Chapter XI: Part 11

This beautiful seat--long prior to the time in question--had been the hereditary demesne of the <g>Botelers</g>, whose names appear in the earliest period of British history. The house is built in the Palladian style of architecture--a style for which the first Duke of <g>Beaufort</g> had acquired a taste at Vicenza; and when the time had arrived that a house, worthy of his illustrious ancestors, should be erected in this county, a decided preference was given to the Italian model. The principal front is of great length, having in its centre division a composite colonnade, surmounted by an attic, on which is sculptured the family arms. The wings of the mansion, extending considerably on each side, are terminated by Tuscan arches, leading to the offices and stables. Over each extremity of the centre is a cupola. The interior decorations of this palace are splendid, but still in good keeping, and evincing due regard to the classical taste in which the building itself originated.

The great dining or banquet hall is tastefully ornamented by wood carvings, from the designs of the celebrated Gibbons--all of elaborate execution, and presenting some of the finest specimens ever produced by that artist. The picture gallery--which the stranger will admire for its fine proportions and classical simplicity--presents a series of family portraits, with which, individually, are associated many pleasing, and some painful events and circumstances of the national history--

“Of lofty stem! the beautiful, the bold--
Names that still blazon the historic page!
Faintly, yet brightly, hath the painter told
Their worth and virtues to a latter age--
‘In faith inflexible;’ in beauty’s charms
Triumphant; and invincible in arms.”

<g>The park</g>, by which the mansion is encircled, is of great extent--more than nine miles in circumference; and although the natural scenery is comparatively tame, the walks and drives are exceedingly picturesque; and, to the practised eye of strangers, present many points of view which will linger on the memory long after other and more romantic scenes are forgotten.

“Here waving woods--a mass of living green--
With varied shade diversify the scene;
Flowers of all hues perfume the haunted dell,
Where streams descend, and bubbling fountains dwell;
Where busts of heroes glimmer through the trees,
And Nature’s music floats upon the breeze--
Such, as in olden time, was heard to wake
The slumbering echoes of the Larian lake;
Or soothed, with dulcet tones, the opal sea,
That clasps thy beauteous shore--Parthenopè!
Yet brighter rises--fairer sets the sun
Upon _thy_ classic shades--fair <g>Badminton</g>.”

With these particulars, which bring down the family history to comparatively modern times, we close this portion of the subject, and return to the scene of our illustrations--

<g>Raglan Castle.</g>--By those unacquainted with the subject, it has been often regretted that, when prosperity had again visited the family of Worcester, no effort was ever made to restore this castle to something of its original splendour. But the obstacles that opposed such a patriotic design were innumerable; and although the apartments at vast expense might have been rendered habitable, yet the parks, and the timber--the growth of centuries--having all been cut down and swept away in the Revolution, and nothing left but a comparatively bleak and uncultivated waste, the grand ornament of the manor was not to be replaced by the hand of art. Turrets might again multiply along the battlements, and splendid courts be rescued from the cumbrous ruins that had long hid and disfigured them; but trees must be raised by a slower process, and he who should replant the wasted demesne must do so, not for himself, but for the benefit of future generations.

But, in addition to other obstacles that need not here be noticed, the habits and manner of society had become so thoroughly changed after the Restoration, that a feudal stronghold was no longer indispensable for the security and comfort of great families. The military chief had now thrown aside his cumbrous mail, and entered into the every-day duties of civil life; and by improved intercourse with his fellow-men--confidence in the stability of government--a taste for agriculture, and love of national sports and pastimes, he felt his own happiness advanced by the new facilities of promoting that of the people around him. He found that to sleep soundly, required the aid of neither drawbridge nor portcullis. Public order and confidence once restored, domestic feuds, which had so long kept men strangers to one another--except in some field of conflict--were succeeded by family alliances, which united them by new ties of friendship and affection; and instead of mutual distrust and mutual defiance, the nobles of the land were gradually weaned back from an immoderate love of war to the arts of peace, and the practical illustration of loyalty and patriotism. The feudal castle, built chiefly for defence, was now of course a structure of which every one could perceive the comfortless inconvenience. A host of retainers was no longer required either for the safety or the baronial state of the mansion; a new form of society required new and more simple forms of accommodation; and the rural mansion, with its waving woods, gardens, orchards, farm-like offices, well-stocked preserves, and richly variegated lawns, succeeded those stern fortifications within which former generations had maintained their haughty independence--but which, in reality, was little better than “the freedom of a state prisoner”--

“For still the ramparts, tall and grim,
Were _barriers_ ’twixt the world and him!”

<g>Raglan</g> Castle, however--even while occupied as a feudal residence--possessed many advantages over its contemporaries. Its spacious courts, lofty halls, numerous suites of chambers, extensive battlements, ancient gardens, shady walks, and variegated prospects, were luxuries to which few, if any, of our domestic fortalices could lay claim. Within the walls of the castle, the riches of art, pictorial and sculptured, were scattered with taste and liberality on every object that could please the eye or amuse the fancy; while the skill and science illustrated in their arrangement improved the mind, and imparted a classic grace and colouring to the whole structure. Of its luxuries in this respect--in its library, its <g>Gallery</g> of paintings and sculpture--the description of an old poet may be quoted as not inapplicable to the scene presented by Raglan, at the commencement of the seventeenth century:--

“For the rich spoil of all the continents,
The boast of art and nature, there was brought;
Corinthian brass, Egyptian monuments,
With hieroglyphic sculptures all inwrought;
And Parian marbles, by Greek artists taught
To counterfeit the forms of heroes old,
And set before the eye of sober thought
Lycurgus, Homer, and Alcides bold--
All these and many more that may not here be told.”

But of all the artificial embellishments for which Raglan Castle was famed, its <g>Water-works</g>--on a most ingenious and expensive scale--are allowed to have formed a principal feature; and these Lord Herbert and the first Marquess appear to have brought to a degree of perfection previously unknown in this country. In their day--long before the name of Cromwell had inspired sentiments of either respect or alarm--Raglan Castle was probably as much distinguished in this respect amongst baronial mansions, as the “Palace of the Peak” among the aristocratic mansions of our own times. During the numerous fêtes celebrated within its gates in honour of the King’s visit, these water-works came in for a large share of royal admiration; and who can doubt that the rushing fountains of Raglan had, perhaps, as soothing an influence upon the distracted mind of the first <g>Charles</g>, as those of Tivoli are said to have had on that of Mecænas, whom the distracting cares of state, as tradition reports, had rendered sad and sleepless? Fresh from the field of Naseby, the sound of welcome that met King Charles at the gate of Raglan, must have been peculiarly grateful to _his_ ear, on which the shouts of loyalty were destined never to fall again with so much truth and fervour. As the equestrian group in the <g>Fountain Court</g> threw up its snowy column during the night, the spray may have reached the very casement of the King’s chamber, and invited that repose which unparalleled reverses had scared from his pillow. If, under the ordinary circumstances of royalty, “uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,” his must indeed have been “unrest,” from whose head the crown was so surely but insensibly falling.--These, however, are sentimental conjectures, with which the topographer has little or nothing to do; we turn, therefore, to the subject in question, the water-works of Raglan, and the hero of the scene, the first Marquess, of whom local history reports the following

<g>Anecdote.</g>--At the beginning of the Long Parliament, we are told, certain rustics of the neighbourhood, availing themselves of the prejudices excited against Lord Worcester on account of his creed, presented themselves one morning at the gate of Raglan, and in the name of Parliament demanded possession of the household arms. Apprised of their design, the noble owner met them at the White Gate; and after hearing them repeat the demand for arms, put the question, “Whether, seeing that they had come to disarm him and his servants, they intended also to follow up that act of violence by robbing him of his money and goods?” “No,” said the intruders; “we want your arms, and that only because you are publicly denounced as a recusant!” “Nay,” said his lordship; “I am indeed a peer of the realm, but I am no convicted recusant; and therefore the law cannot in reason take notice of any such thing, much less sanction this violent proceeding.”

Thus checked in their first attempt, the Marquess proceeded to warn them of the danger they had incurred by pressing an unlawful demand; and threatening them with serious consequences, they were well pleased to forego the prime object of their visit, and turning round prepared to retire without further parley. The Marquess, however, seeing their contrition, invited them to enter the gate of the castle, and amuse themselves, in a peaceable way, with a sight of whatever it contained. His design, however, was to punish them, in a manner they little expected, for the unnecessary alarm they had occasioned to the household.

Condescending to be his own cicerone in the case, he conducted the rustic band from one place to another, until--greatly wondering at everything they saw--they had traversed nearly the whole premises. At last, just when they had come to that part of the Castle Moat, over which a lofty bridge communicated with the Keep,[291] he invited them to pause, and examine the scene at leisure.

“Now, at this point,” says Bayly, “Lord Herbert had lately contrived certain water-works, which, when the several engines and wheels were set agoing, vast quantities of water through the hollow conveyances were to be let down from the top of the high tower.” All being ready for action, a signal from the Marquess brought down through these a deluge of cataracts, which, by their roaring, hissing, and foaming through the hollow tubes, produced such a hideous and deafening noise, that every echo from the buildings around was roused into imitation; while the visitors themselves, suddenly enveloped in a magic circle of roaring cataracts, knew not what to think, nor which way to turn. Describing the effect in his own graphic style, the Chaplain writes:--

“Such was the roaring, as if the mouth of hell had been thrown wide open, and all the devils had been conjured up, that the poor silly men stood so amazed, as if they had been half dead; and yet they saw nothing!”

At last, as the plot was contrived, up comes a man in great haste and affected trepidation; and staring wildly at the half-petrified rustics, cried out as he passed them--“Look to yourselves, my masters; look to yourselves; for, by’r Lady, the lions are all broke loose!” Hereupon the rustic “arms-searchers” fell into such a dancing fit of ague, that, in their attempts to escape the lions’ jaws, they tumbled so over one another as they scampered down stairs, that it was feared one half of them had broken their necks. Nor did they once look behind them, until they found themselves a full mile beyond the gates of the castle.

By this _ruse_, the Marquess completely succeeded in warding off any second party disposed to make a similar experiment. The demand for arms was not repeated; the roar of Worcester’s “lions” kept all intruders at bay; and the recent adventure, which had lost nothing by telling, did more for a time to insure the tranquillity of Raglan Castle, than could have been accomplished by a regiment of cavalry.

<g>View from the Keep.</g>--The Donjon Tower, where the above adventure occurred--and which has been already described in these pages--commands a magnificent view over the surrounding country, particularly to the south-west, where the landscape--broken into verdant masses of vegetation--gradually swells into a mountain range, which limits the view, and depicts its own bold outline on the distant horizon. In describing this view, we shall be as particular as our limits will permit; for it is one of the finest in the county. The ascent, as usual in such buildings, is by a tourniquet staircase, which opens at each of the five different stories into the ancient, and, in the present case, lofty apartments; to which, in cases of imminent danger, the family could retreat as to an inviolable sanctuary. But this was an extremity to which--so far as we are informed--none of the Worcester family were ever compelled to resort. So that there are no dramatic incidents associated with the tower, upon which a romantic story of siege and storm might be founded.

Of this view, however, all visitors of taste in landscape-painting speak in terms of admiration; and, having made the experiment on a beautiful evening in September, we are bound, from the enjoyment it afforded us, to recommend to all visitors a tour of the battlements, closing with a view from the top of the Keep. In this view, as shown in the accompanying engraving, is comprehended a wide panorama, enriched and embellished with all the characteristic features of English landscape, from the green valley and fertile wheat-field to the bleak pastoral uplands that partly enclose the scene. All the foreground is occupied by smiling cottages and cultivated farms, half buried, as Mr. Thomas[292] has described them, in the umbrageous and many-coloured foliage that enriches the scene, and in which the melancholy yew-tree is conspicuous. The appearance of the ruins in this bird’s-eye view is particularly striking. Every tower, arch, and battlement--here diverging into distinct form and outline, and there grouped in picturesque confusion--strike the spectator with mixed feelings of surprise and amazement; for it is only from this elevation that he is enabled to form any correct estimate of the beauty, variety, and extent of a building, that seems every way fitted to have been the residence of a regal court.

The following table, as recommended by Mr. Thomas,[293] will assist the curious visitor in discovering the various hills and landmarks which are generally visible from the Tower of Gwent. Ranging from east to south, the prominent features of the landscape appear in the following order: namely--the Kymin, a conical hill overlooking the town of Monmouth, and crowned with its pavilion. The next is Troy Park, the favourite seat of the Ducal family; Craig-y-Dorth, the scene of a famous battle between Henry IV. and Owen Glendower; then the Trellig range of hills, particularly Beacon Hill--so called

Raglan Castle.]

from being used as such in the late war during the threatened invasion. The next is

<g>Llanishen</g> Hill, with the church of St. Dionysius; and continuous with it rise the Devaudon and “New Church Hills,” opposite the Elms; the royal forest of Wentwood and Pen-y-Cae Mawr; Kemeys Firs, near to Caerleon, an elevation which commands a view of thirteen counties.[294]

In the south-west are seen the heights of Caerleon and Pen Twyn Barlwm; Gaer Vawr, on which is an ancient encampment--the largest in the county--with the site of a British town; Dial Carig; and Craig-y-Garcyd, two miles north-west of Usk, the site of a Roman camp. In the immediate foreground are the village and church of Raglan.

Westward appear Abersycan and the hills near Pontypool; the Blorenge hill, nearly two thousand feet high.[295] The opening which occurs in the range at this point, allows of a glimpse of the Breconshire hills at Crick Howell to Bwlch, within eight miles of the county town. The next in succession are--the Sugar Loaf, or Pen-y-Foel--so called from its conical shape--near Abergavenny, which crowns the summits of four converging hills, and rises eighteen hundred and fifty-two feet above the channel of the river Gavenny, which flows near its base.

The same view takes in the Hatteril Hills, or Black Mountains, crowned with Roman encampments; and near which is Oldcastle, once the residence of Lord Cobham, whose unhappy fate forms a painful page in the national history. From these hills the Monnow takes its source. Beneath lies the dark Vale of Ewias; and in its bosom are the ruins of Lanthony, a Cistercian Abbey of the twelfth century, which forms one of the illustrated subjects of this work. In the same direction is seen the Skyrrid Vawr, a lofty hill, seen in a volcanic fissure, which is supposed to have been thrown open during one of those remote convulsions of nature, of which in these districts the traces are so distinct and frequent.

Looking northward, the prominent objects are Campstone Hill, and the Craig, at the foot of which lie the picturesque remains of Grosmont Castle, which gives the title of Viscount to the Beaufort family. To these, but more northward, succeed Garway, Broad Oak, the Skinch-Cwm, and White Hills, which close the panorama from Raglan Keep.--We have been thus particular in designating the objects seen from the different points of view, in order that the tourists who annually visit this scene, may be in some degree prepared for the enjoyment which it is so well calculated to afford.

Descending from this lofty tower, where on festive occasions the family ensign still floats, the contrast between the Natural scenery, which has just faded from the spectator’s eye, and the iron-bound work of Art, forces itself upon the mind, and elicits a spontaneous burst of gratitude that, under the protecting banner of the English Constitution, the peasant is now as safe in his cottage as ever Baron of Raglan was in his Keep; that at last “right” is a match against “might,” and that the strong arm of Justice falls with impartial force on the culprit--whether he be robed in ermine, or clad in hodden grey.

“Yet <g>Barons</g> of the land! to you
A grateful people still retains
Proud memory of the swords ye drew--
The swords that broke a tyrant’s chains,
And planted Freedom on our plains!
For Freedom’s cradle was the <g>Keep</g>,
Her guardians were the Barons bold;
Who placed her temple on the steep,
And on her head a crown of gold;
And cried--‘The deed is done! Behold,
Henceforth our British land shall be
The glorious land of Liberty!’”

The visitor, as he crosses the rustic bridge that now spans the moat, will recall the interesting fact, that this very spot, so to speak, was the “birthplace” of the <g>Steam-engine</g>; a circumstance which, had Raglan no other claim to their notice, must entitle it to a more than cursory observation from all who have an hour to spend within its walls. The spot where it is believed to have been first placed by the inventor--then Lord Herbert--was in a building erected close under the wall of the Keep, where the drawbridge rose; but which has left few or no traces, in shape or dimensions, that are now visible above the moat. It is satisfactory, however, to know that the ground is stamped by tradition as the spot where the noble inventor, during his father’s lifetime, made his first experiments on the uses and powers of steam; and where he probably constructed that “model of his invention,” which he desired might be placed with him in his coffin.

If ancient warriors considered it an honourable distinction to be consigned to the tomb in a full suit of armour, it was excusable in one who had carried with him through life the remembrance of many wrongs, many sacrifices, to desire that, at least, the evidence of one bloodless triumph, one proof of scientific discovery, might accompany him at his final departure from this scene. It was the favourite child of his matured judgment, the result of those scientific researches, after which he had been straining for many years--the mighty consequences of which were dimly foreshadowed in his imagination. It was the reward and consolation of a life of suffering, as well as of science; and there is something both natural and touching in the wish that this model--the only mechanical evidence that told him “he had not lived in vain”--should be deposited with him in the grave.

Some of his commentators have affected to smile at this wish, as evincing a feeling of weakness and vanity on the part of Lord Worcester, incompatible with a philosophic mind. But in this they only allege what cannot be proved; and the charge falls harmless when applied to a man who was--what can never be disputed--one of the most ingenious and scientific men of his day. When Columbus--a schoolboy at Genoa--first rigged his tiny skiff, and sent it dancing over the blue waters, on which it moved like the shadow of coming events; no one foresaw that this mere toy would one day be succeeded by vessels, directed by the same master-pilot, that should throw open another continent to the old world. Nor, while Lord Worcester was squandering much time and treasure, as it was thought, in useless experiments in the Keep at Raglan, did any one imagine that these very experiments were preparing the way for that stupendous power, that should one day give incredible impulse to the arts of civilized life, cross the Atlantic, and traverse the Pacific, with a celerity that promises to unite in one bond of fellowship all the nations of the earth.

It can hardly be doubted that results similar to these haunted the imagination of Worcester, and kept up within him that spirit of discovery which animated him in all his labours, soothed him with the hope of being numbered among the benefactors of his country, and a prospect of that immortality which attends the favoured votaries of science. He may often have indulged the thought, though never embodied in words--and it was a remarkable prediction on the part of him who uttered it long afterwards--

“Soon shall thine arm, triumphant Steam, afar,
Drag the slow barge, and drive the flying car!”

It has been alleged by Desaguliers,[296] that Savary, the reputed inventor of the steam-engine, obtained his notions from the work already named, “The Century of Inventions;” and that, in order to conceal the original, he purchased all the Marquess’s books that could be had for money, and committed them to the flames. Of this, however, we have no direct proof, and Captain Savary must be acquitted; but it is quite certain that, as already mentioned, the original work is so rare, that not a copy is to be found except in the British Museum, and perhaps in the Beaufort Libraries at Troy House or Badminton Park. It is to be observed, however, that no contemporary record exists to illustrate or verify the Marquess’s description of the contrivance, which we presume to call a Steam-Engine; or to inform us where, and in what manner, it was carried into effect. Yet it is very evident from his account, that he had actually constructed and worked a machine that raised water by steam; an operation which was sufficient to produce on the minds of rustics, the effect ascribed to the “roaring of lions,” as mentioned in the preceding anecdote. The Marquess’s description, though short and obscure, would appear to favour the belief, that the force of his engine was derived solely from the _elasticity_ of steam; and that the condensation of steam by cold was no part of his contrivance, but the invention of Captain Savary, who, in 1696--nearly thirty years after the Marquess’s death--published an account of his machine in a small tract, entitled, “The Miners’ Friend.” In these engines--several of which he had erected previously--the alternate condensation and pressure of the steam took place in the same vessel into which the water was first raised from a lower reservoir, by the pressure of the atmosphere, and then expelled into a higher one by the elastic force of strong steam. Steam was thus employed merely to produce a vacuum, and to supply the strength that was applied, for a like effect, to the sucker or piston of an ordinary pump; and it was a great and important step to have discovered a method of bringing the air to act in this manner, by the application of heat to water, without the assistance of mechanical force.

To the simple incident which, during his confinement in the Tower of London, first set the warm and fertile imagination of the Marquess to work on this subject, we have already adverted; and must now turn from the curiosities of science, to such portions or features of Raglan Castle as still remain to be noticed.

<g>The Tilt-yard.</g>--The exact situation of this important adjunct to the Castle is still a question among the learned. By some, what is now called the Bowling-green is described as the ancient Tilting-ground. This conjecture, however, being rendered improbable by a careful examination of the ground, another has been thrown out, namely--the Grand Terrace on the north-west side of the Castle. But this locale is also disputed, particularly by one who is resident near the spot, and fully conversant with whatever has descended to our own times respecting the original plan of the Castle. His opinion is, that the ancient Tourney-field must have been on the outside of the present walls. An experienced officer of the Royal Engineers, who lately inspected the grounds, with the view of ascertaining the exact spot, confirms this opinion; and observes that the Tilt-yard occupied the space immediately outside of the present gate, and enclosed between the two moats which surrounded the gateway. This opinion will probably set the question at rest--particularly as it comes from a quarter well qualified to decide in such doubtful cases--and allow the Bowling-green to retain its hereditary fame and honours.[297]

In this enclosure it was usual for the lords of Raglan to exhibit those chivalrous fêtes which gave a character to the age. They brought into martial competition those aspirants of knightly fame, whose dexterity in the use of the lance was perfected by daily practice in the tourney. In these gorgeous pastimes, all that could fascinate the eye, and kindle admiration in the spectators, was brought into brilliant operation. Beauty, presiding at the lists, bestowed the palm on him who had disarmed his rival in the charge, and thus established his claim to knightly honours. Here, no doubt, many a lance has been couched, many a spear broken in rival combat; for one of the old lords, as already mentioned, was renowned as the best horseman of his day; and to support this character, joust and tournament may have been no unfrequent spectacles under the walls of Raglan.

It cannot be doubted that these martial exercises--conducted with admirable tact and courtesy--contributed, in a very special degree, to foster a spirit for military enterprise; to inculcate a high and chivalrous sense of honour; to form the young soldier to habits of fortitude and endurance which procured him the respect of his comrades, and future distinction in the field. A knight, thoroughly trained according to the system of feudal times, was a being whom we are accustomed to regard as the beau-ideal of a soldier; whose high bearing, indomitable courage, inflexible faith, unsullied honour, and loyal devotion to his “ladye love,” are themes on which poets and historians of the middle ages have lavished many glowing panegyrics.

For the education and discipline of those military aspirants, the grand palæstra was the tilt-yard. For the feudal tournament--descriptions of which are handed down to us by contemporaneous authors--no substitute is left in these times. Nothing could have been more animated and dazzling, when celebrated with all those details of martial pomp and ceremony--indispensable to such exhibitions--than a pageant, in which all who aspired to distinction were required to evince, in action, the pure and elevating principles of love, loyalty, and religion. For these, and many other reasons, impartial taste, as Gibbon observes, must prefer a Gothic tournament to the Olympic games of classic antiquity. Instead of the naked spectacles which corrupted the manners of the Greeks, the pompous decoration of the lists was crowned with the presence of chaste and highborn beauty, from whose fair hands the conqueror received the prize of his dexterity and courage.[298]--And with this flattering

contrast between the demoralizing festivals of Greece, and the high tone of refinement which characterised those of our Gothic forefathers, we pass on to such other points in the history of Raglan Castle as have been selected for illustration. In the woodcut introduced in the preceding page, the view is taken from the old

<g>Bowling-green</g>--erroneously supposed to have been the Tilt-yard. Directly opposite, in the centre, is the Donjon, or Tower of Gwent, so often described or otherwise referred to in these pages. On the left, where a massive gateway is seen, is the entrance to the <g>Fountain Court</g>, from which, as formerly noticed, a noble staircase conducts to the State apartments occupying the south side of the Castle. These are now in a state of utter dilapidation; but the framework itself affords abundant evidence--so far as architectural design and elaborate ornament can assist us in such a conclusion--of their original splendour.

“But now th’ unsightly brier grows,
Where once, in gilded bower,
The Queen of Beauty trained the rose--
Herself a fairer flower.
And damp the hearth, and cold the bed,
Where he who wore the crown,
With anxious heart, and aching head,
In slumber laid him down!
But brief the slumber, long the night--
For <g>Naseby’s</g> fatal day,
And sorrow’s still increasing weight,
Had scared his sleep away!”

There is a tradition, that the Bowling-green was King Charles’s favourite walk during his visit. It commands a varied and extensive prospect; the vegetation is vigorous; and the grassy carpet, though not in courtly trim, is still uninjured by plough or spade; and to sentimental tourists it seems the very spot--aided by the adjoining ruins--where, in the mirror of fancy, pictures of the olden day, the hues of domestic life as it passed in the fifteenth century, may be seen faithfully reflected.

“There is a spirit brooding o’er these walls,
That tells the records of a bygone day;
When, midst the splendour of thy courtly halls,
A pageant shone, whose gorgeous array,
Like Pleasure’s golden dream, has passed away;
Where Beauty’s smiles, and winning graces, lent
The witching radiance of their love-lit ray;
And from the scene a mingled strain was sent
Of music, laughter, festive song, and merriment.”--_Raglan._

The game of bowls was unknown to the ancients, and bowling-greens are said to have originated in England; where, in the course of time, every castle, and most houses of the nobility, had each a bowling-green attached to them. The “greens” were in some places narrow strips turfed over; but if covered with gravel, they were called “Bares.” Bowling-alleys were so called from being roofed over for play when the weather was unfavourable; and these appear to have been the usual appendages to taverns, and other places of public resort, particularly in towns. In an old inventory we have--“To Sparke of Bury, Roper, for vi. li. etc., of herryng line for the <g>Bowling-alley</g>, iij_s._ iv_d._” At the same place [Hengrave Hall] a bowling-alley occupied the space between the north side of the moat, having the convenience of an open corridor communicating with the Hall. Flat bowls were best for a close alley; “round biassed bowls” for open ground, of advantage; bowls, round as a ball, for green swarths which were plain and level; and of the latter description is the Bowling-green of <g>Raglan</g>, now under notice.

In a plate of “Strutt’s Sports,” two small cones are placed upright, at a distance from each other, and the players bowl at each alternately--the winner was he who could lay his bowl nearest to the mark. A small bowl or jack was also used as a mark; and only one bowl for each person--not two or three, as in the present day.[299] There were also ground-bowls, driven by a baton or mace through an arch. Half-bowl--so called because it was played with one half of a sphere--was prohibited by Edward the Fourth; and is the rolly-polly still practised in Herts.[300]

<g>Tennis-Court.</g>--The site of this is still a question in the topography of Raglan, although “the practice” cannot be doubted. Henry the Seventh--who was a prisoner in Raglan Castle--his son Henry, and Charles the Second, were all tennis players. In the sixteenth century, tennis-courts were quite common in England. They were divided by a line stretched in the middle; and the players, standing on either side with their rackets, had to receive and return the ball, which the rules of the game required to be struck over the line.[301]

Having already spoken of the <g>Tilt-field</g>, it is proper to remark that the jousts and tournaments, for which it was set apart, differed from one another in the following respects:--The latter consisted of parties of knights, engaged at the same time; the former of two persons only. The Joust was at first called the “Cane Game,” because hollow canes were used instead of lances. On some occasions the combatants with swords and lances were on foot, with a barrier of wood breast-high between them. Toys, made to imitate the joust, consisted of knights on horseback, who could be thrown off and unhorsed by the shock of their adversaries’ spears. Some had wheels, others not.

There were also boat-jousts, as represented in old paintings. The conqueror was he who could best turn aside the blow of his antagonist by one blow of his shield; and, at the same time, strike him with a lance in such a manner as to throw him over into the water, himself remaining unremoved from his station.[302]

* * * * *

<g>Tradition.</g>--On taking a final survey of these extensive ruins, and speculating on the style and date of several of their component parts, the difficulties that attend antiquarian decision--as great in the present day as in that of the first Marquess--remind us of the following anecdote:--

During an excursion in the vicinity, “We were told,” says his Chaplain, who relates the story, “that we should come to a place that was famous for a miracle, which, according to popular tradition, was wrought by the preaching of St. David to three thousand people.” To accommodate the saint, the ground on which he stood at the time, being too low to admit of his being advantageously seen and heard by the multitude, most obligingly rose up into a green knoll, carrying the saint with it, and there settled at a proper elevation. Whereupon <g>St. David</g>, pitching the cross on which he leant into the miraculous soil, and continuing his discourse, was distinctly heard and seen, much to their comfort and edification, by the whole assembly. This cross, at the time in question, “was yet standing, with some words, or letters, which time and Welsh weather had so defaced that they were no longer intelligible to vulgar eyes.” In memory, or rather in _proof_, of the miracle, the guardian saint had caused a church to be erected on the spot, and many were the pilgrims, during the long lapse of centuries, who had resorted to the <g>Cross</g>, and borne testimony to the celestial influence which still hovered round the spot; and in those who were already gifted with that “faith which can remove mountains,” produced the most wonderful changes.

This relation, working upon the Marquess’s mind, made him desirous to turn aside for a little, and inspect the hallowed ground in person. Having reached the churchyard, the cross was instantly visible; but in shape and ornament bearing all the marks of venerable antiquity. The inscription was almost obliterated; and among the gentlemen who attended the Marquess, it became an object of competition who should best decypher the original; though all that could be traced with any resemblance to an alphabet, were--<g>Crx</g> ... <g>Xti</g> ... <g>Dd</g>, and part of an <g>s</g>. The enigma that had puzzled so many others, however, appeared to his lordship of very easy solution. “Why,” said he to the gentlemen around him, “these letters are neither more nor less than fragments of three simple but sacred words; to wit--<g>Crux Christi Davidis</g>.” “Which we all wondered at,” says the Chaplain, “that no man could find out, though it afterwards appeared so plain. ‘Look ye now,’ said the Marquess; ‘I, without my spectacles, and ill eyes, could read it sooner than all you that needed none, and had good eyes. And mark me,’ he added, ‘it is not a good eye but a good <g>faith</g> that attains to a knowledge of such things; whilst you pore so much upon the letters you lose the meaning. Now, I will tell you how I came to find it out: I considered what had been told me, with the help whereof I came to understand what the words might signify; so that in this, I am sure, <g>tradition</g> was a means to help me to the understanding of the scripture.’”

The quaint simplicity of the last sentence--so full of meaning--and the lesson it inculcates regarding the authority of Traditions, illustrate in a quiet way the Marquess’s opinions as to those of the Church; and to antiquaries, the aid of tradition is thus very ingeniously recommended. Where authentic history falls short of the mark in researches, the traditions of a castle are entitled to consideration; and in the preceding account of Raglan, it has been our study to combine the two--though not in the sense recommended by the Marquess.

<g>Of Lord Herbert</g>, the following anecdote is recorded:--Some time after he was created Earl of Glamorgan, he received the King’s commission, as we have seen,[303] to proceed to Ireland, and there ascertain what could be done to strengthen the royal cause. Setting out on this expedition, and accompanied, as we are told, by a distinguished retinue of officers, knights, and gentlemen--“all of the red letter”--who had staked life and fortune on the enterprise, his lordship arrived at Caernarvon, where he was to embark for Ireland. Here they were detained a short time; and Glamorgan continuing to receive at his table the loyalist gentlemen of the place, the conversation turned upon some old prophecies, which it was thought were fast reaching their fulfilment. “And particularly one,” said a gentleman of the company. “It is an old Welsh prediction, and says--‘That in these latter times there should come to this very town a _magpie_, and build her nest in the royal crown; that next a _jackdaw_ should arrive, and beat off the magpie; then a _buzzard_ should appear on the same roost, and drive away the jackdaw; and then there should be seen no crown, but that of _thorns_, upon the King’s head! Farther, that there should come a band of men from a far country, and take away the thorns, and then the crown should appear again.’”

And thus far, as the townsmen averred, the prophecy had been accomplished; to wit--“Over the gate of Caernarvon Castle, there was a statue of King Edward the First, in full proportion, with a crown upon his head. Well, there did come a magpie, as every one could tell, which built, her nest in the said crown; then came a jackdaw that beat away the magpie, as foretold; and, in like manner, came at last a buzzard, and drove away the jackdaw.” “And all this,” said the worthy townsmen, “we assure your honour to be as true as Holy Writ.”

Hereupon the Earl of Glamorgan, having listened with deep interest to the recital, replied with much animation--“And why may not we, my gallant friends and comrades--why may not _we_ be that band of men from a far country, that shall take away these thorns from the King’s head--first, in type, and then in substance?” And thereupon all concluded themselves to be the men destined for that glorious service. They resolved that, on rising from table, they would satisfy their eyes with the sight, as their ears had already been with the relation, and lend willing and helping hands to disencumber the figure. Nothing else could be thought of; and dinner being ended, the Earl and his company sallied forth to the castle gate, resolved to signalize the day by an act of loyalty that would endear their names to posterity. Looking up, accordingly, with great eagerness to the royal badge, that seemed to implore their assistance, its appearance, sure enough, was in literal accordance with the disordered condition in which crowns are generally left by rival combatants. It was, in fact, quite a heart-breaking sight to see the diadem of England so covered and entangled with thorns, as if artificially platted round the King’s temples.

“Verily,” said one of the nobles present, “never hath mine eye beheld a sadder spectacle!” “The Earl himself, almost frantic with grief and indignation, straightway commanded the nest to be torn down; which was done with every mark of ignominy; and then the company began to breathe again. The materials composing the nest being examined with severe scrutiny, were found to be of white-thorn--a substance whereof never was bird known before to build her nest!”

A thing so unprecedented, both as regards the nest and the material[304] thereof, caused in the beholders a degree of amazement not to be expressed: in memorial whereof, every one present thrust a sprig of thorn in his hatband, and so wore it as a talisman. So far, “in type,” the thorns were removed from the King’s crown--but not “in substance.”

This adventure in Caernarvon being duly narrated to the Marquess at Raglan, he paused for a minute, and then inquired of those about him, “What was the nickname which the Roundheads were wont to give the Bishops?” But there were none about him who could even guess at his meaning; which he perceiving, said, “As I take it, they used to call the Bishops _Magpies_, whom they reproach for building their nests in the crown; then came the Presbyterian _Jackdaws_, and beat them out; and the next thing that you shall see will be the Independent _Buzzard_, which shall drive them away. And who shall come next, God only knows!”

To this solution, one with a Roman nose made answer: “I hope, my lord, that after these men have played their pranks sufficiently, no man hereafter will presume to build his nest in the crown; but I hope there will be a knot of good fellows that may case the King’s head from the pricking of those thorns, and clear the crown from those incumbrances.” Whereupon the Marquess, replying, asked the party who related the story, “What manner of crown it was--of what form--that was upon the King’s head?” The gentleman replied, “A _royal_ crown.” “Ay; but I mean,” rejoined my lord, “was it an open or an imperial crown?” “An _open_ one.” “Oh, then, that was the reason; the King’s crown was too open: had it been close at top, with the <g>Cross</g> overhead [a sly word for the Roman Catholic faith], such unlucky birds could never have come there to have built their nests; but one thing there is,” said he, in conclusion, “that I mislike in the story, namely, that after they had taken the thorns from the King’s head, they should afterwards wear them in their own hatbands.”[305] This was what no one present could explain to the Marquess’s satisfaction. And Lord Glamorgan’s negotiations in Ireland proved a failure to remove any “thorns from the royal crown.”--So much for a prophecy which shows the superstition and credulity of the times--a credulity which tainted even those who were charged with the highest offices of the state. Yet such--

“The superstitious, idle-headed eld
Received, and did deliver to our age.”

In those days, no fortress surrendered, no castle fell, no band of heroes was discomfited, but in fulfilment of some irresistible “prophecy.”--But here we must close the subject with a few words on the

<g>Outworks of Raglan.</g>--On this head little remains to be added. The details, given in the first volume of this work, respecting castles of the middle ages, preclude the necessity of our doing more than simply referring the reader to those passages in the description of Rochester and Arundel, which equally apply to Raglan. With respect to the outworks of the latter, a very brief notice may here suffice. By a practical eye the line of fortification may still be traced; and what remains of the original defences thrown up during the siege, shows very clearly that the military engineers employed were men whose skill and science did credit to the age. The vestiges of this lamentable war are mostly observable on the west side of the castle, where a strong bastion, projecting from the exterior wall of the fortification, forms a striking feature of the outworks, and a no less striking contrast with the luxuriant vegetation which now crowns, and almost conceals, these monuments of a barbarous and unnatural war. The point to which we allude, is that represented in the engraving, and entitled the “Avenue,” where the state apartments, unlatticed, roofless, and dilapidated, look down upon the green belt of trees and underwood that surround them with a melancholy aspect--but a melancholy that imparts feelings of thankfulness to the lovers of peace; for it tells very plainly that the devastating storm has long subsided, and that the sunshine of national prosperity and contentment has again visited the scene. The engines of war have disappeared; the ramparts, raised by men for the destruction of their fellow-men, are now razed to the ground. Nature--striving to throw her green mantle of oblivion over a scene from which she was so rudely banished by the violence of war--smiles at her own bloodless triumph, and peoples the over-arching groves with feathered tribes that sing no songs but those of peace and joy--

“Where once the steel-clad warrior trod,
Spring renews her verdant wreath;
And o’er the once ensanguined sod,
Flowers their mingled incense breathe.
Where the clang of clarion rose,
All is silence and repose;
Save where, in yonder <g>halls</g> of state,
The blackbird serenades his mate.”

We now proceed to a brief notice of the environs:[306]--

<g>Raglan</g> Church has little to interest the archæological inquirer beyond its antiquity--and its claim to this distinction is fully vindicated by its appearance. It consists of a nave, side aisles, a chancel, and a square embattled tower, which, with a few trees throwing their shadows over the burial-ground, forms a pleasing landmark in the distance. We had the pleasure of uniting in the Morning Service before leaving the village, and were much gratified by the religious demeanour which pervaded the congregation, and edified by the simple but impressive discourse with which the service was terminated.

Every feature seems stamped with the seal of antiquity; at first sight nothing seems to have been renewed, or removed in the sacred edifice, for at least two centuries. The great-great-grandfathers of the present race may have occupied the same pews, knelt at the same altar, and been addressed from the same pulpit; for the materials of which these are composed seem as if framed to survive kingdoms and empires.

Over the Raglan <g>Vault</g> in the chancel, already noticed, some rusty trophies of chivalry are suspended; and beneath repose several of the ancient lords by whom they were worn, or wielded. To the state of the monument itself, we have already alluded;[307] and judging from that of its prostrate or dislocated compartments, the sculpture must have been among the best specimens of its day, and employed on materials worthy to transmit the family names to posterity; for it is of rare and variegated marble, and appears to have been, according to monkish--but in contempt of all classical--taste, elaborately gilded.

It has been regretted by visitors, that a tomb, in which are deposited the remains of a nobleman--to whom the credit of a renowned invention unquestionably belongs--should not be restored, or at least repaired. By others, who regard it merely as an example of the Arts at that early period, it is only a broken link in the chain of sepulchral associations, which the skill and pencil of the artist can readily supply. There might, indeed, be an appearance of inconsistency--a want of harmony--in restoring the old family sepulchre, while the Castle itself is left to destruction. In certain conditions and situations, a fragment is more interesting than the original monument; and such, perhaps, is the only interest which that in question ought to excite. But with regard to the noble dust, we need only say--

“Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven;
Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave,
But not remembered in thy epitaph.”

The family residence, more immediately connected with that of Raglan, and to which, in the course of this article, special attention was directed in our notice of the royal visit to the Marquess of Worcester, is--

<g>Troy House.</g>--This name--which the King was so much pleased to use as a classical synonyme, in his acknowledgment of the fruits which it had furnished for the royal table while at Raglan--is so called from its situation on the river Trothy. The village of Mitchell Troy, about a mile and a half from Monmouth, contains a church dedicated to St. Michael; but the chief object to which the tourist’s eye is directed is the baronial mansion above-named. The house, which was already in high repute at the time of the King’s visit to Raglan, was built by Inigo Jones, who, in the suite of Christian IV. of Denmark, came back to England in 1606. In consequence of the patronage of James the First--and more particularly of his Queen--he was induced to settle in the metropolis; and hence originated the sacred, regal, and aristocratic edifices which bear his name. He was consequently appointed one of the commissioners for repairing St. Paul’s Cathedral; but this was not commenced until the spring of 1623. In the following reign he was much employed in preparing <g>Masques</g> for the entertainment of the court, and in building the Banqueting-house at Whitehall; but while thus engaged, he fell under the displeasure of Ben Jonson, who ridiculed him on the stage, and made him the subject of his epigrammatic muse. Jones realized a handsome fortune; but being a Roman Catholic, and a partisan of royalty, he suffered severely in the Civil War. At length, worn out with sorrow and physical sufferings, he died in July, 1652, leaving behind him many monuments of his genius, of which the subject under notice was not the least considerable.[308]

The fame of Troy House, however, depends less on the fact of its being the work of Inigo Jones, than upon the celebrity of its gardens--the fruits of which are still said to vie with those of tropical growth.[309] The excellence of these fruits, as already noticed, caused the King to remark, “That the Sovereign of the Planets had now changed the poles; and that Wales, the outcast of England’s fine gardens, had fairer and riper fruits than England’s valleys had in all her beds.” Sir Charles Somerset, sixth son of the fourth Earl of Worcester, married Elizabeth, daughter and heiress of Sir William Powel of Troy and <g>Llanpylt</g>, and added the influence of a considerable estate to that of the house of Worcester. It was from his gardens that the dessert for the royal table at Raglan was supplied.

In the picture gallery of Troy House is a large and beautiful portrait of the first Marquess of Worcester, by Sir Peter Lely. He is represented in an open field, seated before a tent, with the Marchioness and an infant daughter by her side, and wears a fancy dress, with a scarf over his right shoulder--the ribbon and badge of the Garter. The other portraits are those of the Ducal house of Beaufort, since its creation in 1682.

The situation of this hereditary mansion is too low to produce a striking feature in the landscape; but it commands very agreeable views of the town of Monmouth and its environs--with the rivers Monnow and Wye, whose waters unite and form one channel a short distance below Troy House.

<g>Grosmont</g>, from which the lords of Raglan take the rank of Viscount, is entitled to a brief notice in this place. In old writings it is spelt Grysmond, and contains a population of about eight hundred. The parish church, dedicated to St. Nicholas, is in the patronage of the Prince of Wales. In the churchyard, in the east wall of the chancel, is a monumental slab, said to cover the remains of Kent, or Gwent, a Franciscan monk, whose wonderful achievements in the early part of the fourteenth century[310] afford materials for many local traditions. According to one of these, the inhabitants are indebted to this good neighbourly monk for the bridge over the Monnow, on the road to Kentchurch in Herefordshire. It is called <g>John of Kent’s Bridge</g>, and is said to have been built in one night.