John and Betty's History Visit Part 13

Pitt's plan was to drive to Warwick and Kenilworth the following day.

Consequently it was a great disappointment at breakfast-time to see gray and threatening clouds overhead, from which rain very soon began to descend. The day was also very cold, and such a chilling wind was blowing and whistling around the corners of the hotel, that fires were lighted in all the tiny grates.

"Whoever heard of such cold weather in June!" John protested, not in the best of spirits at being shut up in the house. "It's horrid, I say! Ugh! If my fur coat was here, I should put it on, and then get inside the fireplace, too."

At this very dismal burst of feeling from John, Mrs. Pitt came to the rescue, suggesting a game of billiards. John brightened very considerably after this, and the remainder of the day was pleasantly spent in writing letters, playing games, and reading aloud from Scott's "Kenilworth," in preparation for the morrow's visit to that castle.

"Just think of seeing the very spot in the garden where Queen Elizabeth met Amy Robsart! And perhaps the same room where she slept.

Oh, I can hardly wait till morning!" sighed Betty rapturously.

"Kenilworth" had long been one of her favorite books.

At bedtime Mrs. Pitt, inwardly rather uncertain about the prospects of the weather, was outwardly most cheerful with her a.s.surance that she "felt sure it would be fine in the morning."

Mrs. Pitt was "usually right about things," as the children had long since discovered, and this proved no exception to the rule. The sun shone brightly on the morrow, and the whole country-side looked as though it had been washed and cleaned so as to appear at its loveliest for the visitors.

The drive through Leamington revealed a very pretty watering-place, with baths, parks, gay streets of shops, and many neat little private villas, each being dignified by a name.

"How do they ever find names enough to go around?" Betty thought to herself.

They soon left the town behind, and a short drive along the perfectly smooth, wide, country road, brought them to the well-known bridge over the Avon, and revealed the fact that the river had not lost a bit of its beauty since they left it at the Weir Brake. It is from this bridge that the famous view of Warwick Castle is to be had, and a more charming picture cannot well be imagined. Just at a bend of the river, the great gray front looms up, long and straight, the turrets here and there giving it a most formidable air of old-time majesty and strength.

Leaving the carriage at the castle entrance, Mrs. Pitt led the way up the narrow walk, bounded by high walls of rock, to which the damp moss clings and over which flowers and trailing vines hang. Finally they pa.s.sed under an old gateway with a portcullis, and found themselves in the inner court-yard of the castle, which is almost round in shape.

Old towers or buildings very nearly surround this court, and in the center is a wonderfully smooth gra.s.s-plot, which is sometimes used as a tennis-court. Several stately peac.o.c.ks strutted about displaying their magnificent feathers. They were very tame, and almost allowed Betty to come near enough to touch them. She was delighted when the largest most obligingly dropped a gorgeous feather at her very feet.

"For a souvenir!" she exclaimed, as she picked it up. "How dear of him! I like peac.o.c.ks even if they are proud! I would be, if I lived here! They know how important they are, and that this garden wouldn't be complete without them."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THEY KNOW HOW IMPORTANT THEY ARE, AND THAT THIS GARDEN WOULDN'T BE COMPLETE WITHOUT THEM."--_Page 184._]

"Do you see that high mound?" asked Mrs. Pitt, pointing to the northern end of the court. "There aethelflaed, the daughter of Alfred the Great, is supposed to have built a castle, and thus the history of Warwick may be said to have commenced in 914. Just fancy! Since that day, many great families have been in possession here (De Newburghs, Beauchamps, Nevilles, Plantagenets),--from traditional Guy of Warwick to 'Warwick the King-maker,' and all along the line to the Greville family, which has owned it since 1759. 'Warwick the King-maker,' or Richard Neville, was the famous baron who possessed such wonderful power in England that he could make and unmake kings at his will. It was he who captured poor, weak Edward IV, and brought him here as a prisoner. Of Guy of Warwick, the great warrior and hero, I shall tell you more when we are at Guy's Cliff, where he lived. He is really more a.s.sociated with that place than this. You will see here, however, what is known as 'Guy's Porridge Pot.' It is an interesting old vessel, very large and made of metal. Most probably it had nothing whatever to do with the great Guy; some authorities consider, because of the existence of this little rhyme, that it belonged to a certain Sir John Talbot, who died about 1365.

'There is nothing left of Talbot's name, But Talbot's pot and Talbot's Lane.'

But let's go over to that door by which we enter. There comes a guide with his party; perhaps we can go in with them."

They found the interior of Warwick Castle very delightful, and in a perfect state of preservation, for the family of the present Earl occupy it often. The ever-present Great Hall is here more grand and lofty than that of Charlecote, though it has not the appearance of as great antiquity as the one at beautiful Penshurst Place. Its walls are lined with old suits of armor, but, nevertheless, the room is furnished with comfortable easy-chairs, as the family, when in residence, use this as their living-room. Among the collection of armor is the helmet of Oliver Cromwell, and a whole miniature suit of mail which was once worn by the little dwarfed son of Robert Dudley, the famous Earl of Leicester. In a great bay-window, overlooking the Avon, stands the huge caldron of Guy of Warwick. Strangely enough, an exquisite Elizabethan saddle of green velvet had found a temporary resting-place in its great depths.

"I think this Cedar Room is very beautiful," remarked Mrs. Pitt, as they stepped into that apartment. "Do you see that the walls are entirely of cedar wood from floor to ceiling? Isn't the effect rich, and doesn't it smell good? Do you notice the fine carving, and the pictures,--some of Van Dyck's best works? Oh! I must not call your attention to so many things all at once!"

In the Green Drawing-room, the Red Drawing-room, the State Bed-room, and the various other rooms and corridors, are priceless treasures of art; for besides invaluable paintings by the greatest masters, there are here beautiful pieces of furniture, made of tortoise-sh.e.l.l and inlaid with gold or pearl, and ancient marriage-chests, which once belonged to Italian princesses of bygone days. The armory contains one of the most valuable collections in England, and in the State Bed-room are many relics of Queen Anne. One really wearies of so much costliness which it is utterly impossible to appreciate at one visit.

"Haven't we time to walk in the gardens a little longer?" asked Barbara, wistfully. To her, Nature was nearer and dearer than all the wonders of art and history.

After a ramble through the bewitchingly lovely gardens,--going across ancient drawbridges, spanning long-unused, gra.s.s-grown moats; under little postern-gates; into rustic grottoes--they at last came to the conservatory, in which is preserved the "Warwick Vase." This is made of white marble, carved with various devices.

"It has a curious history," answered Mrs. Pitt, in reply to the children's questions. "In 1770, some workmen found it at the bottom of a small lake which is about sixteen miles from Rome. Of course, it is not possible to determine with any certainty how it came to be there, but as Hadrian's Villa was in A.D. 546 occupied by a king of the Goths, an enemy who was then laying siege to Rome, it has been thought that the vase was cast into the lake, to save it from the hands of the invaders. The second Earl of Warwick was its purchaser."

Slowly and unwillingly they wended their way back through the gardens, to the central court of the castle, and then out under the old gateway.

"My!" cried John, "it must have taken heaps of soldiers to defend a place like this in the Middle Ages! I wish I'd been here when it was just plumb full of great warriors,--when the moat had water in it, the drawbridge worked, and sentinels called out to you for the pa.s.sword as you came near the gate. I suppose they could peep out at you from those little windows up high, too." John looked longingly back, as they walked away.

"Oh, yes!" continued Mrs. Pitt, in tones which made the girls shudder.

"From those windows they rained shot down upon the enemy. And there are little slits in the wall from which men poured boiling metal or tar upon those besieging the castle. Upon the roof of Guy's Tower there, it is thought that a huge machine used to stand,--a machine for slinging down great stones. Oh, yes; there were dungeons here, too,--deep, dark, damp, and evil-smelling dungeons, into which many prisoners were thrown. Why, it was from here that Piers Gaveston, the unfortunate favorite courtier of Edward II, was taken out and executed upon a hill close by. Underneath the fine halls where splendid banquets were carried on, out of sight and reach of the fair gardens and lawns, there were always poor prisoners who were shut away from the daylight for years perhaps, and laboriously carving crests or verses in the stone walls, to while away the hours."

Mrs. Pitt suddenly burst into peals of laughter as she saw the pained expressions upon the faces of the two girls; then a glance at the rapt, enthusiastic attention of John, caused her to become serious again.

"Never mind, girls," she said gravely. "Such things are now gone forever; people have advanced too far in their ideas to ever permit of more of those unjust acts and horrible punishments. I can never believe that the world isn't growing daily better! And, boys, it is all very well to love and long for the golden deeds and knightly ideals of the men of mythical King Arthur's Court, for instance; read about them all you can, and try to imitate them, but never wish back the terrible conditions of warfare and brutality which existed at the time. The kindly thoughts and acts will endure always, but the rest,--never!"

Silently they took their seats in the carriage, and the coachman next drove them to Saint Mary's Church, which stands in the quaint village of Warwick. Its old tower holds ten bells, and these play every four hours. There is a different tune for each day, which is always changed at midnight. The Warwick towns-people, living near their church, must have an enviable musical education, for they have continually dinned in their ears all sorts of tunes, from the "Easter Hymn" to "The Blue Bells of Scotland."

On the site of Saint Mary's, an ancient church is believed to have stood, prior to William the Conqueror. The present edifice, having been much altered and added to by various benefactors, and at very various times, presents a rather confused and not especially pleasing appearance architecturally. All visitors to the town are attracted there, however, by the presence of the Beauchamp Chapel, which contains the tomb of the Earl of Leicester.

Having paid the entrance fee, Mrs. Pitt and her charges were permitted to descend the few steps leading from the church proper into the Beauchamp Chapel. It is very beautiful, and was built in 1443, by William Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, who intended it as his memorial.

It was once most elaborate with its fine marbles, monuments adorned with precious stones, and the gold statuettes which filled its niches, but these have long since been carried away. The tomb of Ambrose Dudley, who was named the "Good Earl of Warwick," stands in the center, and against the wall is that of the great Leicester and the Countess, his wife.

"Look here," called Mrs. Pitt. "Here lies their son, the little boy who wore the armor which you saw over at the castle. The inscription speaks of him as 'That n.o.ble impe, the young Lord Denbigh, their infant son and heir.' 'Impe' in those days had no such meaning of mischievous as we give it to-day. It then simply signified a young boy."

Betty was much impressed by a small flight of winding stairs, just off the chapel, which are entirely worn down in the middle.

"Was it because so many monks went up there?" she asked.

"Yes, so it is said," was Mrs. Pitt's reply. "Perhaps it may have been a kind of confessional, where the monks knelt."

There was one more thing in the church which they paused to note; that is, the tomb of Fulke Greville, the first Lord Brooke, who was stabbed by a valet, in 1628. Greville was "servant to Queene Elizabeth, conceller to King James, and frend to Sir Philip Sidney," as the inscription tells us; and it would seem that the greatest emphasis and respect was even then given the fact that he was "frend to" the n.o.ble Sir Philip Sidney.

Nearby, the quaint buildings of Leicester's Hospital still stand. Here was a monastery until the Dissolution, or the breaking up, of all the religious houses, under Henry VIII. When the property came into the hands of Leicester in 1571, he made the house into a hospital for twelve men. The present brethren have all been soldiers of the Crown, who now receive a pension and are spending the remainder of their days in the sunny nooks and corners of the old timbered houses. One of these brethren who showed the party about, was a most curious old character, and afforded the young people no end of amus.e.m.e.nt. He invariably gave his information in a very loud voice, which was absolutely without expression, and his eyes were kept steadily fixed upon some distant point.

He showed them the ancient hall in which Sir Fulke Greville once received King James, and it seemed to give him the keenest pleasure to describe how that King was "right royally entertained."

"Oh, ye're right, lady," he panted, "the 'ospital was founded by Robert Dudley, Lord Leicester, 'e 'o was much at Elizabeth's court, h'as you all know. And it's a descendant h'of 'is, or of 'is sister, as you may say, 'o 'as the right to appoint the master 'ere in this 'ospital to this day. 'E's Lord D'Lisle and Dudley, of Penshurst Place h'in Kent,--'im as is descended direct from the Lady Mary, sister of Robert Dudley, 'o married Sir 'Enry Sidney. H'its 'e 'o appoints the master h'over us this very day. But as I was saying,--it was 'ere that 'is Majesty King James was right royally h'entertained."

"Yes," broke in John, interrupting the rapid flow of expressionless words. "We'll remember that all right." Then in an aside to Philip, he whispered: "That's the ninth time he has said 'right royally entertained.' I'm going to keep count."

Having examined an embroidered curtain, the work of Amy Robsart at c.u.mnor Hall, the King of Dahomey's State Execution Sword, which seemed a bit out of place amid the surroundings, and an old battle-ax, supposed to have been used for one side or the other on the Field of Hastings, in 1066, they bade farewell to their guide (who had suddenly ceased his mechanical orations like a clock which has run down), and drove away toward Kenilworth.

Guy's Cliff next called for attention. It is first seen at the end of a long, stately avenue lined by great trees. At the back of the castle flows a stream, at this point widened out into a miniature lake, on the bank of which stands a very ancient, moss-covered Saxon mill. The castle across the water and the old mill make such very attractive pictures that their vicinity is always frequented by numbers of artists, sitting under their big umbrellas.

As the party stood under the trees by the mill, Mrs. Pitt gathered the young people about her.

"Now, I want to tell you the story of Guy of Warwick, for whom this Guy's Cliff was called. He lived long, long ago (if he really did live at all), when England had great tracts of unsettled country, where men were afraid to go for fear of horrible monsters. This brave young Guy was a strong warrior, and he became famous because he slew the Dun cow, and other terrible animals which were tormenting the country folk. Guy later went off to the Crusades. These were pilgrimages which devout men made to Jerusalem, in the endeavor to win back that city from the Turks. Guy was gone some time from England--years probably--and when he came back, he lived the life of a hermit, in a cave near here. The story goes that his wife used to carry food to him each day, and that she never recognized him until he was dying and revealed to her his ident.i.ty."

Here Mrs. Pitt was forced to pause for breath, and John broke in excitedly, "Oh, let's go and see the cave! Can't we?"

"I'm afraid not, John. You see, Guy's Cliff belongs to Lord Algernon Percy, and the cave is on his private premises. I fear we would not be allowed to visit it,--especially as the family is now in residence at the castle. Did I tell you that Guy and his faithful wife were buried together in the cave?"

After taking lunch at the King's Arms Hotel at Kenilworth, and seeing the room in which Scott wrote his novel, they proceeded to the castle.

The afternoon was warm and sunny, with a blue sky and a summer haze over the landscape,--the kind of afternoon which invites one to day-dreams. Consequently, Mrs. Pitt ensconced herself against the crumbling wall of Caesar's Tower, put up her umbrella to keep off the glare of the sun, and sat dreaming over the remains of the once magnificent castle. Meanwhile the young people, accompanied by a guide, climbed all over the ruin. They scrambled up narrow stairs in thick walls, climbed as high as it was safe to go on old towers, and explored the dark chambers and pa.s.sages near the old Banqueting-hall.

"This tower is supposed to be where Amy Robsart's lodgings were,"

their dignified guide told them, and then he boldly spoiled Betty's delight, by saying, "It's queer now how fascinated all visitors are by Amy Robsart. Of course, they've read of her in Scott's novel, but curiously enough, that's the only part of the tale which is not taken strictly from history. No one really knows whether Amy Robsart ever was at Kenilworth, and at any rate, it doesn't seem at all likely that she was here at the time of Queen Elizabeth's famous visit of 1563."