there the greater part of her youth. The house in her time was a plain
and uninteresting building of red brick. This was destroyed by fire in
1745. From the record by Sir Harbottle Grimston of his tour in the
autumn of 1768, we find that--more than twenty years afterwards--the new
hall was not completed. Sir Harbottle writes: "This parke excels the
others much in beauty, having a very good turf, which in this country is
very much wanting. The house, which is not nearly finished, is rather
adapted for convenience than magnificence. It is fronted by a rising
lawn, on the top of which is a very fine wood. On one side a noble piece
of water, which supplies a cascade behind the house: the other side of
this house is beautified by plantations." Horace Walpole found this hall
dull, since he declared that "Merry Sherwood is a _triste_ region, and
wants a race of outlaws to enliven it, and as Duchess Robin Hood has
left her country, it has little chance of recovering its ancient glory".
This was obviously written after the famous Duchess of Kingston had
departed on her Continental tour.
Before me lie a pair of tiny shoes of sea-green silk, shot with an
undertone of flesh colour. For at least a century these were in the
possession of a yeoman family in the neighbourhood of Wortley village.
The toes are pointed, the heels high, and on the lappets are frayed
marks where the pins of the jewelled buckles pierced the fabric. The
insteps do not belie the tradition that a kitten could lie beneath the
arch of the wearer's naked foot, for they are so high that it seems as
if the blue blood of the Pierreponts were accompanied with physical
deformity.
These are relics of Lady Mary, and were probably left at her husband's
heritage of Wharncliffe, in Yorkshire, when the first happiness of her
married life had come to an end, and before she became engaged in those
famous travels which, by their result--the introduction of inoculation
for the smallpox--raised her even to a greater eminence than that given
by her intellectual ability.
She was born of a family that had already produced two men of splendid
genius, whose names are written in golden letters in the annals of
literature: Beaumont, the dramatist, who wrote, in collaboration with
his friend Fletcher, some plays that are considered by our best critics
as inferior only to Shakespeare's, was related by his mother to the
Pierreponts of the Elizabethan age; and Henry Fielding, the novelist,
was Lady Mary's second cousin. She is said to have written in her copy
of _Tom Jones_ as fine a tribute to an author's power as could be
desired--simply the words _Ne plus ultra_. Villiers, the notorious Duke
of Buckingham, whose end served Pope for some of his best satirical
verse, was also of the same stock.
[Illustration: THORESBY]
It was at Thoresby that Lady Mary's strange love affair with the
handsome Mr. Edward Wortley, of Wharncliffe Chase--the abode of the
Dragon of Wantley--began, and after many difficulties ended in one of
the most mysterious marriages that ever puzzled literary students. When
a girl of fourteen she met the gentleman at a party, and was delighted
with the attraction which he found in her conversation. She became a
particular friend of his sister, with whom she commenced a sentimental
correspondence--most of the letters, it may be said, being written by
Wortley himself. He became, through the vehicle of the complacent Miss
Anne, her guide and philosopher, and soon we find him answering certain
precocious queries about Latin. Then jealousy appeared--somebody had
escorted Lady Mary to Nottingham Races! The flattered young beauty begs
to know the name of the man she loves, "that I may (according to the
laudable custom of lovers) sigh to the woods and groves hereabouts, and
teach it to the echoes". Thereupon Wortley's inclinations were made
known, and she replied: "To be capable of preferring the despicable
wretch you mention to Mr. Wortley, is as ridiculous, if not as criminal,
as forsaking the Deity to worship a calf; ... my tenderness is always
built upon my esteem and when the foundation perishes, it falls".
Wortley, not only in the courtship, but throughout their long wedded
life, appears to have been singularly calm and unimpassioned. He was an
admirable scholar, and counted among his intimate friends Addison and
Steele. The second volume of the _Tatler_ was dedicated to him in an
epistle probably composed by the latter writer.
The easy-going sister Anne died, without Lady Mary displaying an excess
of grief, and thenceforth the lovers corresponded directly. She alarmed
Wortley with her society successes, and he charged her with a growing
levity and love of pleasure. Thereupon she became wise and steady, and
his fears increased, since the sense she displayed was more suited to a
grave matron than to a fashionable belle. Time went on: Wortley made his
desires known to the maiden's father, but a disagreement arose
concerning the marriage settlement, and the Marquis of Dorchester--he
was not created Duke of Kingston until 1715--set about looking for
another son-in-law. A gentleman was found whom Lady Mary professed to
hate, and in August, 1712, Wortley carried her off in a coach and they
were made man and wife. As the father was implacable, she entered
wedlock without any portion. Probably the marquis was not sorry to be
rid of his worthy daughter, since one cannot doubt that his opposition
to her happiness must have whetted the tongue that stung so keenly in
later years.
Of Lady Mary's life at Thoresby we find interesting pictures in her
descendant, Lady Louisa Stuart's, "Introductory Anecdotes to her
Letters". "Lord Dorchester, having no wife to do the honours of his
table at Thoresby, imposed that task upon his eldest daughter, as soon
as she had bodily strength for the office; which in those days required
no small share. For the mistress was not only to invite--that is, urge
and tease--her company to eat more than human throats could conveniently
swallow, but to carve every dish, when chosen, with her own hands....
There were then professed carving-masters, who taught young ladies the
art scientifically: from one of these Lady Mary said she took lessons
thrice a week, that she might be perfect on her father's public days,
when in order to perform her functions without interruption she was
forced to eat her own dinner an hour or two beforehand."
In his lordship's resentment against her stolen marriage, he refused to
allow her to have much intercourse with the rest of her family. Lady
Louisa Stuart tells us that her mother, Lady Bute, "remembered having
only seen him once, but that in a manner likely to leave some impression
on the mind of a child. Lady Mary (Lady Bute's mother) was dressing, and
she playing about the room, when there entered an elderly stranger (of
dignified appearance and still handsome) with the authoritative air of
a person entitled to admission at all times; upon which, to her great
surprise, Lady Mary, instantly starting up from the toilet-table,
dishevelled as she was, fell on her knees to ask his blessing. A proof
that even in the great and gay world this primitive custom was still
universal."
The most agreeable memory Lady Mary preserved of this formal and
cold-blooded sire was that when a member of the Kit-Cat Club he
nominated her, then seven years old, as one of the toasts of the year.
The child was sent for, and, adorned with her very finest attire,
presented to the members. Her health was drunk, and her name engraved,
according to custom, on a drinking glass. Probably this hour of triumph
was the happiest in all her life, and, moreover, may have stimulated her
with the desire to shine always among the foremost. Her after life was
strangely assorted--she saw much of the world, and she was accounted the
brightest female wit of her time. She christened Pope the "wicked wasp
of Twickenham", and did not escape scatheless either from his attacks or
from those of Horace Walpole. She loved great prospects--loved rocks and
heights. It is possible that her recollections of the Sherwood country
were not agreeable, since she showed herself averse from any allusion in
her marvellous letters; but in spite of the artificiality of her period
one may be certain that her adventurous spirit prompted her to leave
unexplored no portion of the ancient forest. The ruggedness of
Wharncliffe Chase was more to her fancy: in her old age, writing from
Avignon, she declared this the finest prospect she had ever seen.
Her nephew Evelyn, second Duke of Kingston, chose for wife the notorious
lady whom Walpole nicknamed "Duchess Robin Hood", and from whose
romantic adventures resulted one of the most celebrated trials of the
eighteenth century. After his death, in 1773, the title became extinct.
He left his widow handsomely provided for, and she in her turn returned
a magnificent collection of family treasures to his nephew, Charles
Meadows, who in 1806 was created first Earl Manvers. An extract from her
will is interesting reading:--
"And I also give and bequeath unto said Charles Meadows all the
Communion Plate which belonged to the chapel of Thoresby, and which
was taken away with the other vessels and sent by mistake to St.
Petersburgh in Russia, and my gold desert plate with the case of
knives forks and spoons of gold and four golden salt cellars all
engraved with the arms of Kingston and also one large salt cellar
called Queen Elizabeth's salt cellar together with all my other gold
and gilt plate whatsoever, either for use or ornament."
Then, after a long list of other riches, one reads:--
"And I also give him my nine doz. of Moco handle knives and forks
mounted in gold which I bought at Rome, and likewise the whole
length portraits of the late Duke of Kingston and of the present
Duchess of Kingston, to be put up at Thoresby which as well as all
the plates shall be reputed as an heirloom to the said house; and I
also give him the several pieces of cannon and the Ships and vessel
on Thoresby Lake".
In the eighteenth century several quaint ships embellished the lake. The
last, we learn, was broken up more than half a century ago; and, as they
must have seemed singularly out of place, one is not disposed to regret
their disappearance.
OLLERTON
There is one splendid approach to Thoresby, now, unfortunately enough,
barred from the public. To reach this from Ollerton one crosses the
bridge, turns to the right for a few yards, then on the left sees beyond
a stout palisading the celebrated Beech Avenue. The first time I visited
this place was on a stormy evening in August, about sunset-time. The
western sky was overcast with grey low-hanging clouds; at intervals rain
fell in brief showers. Once breathing the atmosphere of this strange
seclusion one forgot the quaintness of Ollerton and the pleasing
wildness of the forest: here the formality brought a suggestion of some
old French colour print--the avenue might have been the state road to
some royal chateau.
[Illustration: OLLERTON]
Four rows of gigantic beeches stretched for almost half a mile from the
roadway; between the second and third might still be seen the old pebble
and gravel drive. The monstrous boles, strangely curved and divided,
were coloured like green-rusted bronze; overhead the branches mingled
like the upper tracery of some ancient cathedral window. There were no
grass or flowers underfoot: the ground was covered thick with last
year's mast and withered leaves--"yellow and black and pale and hectic
red"; sometimes I saw a strange black and grey fungus, large as a fine
lady's fan.
The colouring was magnificent, and yet, looking from the palings at the
farther end (beyond which one sees a green and cheerful vignette) one
realized that something was lacking. The handsome coach-and-six with
white horses and postilions in scarlet coats and white breeches--an
equipage such as is depicted in the engraving of old Worksop
Manor--should always be present in this suggestive place; and even a
wheeled and curtained sedan of the kind fashionable at Marie
Antoinette's Court would not appear incongruous, drawn by one officious
purple-liveried lackey and pushed by another along the side paths. The
Beech Avenue is the only spot in the Dukeries that permits one to
recreate mentally the life of the eighteenth century. It should not
terminate in a roadway of comparatively slight interest, but should
instead reach a water-theatre with a hornbeam hedge, with rockwork
basins, and with tall silver fountains. There is something nobly
pathetic in this deserted avenue--even the trees themselves have a
mournful look, as though they repined because of the loneliness of
to-day. No living thing moves here--it might be a sacred grove, never to
be frequented by creatures of the woodland.
The village, or--not to wound local susceptibilities--the town of
Ollerton is quaint and richly coloured; even in the depth of winter it
has a warm and inviting aspect. Being situated on a loop of the Great
North Road, it possesses two fine old inns, the more conspicuous being
the "Hop Pole", a handsome formal place that might have been depicted in
an ancient sampler. This faces the open forest, separated only from it
by a small green, the placidly flowing Maun, and a few fields.
Near at hand is the brown, square-towered church, contrasting strangely
with the houses of ripe-hued brick and tile. The churchyard has an air
of sleepy comfort, but the interior of the building contains little of
any interest to the antiquarian. All the armorial glass has disappeared;
naught is left to carry one's mind back to ancient days. To my thinking
the finest feature of Ollerton is the old Hall, within a stone's throw
of the "Hop Pole". This was probably erected upon the site of a former
house in the beginning of the eighteenth century. The walls are
admirably mellowed, and many of the windows have been blocked
up--probably in the days of the window tax. The principal front has been
disfigured with various domestic offshoots; none the less the house
still presents an aspect of austere dignity, and one regrets that to-day
it should not still be used as a residence of note instead of an estate
office. Inside, one of the principal features is a singularly handsome
staircase. The garden is formal and pretty--a pleasant nook for an idle
afternoon.
The Markhams, original owners of this property, were people of
considerable note in our history, many of them holding high offices. One
was dubbed by the Virgin Queen "Markham the Lion", another championed
the cause of Arabella Stuart, and was condemned to death, but reprieved
at the last moment after a ghastly little performance beside the
execution block. A daughter of this house married Sir John Harrington,
and enjoyed through her lifetime the friendship of Elizabeth.
Within easy walking distance, not far from the tantalizing glimpse of
the Rufford Avenue, a road turns eastward, passes a small wayside inn
dignified with the name of Robin Hood, and soon reaches what was known
as the King's House at Clipstone--to-day a lamentable ruin with no
trace of its former magnificence. Here the Plantagenet kings held their
Courts and rested after their days of hunting, and the rising ground
about the house, nowadays devoted to the growing of oats, must once have
blazed with all the colours of pageantry. What remains of the palace
might be naught but the broken wall of an old kiln, or the fragment of
some burned-out factory. The most fatal blow was dealt to this relic by
a Duke of Portland, who, in 1812, had the foundations dug up and used
for the drainage of the surrounding country. Clipstone Park, which Mad
Madge of Newcastle described as a chase in which her lord took great
delight (it being richly wooded, and watered with a stream full of fish
and otters--in short, an ideal place for hunting, hawking, coursing and
fishing), is now a placid pastoral district without distinction, such as
may be found in any gently undulating country.
RUFFORD
Rufford Abbey, which is within easy walking distance of Ollerton,
surpasses in interest and beauty the other great houses of the
neighbourhood. The view from the pelican-crowned gateway, with its
avenue of limes (some of which are considered the finest in all England)
and beeches and elms, terminating in a glimpse of the facade of reddish
stone, reminds one of the palace of the Sleeping Beauty in the days
before briers and brambles barred the way. Separated from this avenue by
a gravelled space, where in summer great hydrangeas blossom in green
tubs, a fine staircase leads to the main entrance.
[Illustration: RUFFORD ABBEY]
The house, which is not open to the public, and which for several
centuries has been a favourite resting-place of kings, possesses a
singular atmosphere of beauty and charm. The walls are hung with
priceless old tapestry and marvellous portraits by the great English
masters. There is much wonderful needlework--an eighteenth-century lady
of the Savile family was as devoted to her embroidery frame as Mary
Stuart herself. On screens and quaint chairs are seen her masterly
copies of Hogarth's pictures.
No brief description could do justice to the wonders of a house so rich
in objects connected with our history. The whole is remarkable and
strange: in no place have I felt so deeply the influence left by the
famous dead. Weird legends are connected with certain rooms: if the
history of Rufford were written in full it would be remarkable beyond
imagination. One of the most fascinating places is the chapel, erected
in the time of Charles the Second, and surely the most comfortable
sanctuary in any nobleman's house. At the west end is a gallery, its
walls lined with ancient embossed leather, its Prayer Books dating from
the Restoration, its faded and antique chairs suggesting all manner of
pleasant reveries during service.
The state rooms are admirable in so far as restfulness and quiet beauty
take the place of excessive pomp. Each piece of furniture is storied and
of great value. Nothing startles the eye; the colouring is always
subdued and pleasing; in short, Rufford combines in perfection the
palace and the home.
The outward appearance suggests harmony without extravagance. The
pleasure grounds, although not on as large a scale as those of the other
houses, are exceedingly beautiful--the Japanese Garden being a wonderful
pleasaunce in miniature, with paved walks and toy lake and waterfall.
Not far away the River Maun, with rich flowers and shrubs on its banks,
glides calmly to a tranquil mere, where grey herons perch like birds of
stone on the boughs of the island trees. In front of an older entrance
to the house stretches a grass-grown avenue, by which is the
"Wilderness" of Elizabethan days. There lie the remains of famous
racehorses, reared on the estate. The park itself has not been submitted
to the attentions of the landscape gardener: it is natural and unspoiled
as in monkish times.
Of the original Cistercian abbey, built in 1148 and peopled with monks
brought from Rievaulx in Yorkshire, little remains save a groined and
pillared chamber, supposed to have been the refectory, and used nowadays
as a servants' hall. There is a singular hooded fireplace with a fine
old dog-grate, and against the end wall stands a long oaken table--a
relic of ancient feasting.
Rufford Abbey owed its existence to the filial piety of a collateral
descendant of William the Conqueror. The sixteenth-century translation
of the Foundation reads thus:--
"Gilbert Gaunte Earle of Lincolne to all his men and all the
Children of our Holy Mother the church sends greeting willing you to
know that I have given and granted in pure alms to the monks of
Ryvalls for my Father's and Mother's souls And for ye remission of
my sinns the Manor of the town of Rughfforde And all that I have
there in demesne to build an Abbey of the order of Cistercians in
the honour of St. Mary the Virgin--Therefore I will and Command that
they freely and quietly from all secular service and all customes
shall hold the said land with All that to the dominion of the said
Town doth belong in woods plains meadowes pastures mylnes waters
ways and paths."
A striking contrast may be found in the Domestic State Papers of 10
December, 1533:--
"Thomas Legh to Cromwell. On St. Nicholas Day the quondam Abbot of
Rufforth was installed at Ryvax, and the late abbot of Ryvax sang
_Te deum_ at his installation, and exhibited his resignation the
same day. The assignation of his pension is left to my Lord of
Rutland, in which I moved him to follow your advice. Though pity is
always good, it is most necessary in time of need. I would,
therefore, that he had an honest living, though he has not deserved
it, either to my lord or me."
After the Dissolution, Henry the Eighth leased the estate for twenty-one
years to Sir John Markham, and afterwards exchanged it for some Irish
property belonging to George, Earl of Shrewsbury. Bess of Hardwick was
here often, and it was at Rufford that, in 1575, she arranged the
marriage of her daughter, Elizabeth Cavendish, with Darnley's brother,
from which union issued the ill-fated Arabella Stuart. Queen Elizabeth
was greatly offended by what she justly regarded as an encroachment upon
royal prerogative, and both mothers-in-law were sent for a time to the
Tower. The Earl of Shrewsbury wrote in explanation to Lord Burghley:--
"The Lady Lennox being, as I heard, sickly, rested her at Rufford
five days and kept most her bedchamber, and in that time the young
man her son fell into liking with my wife's daughter before
intended, and such liking was between them as my wife tells me she
makes no doubt of a match, and hath so tied themselves upon their
own liking as cannot part. My wife hath sent him to my lady, and the
young man is so far in love that belike he is sick without her."
Then, giving a slight hint of his countess's ambitions, he adds:--
"This taking effect, I shall be well at quiet, for there is few
noblemen's sons in England that she hath not prayed me to deal for
at one time or other, and now this comes unlooked for without thanks
to me."
[Illustration: THE JAPANESE GARDEN, RUFFORD ABBEY]
Arabella Stuart was born at Chatsworth, and thenceforth all Lady
Shrewsbury's pride was fixed upon this granddaughter who might possibly
become a queen. At Rufford there are two curiously touching portraits of
this dreamy child, in whose sad little face one reads the promise of
untoward fortunes. In 1576 the Earl of Lennox died, and two years later
Queen Elizabeth took "oure lyttl Arbella" under her protection. When she
was seven years old, this "very proper child" sent a specimen of her
handwriting to her royal kinswoman, desiring the bearer to present her
"humble duty to her Majesty, with daily prayers for her". The Queen of
Scots in the following year maliciously informs her sister of England
that "nothing has alienated the Countess of Shrewsbury from me but the
vain hope, which she has conceived, of setting the crown of England on
the head of her little girl, Arabella, and this by marrying her to a son
of the Earl of Leicester. These children are also educated in this idea;
and their portraits have been sent to each other."
Bess of Hardwick died in 1608, and in her will, which must have been
made many years before, left L200 to purchase a golden cup for the
Queen, "as a remembrance from her that has always been a dutiful and
faithful heart to her highness". She craves, moreover, that Elizabeth
may have compassion upon and be gracious to her poor grandchild
Arabella Stuart. After the old lady's death, Arabella's connection with
Rufford soon ceased.
Mary, Bess of Hardwick's daughter, who had married Earl Gilbert, lived
at Rufford in her widowhood. This lady inherited a considerable share of
her mother's ambition and lack of scruple. In a quarrel with Sir Thomas
Stanhope, a Nottinghamshire knight from whom are descended three
earldoms, she dispatched a servant with the following unpleasing
message:--