when they knew the storm was about to break, endeavoured to conceal
some of their ornaments and valuables ere they were inventoried. They
flung into the water of the lake in front of their house a fine pair
of great brass altar candlesticks, originally 4 feet 6½ inches high
(they have been raised 10½ inches), together with the brass eagle
which served as a Gospel lectern. These were accidentally found and
recovered from the lake about 1780. Hoping perchance some day to
reoccupy their old home, the canons packed tightly the cavity of the
globe on which the eagle rested with a selection of their parchment
title-deeds, dating from Edward III. down to Henry VIII. When fished
up, in the days of that evil spendthrift, the fifth Lord Byron, the
eagle and candlesticks were sold to a Nottingham dealer in old metals.
They were repurchased by Sir Richard Kaye, rector of Kirkby; he was a
canon of Southwell, and they are still in the honoured possession of
that cathedral church. The eagle bore an inscription asking for prayers
for the souls of Ralph Savage, the donor, and for all the faithful
departed; he was the founder of a chantry in the year 1488, in the
Derbyshire church of North Wingfield.
Like so many old residences formed out of ancient monasteries, Newstead
has the reputation of being haunted, and that by more than one spectre.
But the name and fate of the last of the Byrons has overclouded and
obscured all previous tenants, mortal or otherwise, and flung the pall
of poetic melancholy over the domains such as no spiritual imaginations
can survive. The legends connected with Newstead are many, and descend
from that mysterious maid of Saracen birth or residence, whose form and
features are so frequently repeated in the ancient panel work of the
priory’s interior, down to Lord Byron’s immediate predecessor in the
title and estates. “Devil Byron,” as this man was called, among other
wild tales connected with his name was said to be himself haunted by
the spirit of a sister, to whom he refused to speak for years preceding
her death in consequence of a family scandal, notwithstanding her
heart-rending appeals. Ebenezer Elliot, in a ballad he wrote on this
legend, introduces the apparitions of both Devil Byron and his sister
as riding forth together in stormy weather, the lady still making
passionate appeals to the immovable brother to speak to her[40]:--
“Well sleep the dead; in holy ground,
Well sleeps the heart of iron,
The worm that pares his sister’s cheek,
What cares it for Byron?
Yet when her night of death comes round,
They ride and drive together,
And ever, when they ride or drive,
All wilful is the weather.
On mighty winds in spectre coach,
Fast speeds the heart of iron,
On spectre steed, the spectre dame,
Side by side with Byron.
Oh, ‘Night doth love her,’ O the clouds,
They do her form environ,
The lightning weeps--he hears her sob,
‘Speak to me! Lord Byron!’
On winds, on clouds, they ride, they drive,
Oh hark thou heart of iron,
The thunder whispers mournfully,
‘O speak to her, Lord Byron!’”
Another family apparition which is said to have haunted the old priory
was “Sir John Byron the Little with the Big Beard.” An ancient portrait
of this mysterious ancestor was some years since seen hanging over
the door of the great saloon, and was sometimes at midnight said to
descend from its sombre frame and promenade the state apartments.
Indeed this ancient worthy’s visitations were not confined merely to
nightfall; one young lady on a visit years ago positively asserted that
in broad daylight, the door of his former chamber being opened, she
saw Sir John the Little sitting by the fireplace and reading out of an
old-fashioned book.
Several other apparitions have been seen from time to time about
this ancient, time-honoured building. Washington Irving mentions
that a young lady, a cousin of Lord Byron’s, on one occasion slept
in the room next the clock, and when she was in bed she saw a lady
in white come out of the wall on one side of the room, and go into
the wall on the other side. Many curious noises and strange sights
have been heard and seen by many visitors at Newstead; but the best
known and most noted spectre connected with the place and immortalised
by Byron’s verse is the “Goblin Friar.” The particular chamber that
this spectre is supposed specially to frequent, and which is known
_par excellence_ as the Haunted Chamber, adjoins Byron’s bedroom.
During the poet’s residence this dismal-looking room was occupied by
his page, who is said to have been a youth of striking beauty. Lord
Byron and many others not only believed in the existence of the Black
Friar, but asserted that they had really seen it. It did not confine
its visitations to the Haunted Chamber, but, at night, walked into the
cloisters, and other parts of the Priory.
“A monk arrayed
In cowl and beads and dusky garb appeared,
Now in the moonlight and now lapsed in shade,
With steps that trod as heavy, yet unheard.”
This apparition was the evil genius of the Byrons, and its appearance
foreshadowed misfortune of some kind to the member of the family
by whom it was seen. Lord Byron fully believed that he beheld this
apparition a short time before the greatest misfortune of his life, his
ill-starred union with Miss Milbanke. Alluding to his faith in these
things, he said:--
“I merely mean to say, what Johnson said,
That in the course of some six thousand years,
All nations have believed that from the dead
A visitant at intervals appears;
And what is strangest upon this strange head
Is that whatever bar the reason rears
’Gainst such belief, there’s something stronger still
In its behalf, let those deny who will.”
And he thus introduces the presumed duties, as it were, of the Black
Friar:--
“By the marriage bed of their lords, ’tis said,
He flies on the bridal eve,
And ’tis held as faith, to their bed of death
He comes, but not to grieve.
When an heir is born, he is bound to mourn,
And when aught is to befall
That ancient line, in the pale moonshine,
He walks from hall to hall.
His form you may trace, but not his face,
’Tis shadowed by his cowl,
But his eyes may be seen, from the folds between,
And they seem of a parted soul.”
However capable as a poet, Byron was clearly no student of monastic
affairs. Otherwise he would have known that anything more unlikely than
the residence of a Black or Dominican Friar within a house of Black
Canons could hardly have taken place. But to him, as to many modern
writers, including several of our leading novelists, monks, canons, and
friars, though absolutely distinct, are of one and the same order.
The apartments occupied by Lord Byron, bedroom, dressing-room, and
small haunted chamber--supposed to have been originally the prior’s
lodgings--are carefully kept in the same state as when occupied by the
poet. Other rooms over the cloisters, hung with suitable tapestry, are
named after Edward III., Henry VII., and Charles II.; they are said
to have been respectively occupied by these Kings when visiting the
priory.
WOLLATON HALL
BY J. A. GOTCH, F.S.A.
Nottinghamshire is not rich in ancient houses; for although it can
boast of many fine seats, they are either comparatively modern in
date, or they have been so much altered as to have lost their ancient
character. By far the most interesting architecturally is Wollaton
Hall, close to Nottingham, the seat of Lord Middleton.
It was built in the reign of Elizabeth by Sir Francis Willoughby, whose
family had lived for several generations in a house near the church.
Sir Francis left no son, but his eldest daughter and co-heir married
her cousin Percival Willoughby, who succeeded in her right to the
Wollaton property. He was among the earliest of the gentry knighted by
King James I. on his accession to the English throne, receiving that
honour at Worksop on April 20, 1603. He died about the beginning of
the Civil War; his son, another Sir Francis, succeeded him, and was
in turn followed by his only son, Francis, the celebrated traveller
and naturalist. Francis Willoughby achieved a great reputation as a
scientist, and was one of the first members of the Royal Society.
He died in 1672 at the early age of thirty-seven. To him eventually
succeeded his second son, Thomas, who was created Lord Middleton in
1711 by Queen Anne. He also left a daughter, Cassandra, who married
the Duke of Chandos, and is interesting to us because of some notes
concerning her ancestral home which she left behind her.
Wollaton Hall is sometimes quoted as a typical example of the work
of the English Renaissance. Those who are in sympathy with that phase
of domestic architecture point to it as a magnificent specimen of an
Elizabethan palace. Those who are out of sympathy direct the finger of
scorn to its extravagances and its pretentiousness. As a matter of fact
it cannot be called a typical example. In its chief characteristics it
stands by itself, namely, in its lofty central hall and its four corner
pavilions. In its extreme regularity of treatment, and in the great
care bestowed upon its detail, it exhibits far more of conscious effort
in design than the majority of houses built at that period.
The interesting question is, Who was responsible for the design
of Wollaton? So little is really known from actual records of the
architectural designers of that period, or of their method of work,
that the field of conjecture is a vast one, and offers scope for
manœuvres on a large scale. But there are one or two facts connected
with this house which help us to a certain extent. We know from the
inscription over the garden door that it was built by Sir Francis
Willoughby, constructed with uncommon art, and left as a precious
possession to the Willoughbys. It was begun in 1580 and finished in
1588. The actual inscription runs thus, and consists of two hexameters--
“En has Francisci Willughbi militis ædes
Rara arte extructas Willughboeisq relictas.
Inchoatæ 1580 et finitæ 1588.”
We also know that in John Thorpe’s collection of drawings in the Soane
Museum in London there is a ground-plan of the house and half the front
elevation. We also find in Wollaton Church a monument to “Mr. Robert
Smythson, gent. architector and surveyor unto the most worthy house of
Wollaton and diverse others of great account,” who died in 1614 at the
age of seventy-nine. There are also some drawings relating to Wollaton
in the valuable collection belonging to Col. Coke of Brookhill, near
Alfreton. These belonged to a John Smithson, architect, of Bolsover,
and were largely his own handiwork. The drawings of Wollaton
comprise a plan of the house with forecourts, an elevation of one of
the corner pavilions, a plan of the “new orchard,” dated 1618, and some
sketches of the stone screen in the great hall. Lastly, we learn from
Cassandra Willoughby, Duchess of Chandos, who wrote an account of the
house in 1702, that Sir Francis Willoughby sent for the master-workmen
who built the house out of Italy, and also for most of the stone
figures which adorn it.
[Illustration: FIG. 1. PLAN OF WOLLATON HALL, BY JOHN
THORPE.]
Here, then, we have apparently a number of conflicting claims. No one,
however, contests with Sir Francis Willoughby the honour of having
built the house in the sense of having ordered and paid for it. Nor
is its date in question. But there are three claimants to the honour
of having designed it, namely, John Thorpe, Robert Smythson, and the
master-workmen out of Italy. First, as to the latter. The idea has long
been very prevalent that the houses of Elizabeth’s time owed their
special characteristics to Italy and to Italian workmen; and so, in a
way, they did, because Italy influenced more or less directly the work
of the Renaissance in all other countries. But, as a matter of fact,
it is extremely difficult to trace anything but a very small amount
of English work to actual Italian hands. The whole tendency of recent
inquiries goes to show that it was English hands which executed most of
the work which has an Italian appearance. The tales of models having
been sent for from Italy for English houses are probably apocryphal,
because the plan of an English house differed widely from that of an
Italian; and although it might be rash to assert that Cassandra the
Duchess was wrong, still the master-workmen who were sent for out of
Italy could have had very little to do with the designing of Wollaton.
The chief credit for that performance ought to be given to John Thorpe,
and it is possible to reconcile his claims with those of Robert
Smythson by regarding the latter as the chief workman and clerk of
the works, or surveyor. It must be remembered that although the same
terms are used now as were used then, the meaning of them has changed.
We find a number of men described as “architectus” or “architector,”
who were what we should regard as master-masons, and that is probably
what Mr. Robert Smythson was. But it must also be remembered that the
relation of the master-mason to the architect was then very different
from what it is to-day. The architect to-day designs everything
himself; in those days he seems only to have given a general idea of
what he wanted, leaving the detail to be developed by the master-mason.
The latter might therefore well take credit to himself--or his
sorrowing family for him--as being the “architector” to a house like
Wollaton.
There is no established connection between Robert Smythson of Wollaton
and John Smithson of Bolsover; but both men were occupied with building
matters, and the dates would allow of Robert being the father of John.
The relationship, if it existed, would account for John being employed
to make drawings of Wollaton.
The actual origin of the house may properly be attributed to Thorpe. He
claims nothing for himself, he only leaves certain drawings behind him
(Figs. 1 and 3).
In comparing Thorpe’s plan with the actual ground-plan (Fig. 2), it
will be found that the main dimensions tally almost exactly; the corner
pavilions, however, are not quite so large as he shows them, and the
projection of the wings beyond the entrance and garden fronts is rather
larger than he indicates. The hall is built to his dimensions of 60
feet by 30 feet. As to the general similarity of the two plans, the
likeness is obvious, but the difference in the thickness of the various
main walls should be observed. The variations in the positions of the
internal cross walls need hardly be considered, because they result,
in all probability, from comparatively recent alterations. But in the
main skeleton there are several noteworthy discrepancies. The corner
pavilions in Thorpe’s plan do not overlap the north and south
fronts, whereas they do in the building itself. The entrance porch as
built is quite different from what he shows, and so is the projecting
window in the centre of the south or garden front. The two central
bays which he shows on the east and west fronts do not appear in the
building itself; as a matter of fact the east front has six large
windows between the pavilions, whereas the west has seven. Thorpe shows
both these fronts treated alike.
[Illustration: FIG. 2. WOLLATON HALL: GROUND PLAN,
1901.]
[Illustration: FIG. 3. WOLLATON HALL: HALF-ELEVATION, BY
JOHN THORPE.]
[Illustration: FIG. 4. WOLLATON HALL.]
Comparing Thorpe’s half-elevation with the photograph of the building
(Fig. 4), the general likeness again is obvious. But Thorpe shows no
basement windows; his front porch agrees with his plan and differs
from the actual work; he shows two four-light windows in the front
at the side of the porch, whereas there are actually a four-light
and a five-light; he shows a single pilaster between these windows,
whereas there are two. The end of his wing has a four-light window; the
building itself has a five-light. Niches which he does not show have
been made on the main front as well as on the flanks of the various
projections. He shows several ways of ornamenting the pedestals of
his pilasters; in execution they have the gondola rings shown to the
left of his ground story. The curly gable of his corner pavilion,
although carefully shown, does not quite tally with the gable as
carried out; nor does his angle turret on the central tower agree with
what was built. He evidently started by treating the angle with quoins
surmounted by a small turret at the top, but he subsequently lengthened
the turret downwards. The pilasters which he shows on this central
block do not appear in the building; if they had they would have served
to bring that part of the composition more into harmony with the lower
part, and nothing would probably have been heard of the suggestion
that the central pavilion is part of an older building. A study of the
plan and of the building, however, disposes of this suggestion, nor
could the lofty hall and the room over it be harmonised with any known
treatment of houses prior to the Elizabethan era.
The discrepancies here pointed out do away with the idea that Thorpe’s
drawings were made from the building after erection. They are easily
accounted for on the supposition that the drawings were modified in the
course of being carried out.
If we turn to Smithson’s drawings, we find that his plan (Fig. 5)
tallies almost exactly (as to the main walls) with the existing plan.
This leads to the supposition that his plan was drawn from the actual
building at a time when the addition of forecourts was contemplated;
if, indeed, owing to the considerable and irregular slope of the ground
they were ever contemplated. His elevation of the corner pavilion (Fig.
6) agrees almost accurately with the actual building.
There is one point in connection with the Thorpe drawings which bears
forcibly upon the question as to the source whence the ideas which
underlay our English Renaissance came. There was a tolerably widespread
desire in Elizabeth’s time to benefit by what was being done in
foreign lands. A young architect, John Shute, was sent by the Duke
of Northumberland to study architecture in Italy. Lord Burghley made
more than one inquiry for books on architecture recently published in
France, and John Thorpe himself, as his drawings show, studied Italian,
French, and Dutch books. One of the French books to which he devoted
considerable attention was Androuet du Cerceau’s _Les plus Excellents
Bastiments de France_, published in 1576, and in that book are a few
plans with corner pavilions such as those at Wollaton. The disposition
of Wollaton is so unusual that it is quite possible that Thorpe may
have put into practice here some of the ideas he gleaned from Du
Cerceau’s book. Some of Du Cerceau’s plans he copied into his own MS.
book, but in doing so he adapted them to English uses, and it was much
the same with Wollaton. The plan is not a direct copy; it is only
the general idea which may have been derived from the French source.
Thorpe having designed the plan and elevation, may be presumed
to have handed them over to Robert Smythson, who, with the help of
the master-workmen from Italy, carried the work out. Such a course of
procedure would at any rate reconcile the claims of the various parties.
[Illustration: FIG. 5. WOLLATON HALL: PLAN BY
SMITHSON.]
[Illustration: FIG. 6. WOLLATON HALL: ELEVATION OF CORNER
PAVILION, BY SMITHSON.]
But leaving the question of who designed the house, a few words must
be bestowed upon the structure itself. Its plan, although of foreign
origin, was so contrived as to comply with old-established English
habits. The central position of the hall rendered it not altogether
easy of access in the usual way--that is, into the passage at the end
called the “screens.” The most direct way from the front door to the
hall is that which now exists, but this leads you into the middle of
the side, not into the screens. Thorpe, therefore, kept his hall floor
above the level of his front door, and led the visitor, not directly
into the hall, but round to the right, and so, by way of a flight of
steps, up to the end of the hall, and delivered him into the screens in
the usual way. The spare space not occupied by the stairs he devoted
to the porter’s rooms. Smithson’s plan shows a similar arrangement. A
further reason for keeping the hall floor raised was that, contrary to
the prevailing custom, he put his kitchen and servants’ rooms down in
a basement. This was almost a necessity of the design, for being of a
pretentious nature, it was obliged to be grand on every side, and the
kitchen and inferior premises had to be hidden away in a basement in
order not to spoil the symmetry of the four show-sides of the house.
The disposition of the house, with a central hall surrounded by rooms
two stories high, necessitated an unusual height for the hall, which
is over 50 feet high. Its window-sills also had to be above the roofs
of the surrounding rooms, and they are some 35 feet from the floor.
The upper floor of these adjacent rooms on the east side was devoted
to the long gallery, but modern alterations, necessitated by constant
use, have not only divided this up into a number of small rooms, but
have effectually obliterated from the interior of the whole house all
its Elizabethan character, except what remains in the basement and in
the great hall. The fine stone screen remains here, and agrees with the
sketches in the Smithson drawings: the original roof is also left--an
excellent specimen of Elizabethan work. It has this peculiarity,
that though fashioned like an open hammer-beam roof, it supports in
reality the floor of a large room over, called the Prospect Room, which
occupies the upper part of the central block that forms so conspicuous
a feature of the house.
It only remains to say that the house was entirely new from its
foundations, and that it occupied eight years in erection. There was
apparently no building here before it, although very frequently we find
Elizabethan houses enveloping the remains of a humbler predecessor. The
Willoughbys had lived at Wollaton for some generations previous to the
building of the mansion, but their home was a house somewhere near the
church. It has been suggested that the central block is earlier in date
than that which surrounds it; but reflection shows that the hall must
necessarily have been built in relation to the lower buildings round
it. There is nothing to indicate any alterations of an older building;
the detail of the central block, although different, is contemporary
with that of the rest of the house, and the whole of it is shown on
Thorpe’s drawing. Everything, therefore, tends to prove that the whole
house was built at the same time. Duchess Cassandra tells us that the
stone was brought from Ancaster, and that the same pack-horses which
brought it took back Sir Francis’s coal in exchange. Notwithstanding
that he got his stone for nothing, she says, and that labour was much
cheaper in those days, the house cost Sir Francis £80,000.
[Illustration: FIG. 7. WOLLATON HALL: THE ORCHARD, PLAN
BY SMITHSON.]
[Illustration: FIG. 8. WOLLATON HALL; THE SCREEN, BY
SMITHSON.]
The external treatment is of pronounced classic character, with
plenty of pilasters and bold cornices. There are a number of circular
niches containing busts of classic personages such as Virgil, Plato,
Aristotle, and Diana. The master-workmen out of Italy were presumably
familiar with these celebrities, and so might have been Mr. Robert
Smythson, gent., but the ordinary English workman must have been
rather puzzled by them, and perhaps secretly relieved when he heard
that a shipload of them had gone down, an accident that is said to
account for some of the niches being empty. But, _pace_ Duchess
Cassandra, a good deal more assistance in English houses came from
the Dutch than the Italians in the time of Elizabeth, and it would
not be surprising if the building accounts, which are some day to be
published, showed that Holland rather than Italy was the source whence
some of the lower work was derived (in spite of the gondola rings which
adorn the bases of some of the pilasters), as it was almost certainly
the place where the curly gables of the pavilions had their origin.