MANORBEER CASTLE, Pembrokeshire.

Manober turribus et propugnaculis erat eximium, ab occidente portum extensum a Circio et Barea, sub ipsis muralibus vivarium habens egregium tam sua venustate, quam aquarum profunditate conspicuum.”—Gyrald.

MANORBEER, another of those feudal strongholds with which the Principality abounds, possesses an additional interest as the birth-place of Giraldus Cambrensis, a sketch of whose life will be found in these pages.

The Castle, says Leland, “stands between two little hillettes”—the rocky bases of which repel the fury of a boisterous sea—and is very imposing as we come upon it, through an antiquated village of Flemish-looking houses, with singular chimneys—old as the Castle itself. It is called Manorbeer, or Maenor Byrr, from its being the manor of the Lords, or the mansion or manor of Byrr. It occupies the crest of a hill, which commands an extensive prospect of land and sea—the latter expanding its waves, until they are enclosed by the distant promontory of St. Gowan’s Head, and presenting at times a scene of great animation by the numerous vessels that glide along the coast. With its sheltered green park on one hand, a bare hill, with the slender tower of the old Norman church, on the other, and the whole mass as if suspended over the sea-beach that takes its angle and curve from the protruding rocks, the scene presents a combination of features that never fail to impress the stranger with mingled sentiments of picturesque beauty, solitude, and desolation.

The Castle of Manorbeer is a capacious Norman edifice of the first class, with massive towers, ponderous and lofty gates, high embattled walls with loopholes, but no windows in the exterior. It presents the characteristic features of a stronghold, whose chief, at once hated and feared, retained possession of his conquered manor by no better security than that of armed retainers—vassals and mercenaries, whose rights and sense of justice were measured by their swords.

The Gateway forms a grand and imposing feature; and through this, the principal entrance, we reach the interior Court, upon which the windows of the quadrangle open, and discover the apartments once occupied by the Baron and his family—who were thus barred in from the fair face of nature, and condemned to consider security and seclusion ample compensation for the sacrifice of other advantages. Here the justice was retributive; for he who plotted against the rights and liberties of his fellow-creatures, was little better than a prisoner in his own Castle; and, even among his sworn retainers, had often cause to suspect an assassin, and to be the reluctant slave of those fears which no doubling of his “tried sentinels” could exclude.

The Outworks of the Castle are extensive, and worthy appendages to what is considered “a perfect model of a Norman Baron’s residence,” the general characteristics of which were the following:—The simple rude tower of the Anglo-Saxon was enlarged and improved into what, taking its name from the builder, was called a Gundulph Keep, the entrance to which was at a great height. It was approached by a grand staircase, which went partly round two of the outside fronts of the Castle, and ended in a grand portal, before which was a drawbridge. The entrance was indispensably gradual. The first step in advance was the drawbridge, with a gate about the middle of the staircase, to arrive at the portal. Secondly, upon arriving at this point, you found it merely the entrance to a small annexed tower, the whole of which might be demolished without injury to the body of the Castle. This tower was for the use of the guard or sentinel. Within this tower was a sort of vestibule, and from thence was a second entrance—the real entrance to the Keep—through a second portal, placed in the thickness of the walls. Both the first and second portals were defended by a portcullis and double gates; so that there were three strong gates to be forced, and two portcullises to be destroyed, before even this entrance could be gained. In the thickness of the wall were two niches, in addition to the second portal, for wardours or sentinels. Besides this, there was the sally-port, another small entrance—ascended only by a movable ladder—which had no communication with the floor above, except by a “small winding staircase, that, from its narrowness and form, could easily be defended by one man, and to which additional security was provided by strong doors. On the

Ground floor—as already observed in this Castle—there were no windows, very few loopholes, and those so constructed that no missile thrown in could reach farther than the bottom of the arch. In the first floor there were no windows, but only loopholes within the tower itself. In the second floor the windows were so high that no weapon discharged into them could take effect, as it struck the arch of the window, and dropped harmless on the floor. On the side near the principal entrance there were no windows nor lights whatever—not even loopholes on the same side as the entrance and top of the staircase, because, if so placed, they would have been exposed to an enemy who, having once gained the steps, was attempting to force the portal. In

The Vestibule were large windows, because—as the author of the “Monumenta” supposes—that place was of no importance in a siege: but this opinion is considered by others to be untenable. A full command of view was here indispensable; and that this was the object may be inferred from the loopholes and windows being in an inverted order to what they are in the great one, and from the vestibule being immediately over the dungeon, so that, on any attempt at attack, escape or rescue would be detected. On the

Third story, which contained the state apartments, there was a gallery within the walls for the conveyance of orders. Mr. King, in his description of fortified buildings, has noticed a stone arch and false portals, a round angular tower, and an affected appearance of weakness in the small square tower and vestibule, as deceptions to mislead the enemy. But this, as observed by Fosbroke, is questionable; for such expedients do not occur in all castles of this era—and, had they been usual, must have been too well known to mislead the enemy. The lower apartments of these strongholds were reserved as storerooms for the use of the household and retainers.

The Dungeon, for the security of prisoners, was beneath the ground floor of the Keep, with which it communicated by a steep, dark, and narrow staircase. It had, of course, no windows nor loopholes; and the only aperture for the admission of air was a trap-door in the vestibule. A gutter carried off water from the floor, which, for this purpose, was made sloping towards it.

In the centre of the main walls were square wells, opening at bottom into arches, for the removal and distribution of stores to the upper apartments; and through the solid walls, also, flues were perforated for the conveyance of information by the voice. And these contrivances, with considerable improvements, continue in our own times to facilitate domestic intercourse in large establishments. In the centre of the partition wall—as seen at Rochester[394]—was a well for water—like the shaft of a coal pit—going from the bottom of the tower up to the very leads; and over every successive floor were small arches in the wall, forming a communication between the pipe of the well and the several apartments, so that, by means of a pulley, water could be distributed to every part of the Castle. The fireplaces in general were semicircular arches—as already shown and described in this work. The chimneys were in the form of a sloping cone, and terminated in loopholes. In some instances, as at Chepstow, they were covered internally with a hard glazing of cement, so as to prevent the accumulation and lodgment, and facilitate the removal, of fuliginous matter on the surface. The great chimney of Raglan Castle is a fine specimen of its kind, and so capacious as to appear like the perpendicular shaft of a deep well. The sinks are similar cones, but ending sideways, obliquely, to prevent the introduction of weapons. The great state apartments of the Castle consisted of three rooms: of these, the two principal ones were separated only by large arches, open at the top, so that there might be a free circulation of air; but under the arch was a partition wall, in later times of oak-panelling, for hanging the arras.

Such are a few of the characteristic features of a Norman fortress of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries—the model upon which the great castles of Wales were constructed by Edward the First—of which various particulars have been already given, and others will be found interspersed in subsequent portions of this work.

While wandering over the ruins of these dilapidated strongholds, of whose founders it may here be truly said—stat nominis umbra, we are humbled into a sense of the vain and fragile tenor by which all earthly possessions are held. “There the thistle shakes its lonely head; the moss whistles to the winds; the fox looks out from the windows, the rank grass of the wall waves round his head. Desolate is the dwelling of Moina; silence is in the house of her fathers.”

The Church of Manorbeer stands upon a high slope, fronting the south side of the Castle, and forms an interesting feature in the landscape. It is of Norman architecture, consisting of a tall square tower, chancel, and nave, divided by a row of massive and rudely-fashioned pillars. In the north side of the chancel is the monument of a Crusader—one of those enthusiastic knights, perhaps, who, having heard the preaching of Archbishop Baldwin, obeyed the summons and followed his lion-hearted Sovereign to the Holy Land. The effigy, reposing under a plain canopy, represents a warrior in ring and plate armour, the legs croisés, and the shield charged with the Barri arms. An effigy is also pointed out on the same side as that of Giraldus Cambrensis, or Barri, whose life and literary merits we have so often had occasion to notice. On the south side of the church are the remains of a “Chantry or Collegiate building,” erected probably by one of the Barri family, who, in 1092, joined Fitz-Hamon in his marauding enterprise against a native prince of the country, and afterwards, as we have seen, divided the conquered land, in Seigneuries, among his twelve knights and retainers.

The Founder of Manorbeer, so far as we have ascertained, does not make any distinct figure in history. He was one of the mass of Norman warriors, who, by their collective strength, personal courage, and vaulting ambition, made themselves alternately the dread and the support of Royalty; and who—each in his feudal demesne, within the gates of his own castle—were absolute sovereigns. And yet few will deny, that out of the accumulated evils, that like clouds collected and darkened for a time the apparent destiny of Wales, permanent good was elicited. In the words of a great poet:—

Wherever they were victorious in battle, there they built a stronghold. What was gained by violence, was to be held by the same means: while superior knowledge—superior tactics—the confidence of men accustomed to victory—of plausible designs and refined policy—were more than a match for mere “abettors in a good cause,” who could oppose nothing to the practised arms of the invader but the brute force of undisciplined hordes, whose indomitable love of home and freedom furnished them with courage to vindicate their country; and where that failed, with resolution to perish in the attempt. But we need not here enlarge upon the merits of a struggle which was protracted for centuries; and if at last the Norman made good his footing within the Welsh border, it was only after numerous checks and discomfitures, at a cost which no other nation could have incurred, and by a system of warfare in which success was often the result of accident, and where the laws of humanity were too often trampled under foot.

Giraldus Cambrensis was born at Manorbeer about the year 1146. He was sent on three different occasions to France, for the sake of improvement; and prosecuted his studies with so much diligence and success, as to give him an honourable position among the learned men of that early period. He obtained great reputation in rhetoric, which soon brought him into notice; and he was successively promoted, to a canonry in the cathedral of Hereford, and to the archdeaconry of Brecon. In the thirtieth year of his age he was elected, by the Chapter of St. David’s, bishop of that see; but the King’s approbation being withheld, he resolved to make another journey into France, and resume his studies in the University of Paris. On his return home, a few years afterwards, he found the whole country in a state of violent excitement, the canons and archdeacon of Menevia having joined with the inhabitants in driving out the bishop of that see, the administration of which was committed to Barri by the Archbishop of Canterbury. Under this authority he governed the see of St. David’s for three or four years, and made many reformations in it.

The next event in his life was the King’s command, in 1185, to attend the young Prince John into Ireland. Two years afterwards he returned to Wales, and employed most of his time in writing and revising his Topographia, to which, after putting the last hand, he proceeded to Oxford, and read it in a public audience of the University.[395] But the incident in his life which more particularly entitles him to a notice in this place, is the fact of his having accompanied Archbishop Baldwin in his progress through Wales, and with him, also, visited and described the principal features of the country.

The object of this progress—as above noticed—was to preach a crusade for the recovery of the Holy Land, for which the lion-hearted Richard, accompanied by the flower of his nobility, had already set out. Giraldus, smit with the same enthusiasm which he endeavoured to kindle in others, took up the Cross. On his departure for the Holy Land, the King left the chief government of the realm in the hands of William Longchamp, Bishop of Ely, and appointed Giraldus to act with him in the commission; but this could not be valid until he obtained a dispensation from the Pope’s legate for discontinuing the voyage.

In 1190, the Bishop of Ely and the Pope’s legate offered him the see of Bangor; and again, the following year, Prince John offered him the bishopric of Llandaff; both of which he declined, in hopes that the see of St. David’s, on which he had set his heart, might one day fall to his lot. The following year Girald retired from court; and, removing to Lincoln, wrote several works which bear his name. Here he continued until the death of Peter, Bishop of St. David’s, in 1198, when he was nominated to the vacant see, but rejected by Herbert, Archbishop of Canterbury, who sent a mandate to the Canons to elect and admit Geoffrey, Prior of Llanthony, for their bishop. Girald appealed to the Pope and the Canons by letter, entreating his Holiness to consecrate him. He took a journey to Rome, and there presented the letter in person. The Prior of Llanthony, furnished with letters from the Archbishop, did the same; and the Pope, seeing no likelihood of the cause being speedily determined, appointed Giraldus administrator, both in spiritualities and temporalities of the bishopric of St. David’s, and sent him home.

But in November, 1202, Giraldus was induced to make a third visit to Rome, where he continued until the 15th of April following; on which day the Pope gave a definitive sentence in the cause, and vacated the claims of both candidates. In the month of August, Giraldus returned home to solicit a new election; but in spite of the opposition, Geoffrey of Llanthony was elected by the Canons. Giraldus finding it useless to oppose the Archbishop, resigned all further pretensions to the see of St. David’s; and shortly after resigned the archdeaconry of Brecon to his nephew. The remainder of his life seems to have been spent in retirement, where he composed many works. But there is no evidence of his having taken an active part in any public affairs, political or ecclesiastical; and as he was subsequently offered the bishopric of St. David’s [in 1215], it was on conditions which compelled him to reject the very see to which he had so ardently aspired. The year of his death is not mentioned: but in 1220, as we ascertain from contemporary documents, he was still living.

With a very excusable partiality for his native place, he has transmitted to posterity the following description of its beauties, natural and artificial:—

“Maenorpyrr is distant about three miles from Penbroch. The Castle is excellently well defended by turrets and bulwarks. On the right hand a rivulet[396] of never-failing water flows through a valley, rendered sandy by the violence of the winds.”... “The country is well supplied with corn, seafish, and imported wines, and is tempered by a salubrious air. Demetia—or territory of St. David’s, with its seven cantreds—is the most beautiful as well as the most powerful district of Wales: Penbroch is the finest province of Demetia, and the place I have now described is the most delightful part of Penbroch. It is evident, therefore, that Maenorpyrr is the Paradise of all Wales.”