Rufford

The west front of Rufford in the early 20th century.
The west front of Rufford in the early 20th century.

ONE does not see Rufford Abbey to the best advantage on a keen frosty day in the waning of the year. The lime trees, which form an avenue to the house, are bereft of their leaves ; the larger tress in the spacious park have most of them shed their foliage, which has collected in brown crisp masses on the ground beneath the naked branches. The oak, the sturdiest of the woody brotherhood, still retains its vesture in a shrivelled form, and there are bright patches of gold and crimson in the plantations. The autumn colour is not yet wiped out. The roads leading through the park are sentinelled by stately beeches, and from under one of them a dense flock of wood pigeons rises, leaving their repast of beech mast at the sound of wheels in alarm, and scattering the crisp leaves with the action of their wings. There is a thin coating of ice on the lake, and on the smooth lawn in front of the abbey there are triangular patches of hoar frost, where the shadows of the building fall. A Sherwood Forest mansion might be visited under more unpleasant conditions than those which present themselves on a clear frosty day in the middle of November. The abbey could not have been quieter than it was on this particular morning, in those days when its floors were trodden by the sandalled feet of Cistercian monks, in the periods of unutterable silence which intervened between orisons, seven hundred years ago. The result of a very modest pull at the bell handle is startling ; but the sound is so very modern and prosaic that it serves to destroy the sense of awe, which a protracted search into the past history of monastic institutions invariably brings. Once inside the abbey, one forgets traditions, and learns to look, if not with contempt, at any rate with indifference upon ancient customs and Cistercian characteristics. How is it possible to preserve one’s respect for Ulf, who is said to have held the Liberty of Rufford before the Conquest, in that modern drawing room ? Here the walls are hung with crimson satin in gilded panels; there are costly cabinets and inlaid tables, and when you remove the chintz covers, which keep the dust from the furniture during the master’s absence, there are revealed the brightest mysteries of needlework, the sight of which would have disturbed the complacency of the Saxon proprietor. Probably the shade of the Conqueror’s nephew, who afterwards held the fee, and perhaps inherited the rude dwelling and family plate of the departed Saxon, would be staggered by an introduction to the suites of handsome bed rooms hung with rare tapestry, and fitted with costly modern furniture, and even the spirit of a certain Earl of Lincoln, who founded the abbey, in 1148, and was good enough to provide comfortable quarters for a colony of monks, in honour of the Virgin Mary, could it be summoned from the vasty deep, would show signs of perplexity at the intelligence that the abbey was heated by means of hot air. The latest of the Seventeen Abbots, who held monastic sway at Rufford from the time of its foundation as an abbey, in the reign of Stephen, to its dissolution in that of the Eighth Henry, whose portrait now hangs on the walls of the staircase, would not have known the significance of that miniature table with its green cloth and pockets, which stands at one end of the brick hall. Fancy old Abbot de Ryme reading extracts from the " Turf Calendar "that lies on yonder table, to his cowled brethren, who probably knew the taste of venison better than do those who listen every week to the liturgy in the little chapel at the abbey. After the acquirement of Rufford by the Earl of Shrewsbury and Waterford, measures appear to have been taken to purify it from the religious sanctity which the monks left behind them. In 1574 Bess of Hardwick, who seems to have been capable of employing as much ingenuity and skill in matchmaking as in the building of houses and the laying out of gardens, succeeded in inducing Charles Stuart to visit Rufford, and in getting a probably expensive and tiresome daughter off her hands, to the great delight of her noble husband, who breathed his sense of relief in a letter to a friend. During this period the abbey was frequently visited by King James and his son, who were fond of hunting the Sherwood Forest deer. At the beginning of the seventeenth century the Rufford estates passed to the Savile family, the portraits of several of whom still adorn the walls of the abbey.

The first of the distinguished family, which has held Rufford for successive generations, was Sir George Savile, a baronet of James the First’s creation. He belonged to a family possessing property in Yorkshire and Lincolnshire, and was an accomplished scholar, for he re-edited the works of St. Chrisostom, and founded two important professorships at Oxford. It is recorded that he descended from a long line of the Saviles, of Thornhill, Eland, and elsewhere in Yorkshire, whose origin as a family is traced by his historians to very remote periods, and that some of the family were consuls of Rome prior to the Christian Era. In 1633 the then Sir George Savile was raised to the peerage as Viscount Halifax, and fifty years later he was created a marquis. He was buried in Westminster Abbey, in 1695. At the death of the second Marquis the title became extinct, and Rufford was held by several generations of baronets, one of whom, Sir George Savile, eighth baronet, represented Yorkshire in five successive Parliaments. "In him," it is said, "was blended dignity, affability, rectitude, and eminent abilities." From the beginning of the present century down to 1856 Rufford has been possessed by the Earls of Scarborough, when in the year just named it became the property of the late owner, Mr. Henry Savile, a Deputy-Lieutenant of Nottinghamshire, of which county he was High Sheriff, in 1861. Mr. Savile died in 1881, and was succeeded in the estates by Mr. Augustus Lumley Savile, his brother.

The Rufford Abbey of today, standing grey and solitary, in the midst of forest scenery, with smooth stretches of lawn, and further away a weed-grown lake of picturesque formation, is a modern mansion. That is to say, it has been deprived by its several owners of those features which gave it a monastic character, and by successive stages of alteration, it has been converted into a residence suited to the requirements of a country gentleman of large estates and large influence. It is now a piece of architectural patchwork most interesting to look upon, presenting no irregularity to the eye of the rare visitor, and looking like what it is—a great and important house. The mansion is in pretty much the same condition as it was when it came into the hands of Mr. Savile, at the death of the eighth Earl of Scarborough. The south end is the oldest portion of the building, and though it has within a recent date been dealt with by the painters and decorators, the masonry is as it was in the days of its first lay possessor. If the sight of so much modern furniture and bright colour in the various rooms should cause one to doubt whether a house containing all the costly surroundings of patrican life had ever been the home of a colony of monks, a visit to a crypt would serve to satisfy the sceptic. This part of the original building was brought to light some years ago, and its arched proportions, sharp and clearly defined, remain for the guidance of archaeologists, and to overlook the comforts of servants.

To the late Mr. Savile’s predecessor belongs the credit of furnishing and decorating the rooms in excellent taste, for no material alterations have been made in the internal arrangement of the abbey during the last quarter of a century. Such alterations would indeed be superfluous. How, for instance, could the drawing room be improved, even in the direction of further modernisation? The panels of pale crimson satin, with their silver floral ornaments, which adorn the walls, are apparently as bright and as free from soil as they were twenty years ago. The furniture—the needlework chairs, and tables of rare and polished woods ; the beautiful cabinets will last for generations, and surely it would be a sin to remove the plain antique fireplace, and to replace it with something gorgeously modern. The most interesting part of modern Rufford is to be found upstairs. Here there are grand suites of rooms hung with tapestry— pictures on canvas, wonderful works of art wrought by delicate fingers, and displaying an industry and a patience which does not belong to these modern times. There is a sombre indescribable kind of appearance in all tapestried rooms, and here in the State bed room, where George the Fourth once slumbered, with its sumptuous hangings of pale yellow silk and canopy of honeycomb work just a trifle faded, on this still quiet morning, and in this still quiet abbey, one is impressed with a sense of something awfully historic. There is a rare succession of these tapestried bed rooms, with their elaborately carved bed furniture and rich hangings, with the family arms blazoned in needlework at the hack of the bed. The tapestry for the most part is in an excellent state of preservation. The subjects are chiefly scriptural ; and there are one or two scenes from the early history of Rome, and some forest scenery in olive green. The house contains an immense number of rooms, and from the windows of those in the upper portion charming woodland views are obtainable.

The Long Gallery in the 1930s.
The Long Gallery in the 1930s.

The principal room is the long gallery, 114 feet long, and 36 wide, which now is in a somewhat tumbled state. The late Mrs. Savile seems to have had a liking for private theatricals, and the long gallery not very long ago was fitted with a stage, and those accessories necessary to the production of plays. The flood of sunshine admitted when one of the shutters is unfastened, is insufficient to light up the whole of this long apartment, and it brings to view a very handsome chimney piece, with some fine carving, and a number of pictures. One of these, the portrait of Lady Gertrude Pierrepont, wife of the first Marquis of Halifax, who was a Savile, appears in two other parts of the house. A beautiful face in early life; in later life still beautiful, the beauty lines still unswept by "Decay’s effacing finger." The Marquis of Halifax is also there beside his lady, and there is a large painting of what is supposed to be the abbey of former days. The library is a large room containing a good collection of literature, amongst which the modern novel has found a place beside the venerable tome, and "Ouida" and "Whyte Melville" take their places in close proximity to ancient philosophers. The brick hall is an interesting curiosity. It gets its name from the floor, which is of plain red brick, polished, and very pleasant to walk upon. The beautiful carved mantel-piece of Caen stone, with the family arms, the cases of stuffed birds, a miniature billiard table, and a really handsome modern screen of polished wood richly carved, are hardly in consonance with the old oak table, long and narrow, with its bench of corresponding length, the quaint old chests, the queer little imps in stone, who start from the walls, and the deep old-fashioned casements.

The drawing room has already been mentioned in this sketch the dining room is a small, square, and lofty apartment. Another large room was called the billiard room ; it has now changed its name and is called the study. It, too, is a fine room with many portraits on the walls. There is Lord Spencer, George, Earl of Shrewsbury, the Earl of Northumberland, Lord Halifax and Lady Savile, daughter of Lord Coventry, keeper of the great seal in Charles the First’s time, "a lady remarkable for her zeal and devotion to the Royal cause, from the support of which no danger or fear of death would deter." A more valuable tribute to her memory is conveyed in the words which appear under under the portrait, "Her spirit was equalled only by her piety and goodness of heart." Then there is Sir William Savile, the Earl of Stratford, Lady Cole, and other distinguished family connections. There is a fine collection of portraits at Rufford, and a few good pictures of another kind, including two seascapes of considerable merit, and some classical paintings. These pictures are scattered over various parts of the house. Some of them are in the bed rooms, a large number are in the picture gallery, and some in the study. Perhaps the choicest part of the collection is to be seen on the grand staircase. Here there is a Snyders, "The Boar Hunt," a large and valuable painting, and a large number of portraits—gentlemen in hose and doublet, ladies in ruffs and frills. Some of the worthies of Elizabeth’s time keep company with those of Charles I. and Henry VIII., and Sir Philip Sydney, in an immense frill and pink doublet, fixes the intruder on the staircase, with a cold stare from a pair of intellectual eyes set in a pale, thoughtful face. I should have liked to spend more time with the favourite Elizabethan poet, the charm of whose music, carried through ages, has not yet died away, with the grosser Henry, and with the straight-limbed courtiers and stern cavaliers of the staircase, but the light is becoming dimmer, mists are beginning to gather in the woods, and over the lake, and the day is nearly spent.

The semi-ruined west front of Rufford Abbey today.
The semi-ruined west front of Rufford Abbey today. This part of the building was probably built between 1561 and 1600, and lies over the Lay Brothers quarters (A. Nicholson, 2005).