Although the lower passage of the river commences at Ross, we do not, for two or three miles further, get fairly into its peculiarities. From the gentle, the graceful, the gay, it glides almost insensibly into the picturesque, the bold, and the grand. The tranquillity of its course from the Hay—a tranquillity dearly purchased by the labours of its wild career during the upper passage—has prepared it for new vicissitudes, and new struggles. The following description, by archdeacon Coxe, applies to a great part of the portion we are now entering upon, and cannot be improved either in fidelity or style.
“The effects of these numerous windings are various and striking; the same objects present themselves, are lost and recovered with different accompaniments, and in different points of view: thus the ruins of a castle, hamlets embosomed in trees, the spire of a church bursting from the wood, figures impending over the water, and broken masses of rock fringed with herbage, sometimes are seen on one side, sometimes onthe other, and form the fore-ground or background of a landscape. Thus also the river itself here stretches in a continuous line, there moves in a curve, between gentle slopes and fertile meadows, or is suddenly concealed in a deep abyss, under the gloom of impending woods.” “The banks for the most part rise abruptly from the edge of the water, and are clothed with forests, or are broken into cliffs. In some places they approach so near that the river occupies the whole intermediate space, and nothing is seen but woods, rocks, and water; in others, they alternately recede, and the eye catches an occasional glimpse of hamlets, ruins, and detached buildings, partly seated on the margin of the stream, and partly scattered on the rising grounds. The general character of the scenery, however, is wildness and solitude; and if we except the populous district of Monmouth, no river perhaps flows for so long a course in a well cultivated country, the banks of which exhibit so few habitations.”
“The effects of these numerous windings are various and striking; the same objects present themselves, are lost and recovered with different accompaniments, and in different points of view: thus the ruins of a castle, hamlets embosomed in trees, the spire of a church bursting from the wood, figures impending over the water, and broken masses of rock fringed with herbage, sometimes are seen on one side, sometimes onthe other, and form the fore-ground or background of a landscape. Thus also the river itself here stretches in a continuous line, there moves in a curve, between gentle slopes and fertile meadows, or is suddenly concealed in a deep abyss, under the gloom of impending woods.” “The banks for the most part rise abruptly from the edge of the water, and are clothed with forests, or are broken into cliffs. In some places they approach so near that the river occupies the whole intermediate space, and nothing is seen but woods, rocks, and water; in others, they alternately recede, and the eye catches an occasional glimpse of hamlets, ruins, and detached buildings, partly seated on the margin of the stream, and partly scattered on the rising grounds. The general character of the scenery, however, is wildness and solitude; and if we except the populous district of Monmouth, no river perhaps flows for so long a course in a well cultivated country, the banks of which exhibit so few habitations.”
A little below Ross, on the right bank of the river, are the ruins of Wilton Castle, which was for several centuries the baronial residence of theGreys of the south, and was destroyed by the Hereford royalists in the time of Charles I. Let us relate, however, as a circumstance of still more interest, that it was left, with the adjoining lands, by Thomas Guy, to the admirable charity in London which he founded, known by the name of Guy’s Hospital.
The Wye here passes under Wilton bridge, a construction of rather a curious kind, which dates from the close of the sixteenth century. Coracles are seldom seen so high up the river as this; but we mention them here because the hero of Gilpin’s often repeated anecdote was an inhabitant of Wilton. This man, it seems, ventured into the British Channel in a coracle, as far as the isle of Lundy; a very remarkable voyage to be made in a canvass tub, the navigation of the estuary of the Severn being quite as trying as that of any part of the British seas. Previously, however, to this exploit, the very same feat was performed by an itinerant stage-doctor of Mitchel Dean in the Forest. The coracles are a sort of basket made of willow twigs, covered with pitched canvass or raw hide, and resembling in form the section of a walnut-shell. Similarrude contrivances are in use among the Esquimaux and other savage tribes, and were employed by the ancient Britons for the navigation of rivers. They are now the fishing-boats of the rivers of South Wales; and when the day’s work is done are carried home on the shoulders of their owners, disposed in such a way as to serve for a hood in case of rain. The early ships of Britain are described by Cæsar and Pliny as being merely larger coracles—clumsy frames of rough timber, ribbed with hurdles and lined with hides. According to Claudian they had masts and sails, although they were generally rowed, the rowers singing to the harp.
At the farm of Weir End, the river takes a sudden bend, and rolls along the steep sides of Pencraig Hill, which are clothed with wood to the water’s edge. Soon the ruined turrets of Goodrich Castle present themselves, crowning the summit of a wooded eminence on the right bank, and as they vanish and reappear with the turnings of the river the effect is magnificent.
Roman passes of the Wye—Goodrich Castle—Keep—Fortifications—Apartments—Its history—Goodrich Court—Forest of Dean—Laws of the Miners—Military exploit—Wines of Gloucestershire.
If the conjecture of antiquaries be correct, that the great Roman road from Blestium to Gloucester, by Ariconium, proceeded by the ford of the Wye at Goodrich Castle, it is possible that this spot may have been of some consequence before the period when history takes any cognizance of the fortress. Blestium is supposed to be Monmouth, from which the road probably led along the line of the present turnpike, between an entrenchment to the left, oppositeDixon Church, and an encampment on the Little Doward, to the right, supposed by some to be Roman, but usually described in the road books as British. The name of Whitchurch Street, applied to a portion of this route further on, favours the supposition of a Roman origin. Ariconium, the next station from Blestium, is Rosebury Hill, near Ross, according to those who identify Monmouth with Blestium. There was another Roman way which led from Blestium to Glevum (Gloucester) by a more direct route; crossing the Wye at the former place, and leading up the Kymin from the left bank of the river. At Stanton, a little further on, the vestiges of a Roman settlement are indubitable, not only in the name of the place itself, but in the entrenchments that may be observed near the church, and the Roman cinders scattered about the fields. At Monmouth and Goodrich Castle, therefore, were the two great passes of the Wye used by the Romans. At the latter the river is crossed by a ferry.
“The awe and admiration could not be enhanced with which I wandered through the dark passages and the spacious courts, and climbedthe crumbling staircase of Goodrich Castle.” So says the German prince: although the time of his visit was winter, when the Wye and its ruins are stripped of the adjunct of foliage, which in the imagination of common travellers is inseparably connected with ideas of the picturesque or beautiful in natural scenery.
Goodrich Castle forms a parallelogram, with a round tower at each angle, and a square keep in the south-west part of the enclosure. A minute account of this remarkable ruin is given in the “Antiqua Monumenta;” and Mr. Bonner introduces his brief description, in illustration of his perspective views, with the remark that “the fortification (although not of large dimensions) contains all the different works which constitute a complete ancient baronial castle.” For this reason, if for no other, it would demand special observation; but the tourist of the Wye, even if ignorant of the interest which thus attaches to Goodrich Castle, will acknowledge that it forms one of the finest objects hitherto presented by the banks of the river. It stands on the summit of a wooded hill, in the position of one of the castles of the Rhine, and in the midst ofa scene of solemn grandeur which Mason may have had in view when he wrote his spirited description of the sacred grove of Mona, in “Caractacus.”
“Here, Romans, pause, and let the eye of wonderGaze on the solemn scene: behold yon oakHow stem it frowns, and with its broad brown armsChills the pale plains beneath him: mark yon altar,The dark stream brawling round its rugged base,These cliffs, these yawning caverns, this wide circus,Skirted with unhewn stone: they awe my soulAs if the very genius of the placeHimself appeared, and with terrific treadStalked through his drear domain.”“Yonder grots,Are tenanted by bards, who nightly thence,Robed in their flowing vests of innocent white,Descend, with harps that glitter to the moon,Hymning immortal strains. The spirits of the air,Of earth, of water, nay of heav’n itself,Do listen to their lay: and oft, ’tis said,In visible shapes dance they a magic roundTo the high minstrelsy.”
“Here, Romans, pause, and let the eye of wonderGaze on the solemn scene: behold yon oakHow stem it frowns, and with its broad brown armsChills the pale plains beneath him: mark yon altar,The dark stream brawling round its rugged base,These cliffs, these yawning caverns, this wide circus,Skirted with unhewn stone: they awe my soulAs if the very genius of the placeHimself appeared, and with terrific treadStalked through his drear domain.”
“Yonder grots,Are tenanted by bards, who nightly thence,Robed in their flowing vests of innocent white,Descend, with harps that glitter to the moon,Hymning immortal strains. The spirits of the air,Of earth, of water, nay of heav’n itself,Do listen to their lay: and oft, ’tis said,In visible shapes dance they a magic roundTo the high minstrelsy.”
The keep is the most ancient remains of the castle, and presents, on a small scale, all the usual features of this part of a fortification of the olden times. It was composed of three stories,being intended to overlook the works, and had no windows on the landward side. Each of these stories consisted of a single small room, the lowest being the prison, without even a loophole to admit air or light. “The original windows,” says King, “are the most truly Saxon that can be.” This applies more particularly to the one in the middle of the upper story, which appears to have remained without any alteration; while, in the one beneath, a stone frame for glass seems to have been inserted. The style of this addition points to the time of Henry VI., and we may believe that it was made by the celebrated Earl Talbot, who tenanted one of these small chambers. Besides the glass window, this apartment boasts a hearth for fire; and, as is usual in such buildings, the communication with the floor above is by a circular staircase in an angle of the massive wall. “To this staircase is a most remarkable door-way; it was one large transom-stone, as if to aid the arch to support the wall above, and in this respect resembles several other Saxon structures, in which this strange kind of fashion seems to have been uniformly adopted; until it became gradually alteredby the introduction of a flattishunder-arch, instituted in the room of the transom-stone.”[63]
The entrance to the keep was by a flight of steps, leading to the above apartment; but the dungeon had an entrance of its own, of a construction which leads antiquarians to conjecture, that it was added in the reign of Edward III., when Richard Talbot obtained the royal license for making his dungeon a state prison.
The fortifications to be surmounted before an enemy could arrive at the keep, were numerous and complete. Independently of the fosse, there was a deep pit, hewn out of the solid rock, to be crossed by a drawbridge, and then commenced a dark vaulted passage between two semicircular towers. Eleven feet within the passage was a massive gate, defended (as likewise the drawbridge) by loopholes in the sides of the vault, and machicolations in the roof, for pouring down molten lead or boiling water on the assailants. A few feet farther on was a portcullis, and then a second, the space between protected by loopholes and machicolations. Presently there wasanother strong gate, and finally a stone projection on both sides, intended for the insertion of beams of timber, to act as a barricade. If we add that the passage thus defended was less than ten feet wide, and that the exterior walls of the whole building were in general seven feet thick, an idea may be formed of the strength of Goodrich Castle.
Within the ballium, or enclosed space, entered with such difficulty, were the keep here described, the state apartments, chapel, &c.; but the whole of these are in so ruinous a state, as to be nearly unintelligible except to antiquaries. The great hall was sixty-five feet long and twenty-eight broad, and appears to have been a magnificent apartment of the time of Edward I., as its windows indicate. The fire-place is still distinguishable in the great kitchen. Communicating with the hall is a smaller room, from which a passage led into another room of state, fifty-five feet by twenty; and this opened into the ladies’ tower, standing upon the brow of a lofty precipice, and commanding a delightful view over the country.
It is curious that so remarkable a structureshould be almost destitute of authentic history, till the very period when it ceased to exist but as a ruin. All that is known of its origin is, that a fort, held by a doomsday proprietor, of the name of Godric, commanded the ford of the river at this place before the Conquest. The fort consisted, in all probability, of little more than the keep; to which, at later periods, additions were made, cognisable by their style, till Goodrich Castle became a regular fortress. In 1165 it was the property of the earl of Pembroke, then lord of the whole district from Ross to Chepstow; and, subsequently, it was a seat of the Talbot family, who, in 1347, founded a priory of black canons at Flanesford, which is now a barn, about a quarter of a mile below the castle. During the civil wars this fortress played a conspicuous part, being taken and retaken by the opposing parties. In the first instance it held for the parliament; but was afterwards seized by Sir Richard Lingen, who, in 1646, defended it with great gallantry against Colonel Birch for nearly five months, and thus conferred upon it the distinction of being the last castle in England, excepting Pendennis, which held outfor the king. In the following year it was ordered by the parliament to be “totally disgarrisoned andslighted,” which sentence was just sufficiently carried into effect to give the Wye a magnificent ruin at the very spot where taste would have placed it. “Here,” says Mr. Gilpin, “a grand view presented itself, and we rested on our oars to examine it. A reach of the river, forming a noble bay, is spread before the eye. The bank on the right is steep, and covered with wood, beyond which a bold promontory shoots out, crowned with a castle rising among trees. This view, which is one of the grandest on the river, I should not scruple to call correctly picturesque.”
Near the spot where Mr. Gilpin must have been is the ferry where Henry IV., who was waiting to be taken across, received intelligence of his queen’s being delivered of a prince at Monmouth Castle. The king, according to tradition, was so overjoyed at the news, that he presented the ferry and boat, which at this time belonged to the crown, to the ferryman. On the left bank, nearly opposite, are the church and village of Walford, in the former of which isburied Colonel Kyrle, who deserted the service of Charles I. for that of the parliament.
Goodrich Court, to which a winding path leads from the castle, is somewhat nearer Ross. It is the seat of Sir Samuel Meyrick, the well known antiquary, and presents, in the architecture, an exact imitation of a mansion of the middle of the fourteenth century. In this respect, as well as in the arrangement of its proprietor’s valuable collection of old armour, the house may be said to be absolutely perfect. It forms in itself and its contents, one of the most interesting museums in Europe; and it is open, with very little ceremony, to the inspection of the traveller, as all such things are, when they do not happen to be the property of persons unworthy to possess them.
The river sweeps boldly round the wooded headland on which Goodrich Castle stands; and the ruin is thus presented again and again, in new phases (but none so interesting as the first), to the voyager, as he glides down the now varied and romantic river. A steep ridge on the right bank is called Coppet, or Copped Wood Hill, where the stream makes a sweep of five miles,to perform the actual advance of one. The mass of foliage on the opposite bank is a part of the Forest of Dean, variegated, by rocks, hamlets, and village spires. Bishop’s Brook here enters the Wye, and serves as a boundary between the counties of Hereford and Gloucester, and between the parishes of Walford and Ruerdean. “The view at Ruerdean church,” says Mr. Gilpin, “is a scene of great grandeur. Here both sides of the river are steep, and both woody; but on one (meaning the left bank), the woods are interspersed with rocks. The deep umbrage of the Forest of Dean occupies the front, and the spire of the church rises among the trees. The reach of the river which exhibits this scene is long; and of course the view, which is a noble piece of natural perspective, continues some time before the eye; but when the spire comes directly in front, the grandeur of the landscape is gone.”
The famous Forest of Dean is in the space which here lies between the Severn and the Wye. “In former ages,” as Camden tells us, “by the irregular tracks and horrid shades,” it was so dark and dreary as to render its inhabitantsmore audacious in robberies. In the time of Edward I. there were seventy-two furnaces here for melting iron; and it is related, that the miners of those days were very industrious in seeking after the beds of cinders, where the Romans of Britain had been at work before them, which remains, when burnt over again, were supposed to make the best iron. The privileges of these miners were, no doubt, for the most part assumed, but some granted by law are highly curious. The following are specimens:—
“Also, if any smith holder, or any other be debtor, for mine to a miner, the which smith holder or other be within, then the miner is bailiff in every place (except his own close), to take the horse of the debtor, if he be saddled with a work saddle, and with no other saddle; and be it that the horse be half within the door of the smith, so that the miner may take the tail of the horse, the debtor shall deliver the horse to the miner. And if he so do not, the miner shall make and levy hue and cry upon the said horse, and then the horse shall be forfeit to the king for the hue and cry made and levied, andyet the miner shall present the debtor in the Mind Law, which is the court for the mine.”“And the debtor before the constable and his clerk, the gaveler and the miners, and none other folk to plead the right, only the ministers shall be there, and hold a stick of holly, and the said miner demanding the debt, shall put his hand upon the said stick, and none other with him, and he shall swear by his faith, that the said debt is to him due; and the prove made, the debtor, in the same place, shall pay the miner all the debt proved, or else he shall be brought to the castle of St. Briavells till grace be made, and also he shall be amerced to the king in two shillings.“Also the miner hath such franchises to inquire the mine in every soil of the king’s of which it may be named, and also of all other folk, without withsaying of any man.“And also if any be that denieth any soil, whatsoever it be, be it sound or no, or of what degree it may be named, then the gaveler, by the strength of the king, shall deliver the soil to the miners, with a convenient way, next stretching to the king’s highway, by the which mine maybe carried to all places and waters that lean convenient to the said mine, without withsaying of any man.”
“Also, if any smith holder, or any other be debtor, for mine to a miner, the which smith holder or other be within, then the miner is bailiff in every place (except his own close), to take the horse of the debtor, if he be saddled with a work saddle, and with no other saddle; and be it that the horse be half within the door of the smith, so that the miner may take the tail of the horse, the debtor shall deliver the horse to the miner. And if he so do not, the miner shall make and levy hue and cry upon the said horse, and then the horse shall be forfeit to the king for the hue and cry made and levied, andyet the miner shall present the debtor in the Mind Law, which is the court for the mine.”
“And the debtor before the constable and his clerk, the gaveler and the miners, and none other folk to plead the right, only the ministers shall be there, and hold a stick of holly, and the said miner demanding the debt, shall put his hand upon the said stick, and none other with him, and he shall swear by his faith, that the said debt is to him due; and the prove made, the debtor, in the same place, shall pay the miner all the debt proved, or else he shall be brought to the castle of St. Briavells till grace be made, and also he shall be amerced to the king in two shillings.
“Also the miner hath such franchises to inquire the mine in every soil of the king’s of which it may be named, and also of all other folk, without withsaying of any man.
“And also if any be that denieth any soil, whatsoever it be, be it sound or no, or of what degree it may be named, then the gaveler, by the strength of the king, shall deliver the soil to the miners, with a convenient way, next stretching to the king’s highway, by the which mine maybe carried to all places and waters that lean convenient to the said mine, without withsaying of any man.”
The Forest of Dean plays a conspicuous part in the wars of Monmouthshire, serving as a natural outwork for the county. The following transaction is described by Sanderson, the historian of Charles I.:—“After Sir William Waller,” says he, “had refreshed his men, he advanced towards Monmouthshire, invited by some gentlemen to reduce these parts. At his coming to the town of Monmouth, the garrison of the lord Herbert retired, leaving a naked place to Sir William; where he found small success of his parties, sent abroad for supplies of money. He marches to Usk, and spending some time to no purpose in that county, he returns, the stream of the people affording him no welcome, being all universal tenants of that county to the earl of Worcester.
“In this time Prince Maurice enters Teuxbury, with a brigade of horse and foot added to the lord Grandeson, resolving to make after Waller, or to meet his return out of Wales. A bridge of boats wafts him over the Severn, with a bodyof two thousand horse and foot. Waller was nimble in his retreat, not to be catcht in a noose or neck of Wales; but, by a bridge of boats, came back at Chepstow, with his foot and artillery, and himself, with his horse and dragoons, passed through the lowest part of the Forest of Dean, near the river side of Severn; and ere the prince had notice, sends forth two parties to fall upon two of the Prince’s quarters, which was performed, while Waller’s main body slipped between both, and a party was left also to face them, and make good the retreat, which came off but disorderly, with loss of some soldiers. It was held a handsome conveyance, and unexpected, to bring himself out of the snare by uncouth ways.”
Gloucestershire, of which the Forest of Dean forms a part, although still boasting one of the richest soils in England, is no longer awine country. “The ground,” according to William of Malmesbury, “spontaneously produces fruit in taste and colour far exceeding others, many of which will keep the year round, so as to serve their owners till others come in again. No county in England has more or richer vineyards,or which yield greater plenty of grapes, and of a more agreeable flavour. The wine has not a disagreeable sharpness to the taste, as it is little inferior to that of France in sweetness.” On this Camden remarks, that it is more owing to “the indolence of the inhabitants than to the alteration in the climate,” that in his time wine was no longer a production of the county.
Vines were introduced into Britain by the Romans, and the hills of South Wales became more especially famous for their vineyards. They were mentioned in the Domesday Book, before the time of William of Malmesbury; and tithes of wines are frequently alluded to in the records of cathedrals.
Iron furnaces of the Wye—Lidbroke—Nurse of Henry V.—Coldwell Rocks—Symond’s Yat—New Weir—Monmouth.
The woods rising amphitheatrically on the left bank, just before reaching Ruerdean, are called Bishop’s Wood; and there will be observed, for the first time of their presenting themselves conspicuously, the iron furnaces, which form a very striking characteristic of the river.
The iron furnaces on the Wye rather add to than diminish the effect of the scenery. This is caused by the abundance of wood in the furnace districts, which conceals the details, while it permits the smoke to ascend in wreaths throughthe trees, and float like a veil around the hills. These works, however, are merely a modern revival of a species of industry which extends backwards beyond the reach of history. The heaps of cinders which are discovered on the hills of Monmouthshire are the production either of bloomeries, the most ancient mode of fusing iron, or of furnaces of a very antique construction. The operation of smelting was performed in both of these by means of charcoal; and after the lands were cleared, the want of fuel led to the decline of the iron works. About eighty years ago, in consequence of the discovery of the mode of making pig iron, and subsequently even bar iron, with coal instead of charcoal, this branch of industry suddenly revived; although on the Wye charcoal is still burnt, and made upon the spot, where, instead of vulgarising the district, it adds a very remarkable feature to the picturesque.
At Lidbroke, on the same side, the commoner sympathies of life come into play, and the vulgar occupations of men serve at once to diversify the scene, and even to give it a new character of the picturesque. The lower passage has hithertobeen chiefly distinguished by a romantic grandeur, both in the forms of nature, and the associations of history; and even the iron furnaces, from the circumstances we have mentioned, have added a charm congenial to the character of the picture. At Lidbroke, the new adjunct is nothing more than awharf, with little vessels lying near it,—boats passing and repassing,—horses, carts, men, women, and children stirring along the banks: but the whole, in such a spot, forms an assemblage which adds, by contrast, to the general effect.
On the opposite bank the district of Monmouthshire, called Welsh Bicknor, commences—for we have hitherto been in Hereford—and Courtfield claims our attention for a moment, as the place where Henry V. is said to have been nursed, under the care of the countess of Salisbury. The remains of a bed, and an old cradle, were formerly shown as relics of the Monmouth hero. Half a mile further down the river is Welsh Bicknor Church, which has puzzled the antiquarians by its sepulchral effigy, representing a recumbent female figure in stone, not ungracefully dressed in a loose robe, but without inscriptionor coat of arms. Tradition will have it that this isthecountess of Salisbury; and it is perhaps correct in the person, though wrong in the name, for the lady who nursed Henry at Courtfield (supposing him to have been there at all) was, in all probability, Lady Montacute, who married a second son of the first earl of Salisbury, but was no countess herself. Her son, however, Sir John de Montacute, who possessed the manor of Welsh Bicknor, succeeded to the earldom, and became earl-marshal of England. It was he who was chief of the Lollards, and was murdered in 1400 by the populace of Cirencester. The manor, although falling to the crown on account of his supposed treason, was afterwards restored to the family, and became the property of his descendant Richard, the great earl of Warwick and Salisbury. Dugdale traces this ominous heirloom to Margaret, grand-daughter of the great earl, daughter of the duke of Clarence, and wife of Lord Montague. This lady, after witnessing the execution of her brother Edward, earl of Warwick, and her son Henry Lord Montague, was herself beheaded in 1541. The manor of Welsh Bicknor,and the mansion of Courtfield, passed subsequently into the ancient family of Vaughan. We may mention here, however, although the circumstance is of no great consequence, that Sir Samuel Meyrick assigns the costume of the figure in Welsh Bicknor Church to the era of Edward I., about a century before that of Henry V.
A short distance below the church this abutment of Monmouthshire terminates, and the right bank of the river lies as before in Hereford, the left in Gloucester. At Coldwell, the view is closed in by a magnificent rock scene, differing entirely in character from any yet afforded by the Wye. To suffer this to appear—supposing the traveller to be descending the river—a wooded hill, called Rosemary Topping, one of the common features of the stream, shifts like a scene in a theatre, and becomes a side-screen; so that the almost naked cliff remains the principal object, and confers its character upon the view, to which the river and its banks to the right and left are only adjuncts.
The first grand mass of rock is nearly insulated, and reminds one at first sight of the keepof some ruined castle. But the Coldwell rocks want no associations of the kind: they are fragments of the temples of nature, and have nothing to do with the history of man. To our judgment, the shadowy hollows scooped out of the sides of the precipices, and overhung by foliage, which are nothing more than the sites oflime kilns, are more advantageous to the picture than the finest ruins imaginable. They come in without pretence; they make no effort at rivalry; but present the idea of human nature in an attitude of befitting humility and simplicity. “These,” says the German prince, “are craggy and weatherbeaten walls of sandstone, of gigantic dimension, perpendicular or overhanging, projecting abruptly from amid oaks, and hung with rich festoons of ivy. The rain and storms of ages have beaten and washed them into such fantastic forms, that they appear like some caprice of human art. Castles and towers, amphitheatres and fortifications, battlements and obelisks mock the wanderer, who fancies himself transported into the ruins of a city of some extinct race. Some of these picturesque masses are at times loosened by the action of the weather, andfall thundering from rock to rock, with a terrific plunge into the river.”
From Symond’s Yat to the New Weir, thiskindof scenery continues; although the masses of cliff of course change their form and situation. The river, in a portion of its course, washes their base, at one time an almost perpendicular wall, at another clothed in woods till near the summit, which is seen rising out of the foliage, and tracing its battlemented outline upon the sky. From these two points the distance is only six hundred yards by land, and not less than four miles by water; and the shorter route is in this case the better. On the river, we soon lose the magnificence of the picture; while on shore, there is superadded to this a view of the extravagant mazes of the Wye on either side of the neck of land on which the spectator stands. If it be added that the point of view, Symond’s Yat, appeared to Mr. Coxe to be two thousand feet high (although this is an evident mistake), it will readily be imagined that this scene is of itself worth a pilgrimage to the Wye. The prospect, comprehending portions of Herefordshire, Gloucestershire, and Monmouthshire, embraces thefollowing objects, according to those who are versed in the local names. To the north is seen Coppet Wood Hill, interspersed with rock and common;—to the north-west appear the spire and village of Goodrich, and, at the foot of the hill, Rocklands and Huntsholm Ferry;—to the west, Hunthsolm, behind which is Whitchurch, and, in the distance, the Welsh hills;—to the south-west, the mountainous side of the Great Doward;—to the south, Staunton Church, and the Buck-stone, upon a promontory; and below, Highmeadow Woods and the river; on the left, the rock of the New Weir, and on the right, the rocky wall of the east side of the Doward;—to the south-east, the village of English Bicknor, a side view of Coldwell Rocks, and Rosemary Topping;—and, to the east, Ruerdean Wood, with the church in the distance, Bishop’s Wood, and Courtfield, with the woody ridges of Hawkwood and Puckwood completing the panorama.
The New Weir
Gilpin calls the New Weir the second grand scene on the Wye.
“The river,” says he, “is wider than usual in this part, and takes a sweep round a towering promontory of rock, which forms the side-screenon the left, and is the grand feature of the view. It is not a broad, fractured piece of rock, but rather a woody hill, from which large projections in two or three places burst out, rudely hung with twisting branches, and shaggy furniture; which, like the mane round the lion’s head, gives a more savage air to these wild exhibitions of nature. Near the top a pointed fragment of solitary rock, rising above the rest, has rather a fantastic appearance—but it is not without its effect in marking the scene . . . On the right side of the river, the bank forms a woody amphitheatre, following the course of the stream round the promontory. Its lower skirts are adorned with a hamlet, in the midst of which volumes of thick smoke, thrown up at intervals from an iron forge, as its fires receive fresh fuel, add double grandeur to the scene. . . .“But what peculiarly marks this view, is a circumstance on the water. The whole river at this place makes a precipitate fall—of no great height indeed, but enough to merit the name of a cascade, though to the eye above the stream it is an object of no consequence. In all the scenes we had yet passed, the water moving with aslow and solemn pace, the objects around kept time, as it were, with it; and every steep, and every rock which hung over the river, was solemn, tranquil, and majestic. But here the violence of the stream, and the roaring of the waters, impressed a new character on the scene: all was agitation and uproar, and every steep and every rock stared with wildness and terror.”
“The river,” says he, “is wider than usual in this part, and takes a sweep round a towering promontory of rock, which forms the side-screenon the left, and is the grand feature of the view. It is not a broad, fractured piece of rock, but rather a woody hill, from which large projections in two or three places burst out, rudely hung with twisting branches, and shaggy furniture; which, like the mane round the lion’s head, gives a more savage air to these wild exhibitions of nature. Near the top a pointed fragment of solitary rock, rising above the rest, has rather a fantastic appearance—but it is not without its effect in marking the scene . . . On the right side of the river, the bank forms a woody amphitheatre, following the course of the stream round the promontory. Its lower skirts are adorned with a hamlet, in the midst of which volumes of thick smoke, thrown up at intervals from an iron forge, as its fires receive fresh fuel, add double grandeur to the scene. . . .
“But what peculiarly marks this view, is a circumstance on the water. The whole river at this place makes a precipitate fall—of no great height indeed, but enough to merit the name of a cascade, though to the eye above the stream it is an object of no consequence. In all the scenes we had yet passed, the water moving with aslow and solemn pace, the objects around kept time, as it were, with it; and every steep, and every rock which hung over the river, was solemn, tranquil, and majestic. But here the violence of the stream, and the roaring of the waters, impressed a new character on the scene: all was agitation and uproar, and every steep and every rock stared with wildness and terror.”
Let us add the testimony of another great authority on the picturesque; more especially as his remarks serve to corroborate our own on the effect received by the river from objects which elsewhere are mean and common.
“A scene at the New Weir on the Wye, which in itself is truly great and awful, so far from being disturbed, becomes more interesting and important by the business to which it is destined. It is a chasm between two high ranges of hills, that rise almost perpendicularly from the water: the rocks on the sides are mostly heavy masses, and their colour is generally brown; but here and there a pale craggy shape starts up to a vast height above the rest, unconnected, broken, and bare: large trees frequently force out their way amongst them; and manyof these stand far back in the covert, where their natural dusky hue is heightened by the shadow that overhangs them. The river too, as it retires, loses itself in the woods, which close immediately above, then rise thick and high, and darken the water. In the midst of all this gloom is aniron forge, covered with a black cloud of smoke, and surrounded with half-burnt ore, with coal, and with cinders: the fuel for it is brought down a path, worn into steps narrow and steep, and winding among precipices; and near it is an open space of barren moor, about which are scattered the huts of the workmen. It stands close to the cascade of the Weir, where the agitation of the current is increased by large fragments of rocks, which have been swept down by floods from the banks, or shivered by tempests from the brow; and the sullen sound, at stated intervals, of the strokes from the great hammer in the forge, deadens the roar of the waterfall. Just below it, while the rapidity of the stream still continues, a ferry is carried across it; and lower down the fishermen use little round boats called truckles (coracles), the remains perhaps of the ancient British navigation, whichthe least motion will overset, and the slightest touch may destroy. All the employments of the people seem to require either exertion or caution; and the ideas of fear or danger which attend them give to the scene an animation unknown to the solitary, though perfectly compatible with the wildest romantic situation.”[85]
“A scene at the New Weir on the Wye, which in itself is truly great and awful, so far from being disturbed, becomes more interesting and important by the business to which it is destined. It is a chasm between two high ranges of hills, that rise almost perpendicularly from the water: the rocks on the sides are mostly heavy masses, and their colour is generally brown; but here and there a pale craggy shape starts up to a vast height above the rest, unconnected, broken, and bare: large trees frequently force out their way amongst them; and manyof these stand far back in the covert, where their natural dusky hue is heightened by the shadow that overhangs them. The river too, as it retires, loses itself in the woods, which close immediately above, then rise thick and high, and darken the water. In the midst of all this gloom is aniron forge, covered with a black cloud of smoke, and surrounded with half-burnt ore, with coal, and with cinders: the fuel for it is brought down a path, worn into steps narrow and steep, and winding among precipices; and near it is an open space of barren moor, about which are scattered the huts of the workmen. It stands close to the cascade of the Weir, where the agitation of the current is increased by large fragments of rocks, which have been swept down by floods from the banks, or shivered by tempests from the brow; and the sullen sound, at stated intervals, of the strokes from the great hammer in the forge, deadens the roar of the waterfall. Just below it, while the rapidity of the stream still continues, a ferry is carried across it; and lower down the fishermen use little round boats called truckles (coracles), the remains perhaps of the ancient British navigation, whichthe least motion will overset, and the slightest touch may destroy. All the employments of the people seem to require either exertion or caution; and the ideas of fear or danger which attend them give to the scene an animation unknown to the solitary, though perfectly compatible with the wildest romantic situation.”[85]
To this, however, we must add as a note, that both Weir and forge have now vanished. The more headlong rush and louder roar of the river mark the place where the former stood; and some limekilns contribute the smoke of the latter without its noise.
During the whole of this part of the passage, the stream is interrupted by fragments of rock, around which the water rushes tumultuously; but at the New Weir these interruptions, above noticed, acquire a character of sublimity, when taken in conjunction with the rest of the picture. The river, roaring and foaming, is in haste to escape, and at length is lost to the eye, as it seems to plunge for ever into sepulchral woods.
Beyond this, there are several other rockscenes, but none that will bear description after the foregoing; although to the traveller wearied with excitement, they come in with good effect. Below New Weir, the river stretches with a curve between Highmeadows Wood on the left bank, and the precipitous cliffs of the Great Doward on the right. Then the Little Doward peeps over a screen of rocks and shrubs. These two hills are called King Arthur’s Plain, and between these is King Arthur’s Hall, the level of an exhausted iron mine. Then we pass a cluster of rocks called St. Martin’s or the Three Sisters, and a pool of the river named St. Martin’s Well, where the water is said to be seventy feet deep. Various seats and cottages give variety to the picture, situated in the midst of rich woods and undulating eminences; and at length the landscape sinks calmly down, and Monmouth—“delightsome Monmouth”—is seen in long perspective, terminating a reach of the river.
Monmouth—History of the Castle—Apartment of Henry of Monmouth—Ecclesiastical remains—Benedictine priory—Church of St. Mary—Church of St. Thomas—Monnow Bridge—Modern town—Monmouth caps—The beneficent parvenu.
Monmouth lies embowered among gentle hills, only diversified by wood, corn, and pasture; but to view it either from the Wye, or any of the neighbouring eminences, one would be far from supposing it to have so tame, or at least so quiet a site. From one point, its spire is seen passing through a deep and mysterious wood; from another, it hangs perched on a precipitous ridge; and from the Wye it rises with considerable stateliness in the form of an amphitheatre. It stands at the confluence of the Wye and theMonnow, from which it derives its English name.
A royal fortress existed here before the conquest, a circumstance which renders its early history full of fearful vicissitudes, although these are but very imperfectly traced. In the time of Henry III., the castle, after changing hands repeatedly, was taken and rased to the ground. “Thus the glorie of Monmouth,” says Lambarde, “had clean perished, ne had it pleased God longe after in that place to give life to the noble King Henry V., who of the same is called Henry of Monmouth.” It was a favourite residence of the father of this prince, King Henry IV., and also of his father, John of Gaunt, “time honoured Lancaster,” to whom it came by his marriage with Blanch, daughter and heiress of Henry, duke of Lancaster, whose title he was afterwards granted. Henry V. was born here in 1387, and from this circumstance is styled Henry of Monmouth. This prince enlarged the duchy of Lancaster with his maternal inheritance, and obtained an act of parliament that all grants of offices and estates should pass under the seal of the duchy. Henry VI. andVII. possessed the castle of Monmouth, as part of the duchy, by right of inheritance; but between these reigns it was given by Edward IV. to Lord Herbert, afterwards earl of Pembroke. Although the duchy, however, continued in the crown, the castle, together with other possessions in Monmouthshire, was alienated, and became private property, but at what period does not clearly appear. In the reign of Elizabeth, it is ascertained, by different grants, to have been still parcel of the duchy, and also in that of James I., by the following presentment made under a commission: “Item, wee present that his majestie hath one ancient castell, called Monmouth Castell, situated within the liberties of the said towne, which is nowe, and hath been for a long time, ruinous and in decaye, but by whom it hath byn decayed wee knowe not, nor to what value, in regarde it was before our rememberment, savinge one greate hall which is covered and mayntayned for the judges of the assise to sitt in. And for and concerning any demean lands belonginge to the same castell, wee knowe not of any more save only the castell hill, wherein divers have gardens, and the castell green,which is inclosed within the walls of the said castell.”
Before the end of the seventeenth century, we find the castle in the hands of the first duke of Beaufort, if the following anecdote, indicative either of an ambitious or a fantastic spirit, can be believed. “The marchioness of Worcester,” says the author of the Secret Memoirs of Monmouthshire, “was ordered by her grandfather, the late duke of Beaufort, to lie in of her first child in a house lately built within the castle of Monmouth, near that spot of ground and space of air, where our great hero Henry V. was born.”
Whatever mutilations this castle may have undergone since the days of its royal magnificence, by whomever it may have been at length “decayed,” or at whatever period it came into the hands of the Beauforts, this at least is certain, that there is now not more than enough left to indicate its site. “The transmutations of time,” says Gilpin, “are often ludicrous. Monmouth Castle was formerly the palace of a king, and the birthplace of a mighty prince; it is now converted into a yard for fattening ducks.” Theruins, however, must have been concealed from his view by the stables and other outhouses that had risen from the fragments, so as completely to hide them from the townward side. Coxe, a much more correct observer, although less learned in the laws of the picturesque, describes them in 1800 as presenting, when viewed from the right bank of the Monnow, “an appearance of dilapidated grandeur which recalls to memory the times of feudal magnificence.”
Although the roof and great part of the walls had already fallen, the site of two remarkable apartments could be traced distinctly; that in which Henry was born, and another adjoining which had been used, even within the memory of some of the inhabitants, for the assizes. The latter was sixty-three feet in length and forty-six in breadth, and was no doubt the “greate hall” mentioned in the presentment quoted above as being “mayntayned for the judges of the assise to sitt in.”
The apartment of Henry of Monmouth is thus described by the archdeacon:
“The apartment which gave birth to the Gwentonian hero was an upper story, and thebeams that supported the floor still project from the side walls; it was fifty-eight feet long, and twenty-four broad, and was decorated with gothic windows, of which some are still remaining, and seem to be of the age of Henry III. The walls of this part are not less than ten feet in thickness. About fifty years ago, a considerable part of the southern wall fell down with a tremendous crash, which alarmed the whole town, leaving a breach not less than forty feet in length. On the ground floor beneath are three circular arches terminating in chinks, which have a very ancient appearance; at the north-eastern angle, within a stable, may be seen a round tower six feet in diameter, which was once a staircase leading to the grand apartment.”
“The apartment which gave birth to the Gwentonian hero was an upper story, and thebeams that supported the floor still project from the side walls; it was fifty-eight feet long, and twenty-four broad, and was decorated with gothic windows, of which some are still remaining, and seem to be of the age of Henry III. The walls of this part are not less than ten feet in thickness. About fifty years ago, a considerable part of the southern wall fell down with a tremendous crash, which alarmed the whole town, leaving a breach not less than forty feet in length. On the ground floor beneath are three circular arches terminating in chinks, which have a very ancient appearance; at the north-eastern angle, within a stable, may be seen a round tower six feet in diameter, which was once a staircase leading to the grand apartment.”
To the right of this apartment, the same author traced the vestige of the original walls in a private house built within the ancient site. They were from six to ten feet, formed of pebbles and mortar, and is so compact a mass as not to yield in hardness to solid stone.
Next to the ruined castle of an ancient town, come the ecclesiastical remains; for the stronghold of the chief, and the cell of the monk, wereusually the nucleus round which the town was gathered. The principal relics of the latter kind in Monmouth are those of a benedictine priory of black monks, dedicated to St. Mary, which was founded as a cell to the monastery of St. Florence, near Saumur in Anjou, by Wikenoc, lord of Monmouth in the reign of Henry I. The ruins are small, but interesting; and not the less so from containing an apartment distinguished by a rich gothic bay window, pointed out by tradition as the study of that mysterious personage, Geoffry of Monmouth. The church of the priory stood on the site of the present parish church of St. Mary, of which the tower and the lower part of the spire are the only remains of the original. This spire, which is “lofty, and light, and small,” is the grand scenic feature of the town when viewed from a distance; and in return, it affords to the traveller who will take the trouble to ascend it a point from which to view the country to most advantage. The beautiful vale in which the town stands, with its undulating eminences, among which wander the Wye, the Monnow, and the Trothy, is seen in an almost circular form,enclosed from the vulgar world, by a line of hills mantled with woods and forests.
The ancient church of St. Thomas stands near the bridge of the Monnow, and from its circular arches, and extreme simplicity of appearance, is probably older than the conquest. This does not apply, however, to the entire building, the western window, and some other morçeaux, displaying the ornamented Gothic of a late period. The antiquity of the building, it should be said, is rendered the more probable by its standing beyond the bridge, where the suburbs of the modern town are supposed to occupy the site of the British town during the Saxon era.
The bridge, of which a view is given in Grose’s Antiquities, is itself an object of interest, containing, on its centre, the Monnow Gate, the only one of the four original gates, mentioned by Leland, that remains entire. Both bridge and gate bear evidence of very high antiquity, and were probably erected by the Saxons as a barrier against the Welsh. The town was farther fortified by a wall and moat, of which the latter was entire in the time of Leland, and some fragments of the former remaining. But all vestigesof those defences have now vanished, with the exception of the Monnow Gate, and some pieces of a tower.
Of the modern town, it can be said that it is neat and clean, with one broad and well-built street. It is neither mean nor elegant, and presents no offensive contrast to the beautiful scenery by which it is surrounded. The navigation of the Wye is its principal support, for at the present day at least it has no manufactories, although celebrated in that of its own Henry forcaps. “If your majestie is remembered of it, the Welchmen did goot service in a garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps.” The account given of this staple article by Fuller, in his Worthies, is worth quoting.
“These,” says he, “were the most ancient, general, warm, and profitable coverings of men’s heads in this island. It is worth our pains to observe the tenderness of our kings to preserve the trade of cap-making, and what long and strong struggling our state had to keep up the using thereof, so many thousands of people being thereby maintained in the land, especiallybefore the invention of fulling-mills, all caps before that time being wrought, beaten, and thickened, by the hands and feet of men, till those mills, as they eased many of their labour, outed more of their livelihood. Capping anciently set fifteen distinct callings on work, as they are reckoned up in the statute: 1. carders, 2. spinners; 3. knitters; 4. parters of wool; 5. forfers; 6. thickeners; 7. dressers; 8. walkers; 9. dyers; 10. battelers; 11. shearers; 12. pressers; 13. edgers; 14. liners; 15. band-makers, and other exercises. No wonder then that so many statutes were enacted in parliament to encourage this handicraft.” * * * * “Lastly; to keep up the usage of caps, it was enacted, in the 13th of Queen Eliz. cap. 19, that they should be worne by all persons (some of worship and quality excepted) on sabbath and holy days, on the pain of forfeiting ten groats for the omission thereof.“But it seems that nothing but hats would fit the heads (or humours rather) of the English, as fancied by them fitter to fence their fair faces from the injury of wind and weather, so that the 39th of Queen Elizabeth this statute was repealed;yea, the cap, accounted by the Romans an emblem of liberty, is esteemed by the English (falconers and hunters excepted) a badge of servitude, though very useful in themselves, and the ensign of constancy, because not discomposed, but retaining their fashion, in what form soever they may be crouded.“The best caps were formerly made at Monmouth, where the capper’s chapel doth still remain, being better carved and gilded than any other part of the church. But on the occasion of a great plague happening in this town, the trade was some years since removed hence to Beaudley, in Worcestershire, yet so that they are called Monmouth caps unto this day. Thus this town retains, though not the profit, the credit of capping, and seeing the child keeps the mother’s name, there is some hope in due time she may return to her.”
“These,” says he, “were the most ancient, general, warm, and profitable coverings of men’s heads in this island. It is worth our pains to observe the tenderness of our kings to preserve the trade of cap-making, and what long and strong struggling our state had to keep up the using thereof, so many thousands of people being thereby maintained in the land, especiallybefore the invention of fulling-mills, all caps before that time being wrought, beaten, and thickened, by the hands and feet of men, till those mills, as they eased many of their labour, outed more of their livelihood. Capping anciently set fifteen distinct callings on work, as they are reckoned up in the statute: 1. carders, 2. spinners; 3. knitters; 4. parters of wool; 5. forfers; 6. thickeners; 7. dressers; 8. walkers; 9. dyers; 10. battelers; 11. shearers; 12. pressers; 13. edgers; 14. liners; 15. band-makers, and other exercises. No wonder then that so many statutes were enacted in parliament to encourage this handicraft.” * * * * “Lastly; to keep up the usage of caps, it was enacted, in the 13th of Queen Eliz. cap. 19, that they should be worne by all persons (some of worship and quality excepted) on sabbath and holy days, on the pain of forfeiting ten groats for the omission thereof.
“But it seems that nothing but hats would fit the heads (or humours rather) of the English, as fancied by them fitter to fence their fair faces from the injury of wind and weather, so that the 39th of Queen Elizabeth this statute was repealed;yea, the cap, accounted by the Romans an emblem of liberty, is esteemed by the English (falconers and hunters excepted) a badge of servitude, though very useful in themselves, and the ensign of constancy, because not discomposed, but retaining their fashion, in what form soever they may be crouded.
“The best caps were formerly made at Monmouth, where the capper’s chapel doth still remain, being better carved and gilded than any other part of the church. But on the occasion of a great plague happening in this town, the trade was some years since removed hence to Beaudley, in Worcestershire, yet so that they are called Monmouth caps unto this day. Thus this town retains, though not the profit, the credit of capping, and seeing the child keeps the mother’s name, there is some hope in due time she may return to her.”
Monmouth appears also to have dealt largely in ale, if we may judge by a grant of Henry IV. as lord of the manor, to its burgesses. “That the brewers of ale there, who were anciently held to pay the king’s ancestors and progenitors eight gallons of ale at every brewing, in thename of Castlecoule, during the time the king, or his heirs, were dwelling in the said town, should now pay in lieu thereof 10d. each brewing, except when the king, his heirs or his councils, holding his sessions there, were present in the said town, in which case the ancient custom of Castlecoules should be observed.”
We must not omit an anecdote connected with the history of a free-school, founded here in the reign of James I. William Jones, born at Monmouth, as Burton tells us in his History of Wales, was forced to quit the place for not being able to pay ten groats. He removed to the great field for adventurers, London, and became first a porter, then a factor, and afterwards went over to Hamburgh, where he found such sale for his Welsh cottons, that in a very short time he realised a handsome fortune. He founded a school in his native place, allowing fifty pounds a year to the master, and a hundred pounds salary to a lecturer, together with an almshouse for twenty poor people, each having two rooms and a garden, and two shillings and sixpence a week. It is said, however, by other authorities, that Jones was a native of Newland,in Gloucestershire; and after having made his fortune in London, that he returned thither in the assumed character of a beggar, to try the liberality of his townsmen. In this he found them wanting, for they tauntingly told him to go and ask relief at Monmouth, where he had lived at service. He took their advice, and being better received there, founded the above charities in token of his gratitude.
Welsh pedigree of queen Victoria—A poet’s flattery—Castles of Monmouthshire—Geoffrey of Monmouth—Henry of Monmouth—The Kymin—Subsidiary tour—Sir David Gam—White Castle—Scenfrith—The Castle spectres—Grosmont—Lanthony Abbey.
“Monmouthshire,” as has been well observed, “though now an English county, may be justly considered the connecting link between England and Wales, as it unites the scenery, manners, and language of both.” In ancient times, it was a debatable land of another kind, when Romans, Saxons, and Normans, strove by turns against the aboriginal Britons. During the Roman invasion it was a part of the territory of the Silures, who inhabited the eastern division of South Wales, and were one of the three greatWelsh tribes; but in the conflict of the Saxons, Gwent (its British name) played the most distinguished part of all, under its sovereign Utha Pendragon and the renowned king Arthur. To Gwent, moreover, if chronicles say true, we are indebted for our present sovereign lady, who is descended collaterally from its princes. Merrich, the son of Ithel, king or prince of Gwent, died without issue male, leaving one daughter, Morvyth, who espoused Gwno, great grandson to Rees ap Theodore, prince of South Wales, and lineal ancestor of Sir Owen Tudor, grandfather of Henry VII. “So that it appears,” say the Secret Memoirs of Monmouthshire, “that the kings of Scotland and England are originally descended from Morvyth, this Gwentonian prince’s daughter, and heir to Meyrick, last king of Gwent, who, according to several authentic British pedigrees, was lineally descended from Cadwalladar, the last king of Britain, and as our historians do testify, did prognosticate, fifteen hundred years past, that the heirs descended of his loins should be restored again to the kingdom of Britain, which was partly accomplished in king Henry VII., and more by the accessionof James I. to the British throne, but wholly fulfilled in the happy union of all Britain by the glorious queen Anne; whom God long preserved of his great goodness, and the succession of the Protestant line.”
We know not what value may be attached to this illustrious ancestry by Queen Victoria; but her predecessor, Queen Elizabeth, was fond of tracing her descent from the ancient kings of her country—a predilection which the courtly Spenser does not omit to flatter in his Faerie Queene.
“Thy name, O soveraine Queene, thy realme and race,From this renowned prince derived arre,Who mightily upheld that royal maceWhich thou now bear’st, to thee descended farreFrom mighty kings and couquerors in warre,Thy fathers and thy grandfathers of old,Whose noble deeds above the northern starre,Immortall fame for ever hath enrold;As in thatold man’s bookethey were in order told.”
“Thy name, O soveraine Queene, thy realme and race,From this renowned prince derived arre,Who mightily upheld that royal maceWhich thou now bear’st, to thee descended farreFrom mighty kings and couquerors in warre,Thy fathers and thy grandfathers of old,Whose noble deeds above the northern starre,Immortall fame for ever hath enrold;As in thatold man’s bookethey were in order told.”
Theold manhave referred to is Geoffrey of Monmouth, of whom more anon.
It is to the Norman invasion that Monmouthshireowes its castles; for the great barons were not employed by the state, as had been the case with the Saxons, to conquer the territory, but were invited to enter upon adventures at their own cost, and for their own gain. The lands they subdued became their own; they were created lords-barons over them; and castles speedily bristled up all over the territory to maintain the authority so acquired. Pennant states the number for Wales at a hundred and forty-three, of which Monmouthshire, as the frontier region between the belligerents, had of course the greatest proportion, amounting, it is said, to at least twenty-five. In these baronial lands, the writs of ordinary justices of the royal courts were not current. The barons marchers, as they were called, had recourse to their feudal lord the king in person; and the same abuses and confusion were the result which we have noticed in Herefordshire, till Henry VIII. abolished this anomalous government, divided Wales into twelve shires, and withdrew Monmouthshire into the list of the English counties. It is interesting to trace the chain of fortresses thus destined to become, still earlier than in thenatural course of time, a series of ruins. They extend, in this county, along the banks of the Monnow, the Wye, and the Severn, and from Grosmont, diagonally, to the banks of the Rumney; while castellated mansions, such as Raglan, which we shall notice presently (at first only a rude fortress), arose in all quarters to keep the natives in due respect.
King Arthur, mentioned above as prince of Gwent, did not reign at Monmouth, but at Caerleon; although he is closely associated with the former place, inasmuch as the gothic room in the priory which we have pointed out, on the authority of tradition, as the study of Geoffrey of Monmouth, was in all probability the birthplace of his most heroic achievements. Geoffrey, in fact, for it is needless to attempt to conceal the fact from our readers, was an historical romancer rather than an historian. The groundwork of his celebrated performance was Brut y Breninodd, or the Chronicle of the Kings of Britain, written by Tyssilio, or St. Telian, bishop of St. Asaph, in the seventh century; but Geoffrey owns himself, that he made various additions to his original, particularly of Merlin’s prophecies.After all, however, if we may venture to express our private opinion on so recondite a subject, it seems to us that a monkish history, of the seventh century, must have been reasonably fertile in itself in wonderful incidents and legendary tales, and that in all probability Geoffrey of Monmouth deserves less credit as a romancer than he has received from one party, as well as less credit as an historian than he has received from the other.
However this may be, the work has served as a valuable storehouse for our poets and romancers. It has even supplied the story of King Lear to Shakspeare, who deepened the pathos by making Cordelia die before her father; whereas, in the original story, Lear is restored to his kingdom, and Cordelia to life. Milton drew from it his fiction of Sabrina in the Mask of Comus; and in early life he had formed the design of writing an epic poem on the subject taken up from Geoffrey by Spenser, in the second book of the Faerie Queene—
“A chronicle of Briton kings,From Brute to Arthur’s reign.”
“A chronicle of Briton kings,From Brute to Arthur’s reign.”
Dryden, also, intended to produce an epic poem on the subject of king Arthur, but he contented himself with an opera, in which he has sublimely described the British worthy
“in battle brave,But still serene in all the stormy war,Like heaven above the clouds; and after fightAs merciful and kind to vanquished foeAs a forgiving God.”
“in battle brave,But still serene in all the stormy war,Like heaven above the clouds; and after fightAs merciful and kind to vanquished foeAs a forgiving God.”
Pope followed, in like manner, with plentiful materials for the pavement of a certain place—good intentions; but after all, our national history has been left to the muse of Blackmore.[106]
Geoffrey was born in Monmouth, and is supposed to have been educated in the monastery, although the room pointed out as his study is evidently of a more modern date. He became archdeacon of his native town, and in 1152 was consecrated bishop of St. Asaph. This is allthat is known of his history; and his works, with the exception of his great romance adverted to above, are confined to a treatise on the Holy Sacraments, and some verses on the enchanter Merlin.
Perhaps a word may not be amiss on the other worthy connected by birth with the fame and the ruins of Monmouth. Henry V. passed some of his earliest years in this county; but in his youth was transferred to Oxford, where he studied under his uncle Cardinal Beaufort, then chancellor of the university, and where, as Stowe relates, he “delighted in songs, meeters, and musical instruments.” He is thus described by the chronicler, on the authority of John of Elmham:
“This prince exceeded the meane stature of men, he was beautiful of visage, his necke long, body long and leane, and his bones small; neverthelesse he was of great marvellous strength, and passing swift in running, insomuch that he with two other of his lords, without hounds, bow, or other engine, would take a wild buck or doe in a large parke.”
“This prince exceeded the meane stature of men, he was beautiful of visage, his necke long, body long and leane, and his bones small; neverthelesse he was of great marvellous strength, and passing swift in running, insomuch that he with two other of his lords, without hounds, bow, or other engine, would take a wild buck or doe in a large parke.”
Henry is usually treated as a mere warrior;and it is the custom to sneer at him as such, by those who are unable to judge of the minds of men by the spirit of the age in which they live. He was remarkable, however, for more than his military prowess, and exhibited many traits of a truly great character. Some of these are very agreeably detailed by Mr. Coxe, who relates also, from Speed, that “every day after dinner, for the space of an hour, his custom was to lean on a cushion set by his cupboard, and there he himselfe received petitions of the oppressed, which with great equitie he did redresse.” His sudden change from the wild licentiousness of his youth is described by his contemporary, Thomas de Elmham, as having taken place at the bedside of his dying father; and we need not remark that in that age, the religious feeling he exhibited on the occasion was not inconsistent with the ferocity of the hero.
“The courses of his youth promis’d it not;The breath no sooner left his father’s body,But that his wildness, mortified in him,Seem’d to die too: yea, at that very moment,Consideration like an angel came,And whipped the offending Adam out of him;Leaving his body as a paradise,To envellop, and contain celestial spirits.Never was such a sudden scholar made;Never came reformation in a flood,With such a heady current, scouring faults;Nor ever hydra-headed wilfulness,So soon did lose his seat, and all at once,As in this king.”
“The courses of his youth promis’d it not;The breath no sooner left his father’s body,But that his wildness, mortified in him,Seem’d to die too: yea, at that very moment,Consideration like an angel came,And whipped the offending Adam out of him;Leaving his body as a paradise,To envellop, and contain celestial spirits.Never was such a sudden scholar made;Never came reformation in a flood,With such a heady current, scouring faults;Nor ever hydra-headed wilfulness,So soon did lose his seat, and all at once,As in this king.”
Monmouth, as the half-way station between Ross and Chepstow for the tourists of the Wye, usually claims a large portion of their attention; and, independently of its historical associations, the delightful walks in the neighbourhood abundantly repay it. The views from numerous points are very beautiful; and one more especially, independently of the nearer parts of the picture, commands on all sides an expanse of country which seems absolutely unlimited.
“If among these views,” says the historical tourist, “one can be selected surpassing the rest, it is perhaps that from the summit of the Kymin, which rises from the left bank of the Wye, and is situated partly in Monmouthshire, and partly in Gloucestershire. On the centre of this eminence overhanging the river and town, a pavilion has been lately erected by subscription,to which is carried a walk, gently winding up the acclivity. . . .
“I shall not attempt to describe the unbounded expanse of country around and beneath, which embraces an extent of nearly three hundred miles. The eye, satiated with the distant prospect, reposes at length on the near views, dwells on the country immediately beneath and around, is attracted with the pleasing position of Monmouth, here seen to singular advantage, admires the elegant bend and silvery current of the Monnow, glistening through meads, in its way to the Wye, and the junction of the two rivers, which forms an assemblage of beautiful objects.
“The level summit of the Kymin is crowned with a beautiful wood, called Beaulieu Grove, through which walks are made, terminating in seats, placed at the edge of abrupt declivities, and presenting in perspective, through openings in the trees, portions of the unbounded expanse seen from the pavilion. There are six of these openings, three of which comprehend perspective views of Monmouth, stretching between the Wye and the Monnow, in different positions. At oneof these seats, placed on a ledge of impending rocks, I looked down on a hanging wood, clothing the sides of the declivities, and sloping gradually to the Wye, which sweeps in a beautiful curve, from Dixon Church to the mouth of the Monnow; the town appears seated on its banks, and beyond the luxuriant and undulating swells of Monmouthshire, terminated by the Great and Little Skyrrid, the Black Mountains, and the Sugar Loaf, in all the variety of sublime and contrasted forms.”
It is not our intention to notice any of the numerous seats and mansions with which this delightful region abounds; but, leaving the tourist to make such easy discoveries for himself, we would hint to him that, while at Monmouth, he has an opportunity, without great expense of time or labour, of making himself acquainted with many interesting objects which ought to be considered as adjuncts of the tour of the Wye. Between this place and the Hay the river describes an irregular semicircle, of which the Monnow, for about half way, may be said to be the cord; and this latter stream, as the most important and beautiful tributary of the Wye,has a claim upon the pilgrim which should not be set aside.
This minor excursion, however, will not be complete without diverging a little to the left at the outset for the purpose of visiting White Castle; for this ruin is inseparably associated with the other reliques of baronial power presented by the route. It is within a short distance of Landeilo Cresseney on the Abergavenny road, where a farm will be pointed out to the traveller, called the Park, belonging to the duke of Beaufort, as the site of Old Court, formerly the residence of the valiant Sir David Gam, who, before the battle of Agincourt, reported to Henry V. that there were “enough of the enemy to be killed, enough to run away, and enough to be taken prisoners.” It is said that the children of this Welsh worthy were so numerous as to form a line extending from his house to the church. From Gladys, one of these children, the dukes of Beaufort and earls of Pembroke are descended. The farm alluded to was formerly the red deer park of Raglan Castle.
White Castle must have been constructed in the earliest period of the Norman era, if not beforethe conquest; and the massive ruins that still remain attest that it must have kept the country side in awe, as the abode of one of those fierce barons who were the prototypes of the giants and dragons of the romancers. This fortress, with those of Scenfrith and Grosmont on the banks of the Monnow, belonged to Brien Fitz Count, the Norman conqueror of the tract called Overwent, stretching from the Wye to Abergavenny; and they were afterwards seized by Henry III., and given by him to the celebrated Herbert de Burgh. Herbert resigned them anew to the crown, after being imprisoned and almost famished to death. Henry granted them to his son Edward Crouchback, and they afterwards fell to John of Gaunt, in the way we have related of Monmouth Castle, and became parcel of the duchy of Lancaster.
The ruins stand on the ridge of an eminence, surrounded by a moat. The walls, which are very massive, describe nearly an oval, and are defended by six round towers, not dividing the courtine in the usual way, but altogether extramural, and capable, therefore, of acting as independent fortresses, even after the inner court hadbeen taken. The principal entrance was protected by a portcullis and drawbridge, and by an immense barbican, greatly disproportioned to the size of the castle, on the opposite site of the moat. The name of the place was Castell Gwyn, White Castle, or Castell Blanch, all which mean the same thing in British, Saxon, and Norman.
In the time of James I., it is presented as “ruinous and in decay time out of mind,” and yet, during the reign of his immediate predecessor Elizabeth, it is described in the Worthines of Wales as “a loftie princely place.”
“Three castles fayre are in a goodly ground,Grosmont is one, on hill it builded was;Skenfrith the next, in valley it is found,The soyle about for pleasure there doth passe;Whit Castle is the third of worthy fame,The county there doth bear Whit Castle’s name,A stately seate, a loftie princely place,Whose beauties give the simple soyle some grace.”
“Three castles fayre are in a goodly ground,Grosmont is one, on hill it builded was;Skenfrith the next, in valley it is found,The soyle about for pleasure there doth passe;Whit Castle is the third of worthy fame,The county there doth bear Whit Castle’s name,A stately seate, a loftie princely place,Whose beauties give the simple soyle some grace.”
Scenfrith is not more than five miles from White Castle, but the access to it is only fit for pedestrians. The ruin stands on a secluded spot in the midst of hills, and overlooks the placidMonnow, the passage of which it was no doubt its duty to guard. It is a small fortress severely simple, and exhibiting all the marks of high antiquity. There are no traces of outworks; but the walls are flanked by five circular towers. About the middle of the area is a round tower, which was the keep or citadel. Scenfrith seems to have no history peculiarly its own; it was one of “the three castles,” changing hands with them apparently as a matter of course, and that was enough for its ambition.
The road from Scenfrith to Grosmont leads through Newcastle; but the remains of the fortress, from which this place derived its name, are barely discernible, and its history has for ever perished. In the absence of human associations, however, it is well provided with those of another kind. The mount, or barrow, under which its fragments are hidden, is the haunt of spirits; and an oak tree in the neighbourhood is so completely protected by such means, that an attempt even to lop a branch is sure to be punished by supernatural power.
The ruins of Grosmont Castle stand on an eminence near the Monnow, surrounded by adry moat, with barbican and other outworks. Its pointed arches declare it by far the youngest of the three sisters. The remains now left enclose only a small area; but walls and foundations may be traced, which show that its original size was really considerable, and this is confirmed by the presence of a spacious apartment, which no doubt formed the great baronial hall. In the reign of Henry III. it was invested by Llewellin, and the siege raised by the king; and, on another occasion, Henry retreated to Grosmont, where his troops were surprised by the Welsh as they slept in the trenches, and lost five hundred horses, besides baggage and treasure. The banks of the Monnow, from which the ruins rise, are precipitous, and tufted with oaks, and the whole scene is singularly picturesque. The hero of the village tradition is here John of Kent, or Guent, who built a bridge over the Monnow in a single night, by means of one of his familiar spirits. Many other stories as wonderful are related of him by the inhabitants; some say he was a monk, versed in the black art; others that he was a disciple of Owen Glendowr; and others that he was the great magician himself.
At Grosmont the line of the Monnow turns away to the west, towards its source among the Black Mountains; but the traveller who eschews more fatigue than is necessary will take the route by Craig-gate and Crickhowell, and so get into a road which will lead him along the Honddy, a tributary of the Monnow, to the magnificent ruins of Lanthony Abbey, the furthest object we propose to him in this subsidiary tour.
“Here it was, stranger, that the patron saintOf Cambria passed his age of penitence—A solitary man; and here he madeHis hermitage; the roots his food, his drinkOf Honddy’s mountain-stream. Perchance thy youthHas read with eager wonder how the knightOf Wales, in Ormandine’s enchanted bowers,Slept the long sleep: and if that in thy veinsFlows the pure blood of Britain, sure that bloodHas flowed with quicker impulse at the taleOf Dafydd’s deeds, when through the press of warHis gallant comrades followed his green crestTo conquests. Stranger! Hatterel’s mountain heights,And this fair vale of Cwias, and the streamOf Honddy, to thine after thoughts will riseMore grateful, thus associate with the nameOf Dafydd and the deeds of other days.”
“Here it was, stranger, that the patron saintOf Cambria passed his age of penitence—A solitary man; and here he madeHis hermitage; the roots his food, his drinkOf Honddy’s mountain-stream. Perchance thy youthHas read with eager wonder how the knightOf Wales, in Ormandine’s enchanted bowers,Slept the long sleep: and if that in thy veinsFlows the pure blood of Britain, sure that bloodHas flowed with quicker impulse at the taleOf Dafydd’s deeds, when through the press of warHis gallant comrades followed his green crestTo conquests. Stranger! Hatterel’s mountain heights,And this fair vale of Cwias, and the streamOf Honddy, to thine after thoughts will riseMore grateful, thus associate with the nameOf Dafydd and the deeds of other days.”
“After catching a transient view of the Honddy,” says archdeacon Coxe, “winding through a deep glen, at the foot of hills overspread withwood and sprinkled with white cottages, we proceeded along a hollow way, which deepened as we advanced, and was scarcely broad enough to admit the carriage. In this road, which, with more propriety might be termed a ditch, we heard the roar of the torrent beneath, but seldom enjoyed a view of the circumjacent scenery. We passed under a bridge thrown across the chasm, to preserve the communication with the fields on each side: this bridge was framed of the trunks of trees, and secured with side rails, to prevent the tottering passenger from falling in the abyss beneath. It brought to my recollection several bridges of similar construction, which I observed in Norway, which are likewise occasionally used as aqueducts, for the purposes of irrigation. Emerging from this gloomy way, we were struck with the romantic village of Cwnyoy, on the opposite bank of the Honddy, hanging on the sides of the abrupt cliff, under a perpendicular rock, broken into enormous fissures. We continued for some way between the torrent and the Gaer, and again plunged into a hollow road, where we were enclosed, and saw nothing but the overhanging hedgerows. . . .The abbey was built like a cathedral, in the shape of Roman crosses, and though of small dimensions, was well proportioned. The length, from the western door to the eastern extremity, is 210 feet; and the breadth, including two aisles, 50; the length of the transept, from north to south, 100. It was constructed soon after the introduction of the Gothic architecture, and before the disuse of the Norman, and is a regular composition of both styles. The whole roof, excepting a small fragment of the north aisle, is fallen down, and the building is extremely dilapidated. The nave alone exhibits a complete specimen of the original plan, and is separated on each side by the two aisles, by eight pointed arches, resting on piers of the simplest construction, which are divided from the upper tier of Norman arches by a straight band offascia. From the small fragment in the northern aisle, the roofs seem to have been vaulted and engroined, and the springing columns, by which it was supported, are still visible on the wall. Four bold arches, in the centre of the church, supported a square tower, two sides of which only remain. The ornamental archin the eastern window, which appears in the engraving of Mr. Wyndham’s Tour, and in that published by Hearne, has now fallen. The only vestiges of the choir are a part of the south wall, with a Norman door, that led into the side aisle, and the east end of the south wall; a bold Norman arch, leading from the transept into the southern aisle of the choir, still exists. The walls of the southern aisle are wholly dilapidated; and the side view of the two ranges of Gothic arches, stretching along the nave, is singularly picturesque; the outside wall of the northern aisle is entire, excepting a small portion of the western extremity; the windows of this part are wholly Norman, and make a grand appearance. In a word, the western side is most elegant; the northern side is most entire; the southern the most picturesque; the eastern the most magnificent.”