CHAPTER XVI

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VISIT TO EATON HALL.—THE LARGEST ARCH IN THE WORLD.—THE OUTER PARK.—BACKWOODS’ FARMING.—THE DEER PARK.—THE HALL.—THE PARTERRE.— THE LAWN.—THE FRUIT GARDEN.—STABLES.

[Sidenote: _LANDSCAPE GARDENING._]

In the afternoon we walked to Eaton park.

Probably there is no object of art that Americans of cultivated taste generally more long to see in Europe, than an English park. What artist, so noble, has often been my thought, as he, who with far-reaching conception of beauty and designing power, sketches the outline, writes the colours, and directs the shadows of a picture so great that Nature shall be employed upon it for generations, before the work he has arranged for her shall realize his intentions.

Eaton hall and park is _one_ of the seats of the Marquis of Westminster, a very wealthy nobleman, who has lately been named “Lord High Chamberlain to her Majesty,” a kind of state-housekeeper or steward, I take it—an office which Punch, and a common report of a niggardly disposition in his private affairs, deems him particularly appropriate to.

We left town by the new, or Grosvenor bridge—a simple, grand, and every way excellent work, crossing the Dee by a single arch, which we are told is the largest in the world. It is entirely free from decorative ornament, and the effect of it, as seen looking from the river side, is most imposing. I know of nothing in America to compare with it. It was built by the marquis, whose family name is Grosvenor, at a cost of $180,000 (£36,000). The designer was Thomas Harrison, an architect of note, who formerly lived in Chester.[13]

[13] The main arch spans two hundred feet, and its height is forty feet, and there two dry arches, each twenty feet wide and forty feet high. From the surface of the water to the road is over sixty feet. The parapet walls are three hundred and fifty feet long, with a carriage-way and foot-path between, of thirty feet.

By the side of the road we found an oratory, or small chapel, building, and gardeners laying out grounds for a rural cemetery. Beyond this we came to the great castellated edifice that I have before spoken of as the gateway to the park. Such we were told it was, and were therefore surprised to find within only a long, straight road, with but tolerable mowing lots alternating by the side of it, with thick plantations of trees, no way differing from the twenty-year old natural wood of my own farm, except that hollies, laurels, and our common dog-wood were planted regularly along the edge. After a while we pushed into this wood, to see if we could not scare up some of the deer. We soon saw daylight on the outside, and about twelve rods from the road, came to an open field, separated from the road only by a common Yankee three-rail fence, which I had not expected to see in England; very poor it was too, at that.

A stout boy, leaning heavily on the stilts, was ploughing the stubble-ground (apparently a _summer fallow_). We jumped over and asked what crop the ground was preparing for. The horses stopped of their own accord when we spoke. The boy turned and sat upon the stilts-brace, and then answered—“Erdnow.”

[Sidenote: _GENTLEMAN FARMING.—PARK SCENERY._]

The same answer, or some other sounds that we could not guess the meaning of, followed several other questions. The plough had a wooden beam, bound round with hoop iron. The horses, one black and the other white, seemed to be worn-out hacks; the harness was mended with bits of rope; the furrows were crooked and badly turned. Altogether, a more unfarmer-like turn-out, and a worse piece of work I never saw in our own backwoods. When we last saw the ploughman, he had taken off his woollen cap and seemed about lighting a pipe, and the horses were beginning to nibble at the stubble, which stuck up in tufts all over the ploughed ground. In getting back to the road we crossed a low spot, sinking ankle deep in mire, and noticed several trees not eight inches thick, which showed signs of decay.

We tramped on for several miles through this tame scenery and most ungentlemanly farming, until it became really tiresome. At length the wood fell back, and the road was lined for some way with a double row of fine elms. Still no deer. A little further, and we came to a cottage most beautifully draped with ivy; passed through another gate. Ah! here is the real park at last.

A gracefully, irregular, gently undulating surface of close-cropped pasture land, reaching way off inimitably; dark green in colour; very old, but not very large trees scattered singly and in groups—so far apart as to throw long unbroken shadows across broad openings of light, and leave the view in several directions unobstructed for a long distance. Herds of fallow-deer, fawns, cattle, sheep, and lambs quietly feeding near us, and moving slowly in masses at a distance; a warm atmosphere, descending sun, and sublime shadows from fleecy clouds transiently darkening in succession, sunny surface, cool woodside, flocks and herds, and foliage.

The road ran on winding through this. We drew a long breath, and walked slowly for a little way, then turned aside at the nearest tree, and lay down to take it all in satisfactorily. Then we rose and went among the deer. They were small and lean, all with their heads down feeding. Among them was one pure white fawn. I believe none of them had antlers, or more than mere prongs. They seemed to be quite as tame as the sheep; but suddenly, as we came still nearer, all, as if one, raised high their heads, and bounded off in a high springing gallop. After going a few rods, one stopped short, and facing about, stood alone with ears erect, and gleaming eyes, intent upon us. A few rods further the whole herd stopped and stood in the same way, looking at us. One by one the heads again dropped; a fawn stepped out from among them; the one nearest us turned and trotted to it, and then all fell quietly to feeding again.

The sheep were of a large, coarse-woolled variety, some of them nearly as large, only not standing quite so high, as the deer—not handsome at all (as sheep) even for a mutton breed; but in groups at a distance, and against the shadows, far prettier than the deer. The cattle were short horned, large, dapple skinned, sleek, and handsome, but not remarkable.

We concluded that the sheep and cattle were of the most value for their effect in the landscape; but it was a little exciting to us to watch the deer, particularly as we would some times see them in a large herd leisurely moving across an opening among the trees, a long way off, and barely distinguishable; or still more when one, two, or three, which had been separated from a nearer herd, suddenly started, and dashed wildly by us, within pistol shot.

“I don’t think they are as large as our Maine fallow deer.”

“I wonder if they’d taste as good as they did _that night_.”

“Well, I reckon not—no hemlock to toast them over.”

“Or to sleep on afterwards, eh!”

“And no wolves to keep you awake.”

“No! How the bloody rascals did howl that night though, didn’t they?”

[Sidenote: _ETON HALL.—THE POINTED GOTHIC._]

Following the carriage road, we came near a mass of shrubbery, over and beyond which the trees were closer and taller. It was separated from the deer park by an iron fence. Passing this by another light gate, and through a screen of thick underwood, we found ourselves close to the entrance front of the Hall.

“It is considered the most splendid specimen of the pointed Gothic. It consists of a centre and three stories, finished with octagonal turrets, connected with the main part by lofty intermediate towers, the whole enriched by buttresses, niches, and pinnacles, and adorned with elaborately carved heraldic designs, fretwork, and foliage, surmounted throughout by an enriched battlement.”

So much from the Guide Book. It is not my business to attempt a criticism of “the finest specimen of the pointed Gothic” in England; but I may honestly say that it did not, as a whole, produce the expected effect of grandeur or sublimity upon us, without trying to find reasons for the failure. Even when we came to look at it closely, we found little to admire. There was no great simple beauty in it as a mass, nor yet vigorous original character enough in the details to make them an interesting study. The edifice is long and low, and covered with an immense amount of meaningless decoration.

Such was our first impression, and we were greatly disappointed, you may be sure. We admired it more afterwards on the other side, from the middle of a great garden, where it seems to stand much higher, being set up on terraces, and gaining much, I suspect, from the extension of architectural character to the grounds in its front. Here we acknowledged a good deal of magnificence in its effect. Still it seemed as if it might have been obtained in some other style, with less labour, and was much frittered away in the confusion of ornament.

This garden is a curiosity. It is in the geometrical style, and covers eight acres, it is said, though it does not seem nearly that to the eye. It is merely a succession of small arabesque figures of fine grass or flower beds, set in hard, rolled, dark-coloured gravel. The surface, dropping by long terraces from the steps of the hall to the river, is otherwise only varied by stiff pyramidal yews and box, and a few vases. On the whole, the effect of it in connection with the house, and looking towards it, is good, more so than I should have expected; and it falls so rapidly, that it affects the landscape seen in this direction _from_ the house but very little. This is exquisitely beautiful, looking across the Dee, over a lovely valley towards some high, blue mountains. From other parts of the hall grand vistas open through long avenues of elms, and there are some noble single trees about the lawn.

This English elm is a much finer tree than I had been aware of—very tall, yet with drooping limbs and fine thick foliage; not nearly as fine as a single tree as our elm, but even more effective, I think, in masses, because thicker and better filled out in its general outline.

The hall was undergoing extensive alterations and repairs; and all the grounds immediately about it, except the terrace garden, were lumbered up with brick and stone, and masons’ sheds, and in complete confusion. Being Saturday, all the workmen had left, and it was long before we could find any one about the house. We had got very thirsty, and considering that such a place would not be left without any tenants, determined to rouse them out and get a drink. After hammering for some time at a door under the principal entrance, a woman came and opened it a few inches, and learning our wish, brought us a glass of water, which she passed out through the narrow opening, never showing her face. We were amused at this, which she perceiving, told us the door was chained and padlocked, so she could not open it wider.

[Sidenote: _BOX STABLES._]

Soon after, while looking for an entrance to the fruit garden, we met a gamekeeper, who was followed by a pet cub fox. He very obligingly, and with a gentlemanly manner showed us through such parts of the establishment as he was able to. There was nothing remarkable in the gardens or glass-houses, except some very large and wonderfully well-trained fruit trees on walls. Every thing was neglected now, however, and we did no more than glance at them. There were some new stables nearly finished, the plans of which I studied with interest. Each horse is to have a private box for himself. I do not recollect the exact size, but it is at least twelve feet square on the floor, and more than that high. In the ceiling is a ventilator, and in one corner an iron rack for hay (much like a fire-grate), and there is probably intended to be a small manger for fine and wet feed. There is a grating for drainage in the floor, and, besides these, no other fixtures whatever. The horse is to be left free within the walls.

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