THE THORNES OF ULLATHORNE
On the following Sunday Mr Arabin was to read himself in at his new
church. It was agreed at the rectory that the archdeacon should go
over with him and assist at the reading-desk, and that Mr Harding
should take the archdeacon's duty at Plumstead Church. Mrs Grantly
had her school and her buns to attend to, and professed that she
could not be spared; but Mrs Bold was to accompany them. It was
further agreed also, that they would lunch at the squire's house,
and return home after the afternoon service.
Wilfred Thorne, Esq., of Ullathorne, was the squire of St Ewold's;
or rather the squire of Ullathorne; for the domain of the modern
landlord was of wider notoriety than the fame of the ancient saint.
He was a fair specimen of what that race has come to in our days,
which a century ago was, as we are told, fairly represented by
Squire Western. If that representation be a true one, few classes
of men can have made faster strides in improvement. Mr Thorne,
however, was a man possessed of quite a sufficient number of
foibles to lay him open to much ridicule. He was still a bachelor,
being about fifty, and was not a little proud of his person. When
living at home at Ullathorne there was not much room for such
pride, and there therefore he always looked like a gentleman, and
like that which he certainly was, the first man in his parish. But
during the month or six weeks which he annually spent in London, he
tried so hard to look like a great man there also, which he
certainly was not, that he was put down as a fool by many at his
club. He was a man of considerable literary attainment in a certain
way and on certain subjects. His favourite authors were Montaigne
and Burton, and he knew more perhaps than any other man in his own
county, and the next to it, of the English essayists of the two
last centuries. He possessed complete sets of the 'Idler', the
'Spectator,' the 'Tatler,' the 'Guardian,' and the 'Rambler;' and
would discourse by hours together on the superiority of such
publications to anything which has since been produced in our
Edinburghs and Quarterlies. He was a great proficient in all
questions of genealogy, and knew enough of almost every gentleman's
family in England to say of what blood and lineage were descended
all those who had any claim to be considered as possessors of any
such luxuries. For blood and lineage he himself had a must profound
respect. He counted back his own ancestors to some period long
antecedent to the Conquest; and could tell you, if you would listen
to him, how it had come to pass that they, like Cedric the Saxon,
had been permitted to hold their own among the Norman barons. It
was not, according to his showing, on account of any weak
complaisance on the part of his family towards their Norman
neighbours. Some Ealfried of Ullathorne once fortified his own
castle, and held out, not only that, but the then existing
cathedral of Barchester also, against one Godfrey de Burgh, in the
time of King John; and Mr Thorne possessed the whole history of the
siege written on vellum, and illuminated in a most costly manner.
It little signified that no one could read the writing, as, had
that been possible, no one could have understood the language. Mr
Thorne could, however, give you all the particulars in good
English, and had no objection to do so.
It would be unjust to say that he looked down in men whose families
were of recent date. He did not do so. He frequently consorted with
such, and had chosen many of his friends from among them. But he
looked on them as great millionaires are apt to look on those who
have small incomes; as men who have Sophocles at their fingers'
ends regard those who know nothing of Greek. They might doubtless
be good sort of people, entitled to much praise for virtue, very
admirable for talent, highly respectable in every way; but they
were without the one great good gift. Such was Mr Thorne's way of
thinking on this matter; nothing could atone for the loss of good
blood; nothing could neutralise its good effects. Few indeed were
now possessed of it, but the possession was on that account the
more precious. It was very pleasant to hear Mr Thorne descant on
this matter. Were you in your ignorance to surmise that such a one
was of a good family because the head of his family was a baronet
of an old date, he would open his eyes with a delightful look of
affected surprise, and modestly remind you that baronetcies only
dated from James I. He would gently sigh if you spoke of the blood
of the Fitzgeralds and De Burghs; would hardly allow the claims of
the Howards and Lowthers; and has before now alluded to the Talbots
as a family who had hardly yet achieved the full honours of a
pedigree.
In speaking once of a wide spread race whose name had received the
honours of three coronets, scions from which sat for various
constituencies, some one of whose members had been in almost every
cabinet formed during this present century, a brilliant race such
as there are few in England, Mr Thorne called them all 'dirt'. He
had not intended any disrespect to these men. He admired them in
many senses, and allowed them their privileges without envy. He had
merely meant to express his feeling that the streams which ran
through their not veins were yet purified by time to that
perfection, had not become so genuine an ichor, as to be worthy of
being called blood in the genealogical sense.
When Mr Arabin was first introduced to him, Mr Thorne had
immediately suggested that he was one of the Arabins of Uphill
Stanton. Mr Arabin replied that he was a very distant relative of
the family alluded to. To this Mr Thorne surmised that the
relationship could not be very distant. Mr Arabin assured him that
it was so distant that the families knew nothing of each other. Mr
Thorne laughed his gentle laugh at this, and told Mr Arabin that
there was not existing no branch of his family separated from the
parent stock at an earlier date than the reign of Elizabeth; and
that therefore Mr Arabin could not call himself distant. Mr Arabin
himself was quite clearly an Arabin of Uphill Stanton.
'But,' said the vicar, 'Uphill Stanton has been sold to the De
Greys, and has been in their hands for the last fifty years.'
'And when it has been there one hundred and fifty, if it unluckily
remain there so long,' said Mr Thorne, 'your descendants will not
be a whit the less entitled to describe themselves as being of the
family of Uphill Stanton. Thank God, no De Grey can buy that--and,
thank God--no Arabin, and no Thorne, can sell it.'
In politics, Mr Thorne was an unflinching conservative. He looked
on those fifty-three Trojans, who, as Mr Dod tell us, censured free
trade in November 1852, as the only patriots left among the public
men of England. When that terrible crisis of free trade had
arrived, when the repeal of the corn laws was carried by those very
men whom Mr Thorne had hitherto regarded as the only possible
saviours of his country, he was for a time paralysed. His country
was lost; but that was comparatively a small thing. Other countries
had flourished and fallen, and the human race still went on
improving under God's providence. But now all trust in human faith
must for ever be at an end. Not only must ruin come, but it must
come through the apostasy of those who had been regarded as the
truest of true believers. Politics in England, as a pursuit for
gentlemen, must be at an end. Had Mr Thorne been trodden under foot
by a Whig, he could have borne it as a Tory and a martyr; but to be
so utterly thrown over and deceived by those he had so earnestly
supported, so thoroughly trusted, was more than he could endure and
live. He therefore ceased to live as a politician, and refused to
hold any converse with the world at large on the state of the
country.
Such were Mr Thorne's impressions for the first two or three years
after Sir Robert Peel's apostasy; but by degrees his temper, as did
that of others, cooled down. He began once more to move about, to
frequent the bench and the market, and to be seen at dinners,
shoulder to shoulder with some of those who had so cruelly betrayed
him. It was a necessity for him to live, and that plan of his for
avoiding the world did not answer. He, however, had others around
him, who still maintained the same staunch principles of
protection--men like himself, who were too true to flinch at the
cry of a mob--had their own way of consoling themselves. They were,
and felt themselves to be, the only true depositories left of
certain Eleusinian mysteries, of certain deep and wondrous services
of worship by which alone the gods could be rightly approached. To
them and them only was it now given to know these things, and to
perpetuate them, if that might still be done, by the careful and
secret education of their children.
We have read how private and peculiar forms of worship have been
carried on from age to age in families, which to the outer world
have apparently adhered to the service of some ordinary church. And
so by degrees it was with Mr Thorne. He learnt at length to listen
calmly while protection was talked of as a thing dead, although he
knew within himself that it was still quick with a mystic life. Nor
was he without a certain pleasure that such knowledge though given
to him should be debarred from the multitude. He became accustomed
to hear, even among country gentlemen, that free trade was after
all not so bad, and to bear this without dispute, although
conscious within himself that everything good in England had gone
with his old palladium. He had within him something of the feeling
of Cato, who gloried that he could kill himself because Romans were
no longer worthy of their name. Mr Thorne had no thought of killing
himself, being a Christian, and still possessing his L 4000 a year;
but the feeling was not on that account the less comfortable.
Mr Thorne was a sportsman, and had been active though not
outrageous in his sports. Previous to the great downfall of
politics in his country, he had supported the hunt by every means
in his power. He had preserved game till no goose or turkey could
show a tail in the parish of St Ewold's. He had planted gorse
covers with more care than oaks and larches. He had been more
anxious for the comfort of his foxes than of his ewes and lambs. No
meet had been more popular than Ullathorne; no man's stables had
been more liberally open to the horses of distant men than Mr
Thorne's; no man had said more, written more, or done more to keep
the club up. The theory of protection could expand itself so
thoroughly in the practices of the country hunt! But the great ruin
came; when the noble master of the Barchester hounds supported the
recreant minister in the House of Lords, and basely surrendered his
truth, his manhood, his friends, and his honour for the hope of a
garter, then Mr Thorne gave up the hunt. He did not cut his
covers, for that would not have been the act of a gentleman. He did
not kill his foxes, for that according to his light would have been
murder. He did not say that his covers should not be drawn, or his
earths stopped, for that would have been illegal according to the
by-laws prevailing among country gentlemen. But he absented himself
from home on the occasions of every meet at Ullathorne, left the
covers to their fate, and could not be persuaded to take his pink
coat out of the press, or his hunters out of his stable. This
lasted for two years, and then by degrees he came round. He first
appeared at a neighbouring meet on a pony, dressed in his shooting
coat, as though he had trotted in by accident; then he walked up
one morning on foot to see his favourite gorse drawn, and when his
groom brought his mare out by chance, he did not refuse to mount
her. He was next persuaded, by one of the immortal fifty-three, to
bring his hunting materials over to the other side of the county,
and take a fortnight with the hounds there; and so gradually he
returned to his old life. But in hunting as in other things he was
only supported by the inward feeling of mystic superiority to those
with whom he shared the common breath of outer life.
Mr Thorne did not live in solitude at Ullathorne. He had a sister,
who was ten years older than himself, and who participated in his
prejudices and feelings so strongly, that she was a living
caricature of all his foibles. She would not open a modern
quarterly, did not choose to see a magazine in her drawing-room,
and would not have polluted her fingers with a shred of "The Times"
for any consideration. She spoke of Addison, Swift, and Steele, as
though they were still living, regarded De Foe as the best known
novelist of his country, and thought of Fielding as a young but
meritorious novice in the fields of romance. In poetry, she was
familiar with then names as late as Dryden, and had once been
seduced into reading the "Rape of the Lock"; but she regarded
Spenser as the purest type of her country's literature in this
line. Genealogy was her favourite insanity. Those things which are
the pride of most genealogists were to her contemptible. Arms and
mottoes set her beside herself. Ealfried of Ullathorne had wanted
no motto to assist him in cleaving to the brisket Geoffrey De
Burgh; and Ealfried's great grandfather, the gigantic Ullafrid, had
required no other arms than those which nature gave him to hurl
from the top of his own castle a cousin of the base invading
Norman. To her all modern English names were equally insignificant.
Hengist, Horsa, and such like, had for her the only true savour of
nobility. She was not contented unless she could go beyond the
Saxons; and would certainly have christened her children, had she
had children, by the names of the ancient Britons. In some respects
she was not unlike Scott's Ulrica, and had she been given to
cursing, she would certainly have done so in the names of Mista,
Skogula, and Zernebock. Not having submitted to the embraces of any
polluting Normans, as poor Ulrica had done, and having assisted no
parricide, the milk of human kindness was not curdled in her bosom.
She never cursed, therefore, but blessed rather. This, however, she
did in a strange uncouth Saxon manner, that would have been
unintelligible to any peasants but her own.
As a politician, Miss Thorne had been so thoroughly disgusted with
public life by base deeds long antecedent to the Corn Law question,
that that had but little moved her. In her estimation her brother
had been a fast young man, hurried away by a too ardent temperament
into democratic tendencies. Now happily he was brought to sounder
views by seeing the iniquity of the world. She had not yet
reconciled herself to the Reform Bill, and still groaned in spirit
over the defalcations of the Duke as touching the Catholic
Emancipation. If asked whom she thought the Queen should take as
her counsellor, she would probably have named Lord Eldon; and when
reminded that that venerable man was no longer present in the flesh
to assist us, she would probably have answered with a sigh that
none now could help us but the dead.
In religion, Miss Thorne was a pure Druidess. We would not have it
understood by that, that she did actually in these latter days
assist at any human sacrifices, or that she was in fact hostile to
the Church of Christ. She had adopted the Christian religion as a
milder form of the worship of her ancestors, and always appealed to
her doing so as evidence that she had no prejudices against reform,
when it could be shown that reform was salutary. This reform was
the most modern of any to which she had as yet acceded, it being
presumed that British ladies had given up their paint and taken to
some sort of petticoats before the days of St Augustine. That
further feminine step in advance which combines paint and
petticoats together, had not found votary in Miss Thorne.
But she was a Druidess in this, that she regretted she knew not
what in the usages and practices of her Church. She sometimes
talked and constantly thought of good things gone by, though she
had but the faintest idea of what those good things had been. She
imagined that a purity had existed which was now gone; that a piety
had adorned our pastors and a simple docility our people, for which
it may be feared history gave her but little true warrant. She was
accustomed to speak of Cranmer as though he had been the firmest
and most simple-minded of martyrs, and of Elizabeth as though the
pure Protestant faith of her people had been the one anxiety of her
life. It would have been cruel to undeceive her, had it been
possible; but it would have been impossible to make her believe
that the one was a time-serving priest, willing to go any length to
keep his place, and that the other was in heart a papist, with this
sole proviso, that she should be her own pope.
And so Miss Thorne went on sighing and regretting, looking back to
the divine right of kings as the ruling axiom of a golden age, and
cherishing, low down in the bottom of her hearts of hearts, a dear
unmentioned wish for the restoration of some exiled Stuart. Who
would deny her the luxury of her sighs, or the sweetness of her
soft regrets!
In her person and her dress she was perfect, and well she knew her
own perfection. She was a small elegantly made old woman, with a
face from which the glow of her youth had not departed without
leaving some streaks of a roseate hue. She was proud of her colour,
proud of her grey hair which she wore in short crisp curls peering
out all around her face from the dainty white cap. To think of all
the money that she spent in lace used to break the heart of poor
Mrs Quiverful with her seven daughters. She was proud of her teeth,
which were still white and numerous, proud of her bright cheery
eye, proud of her short jaunty step, and very proud of the neat,
precise, small feet with which those steps were taken. She was
proud also, ay, very proud, of the rich brocaded silk in which it
was her custom to ruffle through her drawing-room.
We know what was the custom of the lady of Branksome--
"Nine and twenty knights of fame
Hung their shields in Branksome Hall."
The lady of Ullathorne was not so martial in her habits, but hardly
less costly. She might have boasted that nine-and-twenty silken
shirts might have been produced in her chamber, each fit to stand
alone. The nine-and-twenty shields of the Scottish heroes were less
independent, and hardly more potent to withstand any attack that
might be made on them. Miss Thorne when fully dressed might be said
to have been armed cap-a-pie, and she was always fully dressed, as
far as was ever known to mortal man.
For all this rich attire Miss Thorne was not indebted to the
generosity of her brother. She had a very comfortable independence
of her own, which she divided among juvenile relatives, the
milliners, and the poor, giving much the largest share to the
latter. It may be imagined, therefore, that with all her little
follies she was not unpopular. All her follies have, we believe,
been told. Her virtues were too numerous to describe, and not
sufficiently interesting to deserve description.
While we are on the subject of the Thornes, one word must be said
of the house they lived in. It was not a large house, nor a fine
house, nor perhaps to modern ideas a very commodious house; but by
those who love the peculiar colour and peculiar ornaments of
genuine Tudor architecture it was considered a perfect gem. We beg
to own ourselves among the number, and therefore take this
opportunity to express our surprise that so little is known by
English men and women of the beauties of English architecture. The
ruins of the Colosseum, the Campanile at Florence, St Mark's,
Cologne, the Bourse and Notre Dame, are with our tourists as
familiar as household words; but they know nothing of the glories
of Wiltshire, Dorsetshire, and Somersetshire. Nay, we much question
whether many noted travellers, many who have pitched their tents
perhaps under Mount Sinai, are not still ignorant that there are
glories in Wiltshire, Dorsetshire and Somersetshire. We beg that
they will go and see.
Mr Thorne's house was called Ullathorne Court, and was properly so
called; for the house itself formed two sides of a quadrangle,
which was completed in the other two sides by a wall about twenty
feet high. This was built of cut stone, rudely cut indeed, and now
much worn, but of a beautiful rich tawny yellow colour, the effect
of that stonecrop of minute growth, which it had taken three
centuries to produce. The top of this wall was ornamented by huge
round stone balls of the same colour as the wall itself. Entrance
into the court was had through a pair of iron gates, so massive
that no one could comfortably open or close them, consequently they
were rarely disturbed. From the gateway two paths led obliquely
across the court; that to the left reaching the hall-door, which
was in the corner made by the angle of the house, and that to the
right leading to the back entrance, which was at the further end of
the longer portion of the building.
With those who are now adept at contriving house accommodation, it
will militate much against Ullathorne Court, that no carriage could
be brought to the hall-door. If you enter Ullathorne at all, you
must do so, fair reader, on foot, or at least in a bath-chair. No
vehicle drawn by horses ever comes within that iron gate. But this
is nothing to the next horror that will encounter you. On entering
the front door, which you do by no very grand portal, you find
yourself immediately in the dining-room. What--no hall? exclaims my
luxurious friend, accustomed to all the comfortable appurtenances
of modern life. Yes, kind sir; a noble hall, if you will but
observe it; a true old English hall of excellent dimensions for a
country gentleman's family; but, if you please, no dining-parlour.
But Mr and Miss Thorne were proud of this peculiarity of their
dwelling, though the brother was once all but tempted by his
friends to alter it. They delighted in the knowledge that they,
like Cedric, positively dined in their true hall, even though they
so dined tete-a-tete. But though they had never owned, they had
felt and endeavoured to remedy the discomfort of such an
arrangement. A huge screen partitioned off the front door and a
portion of the hall, and from the angle so screened off a second
door led into a passage, which ran along the larger side of the
house next to the courtyard. Either my reader or I must be a bad
hand at topography, if it be not clear that the great hall forms
the ground-floor of the smaller portion of the mansion, that which
was to your left as you entered the iron gate, and that it occupies
the whole of this wing of the building. It must be equally clear
that it looks out on a trim mown lawn, through three quadrangular
windows with stone mullions, each window divided into a larger
portion at the bottom, and a smaller portion at the top, and each
portion again divided into five by perpendicular stone supporters.
There may be windows which give a better light than such as those,
and it may be, as my utilitarian friend observes, that the giving
of light is the desired object of a window. I will not argue the
point with him. Indeed I cannot. But I shall not the less die in
the assured conviction that no sort of description of window is
capable of imparting half as much happiness to mankind as that
which has been adopted at Ullathorne Court. What--not an oriel?
says Miss Diana de Midellage. No, Miss Diana; not even an oriel,
beautiful as is an oriel window. It has not about it so perfect a
feeling of quiet English homely comfort. Let oriel windows grace a
college, or the half public mansion of a potent peer; but for the
sitting room of quiet country ladies, of ordinary homely folk,
nothing can equal the square mullioned windows of the Tudor
architects.
The hall was hung round with family female insipidities by Lely,
and unprepossessing male Thornes in red coats by Kneller; each
Thorne having been let into a panel in the wainscoting in the
proper manner. At the further end of the room was a huge
fire-place, which afforded much ground of difference between the
brother and sister. An antiquated grate that would hold about a
hundred weight of coal, had been stuck on the hearth, by Mr
Thorne's father. This hearth had of course been intended for the
consumption of wood fagots, and the iron dogs for the purpose were
still standing, though half buried in the masonry of the grate.
Miss Thorne was very anxious to revert to the dogs. The dear good
old creature was always to revert to anything, and had she been
systematically indulged, would doubtless in time have reflected
that fingers were made before forks, and have reverted accordingly.
But in the affairs of the fire-place, Mr Thorne would not revert.
Country gentlemen around him, all had comfortable grates in their
dining-rooms. He was not exactly the man to have suggested a modern
usage; but he was not so far prejudiced as to banish those which
his father had prepared for his use. Mr Thorne had, indeed, once
suggested that with very little contrivance the front door might
have been so altered, as to open at least into the passage; but on
hearing this, his sister Monica, such was Miss Thorne's name, had
been taken ill, and had remained so for a week. Before she came
down stairs she received a pledge from her brother that the
entrance should never be changed in her lifetime.
At the end of the hall opposite to the fire-place a door led into
the drawing-room, which was of equal size, and lighted with
precisely similar windows. But yet the aspect of the room was very
different. It was papered, and the ceiling, which in the hall
showed the old rafters, was whitened and finished with a modern
cornice. Miss Thorne's drawing-room, or, as she always called it,
withdrawing-room, was a beautiful apartment. The windows opened on
to the full extent of the lovely trim garden; immediately before
the windows were plots of flowers in stiff, stately, stubborn
little beds, each bed surrounded by a stone coping of its own;
beyond, there was a low parapet wall, on which stood urns and
images, fawns, nymphs, satyrs, and a whole tribe of Pan's
followers; and then again, beyond that, a beautiful lawn sloped
away to a sunk fence, which divided the garden from the park. Mr
Thorne's study was at the end of the drawing-room, and beyond that
were the kitchen and the offices. Doors opened into both Miss
Thorne's withdrawing-room and Mr Thorne's sanctum from the passage
above alluded to; which, as it came to the latter room, widened
itself so as to make space for the huge black oak stairs, which led
to the upper region.
Such was the interior of Ullathorne Court. But having thus
described it, perhaps somewhat too tediously, we beg to say that it
is not the interior to which we wish to call the English tourist's
attention, though we advise him to lose no legitimate opportunity
of becoming acquainted with it in a friendly manner. It is the
outside of Ullathorne that is so lovely. Let the tourist get
admission at least into the garden, and fling himself on that soft
award just opposite to the exterior angle of the house. He will
there get the double frontage, and enjoy that which is so
lovely--the expanse of architectural beauty without the formal
dullness of one long line.
It is the colour of Ullathorne that is so remarkable. It is all of
that delicious tawny hue which no stone can give, unless it has on
it the vegetable richness of centuries. Strike the wall with your
hand, and you will think that the stone has on it no covering, but
rub it carefully, and you will find that the colour comes off upon
your finger. No colourist that ever yet worked from a palette has
been able to come up to this rich colouring of years crowding
themselves on years.
Ullathorne is a high building for a country house, for it possesses
three stories; and in each storey, the windows are of the same sort
as that described, though varying in size, and varying also in
their lines athwart the house. Those of the ground floor are all
uniform in size and position. But those above are irregular both in
size and place, and this irregularity gives a bizarre and not
unpicturesque appearance to the building. Along the top, on every
side, runs a low parapet, which nearly hides the roof, and at the
corners are more figures of fawns and satyrs.
Such is Ullathorne House. But we must say one word of the approach
to it, which shall include all the description which we mean to
give of the church also. The picturesque old church of St Ewold's
stands immediately opposite to the iron gates which open into the
court, and is all but surrounded by the branches of lime trees,
which form the avenue leading up to the house from both sides.
This avenue is magnificent, but it would lose much of its value in
the eyes of many proprietors, by the fact that the road through it
is not private property. It is a public lane between hedgerows,
with a broad grass margin on each side of the road, from which the
lime trees spring. Ullathorne Court, therefore, does not stand
absolutely surrounded by its own grounds, though Mr Thorne is owner
of all the adjacent land. This, however, is the source of very
little annoyance to him. Men, when they are acquiring property,
think much of such things, but they who live where their ancestors
have lived for years, do not feel the misfortune. It never occurred
to either Mr or Miss Thorne that they were not sufficiently
private, because the world at large might, if it so wished, walk or
drive by their iron gates. That part of the world which availed
itself of the privilege was however very small.
Such a year or two since were the Thornes of Ullathorne. Such, we
believe, are the inhabitants of many an English country home. May
it be long before their number diminishes.