“Helbeck of Bannisdale” was written while the author was living at Levens Hall, the handsome country home of Captain Bagot, M.P., which Mrs. Ward leased for a summer. It is a few miles south of Kendal, in Westmoreland, and just on the border of the “Peat Moss” country. The old hall dates back to 1170, the original deed now in possession of Captain Bagot bearing that date. The dining-room has an inlaid design over the mantel with the date 1586. The entrance-hall, dining-room, and drawing-room contain many antique relics. But the most remarkable feature of Levens is the garden, containing about two hundred yews trained and trimmed into every conceivable shape. There is an “umbrella” which has required two hundred years of constant care to reach its present size and shape; a British lion, with perfect coronet; a peacock with correctly formed neck and tail feathers; a barrister’s wig, a kaffir’s hut, and so on through a long list of curious shapes. In front of the house the river Kent, with a bridge of two arches, makes a picturesque scene. This is the “bridge over the Bannisdale River” which marked the end of Laura’s drive with Mason, where at sight of Helbeck the young man made his sudden and unceremonious departure. A spacious park skirts the river, through which runs a grassy road bounded by splendid oaks intertwining their branches high above. Following this path we reached a foot-bridge barely wide enough for one person to cross, on the park end of which is a rough platform apparently built for fishermen. Here Laura kept her clandestine appointment with Mason, and on her way home was mistaken for the ghost of the “Bannisdale Lady,” much to the terror of a poor old man who chanced to be passing, and not a little to her own subsequent embarrassment. A little beyond is the deep pool where Laura was drowned.
The exterior of Bannisdale Hall is not Levens, but Sizergh Castle, some two or three miles nearer Kendal. At the time of the story a Catholic family of Stricklands owned the place, but, like Helbeck, were gradually selling parts of their property, and dealers from London and elsewhere were constantly coming to carry off furniture or paintings. The family finally lost the property, and it was acquired by a distant relative, Sir Gerald Strickland, who was recently appointed Governor of New South Wales, and who now owns but does not occupy it.
The little chapel, high up on a hill, where Laura was buried, is at Cartmel Fell, in Northern Lancashire. A quaint little chapel five or six hundred years old, it is well worth a visit.
The scenes of “Eleanor” are in Italy, and here Mrs. Ward fairly revels in descriptions of “Italy, the beloved and beautiful.” The opening chapters have their setting in the Villa Barberini, on the ridge of the Alban Hills, south of Rome, from the balcony of which the dome of St. Peter’s can be seen in the distance, dominating the landscape by day and seeming at night to be the one thing which has definite form and identity. There is a visit to Nemi and Egeria’s Spring, after which the scene changes to the valley of the Paglia, beyond the hill town of Orvieto, “a valley with wooded hills on either side, of a bluish-green color, checkered with hill towns and slim campaniles and winding roads; and, binding it all in one, the loops and reaches of a full brown river.”
Torre Amiata—the real name of which is Torre Alfina—is a magnificent castle, “a place of remote and enchanting beauty.” Through some Italian friends, Mrs. Ward met the agent of this great estate, who put his house at her disposal for a season. This happy opportunity gave her the intimate acquaintance with the surrounding country which she used with such excellent skill in “Eleanor,” and enabled her, among other things, to discover the ruined convent and chapel which formed the dismal retreat of Lucy and Eleanor in their strange flight from Mr. Manisty.
“Lady Rose’s Daughter,” which followed “Eleanor,” likewise reflects the author’s love of Italy. It was written, in part at least, in the beautiful villa at Cadenabbia, on Lake Como, from which a view of surpassing loveliness meets the eye in every direction. Mrs. Ward never tires of it, and in her leisure moments while there found great delight in reproducing in her sketch-book the charming colors of a landscape which can scarcely be equaled in any other part of the world.
The setting of the novel in its earlier chapters is London. But when Julie Le Breton, worn out by mental anguish, the result of experiences which had nearly ruined her life, could be rescued and brought back to life only by a quiet rest amid pleasant surroundings, Lake Como was the place selected by her kind-hearted little friend the duchess. As her strength gradually returned she daily walked over the hill to the path that led to the woods overhanging the Villa Carlotta.
Such a path! To the left hand, and, as it seemed, steeply beneath her feet, all earth and heaven—the wide lake, the purple mountains, the glories of a flaming sky. On the calm spaces of water lay a shimmer of crimson and gold, repeating the noble splendor of the clouds.... To her right a green hillside—each blade of grass, each flower, each tuft of heath, enskied, transfigured by the broad light that poured across it from the hidden west. And on the very hilltop a few scattered olives, peaches, and wild cherries scrawled upon the blue, their bare, leaning stems, their pearly whites, their golden pinks and feathery gray, all in a glory of sunset that made of them things enchanted, aerial, fantastical, like a dance of Botticelli angels on the height.
| LAKE COMO |
The story opens with a graphic description of Lady Henry’s salon—frequented by the most prominent people in London—where the chief attraction was not the great lady herself, but her maid companion, Julie Le Breton. Everywhere Julie was met with smiles and evidence of eager interest. She knew every one, and “her rule appeared to be at once absolute and welcome.” But one evening Lady Henry was ill and gave orders that the guests be turned away with her apologies. As the carriages drove up, one by one, the footman rehearsed Lady Henry’s excuses. But a group of men soon assembled in the inner vestibule, and Julie felt impelled to invite them into the library, where they were implored not to make any noise. The distinguished frequenters of Lady Henry’s salon were all there. Coffee was served, and, stimulated by the blazing fire and a sense of excitement due to the novelty of the situation, an animated conversation sprang up, which continued till midnight and was at last suddenly interrupted by the unexpected appearance of Lady Henry herself.