The Grand Old Man / Or, the Life and Public Services of the Right Honorable William Ewart Gladstone, Four Times Prime Minister of England

by Richard B. Cook

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 Cheshire, 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 passed 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."

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 constituted 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 Oxfordshire 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 massive 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 noble 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 noble 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."