August 24th.--I went to Eaton Hall yesterday with my wife and Mr. G. P.
Bradford, via Chester. On our way, at the latter place, we visited St.
John's Church. It is built of the same red freestone as the cathedral,
and looked exceedingly antique, and venerable; this kind of stone, from
its softness, and its liability to be acted upon by the weather, being
liable to an early decay. Nevertheless, I believe the church was built
above a thousand years ago,--some parts of it, at least,--and the surface
of the tower and walls is worn away and hollowed in shallow sweeps by the
hand of Time. There were broken niches in several places, where statues
had formerly stood. All, except two or three, had fallen or crumbled
away, and those which remained were much damaged. The face and details
of the figure were almost obliterated. There were many gravestones round
the church, but none of them of any antiquity. Probably, as the names
become indistinguishable on the older stones, the graves are dug over
again, and filled with new occupants and covered with new stones, or
perhaps with the old ones newly inscribed.
Closely connected with the church was the clergyman's house, a
comfortable-looking residence; and likewise in the churchyard, with
tombstones all about it, even almost at the threshold, so that the
doorstep itself might have been a tombstone, was another house, of
respectable size and aspect. We surmised that this might be the sexton's
dwelling, but it proved not to be so; and a woman, answering our knock,
directed us to the place where he might be found. So Mr. Bradford and I
went in search of him, leaving S----- seated on a tombstone. The sexton
was a jolly-looking, ruddy-faced man, a mechanic of some sort,
apparently, and he followed us to the churchyard with much alacrity. We
found S----- standing at a gateway, which opened into the most ancient,
and now quite ruinous, part of the church, the present edifice covering
much less ground than it did some centuries ago. We went through this
gateway, and found ourselves in an enclosure of venerable walls, open to
the sky, with old Norman arches standing about, beneath the loftiest of
which the sexton told us the high altar used to stand. Of course, there
were weeds and ivy growing in the crevices, but not so abundantly as I
have seen them elsewhere. The sexton pointed out a piece of a statue
that had once stood in one of the niches, and which he himself, I think,
had dug up from several feet below the earth; also, in a niche of the
walls, high above our heads, he showed us an ancient wooden coffin, hewn
out of a solid log of oak, the hollow being made rudely in the shape of a
human figure. This too had been dug up, and nobody knew how old it was.
While we looked at all this solemn old trumpery, the curate, quite a
young man, stood at the back door of his house, elevated considerably
above the ruins, with his young wife (I presume) and a friend or two,
chatting cheerfully among themselves. It was pleasant to see them there.
After examining the ruins, we went inside of the church, and found it a
dim and dusky old place, quite paved over with tombstones, not an inch of
space being left in the aisles or near the altar, or in any nook or
corner, uncovered by a tombstone. There were also mural monuments and
escutcheons, and close against the wall lay the mutilated statue of a
Crusader, with his legs crossed, in the style which one has so often read
about. The old fellow seemed to have been represented in chain armor;
but he had been more battered and bruised since death than even during
his pugnacious life, and his nose was almost knocked away. This figure
had been dug up many years ago, and nobody knows whom it was meant to
commemorate.
The nave of the church is supported by two rows of Saxon pillars, not
very lofty, but six feet six inches (so the sexton says) in diameter.
They are covered with plaster, which was laid on ages ago, and is now so
hard and smooth that I took the pillars to be really composed of solid
shafts of gray stone. But, at one end of the church, the plaster had
been removed from two of the pillars, in order to discover whether they
were still sound enough to support the building; and they prove to be
made of blocks of red freestone, just as sound as when it came from the
quarry; for though this stone soon crumbles in the open air, it is as
good as indestructible when sheltered from the weather. It looked very
strange to see the fresh hue of these two pillars amidst the dingy
antiquity of the rest of the structure.
The body of the church is covered with pews, the wooden enclosures of
which seemed of antique fashion. There were also modern stoves; but the
sexton said it was very cold there, in spite of the stoves. It had, I
must say, a disagreeable odor pervading it, in which the dead people of
long ago had doubtless some share,--a musty odor, by no means amounting
to a stench, but unpleasant, and, I should think, unwholesome. Old
wood-work, and old stones, and antiquity of all kinds, moral and
physical, go to make up this smell. I observed it in the cathedral, and
Chester generally has it, especially under the Rows. After all, the
necessary damp and lack of sunshine, in such a shadowy old church as
this, have probably more to do with it than the dead people have;
although I did think the odor was particularly strong over some of the
tombstones. Not having shillings to give the sexton, we were forced to
give him half a crown.
The Church of St. John is outside of the city walls. Entering the East
gate, we walked awhile under the Rows, bought our tickets for Eaton Hall
and its gardens, and likewise some playthings for the children; for this
old city of Chester seems to me to possess an unusual number of
toy-shops. Finally we took a cab, and drove to the Hall, about four
miles distant, nearly the whole of the way lying through the wooded Park.
There are many sorts of trees, making up a wilderness, which looked not
unlike the woods of our own Concord, only less wild. The English oak is
not a handsome tree, being short and sturdy, with a round, thick mass of
foliage, lying all within its own bounds. It was a showery day. Had
there been any sunshine, there might doubtless have been many beautiful
effects of light and shadow in these woods. We saw one or two herds of
deer, quietly feeding, a hundred yards or so distant. They appeared to
be somewhat wilder than cattle, but, I think, not much wilder than sheep.
Their ancestors have probably been in a half-domesticated state,
receiving food at the hands of man, in winter, for centuries. There is a
kind of poetry in this, quite as much as if they were really wild deer,
such as their forefathers were, when Hugh Lupus used to hunt them.
Our miserable cab drew up at the steps of Eaton Hall, and, ascending
under the portico, the door swung silently open, and we were received
very civilly by two old men,--one, a tall footman in livery; the other,
of higher grade, in plain clothes. The entrance-hall is very spacious,
and the floor is tessellated or somehow inlaid with marble. There was
statuary in marble on the floor, and in niches stood several figures in
antique armor, of various dates; some with lances, and others with
battle-axes and swords. There was a two-handed sword, as much as six
feet long; but not nearly so ponderous as I have supposed this kind of
weapon to be, from reading of it. I could easily have brandished it.
I don't think I am a good sight-seer; at least, I soon get satisfied with
looking at the sights, and wish to go on to the next.
The plainly dressed old man now led us into a long corridor, which goes,
I think, the whole length of the house, about five hundred feet, arched
all the way, and lengthened interminably by a looking-glass at the end,
in which I saw our own party approaching like a party of strangers. But
I have so often seen this effect produced in dry-goods stores and
elsewhere, that I was not much impressed. There were family portraits
and other pictures, and likewise pieces of statuary, along this arched
corridor; and it communicated with a chapel with a scriptural
altar-piece, copied from Rubens, and a picture of St. Michael and the
Dragon, and two, or perhaps three, richly painted windows. Everything
here is entirely new and fresh, this part having been repaired, and never
yet inhabited by the family. This brand-newness makes it much less
effective than if it had been lived in; and I felt pretty much as if I
were strolling through any other renewed house. After all, the utmost
force of man can do positively very little towards making grand things or
beautiful things. The imagination can do so much more, merely on
shutting one's eyes, that the actual effect seems meagre; so that a new
house, unassociated with the past, is exceedingly unsatisfactory,
especially when you have heard that the wealth mud skill of man has here
done its best. Besides, the rooms, as we saw them, did not look by any
means their best, the carpets not being down, and the furniture being
covered with protective envelopes. However, rooms cannot be seen to
advantage by daylight; it being altogether essential to the effect, that
they should be illuminated by artificial light, which takes them somewhat
out of the region of bare reality. Nevertheless, there was undoubtedly
great splendor, for the details of which I refer to the guide-book.
Among the family portraits, there was one of a lady famous for her
beautiful hand; and she was holding it up to notice in the funniest way,
--and very beautiful it certainly was. The private apartments of the
family were not shown us. I should think it impossible for the owner of
this house to imbue it with his personality to such a degree as to feel
it to be his home. It must be like a small lobster in a shell much too
large for him.
After seeing what was to be seen of the rooms, we visited the gardens, in
which are noble conservatories and hot-houses, containing all manner of
rare and beautiful flowers, and tropical fruits. I noticed some large
pines, looking as if they were really made of gold. The gardener
(under-gardener I suppose he was) who showed this part of the spectacle
was very intelligent as well as kindly, and seemed to take an interest in
his business. He gave S----- a purple everlasting flower, which will
endure a great many years, as a memento of our visit to Eaton Hall.
Finally, we took a view of the front of the edifice, which is very fine,
and much more satisfactory than the interior,--and returned to Chester.
We strolled about under the unsavory Rows, sometimes scudding from side
to side of the street, through the shower; took lunch in a confectioner's
shop, and drove to the railway station in time for the three-o'clock
train. It looked picturesque to see two little girls, hand in hand,
racing along the ancient passages of the Rows; but Chester has a very
evil smell.
At the railroad station, S----- saw a small edition of "Twice-Told
Tales," forming a volume of the Cottage Library; and, opening it, there
was the queerest imaginable portrait of myself,--so very queer that we
could not but buy it. The shilling edition of "The Scarlet Letter" and
"Seven Gables" are at all the book-stalls and shop-windows; but so is
"The Lamplighter," and still more trashy books.
August 26th.--All past affairs, all home conclusions, all people whom I
have known in America and meet again here, are strangely compelled to
undergo a new trial. It is not that they suffer by comparison with
circumstances of English life and forms of English manhood or womanhood;
but, being free from my old surroundings, and the inevitable prejudices
of home, I decide upon them absolutely.
I think I neglected to record that I saw Miss Martineau a few weeks
since. She is a large, robust, elderly woman, and plainly dressed; but
withal she has so kind, cheerful, and intelligent a face that she is
pleasanter to look at than most beauties. Her hair is of a decided gray,
and she does not shrink from calling herself old. She is the most
continual talker I ever heard; it is really like the babbling of a brook,
and very lively and sensible too; and all the while she talks, she moves
the bowl of her ear-trumpet from one auditor to another, so that it
becomes quite an organ of intelligence and sympathy between her and
yourself. The ear-trumpet seems a sensible part of her, like the
antennae of some insects. If you have any little remark to make, you
drop it in; and she helps you to make remarks by this delicate little
appeal of the trumpet, as she slightly directs it towards you; and if you
have nothing to say, the appeal is not strong enough to embarrass you.
All her talk was about herself and her affairs; but it did not seem like
egotism, because it was so cheerful and free from morbidness. And this
woman is an Atheist, and thinks that the principle of life will become
extinct when her body is laid in the grave! I will not think so; were it
only for her sake. What! only a few weeds to spring out of her
mortality, instead of her intellect and sympathies flowering and fruiting
forever!
September 13th.--My family went to Rhyl last Thursday, and on Saturday I
joined them there, in company with O'Sullivan, who arrived in the Behama
from Lisbon that morning. We went by way of Chester, and found S-----
waiting for us at the Rhyl station. Rhyl is a most uninteresting place,
--a collection of new lodging-houses and hotels, on a long sand-beach,
which the tide leaves bare almost to the horizon. The sand is by no
means a marble pavement, but sinks under the foot, and makes very heavy
walking; but there is a promenade in front of the principal range of
houses, looking on the sea, whereon we have rather better footing.
Almost all the houses were full, and S----- had taken a parlor and two
bedrooms, and is living after the English fashion, providing her own
table, lights, fuel, and everything. It is very awkward to our American
notions; but there is an independence about it, which I think must make
it agreeable on better acquaintance. But the place is certainly
destitute of attraction, and life seems to pass very heavily. The
English do not appear to have a turn for amusing themselves.
Sunday was a bright and hot day, and in the forenoon I set out on a walk,
not well knowing whither, over a very dusty road, with not a particle of
shade along its dead level. The Welsh mountains were before me, at the
distance of three or four miles,--long ridgy hills, descending pretty
abruptly upon the plain; on either side of the road, here and there, an
old whitewashed, thatched stone cottage, or a stone farm-house, with an
aspect of some antiquity. I never suffered so much before, on this side
of the water, from heat and dust, and should probably have turned back
had I not espied the round towers and walls of an old castle at some
distance before me. Having looked at a guide-book, previously to setting
out, I knew that this must be Rhyddlan Castle, about three miles from
Rhyl; so I plodded on, and by and by entered an antiquated village, on
one side of which the castle stood. This Welsh village is very much like
the English villages, with narrow streets and mean houses or cottages,
built in blocks, and here and there a larger house standing alone;
everything far more compact than in our rural villages, and with no
grassy street-margin nor trees; aged and dirty also, with dirty children
staring at the passenger, and an undue supply of mean inns; most, or many
of the men in breeches, and some of the women, especially the elder ones,
in black beaver hats. The streets were paved with round pebbles, and
looked squalid and ugly.
The children and grown people stared lazily at me as I passed, but showed
no such alert and vivacious curiosity as a community of Yankees would
have done. I turned up a street that led me to the castle, which looked
very picturesque close at hand,--more so than at a distance, because the
towers and walls have not a sufficiently broken outline against the sky.
There are several round towers at the angles of the wall very large in
their circles, built of gray stone, crumbling, ivy-grown, everything that
one thinks of in an old ruin. I could not get into the inner space of
the castle without climbing over a fence, or clambering down into the
moat; so I contented myself with walking round it, and viewing it from
the outside. Through the gateway I saw a cow feeding on the green grass
in the inner court of the castle. In one of the walls there was a large
triangular gap, where perhaps the assailants had made a breach. Of
course there were weeds on the ruinous top of the towers, and along the
summit of the wall. This was the first castle built by Edward I. in
Wales, and he resided here during the erection of Conway Castle, and here
Queen Eleanor gave birth to a princess. Some few years since a meeting
of Welsh bards was held within it.
After viewing it awhile, and listening to the babble of some children who
lay on the grass near by, I resumed my walk, and, meeting a Welshman in
the village street, I asked him my nearest way back to Rhyl. "Dim
Sassenach," said he, after a pause. How odd that an hour or two on the
railway should have brought me amongst a people who speak no English!
Just below the castle, there is an arched stone bridge over the river
Clwyd, and the best view of the edifice is from hence. It stands on a
gentle eminence, commanding the passage of the river, and two twin round
towers rise close beside one another, whence, I suppose, archers have
often drawn their bows against the wild Welshmen, on the river-banks.
Behind was the line of mountains; and this was the point of defence
between the hill country and the lowlands. On the bridge stood a good
many idle Welshmen, leaning over the parapet, and looking at some small
vessels that had come up the river from the sea. There was the frame of
a new vessel on the stocks near by.
As I returned, on my way home, I again inquired my way of a man in
breeches, who, I found, could speak English very well. He was kind, and
took pains to direct me, giving me the choice of three ways, viz. the one
by which I came, another across the fields, and a third by the embankment
along the river-side. I chose the latter, and so followed the course of
the Clwyd, which is very ugly, with a tidal flow and wide marshy banks.
On its farther side was Rhyddlan marsh, where a battle was fought between
the Welsh and Saxons a thousand years ago. I have forgotten to mention
that the castle and its vicinity was the scene of the famous battle of
the fiddlers, between De Blandeville, Earl of Chester, and the Welsh,
about the time of the Conqueror.