Our first impression of romantic Derbyshire vividly recalled one of the
opening chapters of _Adam Bede_. Having secured lodgings at a pretty
village not many miles from Haddon, we were somewhat disturbed with
nocturnal hammerings issuing from an adjacent wheelwright's. Somebody
had had the misfortune to fall into the river and was drowned, so we
learned in the morning, and the rest we could guess. Somewhat depressed,
we were on the point of sallying forth when the local policeman arrived
and demanded our presence at the inquest, as one of the jurymen had
failed to put in an appearance. A cheerful beginning to a holiday!
[Illustration: GREAT HALL, HADDON.]
[Illustration: GREAT HALL, HADDON.]
There is something about dear old Haddon Hall that makes it quite
unique, and few ancient baronial dwellings are so rich in the poetry of
association. In the first place, though a show house, one is not
admitted by one door and ejected from another with a jumbled idea of
what we have seen and an undigested store of historical information. One
forgets it is a show place at all. It is more like the enchanted castle
of the fairy story, where the occupants have been asleep for centuries;
and in passing through the grand old rooms one would scarcely be
surprised to encounter people in mediaeval costume, or knights in
clanking armour. The lovers of historical romance for once will find
pictures of their imagination realised. They can fit in favourite scenes
and characters with no fear of stumbling across modern "improvements"
to destroy the illusion and bring them back to the twentieth century.
Compare the time-worn grey old walls of this baronial house with those
of Windsor Castle, and one will see the havoc that has been done to the
latter by centuries of restoration. Events that have happened at Haddon
appear to us real; but at Windsor, so full of historic memories, there
is but little to assist the imagination.
[Illustration: COURTYARD, HADDON.]
The picturesqueness of Haddon is enhanced by its lack of uniformity. The
rooms and courtyards and gardens are all on different levels, and we are
continually climbing up or down stairs. The first ascent to the great
entrance gate is precipitous, and some of the stone steps are almost
worn away with use. Entering the first courtyard (there are two, with
buildings around each) there is another ascent, with a quaint external
staircase beyond, leading to the State apartments, and to the left again
there are steps by which the entrance of the banqueting-hall is reached.
Opposite is the chapel, with its panelled, balustraded pews and
two-decker Jacobean pulpit, which is very picturesque; and the second
courtyard beyond, to the south of which is the Long Gallery or ballroom,
with bay-windows looking upon the upper garden, from which ascend those
well-known and much photographed balustraded stone steps to the shaded
terrace-walk and winter garden, above which, and approached by another
flight of steps, is Dorothy Vernon's Walk, a romantic avenue of lime and
sycamore. Facing the steps and screened by a great yew tree is yet
another flight, with ball-surmounted pillars, leading to the "Lord's
Parlour," or Orange Parlour as it was formerly called; and from this
picturesque exit the Haddon heiress eloped with the gallant John
Manners, and by so doing brought the noble estate into the possession of
the Dukes of Rutland.
An elaborately carved Elizabethan doorway leads here from the ballroom,
which is rich in carved oak panelling and has a coved ceiling bearing
the arms and crest of the Manners and Vernons. By repute, all the
woodwork, including the circular oak steps leading to the apartment, was
cut from a single tree in the park. The ash-grey colour of the wood is
caused by a light coat of distemper, which it has been surmised was
added at some time to give it the appearance of cedar. Not many years
ago there was a controversy upon this subject, which resulted in some
ill-advised person obtaining leave to anoint a portion of the panelling
with boiled oil. The result was disastrous, and led to an indignant
outcry from artists and architects; but fortunately the act of vandalism
was stopped in time, and the muddy substance removed. The wainscoting
consists of a series of semicircular arches divided by fluted and
ornamental pillars of different heights and sizes, the smaller panels
being surmounted by the shields of arms and crests of the ancient owners
of the Hall, above which is a bold turreted and battlemented cornice.
[Illustration: DRAWING-ROOM, HADDON.]
[Illustration: WITHDRAWING ROOM, HADDON.]
[Illustration: WITHDRAWING ROOM, HADDON.]
The old banqueting-hall is rather cosier looking than the famous hall of
Penshurst. The narrow, long oak table with its rustic settle is somewhat
similar, but later in character than those at Penshurst, and has a
grotesque arrangement of projecting feet. The hall is all nooks and
corners. Below a projecting gallery is a recess for the wide
well-staircase, with its little gates to keep the dogs downstairs, and a
lattice-paned window lighting up the uneven lines of the floor. The
walls are panelled, and there is a wide open fireplace, and the screen
has Gothic carvings. Attached to the framework is an iron bracelet, to
enforce the duty of a man drinking his due portion in the good old days.
The penalty was before him, so should he fail, he knew his lot, namely,
to have the contents of the capacious black jack emptied down his
sleeve. The withdrawing-room to the south of the hall is richly
wainscoted in carved oak, with a recessed window containing a fixed
settle and a step leading down to a genuine cosy-corner. There are some
who believe our ancestors had no idea of comfort; but picture this fine
old room in the winter, with blazing logs upon the fantastic fire-dogs,
the warm red light playing upon the various armorial carvings of the
frieze, and the quaint little oriel window half-cast in shadow. The
apartment immediately above has a still more elaborate frieze of
ornamental plaster above the rich tapestry hangings, and the bay-window
in the wainscoted recess, like that beneath, looks upon the gardens,
with the graceful terrace on the left and the winding Wye and venerable
bridge below. The circular brass fire-dogs are remarkable.[29] The
"Earl's Bedchamber" and "Dressing-Room" and the "Lady's Dressing-Room"
have tapestried walls and snug recessed windows. The "State Bedroom" was
formerly the "Blue Drawing-room." This also is hung with tapestry, and
the recessed window has a heavy ornamental frieze above. Near the lofty
plumed bedstead, with green silk-velvet hangings, is a queer old cradle,
which formerly was in the chaplain's room on the right-hand side of the
entrance gate. But to describe the numerous rooms in detail would be
tedious. Everything is on a huge and ponderous scale in the kitchens and
offices; one is almost reminded of the giant's kitchen in the pantomime.
Among the curious and obsolete instruments one encounters here and
there, there is a wooden instrument like a colossal boot-jack for
stringing bows. It stands against the wall as if it were in daily use.
Though there is some good old furniture, one would wish to see the rooms
less bare. But let us turn to the famous Belvoir manuscripts, which not
so very long ago were discovered much rat-eaten in a loft of that
historic seat of the Earls of Rutland. It is interesting after a visit
to Haddon to dip into these papers and get some idea of what the old
Hall was like in its most flourishing days. The great bare ballroom must
have looked very grand in the days of Charles I., with the coved ceiling
brilliant with paint and gilt. In addition to a "gilded organ," were two
"harpsicalls" and a "viall chest with a bandora and vialls; a
shovel-board table on tressels; a large looking-glass of seventy-two
glasses, and four pictures of shepherds and shepherdesses." Sixteen
suits of armour adorned the screen of the great hall. The massive oaken
tables and cabinets displayed a wealth of silver and gilt plate,
including a "greate quilte doble sault with a peacock" (the crest of the
Manners) "on the top"; silver basins, ewers, and drinking bowls; a
warming-pan, two little boats; four porringers with spoons for the
children, a "maudlin" cup and cover, etc.
[Illustration: DOORWAY, HADDON.]
[Illustration: INTERIOR COURTYARD, HADDON.]
Among the rooms were the "Green Chamber," the "Rose Chamber," the "Great
Chamber," the "Best Lodging," the "Hunters' Chamber," the "School-house
Chamber," the "Nursery," the "Smoothing Chamber," the "Partridge
Chamber," "Windsor," the "Little Gallery," etc. "The uppermost chamber
in the nether tower" is almost suggestive of something gruesome, while
"my mistress's sweetmeat closet" sounds tempting; and a list of contents
included things to make the juvenile palate water--"Glasses of apricots,
marmalett, and currants, cherry marmalett, dried pears and plums and
apricots, preserved and grated oranges, raspberry and currant cakes,
conserved roses, syrup of violets," etc. These things perhaps are
trivial, but there is a domesticity about them by which we may think of
Haddon as a country home as well as a historic building.
[Illustration: GREAT HALL, HADDON.]
Haddon ceased to be a residence of the Dukes of Rutland more than a
century ago. In the days of the Merry Monarch the ninth earl kept open
house in a very lavish style. It is said the servants alone amounted to
one hundred and forty; and capacious as are the ancient walls, it is a
marvel how they all were housed. The romantic Dorothy, who a century
before ran away upon the evening of a great ball, was the daughter of
the "King of the Peak," Sir George Vernon, thus nicknamed for his lordly
and open-handed way of living. She died in 1584, and Sir George Manners,
the eldest of her four children, sided with the Parliament during the
Civil Wars. But his mode of living was by no means puritanical, and
Haddon was kept up in its traditional lavish style. In Bakewell church
there is a fine marble tomb representing him and his wife and children,
as well as the tomb of the famous Dorothy and her husband, Sir John
Manners. The family crest, a Peacock in his pride, that is, with his
tail displayed, so conspicuous with the Vernon boar's head in the
panelling and parqueting of Haddon, gives its name to the most
delightful of ancient hostelries at Rowsley. The proximity of the
mansion must have made its fortune over and over again, apart from its
piscatorial attractions. The gable ends and latticed windows, and the
ivy-grown battlemented porch and trim gardens, are irresistible, and no
one could wish for quarters more in harmony with the old baronial Hall.
In striking contrast to the sturdy ruggedness of hoary Haddon is
princely Chatsworth. The comparison may be likened to that between a
mediaeval knight and a gorgeous cavalier. The art treasures and sumptuous
magnificence of Chatsworth, the elaborate and graceful carvings (which
by the way are not nearly all by the hand of Gibbons, but by a local man
named Samuel Watson), and the beauty of the gardens, make it rightly
named the "Palace of the Peak." But it is its association with the
luckless Mary Queen of Scots which adds romantic interest to the
mansion,--not that the existing classical structure can claim that
honour, for nothing now remains of the older building, a battlemented
Tudor structure with an entrance like the gatehouse of Kenilworth
Castle, and a "gazebo" on either side of the western front. It is odd,
however, that Lord Burleigh should have selected it as "a mete house for
good preservation" of a prisoner "having no toure of resort wher any
ambushes might lye," for there were no less than eight towers, but
presumably not the kind the Lord High Treasurer meant. During her twelve
years' captivity in Sheffield (where, by the way, "Queen Mary's
Chamber," with its curious heraldic ceiling, may still be seen in the
manor-house), she was frequently at Chatsworth and Wingfield Manor under
the guardianship of George Talbot, sixth Earl of Shrewsbury, the fourth
husband of that remarkable woman, Bess of Hardwick, who was not a little
jealous of her husband's fascinating captive, and circulated various
scandalous stories, about which the Earl thought fit to justify himself
in his own epitaph in St Peter's church, Sheffield. When the important
prisoner was under his custody in that town, she was not permitted to go
beyond the courtyard, and usually took her exercise upon the leads. But
at Chatsworth her surveillance was less strict, although truly John
Beaton, the master of her household (who predeceased his mistress, and
was buried at Edensor close by, where a brass to his memory remains),
had strict instructions regarding her. Her attendants, thirty-nine in
all, were none of them allowed to go beyond the precincts of the grounds
without special permission, nor was anybody allowed to wait upon the
queen between nine o'clock at night and six in the morning. None were
sanctioned to carry arms; and when the fair prisoner wished to take the
air, Lord Shrewsbury had to be informed an hour beforehand, that he and
his staff might be upon the alert. One can picture Mary and her maids of
honour engaged in needlework upon the picturesque moated and balustraded
stone "Bower" near the river, with guards around ever on the watch. This
and the old Hunting-tower high up among the trees, a massive structure
with round Elizabethan towers, are the only remains to take us back to
the days of the Scots queen's captivity.
To see Chatsworth to perfection it should be visited when the wooded
heights in the background are rich in their autumnal colouring. The
approach from Beeley village through the park and along the bank of the
Derwent at this season of the year, and the view from the house and
avenues of the river and park, are particularly beautiful. The elaborate
waterworks recall the days of the grand monarque, and an _al fresco_
shower-bath may be enjoyed beneath a copper willow tree, the kind of
practical joke that was popular in the old Spring Gardens in London in
Charles II.'s time. In addition to the splendid paintings, are numerous
sketches by Raphael, Michael Angelo, Titian, etc., which came from the
famous forty days' sale of 1682, when the works collected by Sir Peter
Lely were dispersed.
Of the stately mansions erected by Bess of Hardwick, the building
Countess of Shrewsbury,--Chatsworth, Oldcotes, Hardwick, Bolsover, and
Worksop,--Hardwick is the most untouched and perfect. The last remaining
bit of the older Chatsworth House was removed just a century after
Bess's death, so the present building must not be associated with her
name, nor indeed can any rooms at Hardwick have been occupied by Mary
Queen of Scots, as is sometimes stated, for the house was not begun
until after her death. If the queen was ever at Hardwick, it was in the
older mansion, of which very considerable ruins remain. The error, of
course, arises from one of the rooms at Hardwick being named "Mary Queen
of Scots' room," which contains the bed and furniture from the room she
occupied at Chatsworth; and the velvet hangings of the bed bearing her
monogram, and the rich coverlet, are indeed in her own needlework.
Bess of Hardwick in many respects was like her namesake the
strong-minded queen; and when her fourth better-half had gained his
experience and sought sympathy from the Bishop of Lichfield, he received
the following consoling reply: "Some will say in yor L. behalfe tho'
the Countesse is a sharpe and bitter shrewe, and, therefore, licke
enough to shorten yr life, if shee shulde kepe you company. Indede, my
good Lo. I have heard some say so; but if shrewdnesse or sharpnesse may
be a just cause of sep[ar]acon betweene a man and wiefe, I thinke fewe
men in Englande woulde keepe their wiefes longe; for it is a common
jeste, yet treue in some sense, that there is but one shrewe in all the
worlde, and evy man bathe her; and so evy man might be rydd of his wife,
that wolde be rydd of a shrewe." But with all her faults the existence
of Hardwick and Bolsover alone will cover a multitude of sins. A
fortune-teller predicted that so long as she kept building she would
never die; and had not the severity of the winter of 1607 thrown her
masons out of employment, her ladyship might have survived to show us
what she could do with the vacant space at Aldwych.
[Illustration: HARDWICK HALL.]
There is something peculiarly majestic and stately about Hardwick Hall.
It is one mass of lofty windows. It is rarely occupied as a dwelling,
and one would like to see it lighted up like Chatsworth at Christmas
time. But with the setting sun shining on the windows it looks a blaze
of light--a huge beacon in the distance. With the exception of the
ornamental stone parapet of the roofs, in which Bess' initials "E.S."
stand out conspicuously, the mansion is all horizontal and perpendicular
lines; but the regularity is relieved by the broken outline of the
garden walls, with their picturesque array of tall halberd-like
pinnacles.
Like Knole and Ham House, the interior is untouched, and every room is
in the same condition since the time of its erection. Some of the
wonderful old furniture came from the older Chatsworth House, including,
as before stated, the bedroom furniture of Mary Queen of Scots. Nowhere
in England may be seen finer tapestries than at Hardwick; they give a
wealth of colour to the interior, and in the Presence-chamber the
parget-work in high relief is also richly coloured. Here is Queen
Elizabeth's State chair overhung by a canopy, and the Royal arms and
supporters are depicted on the pargeting. The tapestries lining the
walls of the grand stone staircase are superb, and the silk needlework
tapestry in some of the smaller rooms a feast of colour. Everywhere are
the grandest old cushioned chairs and settees, and inlaid cabinets and
tables. The picture-gallery extends the entire length of the house, and
abounds in historical portraits, including Bess of Hardwick dressed in
black, perhaps for one of her many husbands, with a black head-dress,
large ruff, and chain of pearls. Here also is a full-length portrait of
her rival, the luckless queen, very sad and very pale, painted, during
her nineteen years of captivity, at Sheffield in 1678, and a portrait of
her little son James at the age of eight,--a picture sent to comfort the
poor mother in her seclusion. The future king's cold indifference to his
mother's fate was not the least unpleasant trait of his selfish
character. In a discourse between Sir John Harrington and the monarch,
the latter did his best to avoid any reference to the poor queen's fate;
but he might have saved himself the trouble, for he was more affected by
the superstitious omens preceding her execution. His Highness, he says,
"told me her death was visible in Scotland before it did really happen,
being, as he said, spoken of in secret by those whose power of sight
presented to them a bloody head dancing in the air." From James we may
turn to little Lady Arabella Stuart in a white gown, nursing a doll in
still more antiquated costume, in blissful ignorance of her unhappy
future. She was the granddaughter of Bess of Hardwick, and was born at
Chatsworth close upon the time when the Queen of Scots was there.
Looking at these two portraits of this baby and the boy, it is difficult
to imagine that the latter should have sent his younger cousin to linger
away her life and lose her reason in the Tower from the fact that she
had the misfortune to be born a Stuart.
Horace Walpole in speaking of this room says: "Here and in all the great
mansions of that age is a gallery remarkable only for its extent." But
it is remarkable for its two huge fireplaces of black marble and
alabaster, for its fine moulded plaster ceiling, for its
fifteenth-century tapestry, and quaint Elizabethan easy-chairs. The
great hall is a typical one of the period, with open screen and
balustraded gallery, a flat ceiling, big open fireplace, and walls
embellished with antlers and ancient pieces of armour. When the mansion
was completed in 1597 the older one was discarded and the furniture
removed, and the walls were gradually allowed to fall into ruin. It is
now but a shell; but one may get a good idea of the style of building
and extent, as well as of the internal decorations. It appears to be of
Tudor date, almost Elizabethan in character, and over the wide
fireplaces are colossal figures in bold relief, emblematic, perhaps, of
the giant energy of Bess of Hardwick, who spent the greater part of her
lifetime in those old rooms. Tradition says she died immensely rich, but
without a friend. She survived her fourth husband seventeen years and
was interred in the church of All-Saints', Derby, where the mural
monument of her recumbent effigy had been erected under her own
superintendence.
To the south-west of Hardwick, and midway between Derby and Sheffield,
are the ruinous remains of another old residence of Lord Shrewsbury's,
associated with the captivity of Mary Queen of Scots. This is South
Wingfield manor-house, whither she was removed from Tutbury Castle prior
to her first sojourn at Chatsworth, and whence she was removed back to
Tutbury in 1585. By this time Shrewsbury had freed himself of the
responsible custodianship: a thankless and trying office, for Elizabeth
was ever suspicious that he erred on the side of leniency. A letter
addressed from Wingfield Manor, from Sir Ralph Sadleir to John Manners,
among the Belvoir manuscripts, and dated January 6, 1584-85, runs as
follows: "The queenes majestie hath given me in chardge to remove the
Queene of Scots from hence to Tutbury, and to the end she should be the
better accompanyed and attended from thither, her highness hath
commanded me to gyve warning to some of the gentlemen of best reputation
in this contry to prepare themselfs to attend upon her at the time of
her removing. I have thought good to signify the same unto you emonge
others, and to require you on her Majesties behalf to take so much paine
as to be heere at Wingfield upon wednesday the xiiith of this moneth at
a convenient tyme before noone to attend upon the said queene the same
day to Derby and the next day after to Tutbury." Of the State apartments
occupied by her there are no remains beyond an external wall, but the
battlemented tower with which they communicated, and from which the
royal prisoner is said to have been in secret touch with her friends, is
still tolerably perfect.
In the Civil War the brave old manor-house stood out stoutly for the
Royalists, but at length was taken by Lord Grey. The governor, Colonel
Dalby, was on the point of making his escape from the stables in
disguise when he was recognised and shot. The stronghold shortly
afterwards was dismantled, but in Charles II.'s reign was patched up
again and made a residence, and so it continued until little more than a
century ago. The village of Ashover, midway between Wingfield and
Chesterfield, is charmingly situated on the river Amber amidst most
picturesque scenery. Here in 1660, says the parish register, a certain
Dorothy Mady "forswore herself, whereupon the ground opened and she sank
overhead!" There are some old tombs to the Babingtons, of which family
was Anthony of Dethick-cum-Lea, nearer Matlock, where are slight remains
of the old family seat incorporated in a farmhouse. As is well known, it
was the seizure of the Queen of Scots' correspondence with this young
desperado, who with Tichborne, Salisbury, and other associates was
plotting Elizabeth's assassination, that hastened her tragic end at
Fotheringay.
Bolsover Castle, which lies directly north of Hardwick, has a style of
architecture peculiar to itself. It is massive, and grim, and
prison-like, with a strange array of battlements and pinnacles; and Bess
of Hardwick showed her genius in making it as different as possible from
her other residences. And the interior is as fantastic and original as
the exterior. Altogether there is something suggestive of the fairy-tale
castle; and the main entrance, guarded by a giant overhead and bears on
either side, has something ogre-like about it. The rooms are vaulted and
supported by pillars, some of them in imitation of the earlier castle of
the eleventh and twelfth centuries. They are a peculiar mixture of
early-English and Renaissance, but the effect is very pleasing and
picturesque. The main arches of the ceiling of the "Pillar parlour" are
panelled and rest on Elizabethan vaulting-shafts, and the ribs are
centred in heavy bosses. The semicircular intersections of the walls are
wainscoted walnut wood, richly gilt and elaborately carved, and there
are early-Jacobean hooded fireplaces and queer old painted and inlaid
doors and window-shutters. The largest of these rooms is the "Star
chamber," so called from the golden stars on the ceiling depicted on
blue ground, representing the firmament. In these gorgeous rooms Charles
I. was sumptuously entertained by the first Duke of Newcastle. In what
is called the "Riding house," a roofless Jacobean ruin of fine
proportions, Ben Jonson's masque, _Love's Welcome_, was performed before
the king and queen. Clarendon speaks of the stupendous entertainment
(that cost some fifteen thousand pounds) and excess of feasting, which,
he says, "God be thanked!--no man ever after imitated." The duke (then
marquis), who had been the king's tutor, was a playwriter of some
repute, though Pepys does not speak highly of his ability, saying his
works were silly and tedious.[30] His eccentric wife had also literary
inclinations, and wrote, among other things, a high-flown biography of
her spouse, which the Diarist said showed her to be "a mad, conceited,
ridiculous woman, and he an asse to suffer her to write what she writes
to him and of him." This romantic and theatrical lady was one of the
sights of London when she came to town in her extravagant and antiquated
dress, and always had a large crowd around her. The practical joke
played upon her at the ball at Whitehall, mentioned in de Gramont's
_Memoirs_, is amusing, but commands our sympathy, and is a specimen of
the bad taste of Society at the time.
The romantic situation of the castle, perched upon a steep promontory
overlooking a dense mass of trees, must have been quite to the old
duchess's taste; and one can picture her walking in state in the curious
old gardens as she appears in her theatrical-looking portrait at
Welbeck. According to local tradition there is a subterranean passage
leading from the castle to the church, which was formerly entered by a
secret staircase running from the servants' hall; and there are stories
of a hidden chapel beneath the crypt, and ghosts in Elizabethan ruffles.
The Cavendish Chapel in the church was erected by Bess of Hardwick's
younger son, Sir Charles Cavendish, father of the first Duke of
Newcastle, and contains his tomb, a gorgeous Jacobean monument.
[Illustration: GARLANDS, ASHFORD CHURCH.
(_Photo by Rev. J. R. Luxmoore._)]
Some of the remote villages in the wild and beautiful Peak district have
strong faith in their traditional superstitions and customs. An
excellent way for a young damsel to discover who her future husband is
to be is to go to the churchyard on St. Valentine's Eve, and when the
clock strikes the hour of midnight, if she runs round the church she
will see the happy man running after her. It has never been known to
fail, perhaps from the fact that it has never been tried, for it is very
doubtful if a girl could be found in Derbyshire or any other county with
sufficient pluck to test it. An old remedy for the toothache was to
attract the "worm" into a glass of water by first inhaling the smoke of
some dried herbs. Those who had plenty of faith, and some imagination,
have actually seen the tiny offender. Maypoles and the parish stocks are
still to be found in nooks and corners of the Peak and farther south,
and that pretty custom once prevailed of hanging garlands in memory of
the village maidens who died young. From a little crown made of
cardboard, with paper rosettes and ornaments, pairs of gloves cut out of
paper were suspended fingers downwards, with the name of the young
deceased and her age duly recorded upon them. And so they hang from the
oak beams of the roof. In Ashford church, near Haddon, there is quite a
collection of them suspended from a pole in the north aisle. The oldest
dates from 1747, but the custom was discontinued about ninety years ago.
In Hampshire, however, these "virgins' crowns" are still made. At the
ancient village church of Abbotts Ann, near Andover, there are about
forty of them, and only the other day one was added with due ceremony.
The garland was made of thin wood covered with paper, and decorated with
black and white rosettes, with fine paper gloves suspended in the
middle. It was carried before the coffin by two young girls dressed in
white, with white shawls and hoods, who each held one end of a white
wand from which the crown depended. During the service it was placed
upon the coffin by one of the bearers, and at the close was again
suspended from the wand and borne to the grave. It was afterwards laid
on a thin iron rod branching from a small shield placed high up on the
wall of the nave of the church. One of these garlands may still be seen
in St. Albans Abbey.
Another pretty custom is that of "well-dressing," which yet survives at
the village of Tissington above Ashbourne, and of recent years has been
revived in other Derbyshire villages, like the modern modified May-day
festivities. It dates from the time of the Emperor Nero, when the
philosopher Lucius Seneca told the people that they should show their
gratitude to the natural springs by erecting altars and offering
sacrifices. The floral tributes of to-day, which are placed around the
wells and springs on Holy Thursday, are of various devices, made mostly
of wild flowers bearing biblical texts; and the village maidens take
these in formal procession and present them after a little consecration
service in the church. One would like to see this pretty custom revived
in other counties.
At Hathersage, beautifully situated among the hills some eight miles
above Bakewell, Oak Apple Day is kept in memory by suspending a wreath
of flowers on one of the pinnacles of the church tower. The interior,
with its faded green baize-lined box-pews duly labelled with brass
plates bearing the owners' names, has a charming old-world appearance.
In the church is a fine altar-tomb and brasses to the Eyres of North
Lees, an ancient house among the hills of the Hoodbrook valley.
The ancient ceremony of rush-bearing at Glossop, formerly connected with
the church, has, we understand, degenerated into a "public-house show";
which is a pity. In Huntingdonshire, however, there was until some years
back a somewhat similar custom of strewing green rushes, from the banks
of the river Ouse, on the floor of the old church of Fenstanton, near
St. Ives; but in Old Weston, in the same county, newly mown grass is
still strewn upon the floor of the parish church upon the village feast
Sunday: the festival of St. Swithin. The original ceremony of
"rush-bearing," a survival of the ancient custom of strewing the floors
of dwellings with marsh rushes, was a pretty sight. A procession of
village maidens, dressed in white, carried the bundles of rushes into
the church (accompanied, of course, by the inevitable band), and hung
garlands of flowers upon the chancel rails. The festival at Glossop, and
in places in the adjoining county of Cheshire, however, was more like
the last survival of May-day: the monopoly of sweeps,--a cart-load of
rushes was drawn round the village by gaily bedecked horses with a
motley band of morris-dancers accompanying it, who, having made a
collection, resorted to the public-house before taking their bundles to
the church. Had they reversed the order of things it is possible the
custom in some places would have been suffered to continue. Until a
comparatively recent date the floor of Norwich Cathedral was strewn with
rushes on Mayor's day; and there is still preserved among the civic
treasures a wonderful green wickerwork dragon hobby-horse, or rather
hobby-dragon, with wings, and movable jaws studded with nails for teeth,
which always made its appearance in the streets on these days of public
festival.