VISIT TO EATON HALL.—THE LARGEST ARCH IN THE WORLD.—THE OUTER
PARK.—BACKWOODS’ FARMING.—THE DEER PARK.—THE HALL.—THE PARTERRE.—
THE LAWN.—THE FRUIT GARDEN.—STABLES.
[Sidenote: _LANDSCAPE GARDENING._]
In the afternoon we walked to Eaton park.
Probably there is no object of art that Americans of cultivated
taste generally more long to see in Europe, than an English park.
What artist, so noble, has often been my thought, as he, who with
far-reaching conception of beauty and designing power, sketches the
outline, writes the colours, and directs the shadows of a picture so
great that Nature shall be employed upon it for generations, before the
work he has arranged for her shall realize his intentions.
Eaton hall and park is _one_ of the seats of the Marquis of
Westminster, a very wealthy nobleman, who has lately been named “Lord
High Chamberlain to her Majesty,” a kind of state-housekeeper or
steward, I take it—an office which Punch, and a common report of a
niggardly disposition in his private affairs, deems him particularly
appropriate to.
We left town by the new, or Grosvenor bridge—a simple, grand, and every
way excellent work, crossing the Dee by a single arch, which we are
told is the largest in the world. It is entirely free from decorative
ornament, and the effect of it, as seen looking from the river side,
is most imposing. I know of nothing in America to compare with it. It
was built by the marquis, whose family name is Grosvenor, at a cost of
$180,000 (£36,000). The designer was Thomas Harrison, an architect of
note, who formerly lived in Chester.[13]
[13] The main arch spans two hundred feet, and its height is forty
feet, and there two dry arches, each twenty feet wide and forty feet
high. From the surface of the water to the road is over sixty feet.
The parapet walls are three hundred and fifty feet long, with a
carriage-way and foot-path between, of thirty feet.
By the side of the road we found an oratory, or small chapel, building,
and gardeners laying out grounds for a rural cemetery. Beyond this we
came to the great castellated edifice that I have before spoken of as
the gateway to the park. Such we were told it was, and were therefore
surprised to find within only a long, straight road, with but tolerable
mowing lots alternating by the side of it, with thick plantations of
trees, no way differing from the twenty-year old natural wood of my
own farm, except that hollies, laurels, and our common dog-wood were
planted regularly along the edge. After a while we pushed into this
wood, to see if we could not scare up some of the deer. We soon saw
daylight on the outside, and about twelve rods from the road, came
to an open field, separated from the road only by a common Yankee
three-rail fence, which I had not expected to see in England; very poor
it was too, at that.
A stout boy, leaning heavily on the stilts, was ploughing the
stubble-ground (apparently a _summer fallow_). We jumped over and asked
what crop the ground was preparing for. The horses stopped of their own
accord when we spoke. The boy turned and sat upon the stilts-brace, and
then answered—“Erdnow.”
[Sidenote: _GENTLEMAN FARMING.—PARK SCENERY._]
The same answer, or some other sounds that we could not guess the
meaning of, followed several other questions. The plough had a wooden
beam, bound round with hoop iron. The horses, one black and the other
white, seemed to be worn-out hacks; the harness was mended with bits
of rope; the furrows were crooked and badly turned. Altogether, a
more unfarmer-like turn-out, and a worse piece of work I never saw in
our own backwoods. When we last saw the ploughman, he had taken off
his woollen cap and seemed about lighting a pipe, and the horses were
beginning to nibble at the stubble, which stuck up in tufts all over
the ploughed ground. In getting back to the road we crossed a low spot,
sinking ankle deep in mire, and noticed several trees not eight inches
thick, which showed signs of decay.
We tramped on for several miles through this tame scenery and most
ungentlemanly farming, until it became really tiresome. At length the
wood fell back, and the road was lined for some way with a double row
of fine elms. Still no deer. A little further, and we came to a cottage
most beautifully draped with ivy; passed through another gate. Ah! here
is the real park at last.
A gracefully, irregular, gently undulating surface of close-cropped
pasture land, reaching way off inimitably; dark green in colour;
very old, but not very large trees scattered singly and in groups—so
far apart as to throw long unbroken shadows across broad openings of
light, and leave the view in several directions unobstructed for a
long distance. Herds of fallow-deer, fawns, cattle, sheep, and lambs
quietly feeding near us, and moving slowly in masses at a distance; a
warm atmosphere, descending sun, and sublime shadows from fleecy clouds
transiently darkening in succession, sunny surface, cool woodside,
flocks and herds, and foliage.
The road ran on winding through this. We drew a long breath, and walked
slowly for a little way, then turned aside at the nearest tree, and lay
down to take it all in satisfactorily. Then we rose and went among
the deer. They were small and lean, all with their heads down feeding.
Among them was one pure white fawn. I believe none of them had antlers,
or more than mere prongs. They seemed to be quite as tame as the sheep;
but suddenly, as we came still nearer, all, as if one, raised high
their heads, and bounded off in a high springing gallop. After going
a few rods, one stopped short, and facing about, stood alone with
ears erect, and gleaming eyes, intent upon us. A few rods further the
whole herd stopped and stood in the same way, looking at us. One by
one the heads again dropped; a fawn stepped out from among them; the
one nearest us turned and trotted to it, and then all fell quietly to
feeding again.
The sheep were of a large, coarse-woolled variety, some of them nearly
as large, only not standing quite so high, as the deer—not handsome at
all (as sheep) even for a mutton breed; but in groups at a distance,
and against the shadows, far prettier than the deer. The cattle were
short horned, large, dapple skinned, sleek, and handsome, but not
remarkable.
We concluded that the sheep and cattle were of the most value for their
effect in the landscape; but it was a little exciting to us to watch
the deer, particularly as we would some times see them in a large herd
leisurely moving across an opening among the trees, a long way off, and
barely distinguishable; or still more when one, two, or three, which
had been separated from a nearer herd, suddenly started, and dashed
wildly by us, within pistol shot.
“I don’t think they are as large as our Maine fallow deer.”
“I wonder if they’d taste as good as they did _that night_.”
“Well, I reckon not—no hemlock to toast them over.”
“Or to sleep on afterwards, eh!”
“And no wolves to keep you awake.”
“No! How the bloody rascals did howl that night though, didn’t they?”
[Sidenote: _ETON HALL.—THE POINTED GOTHIC._]
Following the carriage road, we came near a mass of shrubbery, over and
beyond which the trees were closer and taller. It was separated from
the deer park by an iron fence. Passing this by another light gate, and
through a screen of thick underwood, we found ourselves close to the
entrance front of the Hall.
“It is considered the most splendid specimen of the pointed Gothic.
It consists of a centre and three stories, finished with octagonal
turrets, connected with the main part by lofty intermediate towers,
the whole enriched by buttresses, niches, and pinnacles, and adorned
with elaborately carved heraldic designs, fretwork, and foliage,
surmounted throughout by an enriched battlement.”
So much from the Guide Book. It is not my business to attempt a
criticism of “the finest specimen of the pointed Gothic” in England;
but I may honestly say that it did not, as a whole, produce the
expected effect of grandeur or sublimity upon us, without trying to
find reasons for the failure. Even when we came to look at it closely,
we found little to admire. There was no great simple beauty in it as a
mass, nor yet vigorous original character enough in the details to make
them an interesting study. The edifice is long and low, and covered
with an immense amount of meaningless decoration.
Such was our first impression, and we were greatly disappointed, you
may be sure. We admired it more afterwards on the other side, from the
middle of a great garden, where it seems to stand much higher, being
set up on terraces, and gaining much, I suspect, from the extension
of architectural character to the grounds in its front. Here we
acknowledged a good deal of magnificence in its effect. Still it seemed
as if it might have been obtained in some other style, with less
labour, and was much frittered away in the confusion of ornament.
This garden is a curiosity. It is in the geometrical style, and covers
eight acres, it is said, though it does not seem nearly that to the
eye. It is merely a succession of small arabesque figures of fine
grass or flower beds, set in hard, rolled, dark-coloured gravel. The
surface, dropping by long terraces from the steps of the hall to the
river, is otherwise only varied by stiff pyramidal yews and box, and
a few vases. On the whole, the effect of it in connection with the
house, and looking towards it, is good, more so than I should have
expected; and it falls so rapidly, that it affects the landscape seen
in this direction _from_ the house but very little. This is exquisitely
beautiful, looking across the Dee, over a lovely valley towards some
high, blue mountains. From other parts of the hall grand vistas open
through long avenues of elms, and there are some noble single trees
about the lawn.
This English elm is a much finer tree than I had been aware of—very
tall, yet with drooping limbs and fine thick foliage; not nearly as
fine as a single tree as our elm, but even more effective, I think, in
masses, because thicker and better filled out in its general outline.
The hall was undergoing extensive alterations and repairs; and all the
grounds immediately about it, except the terrace garden, were lumbered
up with brick and stone, and masons’ sheds, and in complete confusion.
Being Saturday, all the workmen had left, and it was long before we
could find any one about the house. We had got very thirsty, and
considering that such a place would not be left without any tenants,
determined to rouse them out and get a drink. After hammering for some
time at a door under the principal entrance, a woman came and opened it
a few inches, and learning our wish, brought us a glass of water, which
she passed out through the narrow opening, never showing her face. We
were amused at this, which she perceiving, told us the door was chained
and padlocked, so she could not open it wider.
[Sidenote: _BOX STABLES._]
Soon after, while looking for an entrance to the fruit garden, we met
a gamekeeper, who was followed by a pet cub fox. He very obligingly,
and with a gentlemanly manner showed us through such parts of the
establishment as he was able to. There was nothing remarkable in
the gardens or glass-houses, except some very large and wonderfully
well-trained fruit trees on walls. Every thing was neglected now,
however, and we did no more than glance at them. There were some new
stables nearly finished, the plans of which I studied with interest.
Each horse is to have a private box for himself. I do not recollect the
exact size, but it is at least twelve feet square on the floor, and
more than that high. In the ceiling is a ventilator, and in one corner
an iron rack for hay (much like a fire-grate), and there is probably
intended to be a small manger for fine and wet feed. There is a grating
for drainage in the floor, and, besides these, no other fixtures
whatever. The horse is to be left free within the walls.