For sylvan beauty and pastoral loveliness there is no fairer
countryside in all England than the broad domains of which the old
feudal stronghold of the Berkeleys is the centre. A mile to the
westward, the Severn’s broad flood sweeps slowly to the Bristol
Channel, only twenty miles away. Five miles or so to the eastward,
the last spurs of the Cotswold Hills sink to the level of the plain.
There is Stinchcomb Hill with its flat bare top dotted with the white
tents of its summer camp. Beautiful Dursley lies in a neighbouring
hollow. Nibley Knoll, where begin the beeches of Westridge Woods,
amid which are the earthworks of a Roman or Saxon fort, can be easily
distinguished by the column by Teulon that rises about one hundred feet
to commemorate the part William Tyndale took in the Reformation. The
little valleys running into these hills (locally called _bottoms_)
hear the call of spring long before the uplands, and along the margins
of their streams the snowdrops wake to nod graciously at their
reflected beauty; and then, before the Westridge Woods are clothed in
green, among the shielding trunks the primrose spreads a cloth of gold
above the last year’s leaves.
This whole district is thronged with historic memories; many a Norman
cross and church lies within a circuit of twelve miles’ radius.
Tortworth Court is close at hand. A few miles down across the river,
stands mighty Chepstow with the Wye washing her ruined walls; but
Berkeley is still intact and inhabited after seven centuries’ assault
by Time and civil strife. This is what renders Berkeley so remarkable
among English castles: it retains its ancient shell, and it has always
been owned and inhabited by a lineal descendant of the original owner
and builder.
The “Faire Vale of Berkeley” was always famous for its beauty and
fertility. William of Malmesbury describes it as “rich in corn,
productive in fruits ... enticing even the lazy to industry by the
prospect of a hundredfold return.... Neither has any county in England
more numerous or richer vineyards ... the wine is but little inferior
to that of France in sweetness.” The vineyards have long disappeared,
and the only vines now seen are those that beautify the walls and frame
the latticed casements of the cottages.
In Domesday Book, Berkeley appears as a royal demesne and borough: one
of the trees mentioned as a boundary of the hundred is still pointed
out in the Deer Park, and known as King William’s Oak. The Conqueror
gave the manor to Roger de Berkeley who erected the Keep about 1093. At
first this was only a military hold to keep the neighbourhood in check,
but buildings were gradually added till the castle assumed its present
form and the lord took up his residence here under Cœur de Lion, a
century later.
[Illustration: BERKELEY CASTLE, ENGLAND.]
Situated on a little rise, its strong battlements and towers look
across the tops of the beautiful trees that now shade its useless
moat, and the visitor enjoys a lovely view in every direction. Situated
midway between Gloucester and Bristol, the baron, predatory doubtless
as was the custom of the age, was in a fine position to levy toll
on merchant caravans that must pass through the vale. The form of
the castle is that of an irregular circle. The drawbridge leads to a
portcullised gateway in massive walls between two hexagonal towers. The
donjon is a square tower with turrets at the angles, built on higher
ground than the other constructions to dominate the rest of the castle.
It was erected in 1342. It is called Thorpe’s tower after the family
who held lands in tenure from the lord in return for acting as its
warders. The strong keep also still stands and shows the warder’s walk
fifty-eight feet in length, in perfect preservation. The dimensions of
the great hall are forty-eight by thirty-three feet. Its great chimney
is adorned with mediæval armour and antlers. The ancient kitchen and
other offices still exist, and so does the chapel with its Decorated
style of architecture. The sacrarium is of special interest since it is
divided into two floors, each with a separate entrance and fireplace,
the lower for the use of the retainers and the upper, or Oriel, for the
family and guests. The living-rooms contain many pictures by famous
masters, and some historic furniture. Among the latter, are some ebony
chairs and a table that Drake brought home from the Spanish Main.
Rich as the castle is in antiquarian remains, however, the interest
of these walls is multiplied a hundredfold by their historical
associations. When we take our stand on the summit of the Donjon and
look around and below us, what memories are evoked! When we recall
the history of the family, we cannot but marvel that the ancient line
is still in possession; for a turbulent race were the Berkeleys, and
often arrayed against the Crown. Roger de Berkeley joined Stephen
against the granddaughter of his father’s benefactor, and therefore
Henry Fitz-Empress confiscated his fief, and conferred it upon Robert
Fitz-Harding, Governor of Bristol, of royal Danish descent, at the
same time making him a baron. The latter’s son, however, married
Roger’s heiress, and thus the Berkeleys were restored in their son
Maurice. Robert, the son of the latter, joined the barons against John,
who seized the castle, and was there in the last year of his reign.
However, Robert’s brother Thomas managed to get it restored, in 1233,
by Henry III. Maurice, the son of Thomas, was in rebellion with Simon
de Montfort twenty-five years later, and, as a result, Berkeley was
again confiscated. His son Thomas served Edward I., the “Hammer of the
Scots,” so well in the North that he got back his ancestral honours
and domains and was summoned to Parliament as Baron Berkeley in 1295.
This lord and his son and grandson were rich and powerful, and all the
beautiful “Edwardian” stone-work is of this period. Much of the older
work was cleared away for the new buildings of the loveliest style of
English Gothic. But what a deed of violence was perpetrated in the
narrow chamber in the adjoining building below us! We have reached the
dark memory that above all else enshrouds Berkeley. The effeminate king
who lost Bannockburn and handed over the reins of government to the
unworthy Gaveston and De Spencers, decimating the English baronage at
their behests, and revelling in Oriental vice and ferocity, finally
succumbed to his wife and her paramour at Kenilworth early in 1327.
The Lord of Berkeley now was Thomas, the grandson of the favourite of
Edward I. To him and to two knights named John Maltravers and Thomas
de Gournay was entrusted the custody of the dethroned Edward II. The
two latter removed their captive secretly and treated him with every
indignity: they crowned him with a crown of hay and shaved him with
ditch-water along the way. A circumstantial account tells how he said
therefore he would supply his own hot water with tears! On Palm Sunday,
Baron Thomas received him kindly and treated him with consideration,
whereupon he received a reprimand from Queen Isabel, bidding him
“use no familiarity with Edward, the late king;” and so, fearing for
himself, he “departed with heavy cheere, perceiving what violence was
intended.” Lovely as was the view from his window, the long summer from
April to September brought no joy to the prisoner. The _Berkeley
MS._ says that “this poor, foolish king did nothing but lament for
his wife, singing love-songs in a low voice and grieving that she would
neither see him nor permit his son or any of his relatives to come near
him. The Queen was afraid that the Church would compel her to live
with him again, and therefore urged his death.” At first, his keepers
tried to ruin his health by piling putrid carcases in the pit below his
chamber; then they kept him half-starved and half-clad. Yet the Queen
reproved them for excessive clemency! Marlowe quotes the historian in
noble verse when Edward complains:
“In mire and puddle I have stood
This ten days’ space; and, lest that I should sleep,
One plays continually upon a drum.
They give me bread and water, being a king,
So that, for want of sleep and sustenance,
My mind’s distempered and my body’s numbed....
O, would my blood dropped out from every vein,
As doth this water from my tattered robes.
Tell Isabel, the queen, I looked not thus,
When for her sake I ran at tilt in France,
And there unhorsed the Duke of Cleremont!”
The night of September 22nd heard the shrieks of the tortured king:
that they reached the ears of people in the town, who crossed
themselves and prayed for the passing soul, is doubtless a statement
due to the historian’s sympathy, for the walls are thick. In the
morning, the citizens of Bristol were called to gaze upon the distorted
features of their dead king, who otherwise bore no sign of violence.
All were afraid to bury Isabel’s victim, till the Abbot of Gloucester
bravely undertook the task. The next year Isabel and Mortimer actually
visited Berkeley, and were entertained by its wealthy lord. The latter
kept twelve knights to wait upon him, each of whom was served by two
servants and a page. He also had twenty-four esquires, each of whom
had a horse and an attendant. There were about three hundred in his
household who fed at his board. The Lord of Berkeley was a mighty
baron in those days. The blame had to be shifted, however, and so he
was brought to an irregular trial before twelve knights, instead of his
peers: he was finally acquitted of complicity in the crime in 1330.
In that year, his son and successor, Maurice, was born. He fought in
Granada and Gascony, and was so desperately wounded at Poictiers in
1366 that he died at Berkeley two years later. His son Thomas was also
a warrior who unfurled his banner in Spain, France and Scotland. He
entertained Richard II. at Berkeley in 1386, but this did not prevent
his voting for Richard’s deposition in favour of Bolingbroke in 1399.
The direct male line fails soon after this and the Berkeley heiress
marries a Talbot. A collateral branch comes in and the descendants have
rival claims and start what is usually called the longest law-suit on
record: it is not finally settled till 1609. In the course of this
suit, occurs the last battle that was fought between independent
noblemen in England. Lord Lisle of Wotton, the grandson of the great
Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, claims Berkeley which is held by William,
a fiery youth of nineteen. (Wotton-under-Edge lies under the edge of
the hills three miles beyond Nibley Knoll.) On March 22nd, 1470, the
Viscount sends a challenge to Berkeley to settle all differences by
combat: it is eagerly accepted. There was bustle in the castle that
night. The meeting was at Nibley Green. Long Lane still preserves
memories of how the men of Berkeley chased the men of Wotton into the
churchyard till the grass was heavy with crimson dew. Berkeley far
outnumbered Lisle; moreover the latter were taken as they were marching
unawares, and an arrow entered their leader’s open visor and a dagger
afterwards finished him. The victors proceed to Wotton and sacked
Lisle’s house. His widow gave premature birth to a dead son amid the
carnage, and the Lisle claims were ended. The Wars of the Roses were
still raging and a little affair of that kind passed unnoticed.
Margaret of Anjon rested once at Berkeley in her campaigning. Richard
III. created Viscount Berkeley an Earl, but, true to his race, he went
over. When Henry of Richmond landed at Milford Haven, Berkeley joined
him and, to spite his heir, made over to him his castle and domains.
After Bosworth, Henry created him a Marquess, but his avarice induced
him to keep the property. In default of heirs male, however, on the
death of Edward II., it lapsed to the Berkeley heirs again. The new
lord of Berkeley was a mighty hunter and delighted in his beautiful
deer park. On one of her progresses, Good Queen Bess paid him a visit.
He happened to be absent, but his venison proved useful in victualling
the courtly following. Everybody knows what it cost to entertain that
locust-swarm! When Lord Henry returned, he was greatly enraged at the
havoc, and ordered his park to be disparked rather than let it be a
future temptation. Elizabeth heard of this and sent him a quiet hint
to “beware of his words and actions, for the Earl of Leicester greatly
desired the castle for himself!” One of the rooms in this “Naboth’s
vineyard” is still called Queen Elizabeth’s room. Other royal guests
who have visited the castle are George IV. and William IV.
The Earls of Berkeley no longer own their ancestral home, in fact they
maintain that the title is not rightfully theirs. This celebrated
romance of the peerage started with the fifth Earl. Some of his
children were born before the only marriage he could prove to the
satisfaction of the House of Lords, though he maintained that he and
the lady had previously gone through a secret marriage ceremony. The
Earl left the castle and estates to his eldest son, and the Crown
created him Baron Fitzhardinge. The late Earl of Berkeley never took
his seat in the House of Lords nor assumed his title in any way since
the decision that set the baton sinister in the escutcheon of the elder
sons of the fifth Earl.