“Here, Romans, pause, and let the eye of wonder
Gaze on the solemn scene: behold yon oak
How stem it frowns, and with its broad brown arms
Chills 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 soul
As if the very genius of the place
Himself appeared, and with terrific tread
Stalked 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 round
To 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 altered by the introduction of a flattish under-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 was another 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 structure should 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 out for the king. In the following year it was ordered by the parliament to be “totally disgarrisoned and slighted,” 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 is buried 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 inhabitants more 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:—