place like this in the Middle Ages! I wish I'd been here when it was
just plumb full of great warriors,--when the moat had water in it, the
drawbridge worked, and sentinels called out to you for the password as
you came near the gate. I suppose they could peep out at you from
those little windows up high, too." John looked longingly back, as
they walked away.
"Oh, yes!" continued Mrs. Pitt, in tones which made the girls shudder.
"From those windows they rained shot down upon the enemy. And there
are little slits in the wall from which men poured boiling metal or
tar upon those besieging the castle. Upon the roof of Guy's Tower
there, it is thought that a huge machine used to stand,--a machine for
slinging down great stones. Oh, yes; there were dungeons here,
too,--deep, dark, damp, and evil-smelling dungeons, into which many
prisoners were thrown. Why, it was from here that Piers Gaveston, the
unfortunate favorite courtier of Edward II, was taken out and executed
upon a hill close by. Underneath the fine halls where splendid
banquets were carried on, out of sight and reach of the fair gardens
and lawns, there were always poor prisoners who were shut away from
the daylight for years perhaps, and laboriously carving crests or
verses in the stone walls, to while away the hours."
Mrs. Pitt suddenly burst into peals of laughter as she saw the pained
expressions upon the faces of the two girls; then a glance at the
rapt, enthusiastic attention of John, caused her to become serious
again.
"Never mind, girls," she said gravely. "Such things are now gone
forever; people have advanced too far in their ideas to ever permit of
more of those unjust acts and horrible punishments. I can never
believe that the world isn't growing daily better! And, boys, it is
all very well to love and long for the golden deeds and knightly
ideals of the men of mythical King Arthur's Court, for instance; read
about them all you can, and try to imitate them, but never wish back
the terrible conditions of warfare and brutality which existed at the
time. The kindly thoughts and acts will endure always, but the
rest,--never!"
Silently they took their seats in the carriage, and the coachman next
drove them to Saint Mary's Church, which stands in the quaint village
of Warwick. Its old tower holds ten bells, and these play every four
hours. There is a different tune for each day, which is always changed
at midnight. The Warwick towns-people, living near their church, must
have an enviable musical education, for they have continually dinned
in their ears all sorts of tunes, from the "Easter Hymn" to "The Blue
Bells of Scotland."
On the site of Saint Mary's, an ancient church is believed to have
stood, prior to William the Conqueror. The present edifice, having
been much altered and added to by various benefactors, and at very
various times, presents a rather confused and not especially pleasing
appearance architecturally. All visitors to the town are attracted
there, however, by the presence of the Beauchamp Chapel, which
contains the tomb of the Earl of Leicester.
Having paid the entrance fee, Mrs. Pitt and her charges were permitted
to descend the few steps leading from the church proper into the
Beauchamp Chapel. It is very beautiful, and was built in 1443, by
William Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, who intended it as his memorial.
It was once most elaborate with its fine marbles, monuments adorned
with precious stones, and the gold statuettes which filled its niches,
but these have long since been carried away. The tomb of Ambrose
Dudley, who was named the "Good Earl of Warwick," stands in the
center, and against the wall is that of the great Leicester and the
Countess, his wife.
"Look here," called Mrs. Pitt. "Here lies their son, the little boy
who wore the armor which you saw over at the castle. The inscription
speaks of him as 'That noble impe, the young Lord Denbigh, their
infant son and heir.' 'Impe' in those days had no such meaning of
mischievous as we give it to-day. It then simply signified a young
boy."
Betty was much impressed by a small flight of winding stairs, just off
the chapel, which are entirely worn down in the middle.
"Was it because so many monks went up there?" she asked.
"Yes, so it is said," was Mrs. Pitt's reply. "Perhaps it may have been
a kind of confessional, where the monks knelt."
There was one more thing in the church which they paused to note; that
is, the tomb of Fulke Greville, the first Lord Brooke, who was stabbed
by a valet, in 1628. Greville was "servant to Queene Elizabeth,
conceller to King James, and frend to Sir Philip Sidney," as the
inscription tells us; and it would seem that the greatest emphasis and
respect was even then given the fact that he was "frend to" the noble
Sir Philip Sidney.
Nearby, the quaint buildings of Leicester's Hospital still stand. Here
was a monastery until the Dissolution, or the breaking up, of all the
religious houses, under Henry VIII. When the property came into the
hands of Leicester in 1571, he made the house into a hospital for
twelve men. The present brethren have all been soldiers of the Crown,
who now receive a pension and are spending the remainder of their
days in the sunny nooks and corners of the old timbered houses. One of
these brethren who showed the party about, was a most curious old
character, and afforded the young people no end of amusement. He
invariably gave his information in a very loud voice, which was
absolutely without expression, and his eyes were kept steadily fixed
upon some distant point.
He showed them the ancient hall in which Sir Fulke Greville once
received King James, and it seemed to give him the keenest pleasure to
describe how that King was "right royally entertained."
"Oh, ye're right, lady," he panted, "the 'ospital was founded by
Robert Dudley, Lord Leicester, 'e 'o was much at Elizabeth's court,
h'as you all know. And it's a descendant h'of 'is, or of 'is sister,
as you may say, 'o 'as the right to appoint the master 'ere in this
'ospital to this day. 'E's Lord D'Lisle and Dudley, of Penshurst Place
h'in Kent,--'im as is descended direct from the Lady Mary, sister of
Robert Dudley, 'o married Sir 'Enry Sidney. H'its 'e 'o appoints the
master h'over us this very day. But as I was saying,--it was 'ere
that 'is Majesty King James was right royally h'entertained."
"Yes," broke in John, interrupting the rapid flow of expressionless
words. "We'll remember that all right." Then in an aside to Philip, he
whispered: "That's the ninth time he has said 'right royally
entertained.' I'm going to keep count."
Having examined an embroidered curtain, the work of Amy Robsart at
Cumnor Hall, the King of Dahomey's State Execution Sword, which seemed
a bit out of place amid the surroundings, and an old battle-ax,
supposed to have been used for one side or the other on the Field of
Hastings, in 1066, they bade farewell to their guide (who had suddenly
ceased his mechanical orations like a clock which has run down), and
drove away toward Kenilworth.
Guy's Cliff next called for attention. It is first seen at the end of
a long, stately avenue lined by great trees. At the back of the castle
flows a stream, at this point widened out into a miniature lake, on
the bank of which stands a very ancient, moss-covered Saxon mill. The
castle across the water and the old mill make such very attractive
pictures that their vicinity is always frequented by numbers of
artists, sitting under their big umbrellas.
As the party stood under the trees by the mill, Mrs. Pitt gathered the
young people about her.
"Now, I want to tell you the story of Guy of Warwick, for whom this
Guy's Cliff was called. He lived long, long ago (if he really did live
at all), when England had great tracts of unsettled country, where men
were afraid to go for fear of horrible monsters. This brave young Guy
was a strong warrior, and he became famous because he slew the Dun
cow, and other terrible animals which were tormenting the country
folk. Guy later went off to the Crusades. These were pilgrimages which
devout men made to Jerusalem, in the endeavor to win back that city
from the Turks. Guy was gone some time from England--years
probably--and when he came back, he lived the life of a hermit, in a
cave near here. The story goes that his wife used to carry food to him
each day, and that she never recognized him until he was dying and
revealed to her his identity."
Here Mrs. Pitt was forced to pause for breath, and John broke in
excitedly, "Oh, let's go and see the cave! Can't we?"
"I'm afraid not, John. You see, Guy's Cliff belongs to Lord Algernon
Percy, and the cave is on his private premises. I fear we would not be
allowed to visit it,--especially as the family is now in residence at
the castle. Did I tell you that Guy and his faithful wife were buried
together in the cave?"
After taking lunch at the King's Arms Hotel at Kenilworth, and seeing
the room in which Scott wrote his novel, they proceeded to the castle.
The afternoon was warm and sunny, with a blue sky and a summer haze
over the landscape,--the kind of afternoon which invites one to
day-dreams. Consequently, Mrs. Pitt ensconced herself against the
crumbling wall of Caesar's Tower, put up her umbrella to keep off the
glare of the sun, and sat dreaming over the remains of the once
magnificent castle. Meanwhile the young people, accompanied by a
guide, climbed all over the ruin. They scrambled up narrow stairs in
thick walls, climbed as high as it was safe to go on old towers, and
explored the dark chambers and passages near the old Banqueting-hall.
"This tower is supposed to be where Amy Robsart's lodgings were,"
their dignified guide told them, and then he boldly spoiled Betty's
delight, by saying, "It's queer now how fascinated all visitors are by
Amy Robsart. Of course, they've read of her in Scott's novel, but
curiously enough, that's the only part of the tale which is not taken
strictly from history. No one really knows whether Amy Robsart ever
was at Kenilworth, and at any rate, it doesn't seem at all likely that
she was here at the time of Queen Elizabeth's famous visit of 1563."
"O dear!" Betty sighed, really bitterly disappointed. "I always liked
the part about Amy best of all, and now it isn't true at all!"
"Never mind, Miss; there would be plenty of interest attached to the
old place, even if Scott had never written of it. Oh, I know it's a
great book, and makes that particular period of Kenilworth's history
remarkably vivid. What I mean is, that the old castle is not dependent
on Scott for its grand history and reputation." He looked above him at
the beautiful oriel-windows of the Banqueting-hall, as if he loved
every stone there. After a few such speeches, even the children began
to notice that he was "different from most guides"; he used most
excellent English, was very neatly dressed, had a pleasant, refined
face, and seemed to take an especial interest in the young people.
The guide went on in his deep voice. "Kenilworth was built in 1120, by
Geoffrey de Clinton, Lord Chamberlain to Henry I. Later, it came into
the possession of the great Simon de Montfort, and it then
successfully withstood a siege; but it was during the Civil Wars that
Cromwell's soldiers reduced the splendid castle to these almost
equally splendid ruins. Of course, it was at the height of its glory
when the Earl of Leicester owned it, and Queen Elizabeth came here on
a visit. I'm sure you have all read about that famous week,--of all
the pageants, feasts, carnivals, and displays of fireworks upon the
lake. The lake was there; water covered all those low fields back of
the castle. At that time, the main approach was here," pointing to
where a rustic bridge crosses a little ravine. "There was once a large
bridge there, and from that entrance the Queen had her first glimpse
of the castle where she was to be so magnificently entertained."
Just then Barbara saw that her mother had risen and was motioning
that it was time for them to go. So they reluctantly left the guide,
thanking him as Philip handed him his fee. That gentleman (for so he
really seemed) doffed his hat most politely, and appeared genuinely
sorry to have them go. As Betty turned to take a last look at the old
Banqueting-hall, she saw him standing just where they had left him,
and a bit wistfully watching them walk away. When they were once again
in the carriage and driving toward Coventry, they described the guide
to Mrs. Pitt, who showed much interest. Barbara thought that he was a
poor scholar or teacher, who was taking that way of earning a little
during the summer months; John was sure he was a nobleman in disguise,
for some highly romantic, secret reason; Philip could not even imagine
who he might be, so great was the mysterious atmosphere about him; but
Betty added: "He's surely a gentleman, and he was such an interesting,
polite guide, that I wish they were all like him."
"Yes, it is curious," agreed Mrs. Pitt. "I'd like to have been along
with you, for I should have enjoyed studying him. I have once or twice
before come across just such puzzling characters. I once spent a
month at a small hotel down in Devonshire, where there was a
head-waiter who always interested me. I decided that he must have a
history, and it was proved that I was right when I discovered him a
few months later, dining with a lady at one of the most aristocratic
hotels in London. I'll never forget my sensations when I realized why
his face was so familiar, and where I had seen it before! That mystery
was never explained, and I'm afraid yours never will be."
They found Coventry a delightful old town. Here it was that so many of
the Miracle Plays used to be given in olden times. The "Coventry
Plays" were famous, and Mrs. Pitt took the party to the court-yard of
Saint Mary's Hall, where they were wont to be performed; for such
entertainments always took place in the open air,--in squares or
courts, the stage being rudely constructed upon a wagon, which could
be taken from place to place.
At the corner of two streets is an absurd figure of "Peeping Tom,"
which recalls the fabled ride of the Lady Godiva, and her sacrifice to
procure the freedom of the people of Coventry from unjust taxes.
Coventry streets are very narrow and crooked (Hawthorne once said that
they reminded him of Boston's winding ways), and there are many
picturesque houses, their upper stories jutting out over the street.
One most charming example of sixteenth century architecture is Ford's
Hospital, a home for forty aged women. The street front is unique in
its construction of timbers, gables, and carvings. Inside is an
oblong, paved court, overhung by the second story of the building.
"It's like Leicester's Hospital at Warwick, only this is really more
quaint, isn't it? The old ladies peeping out from their little rooms
are dear! I'm going to make friends with them," Betty declared, as she
disappeared under one of the low doorways. She was soon seen
accompanying an old dame on crutches, who was hobbling out to show off
her bit of a garden, back of the house.
On the return trip to Leamington, they were rather quiet. Having seen
so many famous places, it was natural that they should wish to think
them over. The driver approached Leamington by another road than that
by which they had left it, and it took them past Stoneleigh Abbey,
the country seat of Lord Leigh. It is situated in the midst of
woodland, which has been called "the only real bit of old Arden Forest
now to be found in Warwickshire."
"They say that the Abbey is remarkably beautiful," said Mrs. Pitt,
"but I've never been fortunate enough to see it at any nearer range.
The house is not very old, having been erected in the eighteenth
century, but it stands on the site of a Cistercian Abbey, of which one
gateway still remains."
It was late when they reached the hotel at Leamington, and they were
forced to hurry in order to be dressed in time for dinner. The gong
found them all assembled, however, for such a day of sight-seeing
makes one hungry. They all had a good laugh at Betty, for when she was
caught in a "brown study," and Mrs. Pitt asked to hear her thoughts,
she replied:
"Oh, I was thinking over what a lovely day it has been,--especially at
Kenilworth!" and then added with a sigh, "If I only could know who
that guide was, everything would be perfect!"
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SHERWOOD FOREST AND HADDON HALL
Betty could scarcely sit still in the train which was carrying her
towards Mansfield, from sheer excitement at the anticipation of
actually seeing the haunts of Robin Hood. Ever since Mrs. Pitt had
mentioned that town as the gateway of the Sherwood Forest of Betty's
dreams, the name had seemed an enchanted one to her. As they had come
only the comparatively short journey from Leeds, they arrived at
Mansfield in the middle of the morning, and being Friday, the public
square presented its usual busy scenes of market-day. Vendors were
shouting their wares, long-suffering babies who had been unwillingly
brought along were crying, women were loudly chattering in shrill
voices, and a poor little dog, who in some mysterious way was being
made to play a part in a Punch and Judy Show, was yelping piteously.
"Well," began Betty, who could think of only Robin Hood--her dear
hero, whose story was about to be made even more vivid to
her--"perhaps this is the very market where he came when he had bought
out the butcher's stock of meat and was selling it for kisses to the
lasses of the town. Oh, do you suppose it is the same place?"
"Why, no!" interrupted John, in the decisive tones which he always
used when confident of his superior knowledge. "'Nottingham Town' was
where Robin Hood and his whole gang of fellows always went!"
"Yes, that was really more associated with the famous outlaw than
Mansfield. You'll see Nottingham this afternoon, or, at any rate,
to-morrow. Now, come this way to the Swan Hotel. While you girls
unpack, I'll see that some horses are harnessed so that we can soon
set off to the forest." Mrs. Pitt then led the way from the
market-square toward the inn of which she had spoken.
Before the carriage was ready, the young people had thoroughly
explored this remarkable old house. Perhaps the most notable thing
about it is the spiral staircase of solid oak, which is three hundred
years old; but the entire building is filled with little passages and
unexpected, remote nooks and corners, which, like the quaint bedrooms,
are crowded with curios, old pictures, and superb antique furniture.
Betty declared she had never seen such a "darling old four-poster" as
the one which stood in her room, the favorite Number Nine for which
all visitors clamor. Altogether, they considered it a most delightful
place, and Betty thought that without too great a stretch of the
imagination, she could even think of Robin Hood or Little John there.
The hostess hastened to prepare a delicious, early lunch especially
for the party, and having partaken of it, they went at once to the
open carriage which was drawn up in the odd little inn-yard. John, as
usual, claimed the seat beside the driver, the others settled
themselves, and they started off.
No sooner had they reached the open country than Betty's pent-up
spirits overflowed entirely.
"Oh, do you see that little river flowing through the meadows?" she
suddenly cried, standing up to point at it excitedly. "See the reeds
along its edges, the field of tall grain, and the old tree trunk
which has fallen across the water! I just know that must be the place
where Robin first met Little John. They had a fight on a narrow
foot-bridge, you know, and Little John (who wasn't 'little' at all)
was the stronger, and tumbled Robin Hood over into the brook. Don't
you remember, John? That looks exactly like the picture in my Howard
Pyle's 'Robin Hood,' at home. Oh, I'm perfectly sure it must be the
same place! Aren't you, Mrs. Pitt?"
This enthusiasm of Betty's was soon caught by the rest, and during the
whole afternoon they took turns in telling, one after another, the
"Merry Adventures of Robin Hood," as they recalled them. There could
not be a section of country which more perfectly suggests the setting
for that particular group of legends which has been associated with
it. Here surely is the identical woodland through which Robin Hood and
his merry men roamed. No one could possibly mistake it! Here are the
very same trees, behind which one can almost see lurking the men in
"Lincoln green." Here are ideal little glades carpeted with dainty
ferns, here and there touched with the sunlight which flashes between
the leaves. Sometimes the road emerges from the forest, and winds
along through broad fields,--the "high road" bordered by green meadows
and hedgerows.
"You know," began Mrs. Pitt, her eyes sparkling with fun, "when Robin
and his men had been in hiding for some days or weeks, perhaps,
because the old Sheriff of Nottingham was trying particularly hard to
catch them at the time, some of the most venturesome ones, not being
able to exist longer under the restraint, would start off in search of
adventure; and leaving a bit reluctantly the heart of Sherwood Forest,
they always made straight for the 'high road.' Now in just such a
place as this, by the cross-roads, Little John, garbed as a gray
friar, met the three lasses who were carrying their eggs to the market
at Tuxford. He swung one basket from his rosary, about his neck, and
took one in either hand, and thus he accompanied the maids to town. Am
I right? Is that the tale?"
"Yes," continued Philip, taking up the story where his mother had left
off; "then he went to a 'fair, thatched inn,' you know, and he sat
drinking with the tinker, the peddler, and the beggar, when the two
rich brothers from Fountains Abbey came out to start again on their
journey to York. Little John thought there'd be some fun, and perhaps
some good money for him, if he decided to go part of the way with
them, so he did. Don't you remember that one brother was very tall and
thin, and the other very short and stout? They were proud and ashamed
of being seen on the road in the company of a poor friar whose gown
was too short for him, as was Little John's. But he insisted upon
staying by, and strode along between their two nags. Whenever they met
anybody--beggars, fair lords and ladies, or fat Bishops--Little John
called out: 'Here we go; we three!'"
"And then," broke in Betty, her face literally radiant, "don't you
know how Little John finally robbed them? That was best of all! When
they came to a certain parting of the ways, he did consent to leave
them, but first he asked for a few pence, as he was poor. Both
brothers declared that they hadn't any money, at which Little John
insisted upon their kneeling down on the dusty road and praying to the
good St. Dunstan to send them each ten shillings, so that they could
continue their journey in safety and comfort. You know, he thought it
such a pity for two such worthy brothers to be in sore need of food
and drink!" The children were unconsciously lapsing into the language
of the Robin Hood stories, as they rattled on and on.
"Well," Betty went on, "Little John prayed and prayed, and then he
asked the brothers to feel and see if the good St. Dunstan hadn't sent
them something. Time after time this performance was repeated, and
still they said they had nothing. Finally Little John himself felt in
their pouches and found,--oh, heaps of money! He left the brothers ten
shillings each, and carried away the rest, saying he was sure that the
good St. Dunstan had meant it for him! Oh, I think I like Little John
best of all,--almost better even than Robin Hood! He always did such
cute things!"
By this time, they were nearing some of the big palaces which gave
this section of the country the name of "The Dukeries," from the fact
that so many noblemen have lived there. Earl Manvers, the Duke of
Newcastle, and the Duke of Portland, all have tremendous estates
between the towns of Worksop and Edwinstowe. Some of the stately
houses were pointed out in the distance behind the trees, but neither
Barbara nor Betty, Philip nor John, paid the slightest heed to them.
Their minds were fixed on Robin Hood, and they saw only the Sherwood
Forest which he knew. When Betty looked at Clumber House, across a
pretty little lake, she only said:
"Perhaps near that lake was where Robin found Alan-a-Dale, the dear
minstrel."
"Oh, no, Betty; it was by a fountain that he found Alan-a-Dale,"
Barbara politely corrected.
"Yes, that's so, Barbara," Betty replied, in all seriousness. "I
forgot."