April 10th.--At Skipton. My wife, J-----, and I left Southport to-day
for a short tour to York and its neighborhood. The weather has been
exceedingly disagreeable for weeks past, but yesterday and to-day have
been pleasant, and we take advantage of the first glimpses of spring-like
weather. We came by Preston, along a road that grew rather more
interesting as we proceeded to this place, which is about sixty miles
from Southport, and where we arrived between five and six o'clock. First
of all, we got some tea; and then, as it was a pleasant sunset, we set
forth from our old-fashioned inn to take a walk.
Skipton is an ancient town, and has an ancient though well-repaired
aspect, the houses being built of gray stone, but in no picturesque
shapes; the streets well paved; the site irregular and rising gradually
towards Skipton Castle, which overlooks the town, as an old lordly castle
ought to overlook the feudal village which it protects. The castle was
built shortly after the Conquest by Robert de Romeli, and was afterwards
the property and residence of the famous Cliffords. We met an honest
man, as we approached the gateway, who kindly encouraged us to apply for
admittance, notwithstanding it was Good Friday; telling us how to find
the housekeeper, who would probably show us over the castle. So we
passed through the gate, between two embattled towers; and in the castle
court we met a flock of young damsels, who had been rambling about the
precincts. They likewise directed us in our search for the housekeeper,
and S-----, being bolder than I in such assaults on feudal castles, led
the way down a dark archway, and up an exterior stairway, and, knocking
at a door, immediately brought the housekeeper to a parley.
She proved to be a nowise awful personage, but a homely, neat, kindly,
intelligent, and middle-aged body. She seemed to be all alone in this
great old castle, and at once consented to show us about,--being, no
doubt, glad to see any Christian visitors. The castle is now the
property of Sir R. Tufton; but the present family do not make it their
permanent residence, and have only occasionally visited it. Indeed, it
could not well be made an eligible or comfortable residence, according to
modern ideas; the rooms occupying the several stories of large round
towers, and looking gloomy and sombre, if not dreary,--not the less so
for what has been done to modernize them; for instance, modern
paper-hangings, and, in some of the rooms, marble fireplaces. They need
a great deal more light and higher ceilings; and I rather imagine that
the warm, rich effect of glowing tapestry is essential to keep one's
spirit cheerful in these ancient rooms. Modern paper-hangings are too
superficial and wishy-washy for the purpose. Tapestry, it is true, there
is now, completely covering the walls of several of the rooms, but all
faded into ghastliness; nor could some of it have been otherwise than
ghastly, even in its newness, for it represented persons suffering
various kinds of torture, with crowds of monks and nuns looking on. In
another room there was the story of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba, and
other subjects not to be readily distinguished in the twilight that was
gathering in these antique chambers. We saw, too, some very old
portraits of the Cliffords and the Thanets, in black frames, and the
pictures themselves sadly faded and neglected. The famous Countess Anne
of Pembroke, Dorset, and Montgomery was represented on one of the leaves
of a pair of folding doors, and one of her husbands, I believe, on the
other leaf. There was the picture of a little idiot lordling, who had
choked himself to death; and a portrait of Oliver Cromwell, who battered
this old castle, together with almost every other English or Welsh castle
that I ever saw or heard of. The housekeeper pointed out the grove of
trees where his cannon were planted during the siege. There was but
little furniture in the rooms; amongst other articles, an antique chair,
in which Mary, Queen of Scots, is said to have rested.
The housekeeper next took us into the part of the castle which has never
been modernized since it was repaired, after the siege of Cromwell. This
is a dismal series of cellars above ground, with immensely thick walls,
letting in but scanty light, and dim staircases of stone; and a large
hall, with a vast fireplace, where every particle of heat must needs have
gone up chimney,--a chill and heart-breaking place enough. Quite in the
midst of this part of the castle is the court-yard,--a space of some
thirty or forty feet in length and breadth, open to the sky, but shut
completely in on every side by the buildings of the castle, and paved
over with flat stones. Out of this pavement, however, grows a yew-tree,
ascending to the tops of the towers, and completely filling, with its
branches and foliage, the whole open space between them. Some small
birds--quite a flock of them--were twittering and fluttering among the
upper branches. We went upward, through two or three stories of dismal
rooms,--among others, through the ancient guard-room,--till we came out
on the roof of one of the towers, and had a very fine view of an
amphitheatre of ridgy hills which shut in and seclude the castle and the
town. The upper foliage was within our reach, close to the parapet of
the tower; so we gathered a few twigs as memorials. The housekeeper told
us that the yew-tree is supposed to be eight hundred years old, and,
comparing it with other yews that I have seen, I should judge that it
must measure its antiquity by centuries, at all events. It still seems
to be in its prime.
Along the base of the castle, on the opposite side to the entrance, flows
a stream, sending up a pleasant murmur from among the trees. The
housekeeper said it was not a stream, but only a "wash," whatever that
may be; and I conjecture that it creates the motive-power of some
factory-looking edifices, which we saw on our first arrival at Skipton.
We now took our leave of the housekeeper, and came homeward to our inn,
where I have written the foregoing pages by a bright fire; but I think I
write better descriptions after letting the subject lie in my mind a day
or two. It is too new to be properly dealt with immediately after coming
from the scene.
The castle is not at all crumbly, but in excellent repair, though so
venerable. There are rooks cawing about the shapeless patches of their
nests, in the tops of the trees. In the castle wall, as well as in the
round towers of the gateway, there seem to be little tenements, perhaps
inhabited by the servants and dependants of the family. They looked in
very good order, with tokens of present domesticity about them. The
whole of this old castle, indeed, was as neat as a new, small dwelling,
in spite of an inevitable musty odor of antiquity.
April 11th.--This morning we took a carriage and two horses, and set out
for