University of Virginia Library

ARRIVAL AT THE ABBEY.

I HAD been passing a merry christmas in the
good old style at a venerable family hall in Derbyshire,
and set off to finish the holydays 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:

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.[6]

A flight of rooks, tenants of the adjacent grove,
were hovering about the ruin, and balancing
themselves upon every 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 honoured and caressed by every
visiter. Conducted by the chamberlain, and
followed by the dog, who assisted in doing the
honours 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.

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. Every thing 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 armour, 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 canvass, 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, enclosed
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—

It is not my intention to lay open the scenes
of domestic life at the Abbey, or 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 splendour,
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 goblin
tapestry, representing oriental hunting scenes,
wherein the figures were of the size of life, and
of great vivacity of attitude and colour.

The furniture was antique, dignified, and cumbrous.
High backed chairs curiously carved,
and wrought in needle-work; 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 moveable 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 tessellated
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 rose wood.

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 has 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.