Part 7 (1/2)
The Castle had its vicissitudes, both as to its condition and proprietors.h.i.+p, for many years, even generations. Somewhere between 1267 and 1280 the Castle had been destroyed and rebuilt. It was rebuilt in the time of Edward I or Edward II, and formed one link in the chain by which the Edwards held the Welsh to their loyalty. Its name appears in the doomsday-book, where it is spelled Haordine. It was presented by King Edward to the House of Salisbury. Then the Earls of Derby came into possession, and they entertained within its walls Henry VII in the latter part of the fifteenth century. During the Parliamentary wars it was held at first for the Parliament, and was taken by siege in 1643.
The royalists were in possession two years later, and at Christmas time, in 1645, Parliament ordered that the Castle be dismantled, which was effectively done. The latest proprietor of those times was James, Earl of Derby. He was executed and the estates were sold. They were purchased by Sergeant Glynne, Lord Chief Justice of England under Cromwell, from whom in a long line of descent they were inherited, upon the death of the last baronet, Sir Stephen Glynne, in 1874, by the wife of William E.
Gladstone. Sergeant Glynne's son, Sir William, the first baronet, when he came into possession, was seized with the unaccountable notion of further destroying the old Castle, and by the end of the seventeenth century very little remained beyond what stands to-day.
[Ill.u.s.tration: A GLIMPSE OF THE CASTLE FROM THE PARK.]
Hawarden is supposed to be synonymous with the word Burg-Ardden, Ardin, a fortified mound or hill. It is usually supposed to be an English word, but of Welsh derivation, and is no doubt related to dinas, in Welsh the exact equivalent to the Saxon _burg_. The Welsh still call it Penarlas, a word the etymology of which points to a period when the lowlands of Saltney were under water, and the Castle looked over a lake. The earlier history of the Castle goes back to the time when it was held by the ancient Britons, and stood firm against Saxon, Dane, or whatever invading foe sought to deprive the people of their heritage in the soil. On the invasion of William, as we have seen, it was in the possession of Edwin, sovereign of Deira. ”We find it afterwards,” says another account, ”in the possession of Roger Fitzvalarine, a son of one of the adventurers who came over with the Conqueror. Then it was held, subordinately, by the Monthault, or Montalt, family, the stewards of the palatinate of Chester. It is remarkable, as we noticed in our story of Hughenden Manor, that as the traditions of that ancient place touched the memory of Simon de Montfort, the great Earl of Leicester, so do they also in the story of the old Castle of Hawarden. Here Llewelyn, the last native prince of Wales, held a memorable conference with the Earl. With in the walls of Hawarden was signed the treaty of peace between Wales and Ches.h.i.+re, not long to last; here Llewelyn saw the beautiful daughter of De Montfort, whose memory haunted him so tenderly and so long. Again we find the Castle in the possession of the Montalt family, from whom it descended to the Stanleys, the Earl of Derby.... Here the last native princes of Wales, Llewelyn and David, attempted to grasp their crumbling sceptre, Here no doubt halted Edward I, 'girt with many a baron bold;'
here the Tudor prince, Henry VII, of Welsh birth, visited in the later years of the fifteenth century; and this was the occasion upon which it pa.s.sed into the family whose representatives had proclaimed him monarch on Bosworth field. But when James, Earl of Derby, was beheaded, after the battle of Worcester, in 1651, the estate was purchased under the Sequestration Act by Sergeant Glynne, whose portrait hangs over the mantleshelf of the drawing-room; 'but,' says Mrs. Gladstone, in calling our attention to it, 'he is an ancestor of whom we have no occasion to be and are not proud.'”
This remark of Mrs. Gladstone's may be explained by the following from the pen of a reputable author: ”Sergeant Glynne, who flourished (literally flourished) during the seventeenth century, was a most unscrupulous man in those troubled times. He was at first a supporter of Charles I, then got office and preferment under Cromwell, and yet again, like a veritable Vicar of Bray, became a Royalist on the return of Charles II. The Earl of Derby, who was taken prisoner at the battle of Worcester, in 1661, was executed, and his estates forfeited. Of these estates Sergeant Glynne managed to get possession of Hawarden; and though on the Restoration all Royalists' forfeited estates were ordered to be restored, Glynne managed somehow to remain in possession of the property.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: WATERFALL IN HAWARDEN PARK.]
It is very probable that Hawarden Castle was no exception to those cruel haunts of feudal tyranny and oppression belonging to the days of its power. Many years ago, when the rubbish was cleared away beneath the Castle ruin, a flight of steps was found, at the foot of which was a door, and a draw-bridge, which crossed a long, deep chasm, neatly faced with freestone; then another door leading to several small rooms, all, probably, places of confinement; and those hollows, now fringed with timber trees, in those days const.i.tuted a broad, deep fosse.
The old Hawarden Castle, a curious ruin covered with moss and ivy, like many other ancient piles of stone in historic England, is a reminder of a past and warlike age, when an Englishman's home had to be a castle to protect him and his family from his enemies. But times have changed for the better, and long immunity from internal foes and invading armies has had its peaceful effects upon the lands and the homes of men. As the grounds of Hawarden show the remarkable cultivation produced by long periods of peaceful toil, so the ancient castle has given way for the modern dwelling, a peaceful abode whose only protecting wall is that with which the law surrounds it.
Modern Hawarden Castle is a castle only in name. The new ”Castle” has been the home of the Glynns' for generations, and ever since the marriage of Mr. Gladstone and Miss Glynn has been the dwelling of the Gladstones. Mr. Gladstone has greatly improved the Hawarden estate and the castle has not been overlooked. Among the improvements to the castle may be named the additions to the library and the Golden Wedding Porch.
The new Castle was begun in 1752, by Sir John Glynne, who ”created a stout, honest, square, red-brick mansion;” which was added to and altered in the Gothic style in 1814. The Glynnes lived in Oxfords.h.i.+re till early in the eighteenth century, when they built themselves a small house, which was on the site of the present Castle. The new Hawarden Castle stands in front of the ma.s.sive ruin of the old Castle, which has looked down on the surrounding country for six centuries. A recent writer speaking of the new structure as a sham Castle, with its plaster and stucco, and imitation turrets, says: ”It would not have been surprising if the old Castle had, after the manner of Jewish chivalry, torn its hair of thickly entwined ivy, rent its garments of moss and lichen, and fallen down prostrate, determined forever to shut out the sight of the modern monstrosity.”
However, the author somewhat relents and thus describes the modern edifice:
”The aspect of the house is very impressive and imposing, as it first suddenly seems to start upon the view after a long carriage-drive through the n.o.ble trees, if not immediately near, but breaking and brightening the view on either hand; yet, within and without, the house seems like its mighty master--not pensive but rural; it does not even breathe the spirit of quiet. Its rooms look active and power-compelling, and we could not but feel that they were not indebted to any of the aesthetic inventions and elegancies of furniture for their charm. Thus we have heard of one visitor pathetically exclaiming, 'Not one _dado_ adorns the walls!' Hawarden is called a Castle, but it has not, either in its exterior or interior, the aspect of a Castle. It is a home; it has a n.o.ble appearance as it rises on the elevated ground, near the old feudal ruin which it has superseded, and looks over the grand and forest-like park, the grand pieces of broken ground, dells and hollows, and charming woodlands.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: COURT YARD, HAWARDEN CASTLE.]
The traditional history of Hawarden Church, as well as that of the Castle, travels back to a very remote antiquity, and is the central point of interest to many a tragedy, and some of a very grotesque character. For instance, for many ages the inhabitants of Hawarden were called ”Harden Jews,” and for this designation we have the following legendary account. In the year 946, during the reign of Cynan ap Elisap Anarawd, King of Gwynedd North, there was a Christian temple at Harden, and a rood-loft, in which was placed an image of the Virgin Mary, with a very large cross in her hands, which was called ”holy rood.” During a very hot and dry summer the inhabitants prayed much and ardently for rain, but without any effect. Among the rest, Lady Trowst, wife of Sytsyllt, governor of Harden Castle, went also to pray, when, during this exercise, the holy rood fell upon her head and killed her. Such behavior upon the part of this wooden Virgin could be tolerated no longer. A great tumult ensued in consequence, and it was concluded to try the said Virgin for murder, and the jury not only found her guilty of wilful murder, but of inattention in not answering the prayers of innumerable pet.i.tioners. The sentence was hanging, but Span, of Mancot, who was one of the jury, opposed this act saying it was best to drown, since it was rain they prayed for. This was fiercely opposed by Corbin, of the gate, who advised that she should be laid on the sands by the river. So, this being done, the tide carried the lady, floating gently, like another lady, Elaine, upon its soft bosom, and placed her near the walls of Caerleon (now Chester), where she was found next day, says the legend, drowned and dead. Here the inhabitants of Caerleon buried her.
Upon this occasion, it is said, the river, which had until then been called the Usk, was changed to Rood Die, or Rood Dee. We need not stay here to a.n.a.lyze some things belonging to locality and etymology, which appear to us somewhat anachronistic and contradictory in this ancient and queer legend.
Hawarden Church is a fairly large structure, externally a plain old brick building with a low tower and a dwarf spire, standing in the midst of a large population of graves. There is preserved in the annals of the Church a list of the rectors of Hawarden as far back as 1180.
About forty years ago a fire broke out in the Church, and when all was over, very little was left of the original structure except the walls.
It was restored with great expedition, and was re-opened within the same year. The present building is a restoration to the memory of the immediate ancestor, from whom the estate is derived by the present family. It is the centre of hard, earnest work, done for an exceptionally large parish. But the Church population is occasionally recruited from all the ends of the earth.
It is here that the Gladstone family wors.h.i.+p on the plain, uncus.h.i.+oned pew, near the lectern and opposite the pulpit. When the estates came into the hands of the Glynnes the living was bestowed upon a member of the family. The Rector is Rev. Stephen Gladstone, second son of the Premier. He is not a great preacher, but he is quietly earnest and instructive. Mr. Gladstone was up early on Sunday mornings and seldom failed to be in his pew at Church. Crowds filled the Church Sunday, morning and evening, week after week, many of them strangers, to see the Prime Minister of England, and behold him leave his pew and, standing at the reading-desk, go through his part of the service--that of reading the lessons for the day, in this obscure village Church. After church Mr. Gladstone went to the rectory with his family, with his cloak only over his shoulders, when the weather required, and as he walked along the path through the churchyard would bow to the crowds that stood on either side uncovered to greet him as he pa.s.sed by. The two brothers, until recently, lived at the rectory, and the whole family seemed to live in the most beautiful harmony together.
Both Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone attribute much of his health to the fact that he will have his Sabbath to himself and his family, undisturbed by any of the agitations of business, the cares of State, or even the recreations of literature and scholastic study. This profound public regard for the day of rest, whether in London or at Hawarden, awakens a feeling of admiration and puts us in mind of his great predecessor in statesmans.h.i.+p, Cecil, Lord Burleigh, who, when he arrived at Theobalds on a Sat.u.r.day evening would throw off his cloak or chain of office and exclaim, ”Lie there and rest, my good lord treasurer.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE REV. H. DREW, WARDEN OF ST. DENIOL'S.]
One of the main points of interest at the home of Mr. Gladstone is the library. There is not a room in Hawarden Castle in which there is not an abundance of books, which are not all collected in the library, but distributed all over the house. Where other people have cabinets for curiosities, china, etc., there are here shelves and cases full of books. In ante-room and bed-room dressing-room and nursery they are found, not by single volumes, but in serried ranks; well-known and useful books. But it is in the library where Mr. Gladstone has collected by years of careful selection, a most valuable and large array of books, from all parts of the world, upon every subject. These books are cla.s.sified and so arranged as to be of immediate use. All those on one particular subject are grouped together.
[Ill.u.s.tration: DOROTHY'S DOVECOTE]
Mr. Gladstone was a familiar figure in the book stores, and especially where rare, old books were to be found, and he seldom failed to return home with some book in his pocket. Mrs. Gladstone is said to have gone through his pockets often upon his return home, and sent back many a volume to the book-seller, that had found its way to the pocket of her husband, after a hasty glance at its t.i.tle. He kept himself informed of all that was going on in the literary, scientific and artistic worlds, receiving each week a parcel of the newest books for his private readings. Every day he looked over several book-sellers's catalogues, and certain subjects were sure of getting an order.
Hawarden library gave every evidence of being for use, and not show. Mr.
Gladstone knew what books he had and was familiar with their contents.