTE]
Mr. Gladstone was a familiar figure in the book stores, and especially
where rare, old books were to be found, and he seldom failed to return
home with some book in his pocket. Mrs. Gladstone is said to have gone
through his pockets often upon his return home, and sent back many a
volume to the book-seller, that had found its way to the pocket of her
husband, after a hasty glance at its title. He kept himself informed of
all that was going on in the literary, scientific and artistic worlds,
receiving each week a parcel of the newest books for his private
readings. Every day he looked over several book-sellers's catalogues,
and certain subjects were sure of getting an order.
Hawarden library gave every evidence of being for use, and not show. Mr.
Gladstone knew what books he had and was familiar with their contents.
Some books were in frequent use, but others were not forgotten. He could
put his hand on any one he wanted to refer to. At the end of a volume
read he would construct an index of his own by which he could find
passages to which he wished to refer.
There are few stories that Mr. Gladstone told with greater relish than
one concerning Sir Antonio Panizzi, who many years ago visited the
library at Hawarden. Looking round the room and at its closely packed
shelves, he observed in a patronizing tone, "I see you have got some
books here." Nettled at this seemingly slighting allusion to the paucity
of his library, Mr. Gladstone asked Panizzi how many volumes he thought
were on the shelves. Panizzi replied: "From five to six thousand." Then
a loud and exulting laugh rang round the room as Mr. Gladstone answered:
"You are wrong by at least two thousand, as there are eight thousand
volumes and more before you now." Since then the library has
grown rapidly.
[Illustration: DINING ROOM IN THE ORPHANAGE, HAWARDEN.]
The fate of this large library was naturally a matter of much
consideration to Mr. Gladstone. It was particularly rich in classical
and theological works, so it occured to its owner to form a public
library under a trusteeship, for the benefit of students, under the care
of the Rector of Hawarden, or some other clergyman. So he caused to be
erected at a cost to him of about $5,000, a corrugated iron building on
a knoll just outside Hawarden Church. The name of this parish library is
"The St. Deiniol's Theological and General Library of Hawarden." In
1891, Mr. Gladstone had deposited about 20,000 volumes upon the shelves
in this new building, with his own hands, which books were carried in
hand-carts from the castle. Since that time thousands have been added to
this valuable collection.
[Illustration: STAIRCASE IN THE ORPHANAGE, HAWARDEN.]
It was a happy thought of Mr. Gladstone to found a theological library
in the immediate vicinity of Hawarden; also to have connected with it a
hostel where students could be boarded and lodged for six dollars a week
and thus be enabled to use the library in the pursuit of their studies.
Mr. Gladstone has endowed the institution with $150,000. Rev. H. Drew,
the son-in-law of Mr. Gladstone, is warden and librarian.
[Illustration: HAWARDEN CHURCH.]