Memorials of old Derbyshire

by Unknown

And sucked the joining of the stones, and look’d

A knot, beneath, of snakes, aloft, a grove.”

It is a pitiable sight to see some of the most beautiful and interesting parts of the grand old house in such a deplorable and tottering state. Nothing so much enhances the value, sentimentally, of an ancient building as a considerable fall of its walls; then, of course, a great outcry is raised—when it is too late. It is not the decay of past years which must be viewed with alarm, but the steady, increasing hold which ruin is obtaining on this structure. “Gutta cavat lapidem non vi, sed semper cadendo,” is a good maxim to remember, but if remembered in this case, it has never been thought sufficiently true to be worth acting upon. So year by year the stones fall and the mortar crumbles, the ivy, trees, etc., force their way between the stones, the frost shells off the fine, smooth surface of the ashlar, and the wind carries destruction, and future destruction in the form of seedlings, into every part of the beautiful buildings; and the people look on and admire the craft of their forefathers, but they do not stretch forth a hand to save what gives them pleasure. Their country has given them a great treasure, and they enjoy it and value it; they value it so much that they will see not one stone left upon another before they resort to methods of salvation; it is a ruin, it was a ruin, let it remain a ruin, they say. Some day it will be a ruin of such a nature that none shall recognize its likeness to a building, for when it falls down the steep hillsides, “great will be the fall thereof,” and the noise of its fall will be equalled only by the noise of lamentation at such a catastrophe.

The manor house consists of two courtyards, of which the southern is the larger, whilst the northern one contains the more beautiful specimens of architecture. The extreme length of the house is 416 feet, with a total width of 256 feet. There are two entrances to the south courtyard, one on the east in the southern corner and another on the west. The north courtyard is entered from the southern one by a fine gateway, flanked by two turrets, and the north wall is likewise pierced by a now destroyed entrance of fine proportions. There is also a small ogee-headed doorway opening into the kitchens on the west side. The south courtyard was bounded on the east by the retainers’ quarters, now a crumbling ruin; on the south by the fine old barn, still excellently preserved, and also the stables, long since destroyed. The west side, with its sally port, was formed by the quarters of the guards, and the north of the courtyard still retains the mutilated range of buildings which form the southern bounds of the north quadrangle. The farmhouse, which is now occupied, is a mere shell, as all the interior is modern.

The north courtyard has the great tower at its south-west angle, and from here, up the west side, runs the range of apartments once occupied by Mary Queen of Scots. The north boundary is formed by the kitchens on the west, the state apartments in the centre, and the grand banqueting hall on the east. The eastern boundary of this courtyard has disappeared, and here, it is conjectured, was the chapel, which no doubt the Halton family utilized as a quarry, as being to them the least useful part of the house. The southern boundary is formed by the farmhouse and buildings already mentioned as being the northern limit of the south court.

The glory of Wingfield Manor House is the banqueting hall, with its undercroft beneath it. This noble chamber, now sadly mutilated, is 72 ft. 2½ in. long and 36 ft. 1 in. in width. The most notable feature in this scene of by-gone revelry and lavish hospitality is the great oriel window, a piece of architectural excellence hardly to be equalled elsewhere in the kingdom. This beautiful projection is situated at the east end of the south front of the hall, whilst at the opposite end of the same side is a porch, which is well worthy of a place in the same edifice as the above-mentioned window. This porch is of two floors; the ground floor gives entrance to the banqueting hall, and is entered by an archway of boldly conceived design, on which is cut a series of handsome flower petals. On the right of the entrance is a little traceried window, which can only be described as a glittering gem of architecture. The battlements which still remain over porch and oriel window are now denuded of their quartered shields, but the excellent diapered pattern, consisting of quatrefoils, is still in almost its pristine beauty.

The most striking feature of the manor house is part of the great tower, which Wingfield’s old historian, Thomas Blore, has completely omitted in his engraving. Though not of any great height, the aspect of this towering sentinel is imposing.

The apartments which once sheltered Mary Queen of Scots are indeed in a sad state of ruinous decay. Nothing remains but the outer walls, with the fireplaces and chimneys, the former with nodding heads and the latter with, apparently, a serious spinal complaint. The walls themselves are scored by many a huge and gaping wound, not the wounds of honour received in battle, but the wounds caused by the horrid disease of decay unchecked and unheeded. It is sad to think that the first part of the hitherto unbroken line of wall round this courtyard to succumb to this fell disease will be the most interesting portion of this historic house.

The kitchens, which lie between the Queen’s rooms and the banqueting hall, are likewise in a sad state; the depressed form of arch surmounting most of the doorways, despite the presence of “arches of construction,” are fast bowing their heads beneath the weight of masonry and the neglect of centuries. Adjoining the servants’ quarters and the banqueting hall are the state apartments, lighted by a huge and by no means beautiful window of Perpendicular times, if judged by the standard of excellence obtaining elsewhere in the fabric. A curious feature noticeable from the courtyard is the fact that this window, like the little gem of a round one above and the traceried lights below, is far from being central in the gable or in line with its neighbours above and below.