I had been passing a merry Christmas in the good old style at Barlhoro'
Hall, a venerable family mansion in Derbyshire, and set off to finish
the holidays with the hospitable proprietor of Newstead Abbey. A drive
of seventeen miles through a pleasant country, part of it the storied
region of Sherwood Forest, brought me to the gate of Newstead Park. The
aspect of the park was by no means imposing, the fine old trees that
once adorned it having been laid low by Lord Byron's wayward
predecessor.
Entering the gate, the postchaise rolled heavily along a sandy road,
between naked declivities, gradually descending into one of those
gentle and sheltered valleys, in which the sleek monks of old loved to
nestle themselves. Here a sweep of the road round an angle of a garden
wall brought us full in front of the venerable edifice, embosomed in
the valley, with a beautiful sheet of water spreading out before it.
The irregular gray pile, of motley architecture, answered to the
description given by Lord Byron:
"An old, old monastery once, and now
Still older mansion, of a rich and rare
Mixed Gothic"----
One end was fortified by a castellated tower, bespeaking the baronial
and warlike days of the edifice; the other end maintained its primitive
monastic character. A ruined chapel, flanked by a solemn grove, still
reared its front entire. It is true, the threshold of the once
frequented portal was grass-grown, and the great lancet window, once
glorious with painted glass, was now entwined and overhung with ivy;
but the old convent cross still braved both time and tempest on the
pinnacle of the chapel, and below, the blessed effigies of the Virgin
and child, sculptured in gray stone, remained uninjured in their niche,
giving a sanctified aspect to the pile. [Footnote:
"--in a higher niche, alone, but crown'd,
The Virgin Mother of the God-born child
With her son in her blessed arms, looked round,
Spared by some chance, when all beside was spoil'd:
She made the earth below seem holy ground."--DON JUAN, Canto III.]
A flight of rooks, tenants of the adjacent grove, were hovering about
the ruin, and balancing themselves upon ever airy projection, and
looked down with curious eye and cawed as the postchaise rattled along
below.
The chamberlain of the Abbey, a most decorous personage, dressed in
black, received us at the portal. Here, too, we encountered a memento
of Lord Byron, a great black and white Newfoundland dog, that had
accompanied his remains from Greece. He was descended from the famous
Boatswain, and inherited his generous qualities. He was a cherished
inmate of the Abbey, and honored and caressed by every visitor.
Conducted by the chamberlain, and followed by the dog, who assisted in
doing the honors of the house, we passed through a long low vaulted
hall, supported by massive Gothic arches, and not a little resembling
the crypt of a cathedral, being the basement story of the Abbey.
From this we ascended a stone staircase, at the head of which a pair of
folding doors admitted us into a broad corridor that ran round the
interior of the Abbey. The windows of the corridor looked into a
quadrangular grass-grown court, forming the hollow centre of the pile.
In the midst of it rose a lofty and fantastic fountain, wrought of the
same gray stone as the main edifice, and which has been well described
by Lord Byron.
"Amidst the court a Gothic fountain play'd,
Symmetrical, but deck'd with carvings quaint,
Strange faces, like to men in masquerade,
And here perhaps a monster, there a saint:
The spring rush'd through grim mouths of granite made,
And sparkled into basins, where it spent
Its little torrent in a thousand bubbles,
Like man's vain glory, and his vainer troubles."
[Footnote: DON JUAN, Canto III]
Around this quadrangle were low vaulted cloisters, with Gothic arches,
once the secluded walks of the monks: the corridor along which we were
passing was built above these cloisters, and their hollow arches seemed
to reverberate every footfall. Everything thus far had a solemn
monastic air; but, on arriving at an angle of the corridor, the eye,
glancing along a shadowy gallery, caught a sight of two dark figures in
plate armor, with closed visors, bucklers braced, and swords drawn,
standing motionless against the wall. They seemed two phantoms of the
chivalrous era of the Abbey.
Here the chamberlain, throwing open a folding door, ushered us at once
into a spacious and lofty saloon, which offered a brilliant contrast to
the quaint and sombre apartments we had traversed. It was elegantly
furnished, and the walls hung with paintings, yet something of its
original architecture had been preserved and blended with modern
embellishments. There were the stone-shafted casements and the deep
bow-window of former times. The carved and panelled wood-work of the
lofty ceiling had likewise been carefully restored, and its Gothic and
grotesque devices painted and gilded in their ancient style.
Here, too, were emblems of the former and latter days of the Abbey, in
the effigies of the first and last of the Byron line that held sway
over its destinies. At the upper end of the saloon, above the door, the
dark Gothic portrait of "Sir John Byron the Little with the great
Beard," looked grimly down from his canvas, while, at the opposite end,
a white marble bust of the _genius loci_, the noble poet, shone
conspicuously from its pedestal.
The whole air and style of the apartment partook more of the palace
than the monastery, and its windows looked forth on a suitable
prospect, composed of beautiful groves, smooth verdant lawns, and
silver sheets of water. Below the windows was a small flower-garden,
inclosed by stone balustrades, on which were stately peacocks, sunning
themselves and displaying their plumage. About the grass-plots in
front, were gay cock pheasants, and plump partridges, and nimble-footed
water hens, feeding almost in perfect security.
Such was the medley of objects presented to the eye on first visiting
the Abbey, and I found the interior fully to answer the description of
the poet--
"The mansion's self was vast and venerable,
With more of the monastic than has been
Elsewhere preserved; the cloisters still were stable,
The cells, too, and refectory, I ween;
An exquisite small chapel had been able,
Still unimpair'd, to decorate the scene;
The rest had been reformed, replaced, or sunk,
And spoke more of the friar than the monk.
"Huge halls, long galleries, spacious chambers, joined
By no quite lawful marriage of the arts,
Might shock a connoisseur; but when combined
Formed a whole, which, irregular in parts,
Yet left a grand impression on the mind,
At least of those whose eyes were in their hearts."
It is not my intention to lay open the scenes of domestic life at the
Abbey, nor to describe the festivities of which I was a partaker during
my sojourn within its hospitable walls. I wish merely to present a
picture of the edifice itself, and of those personages and
circumstances about it, connected with the memory of Byron.
I forbear, therefore, to dwell on my reception by my excellent and
amiable host and hostess, or to make my reader acquainted with the
elegant inmates of the mansion that I met in the saloon; and I shall
pass on at once with him to the chamber allotted me, and to which I was
most respectfully conducted by the chamberlain.
It was one of a magnificent suite of rooms, extending between the court
of the cloisters and the Abbey garden, the windows looking into the
latter. The whole suite formed the ancient state apartment, and had
fallen into decay during the neglected days of the Abbey, so as to be
in a ruinous condition in the time of Lord Byron. It had since been
restored to its ancient splendor, of which my chamber may be cited as a
specimen. It was lofty and well proportioned; the lower part of the
walls was panelled with ancient oak, the upper part hung with gobelin
tapestry, representing oriental hunting scenes, wherein the figures
were of the size of life, and of great vivacity of attitude and color.
The furniture was antique, dignified, and cumbrous. High-backed chairs
curiously carved, and wrought in needlework; a massive clothes-press of
dark oak, well polished, and inlaid with landscapes of various tinted
woods; a bed of state, ample and lofty, so as only to be ascended by a
movable flight of steps, the huge posts supporting a high tester with a
tuft of crimson plumes at each corner, and rich curtains of crimson
damask hanging in broad and heavy folds.
A venerable mirror of plate glass stood on the toilet, in which belles
of former centuries may have contemplated and decorated their charms.
The floor of the chamber was of tesselated oak, shining with wax, and
partly covered by a Turkey carpet. In the centre stood a massy oaken
table, waxed and polished as smooth as glass, and furnished with a
writing-desk of perfumed rosewood.
A sober light was admitted into the room through Gothic stone-shafted
casements, partly shaded by crimson curtains, and partly overshadowed
by the trees of the garden. This solemnly tempered light added to the
effect of the stately and antiquated interior.
Two portraits, suspended over the doors, were in keeping with the
scene. They were in ancient Vandyke dresses; one was a cavalier, who
may have occupied this apartment in days of yore, the other was a lady
with a black velvet mask in her hand, who may once have arrayed herself
for conquest at the very mirror I have described.
The most curious relic of old times, however, in this quaint but richly
dight apartment, was a great chimney-piece of panel-work, carved in
high relief, with niches or compartments, each containing a human bust,
that protruded almost entirely from the wall. Some of the figures were
in ancient Gothic garb; the most striking among them was a female, who
was earnestly regarded by a fierce Saracen from an adjoining niche.
This panel-work is among the mysteries of the Abbey, and causes as much
wide speculation as the Egyptian hieroglyphics. Some suppose it to
illustrate an adventure in the Holy Land, and that the lady in effigy
had been rescued by some Crusader of the family from the turbaned Turk
who watches her so earnestly. What tends to give weight to these
suppositions is, that similar pieces of panel-work exist in other parts
of the Abbey, in all of which are to be seen the Christian lady and her
Saracen guardian or lover. At the bottom of these sculptures are
emblazoned the armorial bearings of the Byrons.
I shall not detain the reader, however, with any further description of
my apartment, or of the mysteries connected with it. As he is to pass
some days with me at the Abbey, we shall have time to examine the old
edifice at our leisure, and to make ourselves acquainted, not merely
with its interior, but likewise with its environs.