Bennoch and I recommenced our travels, and, changing from one railway to
another, reached Tunbridge Wells at nine or ten in the evening. . . . .
The next day was spent at Tunbridge Wells, which is famous for a
chalybeate spring, and is a watering-place of note, most healthily
situated on a high, breezy hill, with many pleasant walks in the
neighborhood. . . . . From Tunbridge Wells we transported ourselves to
Battle,--the village in which is Battle Abbey. It is a large village,
with many antique houses and some new ones; and in its principal street,
on one side, with a wide, green space before it, you see the gray,
embattled, outer wall, and great, square, battlemented entrance tower
(with a turret at each corner), of the ancient Abbey. It is the perfect
reality of a Gothic battlement and gateway, just as solid and massive as
when it was first built, though hoary and venerable with the many
intervening centuries. There are only two days in the week on which
visitors are allowed entrance, and this was not one of them.
Nevertheless, Bennoch was determined to get in, and he wished me to send
Lady Webster my card with his own; but this I utterly refused, for the
honor of America and for my own honor; because I will not do anything to
increase the reputation we already have as a very forward people.
Bennoch, however, called at a bookshop on the other side of the street,
near the gateway of the castle; and making friends, as he has a
marvellous tact in doing, with the bookseller, the latter offered to take
in his card to the housekeeper, and see if Lady Webster would not relax
her rule in our favor. Meanwhile, we went into the old church of Battle,
which was built in Norman times, though subsequently to the Abbey. As we
entered the church door, the bell rang for joy at the news of peace,
which had just been announced by the London papers.
The church has been whitewashed in modern times, and does not look so
venerable as it ought, with its arches and pillared aisles. In the
chancel stands a marble tomb, heavy, rich, and elaborate, on the top of
which lie the broken-nosed statues of Sir Anthony Browne and his lady,
who were the Lord and Lady of Battle Abbey in Henry VIII.'s time. The
knight is in armor, and the lady in stately garb, and (save for their
broken noses) they are in excellent preservation. The pavement of the
chancel and aisles is all laid with tombstones, and on two or three of
these there were engraved brasses, representing knights in armor, and
churchmen, with inscriptions in Latin. Some of them are very old. On
the walls, too, there are various monuments, principally of dignitaries
connected with the Abbey. Two hatchments, in honor of persons recently
dead, were likewise suspended in the chancel. The best pew of the church
is, of course, that of the Webster family. It is curtained round,
carpeted, furnished with chairs and footstools, and more resembles a
parlor than a pew; especially as there is a fireplace in one of the
pointed archways, which I suppose has been bricked up in order to form
it. On the opposite side of the aisle is the pew of some other magnate,
containing a stove. The rest of the parishioners have to keep themselves
warm with the fervor of their own piety. I have forgotten what else was
interesting, except that we were shown a stone coffin, recently dug up,
in which was hollowed a place for the head of the corpse.
Returning to the bookshop, we found that Lady Webster had sent her
compliments, and would be very happy to have us see the Abbey. How
thoroughly kind these English people can be when they like, and how often
they like to be so!
We lost no time in ringing the bell at the arched entrance, under the
great tower, and were admitted by an old woman who lives, I believe, in
the thickness of the wall. She told us her room used to be the prison of
the Abbey, and under the great arch she pointed to a projecting beam,
where she said criminals used to be hanged.
At two of the intersecting points of the arches, which form the roof of
the gateway, were carved faces of stone, said to represent King Harold
and William the Conqueror. The exterior wall, of which this tower is the
gateway, extends far along the village street, and encloses a very large
space, within which stands the mansion, quite secluded from unauthorized
visitors, or even from the sight of those without, unless it be at very
distant eyeshot.
We rang at the principal door of the edifice (it is under a deep arch, in
the Norman style, but of modern date), and a footman let its in, and then
delivered us over to a respectable old lady in black. She was a
Frenchwoman by birth, but had been very long in the service of the
family, and spoke English almost without an accent; her French blood
being indicated only by her thin and withered aspect, and a greater
gentility of manner than would have been seen in an Englishwoman of
similar station. She ushered us first into a grand and noble hall, the
arched and carved oaken roof of which ascended into the gable. It was
nearly sixty feet long, and its height equal to its length,--as stately a
hall, I should imagine, as is anywhere to be found in a private mansion.
It was lighted, at one end, by a great window, beneath which, occupying
the whole breadth of the hall, hung a vast picture of the Battle of
Hastings; and whether a good picture or no, it was a rich adornment of
the hall. The walls were wainscoted high upward with oak: they were
almost covered with noble pictures of ancestry, and of kings and great
men, and beautiful women; there were trophies of armor hung aloft; and
two armed figures, one in brass mail, the other in bright steel, stood on
a raised dais, underneath the great picture. At the end of the hall,
opposite the picture, a third of the way up towards the roof, was a
gallery. All these things that I have enumerated were in perfect
condition, without rust, untouched by decay or injury of any kind; but
yet they seemed to belong to a past age, and were mellowed, softened in
their splendor, a little dimmed with time,--toned down into a venerable
magnificence. Of all domestic things that I have seen in England, it
satisfied me most.
Then the Frenchwoman showed us into various rooms and offices, most of
which were contrived out of the old abbey-cloisters, and the vaulted
cells and apartments in which the monks used to live. If any house be
haunted, I should suppose this might be. If any church-property bring a
curse with it, as people say, I do not see how the owners of Battle Abbey
can escape it, taking possession of and dwelling in these holy precincts,
as they have done, and laying their kitchen hearth with the stones of
overthrown altars. The Abbey was first granted, I believe, to Sir
Anthony Browne, whom I saw asleep with his lady in the church. It was
his first wife. I wish it had been his second; for she was Surrey's
Geraldine. The posterity of Sir Anthony kept the place till 1719, and
then sold it to the Websters, a family of Baronets, who are still the
owners and occupants. The present proprietor is Sir Augustus Webster,
whose mother is the lady that so kindly let us into the Abbey.
Mr. Bennoch gave the nice old French lady half a crown, and we next went
round among the ruined portions of the Abbey, under the gardener's
guidance. We saw two ivied towers, insulated from all other ruins; and
an old refectory, open to the sky, and a vaulted crypt, supported by
pillars; and we saw, too, the foundation and scanty remains of a chapel,
which had been long buried out of sight of man, and only dug up within
present memory,--about forty years ago. There had always been a
tradition that this was the spot where Harold had planted his standard,
and where his body was found after the battle; and the discovery of the
ruined chapel confirmed the tradition.
I might have seen a great deal more, had there been time; and I have
forgotten much of what I did see; but it is an exceedingly interesting
place. There is an avenue of old yew-trees, which meet above like a
cloistered arch; and this is called the Monks' Walk. I rather think they
were ivy, though growing unsupported.
As we were retiring, the gardener suddenly stopped, as if he were
alarmed, and motioned to us to do the same, saying, "I believe it is my
lady!" And so it was,--a tall and stately lady in black, trimming shrubs
in the garden. She bowed to us very graciously,--we raised our hats, and
thus we met and parted without more ado. As we went through the arch of
the entrance tower, Bennoch gave the old female warder a shilling, and
the gardener followed us to get half a crown.