The abbey originated in a small chapel, built here as a hermitage by St. David, the titular saint of Wales; but for the account of its foundation and history, we must refer the reader to Mr. Coxe’s Tour, Dugdale’s Monasticon, or the History of Gloucestershire.
Raglan Castle—Description of the ruins—History of the Castle—The old lord of Raglan—Surrender of the fortress—Charles I. and his host—Royal weakness—The pigeons of Raglan—Death of the old lord—Origin of the steam Engine.
That magnificent specimen of what is called a castellated mansion, Raglan castle, is so interesting in itself, and at so convenient a distance from the river, that it forms an indispensable part of the tour of the Wye. The ruins stand upon an eminence, near the village of the same name, eight miles from Monmouth, and cover, with their massive forms, an area of one-third part of a mile in circumference. This includes the citadel, which was not contained within the fortress as usual, but formed a separate building, connectedwith it by a drawbridge. It was called Melyn y Gwent, or the Yellow Tower of Gwent. It was of a hexagon form, five stories high, defended by bastions and a moat, and surrounded with raised walks or terraces. The building was faced with hewn stone, of a greyish colour, and from its smoothness resembling polished marble.
The earliest style of this edifice dates only from the reign of Henry V.; but the greater part was probably added afterwards, when, by the marriage of Sir Charles Somerset into the house of Herbert, and the acquisition then of the lordships of Raglan, Chepstow, and Gower, the house of Beaufort became one of the greatest in the county. The building is of a description peculiar to that period in the history of Monmouthshire, when the barons had superadded to their warlike habits those of modern luxury and magnificence. Externally, the place has evidently been a strong fortress; internally a splendid mansion. The ascent to the state apartment is both noble and well contrived; while the circular staircase in the hexagon citadel, the windows of the great hall, and the chimney-pieces, with their light and elegant cornices,are in the style of modern edifices. The kitchen and butlery were connected with the hall, and indicate, by their construction, the princely hospitality of the lords of Raglan. All the rooms had chimneys, those of each floor distinct from the rest. The cellars were extensive—so were the subterranean passages and dungeons. The architecture is various, some parts of the most elegant gothic, some heavy and unwieldy, representing at once the two distinct characters of luxury and war. The southern declivity, towards the village, was laid out in fish-ponds; three parks of considerable extent supplied game and recreation; and the proprietor of this unique mansion was able, through the fertility of his surrounding estates, to maintain a garrison of eight hundred men.
“Of these noble ruins,” says Mr. Coxe, “the grand entrance is the most magnificent; it is formed by a gothic portal, flanked with two massive towers: the one beautifully tufted with ivy, the second so entirely covered, that not a single stone is visible. At a small distance, on the right, appears a third tower, lower in height, almost wholly ivyless, and with its machicolatedsummit, presenting a highly picturesque appearance. The porch, which still contains the grooves for two portcullises, leads into the first court, once paved, but now covered with turf, and sprinkled with shrubs. The eastern and northern sides contained a range of culinary offices, of which the kitchen is remarkable for the size of the fire-place; the southern side seems to have formed a grand suite of apartments, and the great bow window of the hall, at the south-western extremity of the court, is finely canopied with ivy. The stately hall which divides the two courts, and seems to have been built in the days of queen Elizabeth, contains the vestiges of ancient hospitality and splendour: the ceiling is fallen down, but the walls still remain; it is sixty feet in length, twenty-seven in breadth, and was the great banqueting-room of the castle. At the extremity are placed the arms of the first marquis of Worcester, sculptured in stone, and surrounded with the garter: underneath is the family motto, which fully marks the character of the noble proprietor, who defended the castle with such spirit from the parliamentary army: ‘Mutarevel timere sperno;’ ‘I scorn either to change or to fear.’ The fire-place deserves to be noticed for its remarkable size, and the singular structure of the chimney. The hall is occasionally used as a fives court.“To the north of the hall are ranges of offices, which appear to have been butteries; beyond are the traces of splendid apartments. In the walls above I observed two chimney-pieces, in high preservation, neatly ornamented with a light frieze and cornice: the stone frames of the windows are likewise in many parts, particularly in the south front, distinguished with mouldings and other decorations, which Mr. Windham justly observes, would not be considered inelegant, even at present.“The western door of the hall led into the chapel, which is now dilapidated; but its situation is marked by some of the flying columns, rising from grotesque heads, which supported the roof. At the upper end are two rude whole-length figures, in stone, several yards above the ground, recently discovered by Mr. Heath, under the thick clusters of ivy. Beyond the foundations of the chapel is the area of the secondcourt, skirted with a range of buildings, which, at the time of the siege, formed the barracks of the garrison. Not the smallest traces remain of the marble fountain, which once occupied the centre of the area, and was ornamented with the statue of a white horse.“Most of the apartments of this splendid abode were of grand dimensions, and the communications easy and convenient. The strength of the walls is still so great, that if the parts still standing were roofed and floored, it might even now be formed into a magnificent and commodious habitation.”
“Of these noble ruins,” says Mr. Coxe, “the grand entrance is the most magnificent; it is formed by a gothic portal, flanked with two massive towers: the one beautifully tufted with ivy, the second so entirely covered, that not a single stone is visible. At a small distance, on the right, appears a third tower, lower in height, almost wholly ivyless, and with its machicolatedsummit, presenting a highly picturesque appearance. The porch, which still contains the grooves for two portcullises, leads into the first court, once paved, but now covered with turf, and sprinkled with shrubs. The eastern and northern sides contained a range of culinary offices, of which the kitchen is remarkable for the size of the fire-place; the southern side seems to have formed a grand suite of apartments, and the great bow window of the hall, at the south-western extremity of the court, is finely canopied with ivy. The stately hall which divides the two courts, and seems to have been built in the days of queen Elizabeth, contains the vestiges of ancient hospitality and splendour: the ceiling is fallen down, but the walls still remain; it is sixty feet in length, twenty-seven in breadth, and was the great banqueting-room of the castle. At the extremity are placed the arms of the first marquis of Worcester, sculptured in stone, and surrounded with the garter: underneath is the family motto, which fully marks the character of the noble proprietor, who defended the castle with such spirit from the parliamentary army: ‘Mutarevel timere sperno;’ ‘I scorn either to change or to fear.’ The fire-place deserves to be noticed for its remarkable size, and the singular structure of the chimney. The hall is occasionally used as a fives court.
“To the north of the hall are ranges of offices, which appear to have been butteries; beyond are the traces of splendid apartments. In the walls above I observed two chimney-pieces, in high preservation, neatly ornamented with a light frieze and cornice: the stone frames of the windows are likewise in many parts, particularly in the south front, distinguished with mouldings and other decorations, which Mr. Windham justly observes, would not be considered inelegant, even at present.
“The western door of the hall led into the chapel, which is now dilapidated; but its situation is marked by some of the flying columns, rising from grotesque heads, which supported the roof. At the upper end are two rude whole-length figures, in stone, several yards above the ground, recently discovered by Mr. Heath, under the thick clusters of ivy. Beyond the foundations of the chapel is the area of the secondcourt, skirted with a range of buildings, which, at the time of the siege, formed the barracks of the garrison. Not the smallest traces remain of the marble fountain, which once occupied the centre of the area, and was ornamented with the statue of a white horse.
“Most of the apartments of this splendid abode were of grand dimensions, and the communications easy and convenient. The strength of the walls is still so great, that if the parts still standing were roofed and floored, it might even now be formed into a magnificent and commodious habitation.”
The fountain mentioned above was called the White Horse, from the figure from which the water played. In a note supplied by Dr. Griffin to Williams’s History of Monmouthshire, it is said that the people who showed the ruins used to exhibit part of the body of ablackhorse which stood in the middle of the water which supplied the castle. The cause of the change of colour was that during the siege the parliamentarians poisoned the fountain! The horse, it seems, absorbed the fatal drug, and not only became black, but when struck by any hard substance, emitted a fetid smell.It is difficult to trace the early history of the castle, from the contradictory accounts given of it by Dugdale; but in the time of Henry V. the proprietor was Sir William ap Thomas, second son of Sir Thomas ap Guillim, from whom the earls of Pembroke, Powis, and Caernarvon are descended in the male, and the dukes of Beaufort in the female line. William, the eldest son of this Sir William, was created by Edward IV. lord of Raglan, Chepstow, and Gower; and, in obedience to the royal command, he discontinued the Welsh custom of changing the surname at every descent, and took Herbert as his family name, in honour of his ancestor Herbert Fitzhenry, chamberlain to Henry I. Richard was for some time detained at Raglan in the custody of lord Herbert, who was a distinguished partisan of the house of York, and who at length died on the scaffold, at Banbury, in this cause, having previously been created earl of Pembroke. His son, by the desire of Edward IV., yielded this title to the Prince of Wales; and, dying without male issue, the castle of Raglan, and many other noble possessions devolved upon his daughter Elizabeth. The heiress married SirCharles Somerset, natural son of the duke of Somerset, who lost his head in 1463 for his devotion to the house of Lancaster; and he, a brave soldier, a prudent statesman, and an accomplished courtier, was created by Henry VIII., for his services, earl of Worcester.
It is probable that the castle of Raglan, owed a great part of its magnificence to him. In the following reign, it is thus mentioned in the Worthines of Wales.
“Not far from thence, a famous castle fine,That Raggland hight, stands moted almost round,Made of freestone, upright, straight as line,Whose workmanship in beauty doth abound.“The curious knots, wrought all with edged toole,The stately tower that looks ore pond and poole,The fountain trim, that runs both day and night,Doth yield in showe a rare and noble sight.”
“Not far from thence, a famous castle fine,That Raggland hight, stands moted almost round,Made of freestone, upright, straight as line,Whose workmanship in beauty doth abound.
“The curious knots, wrought all with edged toole,The stately tower that looks ore pond and poole,The fountain trim, that runs both day and night,Doth yield in showe a rare and noble sight.”
Four earls of Worcester held almost royal state in this princely abode; but the fifth earl and first marquis was destined to witness its fall. He was one of the most devoted friends ofCharles I.; and may be said to have defended not only his own mansion but all Monmouthshire from the parliamentary arms.
The defeat of the royal army at Marston Moor was the signal for the fall of Monmouth and of Raglan Castle. Prince Rupert immediately directed his attention to the marches of Wales, and ordered colonel Gerard to force his way through Gloucestershire by the Aust passage: but the latter was opposed by Massey, and defeated. Monmouth soon after fell into the hands of Massey by the treachery of Kirle, lieutenant-colonel to Holtby, governor of the town for Charles; and lord Worcester at Raglan, in great alarm, demanded the assistance of prince Rupert’s cavalry.
Throgmorton, on whom the command of Monmouth devolved, set out with a party of three hundred horse to surprise the castle of Chepstow, and in his absence the following brilliant exploit was performed by the royalists, which we give in the words of Sanderson. “The cavaliers from Ragland and Godridg, about break of day, lodg themselves undiscovered behind a rising ground near Monmouth, andviewing all advantages, fourty of them come up to the higher side of the town towards Hereford, having a sloping bank cast up of good height, with a ditch, over which they pass, mount the bank, and climbed over, and so got to the next part, fell upon the guard, some killed, other fled, and with an iron bar break the post chain, force the gate, and open it to the horse, who ride up with full career to the main guard, seized them, and took the rest in their beds, with colonel Broughton, four captains, as many lieutenants and ensigns, the committee, all the common souldiers, two hundred prisoners, two sakers, a drake, nine hammerguns, ammunition and provision, and five hundred muskets.”
But the fate of the war was now determined, and after the battle of Naseby Charles was unable to meet the parliamentarians in a general engagement, and retired to the castle of Raglan. Thence he secretly departed to commit himself to the Scottish army; and the marquis of Worcester was besieged at Raglan for six months. The old lord, who was then eighty-four years of age, on hearing of the landing of his son lord Glamorgan with some Irish forces, sent the followingbold letter to the parliamentarian committee at Chepstow.
“Having notice that you are not ignorant of my son’s landing with the Irish forces, I am so much of a father, and tender of the whole country’s ruin, that if this coming to this place be hasted by the occasion of your answer, you and not I will be the occasion of the country’s curse. You have taken from me my rents and livelihood, for which if you give unbelied reparations, I shall be glad to live a quiet neighbour amongst you; if otherwise, you will force me to what my own nature hath no liking of, and yet justifiable by the word of God, and law of nature. I expect your answer by the messenger, as you give occasion.“H. Worcester.“Raglan, May 29, 1646.”
“Having notice that you are not ignorant of my son’s landing with the Irish forces, I am so much of a father, and tender of the whole country’s ruin, that if this coming to this place be hasted by the occasion of your answer, you and not I will be the occasion of the country’s curse. You have taken from me my rents and livelihood, for which if you give unbelied reparations, I shall be glad to live a quiet neighbour amongst you; if otherwise, you will force me to what my own nature hath no liking of, and yet justifiable by the word of God, and law of nature. I expect your answer by the messenger, as you give occasion.
“H. Worcester.
“Raglan, May 29, 1646.”
This brought on a long and fruitless negotiation. The old lord saw that even the master of Raglan was not the master of circumstances; and, at length, it was agreed that the castle should be delivered up. “Nobly done,” says Sanderson, “to hold out the last garrison forthe king in England or Wales.” In the articles of surrender, however, the soldierly honour of the marquis was spared as much as possible, it being agreed “that all the officers, gentlemen, and soldiers, with all other persons there, should march out with their horses and arms, colours flying, drums beating, trumpets sounding, matches lighted at both ends, bullets in mouth, each soldier twelve charges of powder, matches and bullets proportionable, bag and baggage, to any place within two miles of any garrison where the marquis shall mention.”
Soon after this surrender, the castle was demolished, and the timber cut down in the parks, the loss to the family, in personal property, without including the forfeiture and an estate of twenty thousand pounds a year, being estimated at upwards of a hundred thousand pounds. The Chase of Wentwood, including Chepstow Castle and Park, was immediately bestowed upon Oliver Cromwell; who appears also to refer, in the settlements upon his family to other estates in Monmouthshire, parcels of the noble property of the marquis of Worcester.
In a publication of that day, entitled “WittyApothegms delivered at several times, and on several occasions, by king James I., king Charles I., and the marquis of Worcester,” several anecdotes are given which throw a strong light upon the character of this fine old lord of Raglan.
“In the midst of the civil commotions, Charles I. made several visits to Raglan Castle, and was entertained with becoming magnificence. The marquis not only declined all offers of remuneration, but also advanced large sums; and when the king thanked him for the loans, replied, Sir, I had your word for the money, but I never thought I should be so soon repayed; for now you have given me thanks, I have all I looked for.” At another time, the king, apprehensive lest the stores of the garrison should be consumed by his suite, empowered him to exact from the country such provisions as were necessary for his maintainance and recruit, “I humbly thank your majesty,” he said, “but my castle will not stand long if it leans on the country; I had rather be brought to a morsel of bread, than any morsels of bread should be brought me to entertain your majesty.”
The following conversation shows the amiable weakness of Charles’s humanity.
Sir Trevor Williams, and four other principal gentlemen of Monmouthshire, being arrested for disloyalty, and conducted to Abergavenny, the king was advised to order them to an immediate trial, which must have ended in their conviction; but Charles, moved by the tears and protestations of Trevor Williams, suffered him to be released, on bail, and committed the others only to a temporary confinement. “The king told the marquess what he had done, and that when he saw them speak so honestly, he could not but give some credit to their words, so seconded by tears, and withal told the marquess that he had onely sent them to prison; whereupon the marquess said, what to do? to poyson that garrison? Sir, you should have done well to have heard their accusations, and then to have shewn what mercy you pleased. The king told him, that he heard that they were accused by some contrary faction, as to themselves, who, out of distaste they bore to one another on old grudges, would be apt to charge them more home than the nature of their offences had deserved; to whom the marquessmade this return, Well, Sir, you may chance to gain the kingdom of heaven by such doings as these, but if you ever get the kingdom of England by such ways, I will be your bondman.”
Another conversation between the marquis and Sir Thomas Fairfax is worth relating.
“After much conference between the marquess and General Fairfax, wherein many things were requested of the general by the marquess, and being, as he thought himself, happy in the attainment, his lordship was pleased to make a merry petition to the general as he was taking his leave, viz. in behalf of a couple of pigeons, who were wont to come to his hand, and feed out of it constantly, in whose behalf he desired the general that he would be pleased to give him his protection for them, fearing the little command that he should have over his soldiers in that behalf. To which the general said, I am glad to see your lordship so merry. Oh, said the marquess, you have given me no other cause, and hasty as you are, you shall not go untill I have told you a story.
“There were two men going up Holborn in a cart to be hanged; one of them being verymerry and jocund, gave offence to the other who was sad and dejected, insomuch that the downcast man said unto the other, I wonder, brother, that you can be so frolic, considering the business we are going about. Tush, answered the other, thou art a fool; thou wentest a thieving, and never thought what would become of thee, wherefore being on a sudden surprised, thou fallest into such a shaking fit, that I am ashamed to see thee in that condition: whereas I was resolved to be hanged, before ever I fell to stealing, which is the reason nothing happenning strange or unexpected, I go so composed unto my death. So, said the marquess, I resolved to undergo whatsoever, even the worst of evils that you are able to lay upon me, before I took up arms for my sovereign, and therefore wonder not that I am so merry.”
“In the correspondence with Fairfax,” says the author of the Historical Tour, “which preceded the capitulation, the marquis of Worcester seems to have strongly suspected that the parliament would not adhere to the conditions. His apprehensions were not groundless, for on his arrival in London he was committed to the custodyof the Black Rod. He bitterly complained of this cruel usage, and deeply regretted that he had trusted himself to the mercy of the parliament. A few hours before his death, he said to Dr. Bayley, If to seize upon all my goods, to pull down my house, to fell my estate, and send up for such a weak body as mine was, so enfeebled by disease, in the dead of winter, in the winter of mine age, be merciful, what are they whose mercies are so cruel? Neither do I expect that they should stop at all this, for I fear they will persecute me after death.
“Being informed, however, that parliament would permit him to be buried in his family vault, in Windsor Chapel; he cried out, with great sprightliness of manner, Why, God bless us all, why then I shall have a better castle when I am dead, than they took from me whilst I was alive. With so much cheerfulness and resignation did this hero expire, in the eighty-fifth year of his age.”
The second marquis was the author of that puzzling “Century of the Names and Scantlings of such Inventions as I can at present call to mind to have tried and perfected.”
“It appears,” we are told, “from a passage in the Experimental Philosophy of Dr. Desaguliers, that Captain Savary derived his invention of the fire engine, since called the steam engine, from the 68th article in the Century of Scantlings; and that to conceal his original he bought up all the marquis’s books, and burnt them.” The following is the “scantling.”
“An admirable and most forcible way to drive up water by fire, not by drawing or sucking it upwards, for that must be, as the philosopher calleth it,intra sphæram activitatis, which is at but such a distance. But this way hath no bounder, if the vessels be strong enough; for I have taken a piece of a whole cannon, whereof the end was burst, and filled it three quarters full of water, stopping and screwing up the broken end, as also the touch-hole, and making a constant fire under it, within twenty-four hours it burst, and made a great crack; so that having a way to make my vessels that they are strengthened by the force within them, and the one to fill after the other, I have seen the water run like a constant fountain stream forty feet high; one vessel of water, rarified by fire, drives up forty feet ofcold water. And a man that attends the work has but to turn two cocks, that one vessel of water being consumed, another begins to force and refit with cold water, and so successfully, the fire being tended and kept constant, with the self-same person may likewise abundantly perform in the interim between the necessity of turning the said cocks.”
“An admirable and most forcible way to drive up water by fire, not by drawing or sucking it upwards, for that must be, as the philosopher calleth it,intra sphæram activitatis, which is at but such a distance. But this way hath no bounder, if the vessels be strong enough; for I have taken a piece of a whole cannon, whereof the end was burst, and filled it three quarters full of water, stopping and screwing up the broken end, as also the touch-hole, and making a constant fire under it, within twenty-four hours it burst, and made a great crack; so that having a way to make my vessels that they are strengthened by the force within them, and the one to fill after the other, I have seen the water run like a constant fountain stream forty feet high; one vessel of water, rarified by fire, drives up forty feet ofcold water. And a man that attends the work has but to turn two cocks, that one vessel of water being consumed, another begins to force and refit with cold water, and so successfully, the fire being tended and kept constant, with the self-same person may likewise abundantly perform in the interim between the necessity of turning the said cocks.”
We now renew our onward course, but with many a lingering look at “delightsome Monmouth.”
Troy House—Anecdote—Antique custom—Village Churches of Monmouthshire—White-washing—The bard—Strewing graves with flowers—St. Briavels’ Castle—Llandogo—Change in the character of the river—The Druid of the Wye—Wordsworth’s “Lines composed above Tintern Abbey.”
Just below Monmouth the Wye forms a sharp curve, the apex of which is met by the Monnow and the Trothy, in such a way that these two streams, tending to nearly the same point, but coming from different directions, and the two sides of the Wye curve, make the place resemble the meeting of four roads. We have already seen how interesting the Monnow is; the Trothy, which passes White Castle, and has its source in the mountains near the Great Skyrrid, is hardly less so; the Wye we have followed from the summitof Plinlimmon, through a tract of mingled beauty and grandeur, unrivalled in England; and we are now about to trace its course to the monastic ruins of Tintern, and through the fairy land of Piercefield to its destined bourne, the Severn.
The banks are at first low, and the country laid out in level meadows, framed in at a short distance by swelling hills. Troy House is the first object that arrests our attention in front by its sombre woods. In the reign of James I. it was the property of Sir Charles Somerset, the brother of the gallant defender of Raglan Castle, between whom and Charles I. a conversation relating to Troy House took place, which is thus reported in the “Apothegms.”
“Sir Thomas Somerset, brother to the marquis of Worcester, had a house which was called Troy, five miles from Ragland Castle. This Sir Thomas, being a complete gentleman, delighted much in fine gardens and orchards, where, by the benefit of art, the earth was made so gratefull to him at the same time that the king (Charles the first) happened to be at his brother’s house, that it yielded him wherewithal to send him a present; and such a one as (the timesand seasons considered) was able to make the king believe that the sovereign of the planets had now changed the poles, and that Wales (the refuse and outcast of the fair garden of England) had fairer and riper fruit than England’s bowels had on all her beds. This present, given to the marquis, he would not suffer to be presented to the king by any other hand than his own. ‘Here I present you, sir,’ said the marquis, (placing his dishes on the table) ‘with that which came not from Lincoln that was, nor from London that is, nor from York that is to be, but from Troy.’ Whereupon the king smiled, and answered the marquis, ‘Truly, my lord, I have heard that corn grows where Troy town stood, but I never thought there had grown any apricots before.’”
Some articles said to be relics of Henry V. are preserved here: the bed in which he was born, the cradle in which he was rocked, and the armour in which he fought at Agincourt. There is also a carved oak chimney-piece from Raglan Castle.
Soon the hills approach nearer, and, covered with rich foliage, sweep down more suddenlytowards the river. On the right bank is Penalt church, standing on a wooded eminence; and behind it, an extensive common distinguished for a superstitious custom, derived, as is supposed, from the days of the druids. When a funeral passed that way, the cortege stopped at an oak tree, and placed the corpse on a stone seat at its foot. The company than sang a psalm, and resumed their procession. It may be remarked that wherever an old oak tree is found in this part of the country, in an insulated or otherwise remarkable situation, there is sure to be connected with it some religious tradition, or some observance whose origin is lost in antiquity. The churches are usually an interesting feature in the landscape, for it would seem as if their founders had sought purposely out for them solitary places, by the banks of rivers or in the midst of groves or fields. In general they are exceedingly simple in appearance, many having the marks of great antiquity, and almost all being whitewashed from top to bottom. An antiquary has ingeniously accounted for this peculiarity, by the custom the Normans had of constructing even large buildings of pebbles and rag-stone,which obliged them to cover the inequalities, outside and inside, by a coat of lime and sand. However this may be, the effect is not unpleasing; more especially when the rural temple, as is frequently the case, is shaped like a barn, and without a belfry. Such churches, more especially in the mountainous districts, still present the rounded arches, and other peculiarities, which denote that their rude walls were raised by our Saxon ancestors, if not by the ancient Britons themselves.
We find the white walls, so common in Wales, alluded to as a poetical circumstance by one of the bards of the fourteenth century, in a piece of considerable beauty; and in the succeeding paragraph there is an allusion to another Welsh custom, of more classical authority, that of strewing the graves of the dead with flowers. The poem is an invocation to summer, to shed its blessings over the country of Gwent. The following is the paragraph referred to, with the second allusion, terminating the ode by an abrupt and pathetic transition.
“If I obtain thee, O summer, in thy splendid hour, with thy fair growth and thy sportinggems; thy serenity pleasantly bear, thou golden messenger, to Morganoc. With sunshine morn gladden thou the place, and greet the whitened houses; give growth, give the first fruits of the spring, and collect thou blossoms to the bushes; shine proudly on the wall of lime, full as light and gaily bright; leave there in the vale thy footsteps in juicy herbage, in fresh attire; diffuse a load of delicious fruits, in bounteous course among its woods; give thy crop like a stream over every lawn, the meadows, and the land of wheat; clothe the orchard, the vineyard, and the garden, with thy abundance and thy teeming harvest; and scatter over its fair soil the lovely marks of thy glorious course!“And oh! whilst thy season of flowers, and thy tender sprays thick of leaves remain; I will pluck the roses from the branches; the flowerets of the meads, and gems of the woods; the vivid trefoils, beauties of the ground, and the gaily smiling bloom of the verdant herbs, to be offered to the memory of a chief of favorite fame: Humbly I will lay them on the grave of Ivor!”
“If I obtain thee, O summer, in thy splendid hour, with thy fair growth and thy sportinggems; thy serenity pleasantly bear, thou golden messenger, to Morganoc. With sunshine morn gladden thou the place, and greet the whitened houses; give growth, give the first fruits of the spring, and collect thou blossoms to the bushes; shine proudly on the wall of lime, full as light and gaily bright; leave there in the vale thy footsteps in juicy herbage, in fresh attire; diffuse a load of delicious fruits, in bounteous course among its woods; give thy crop like a stream over every lawn, the meadows, and the land of wheat; clothe the orchard, the vineyard, and the garden, with thy abundance and thy teeming harvest; and scatter over its fair soil the lovely marks of thy glorious course!
“And oh! whilst thy season of flowers, and thy tender sprays thick of leaves remain; I will pluck the roses from the branches; the flowerets of the meads, and gems of the woods; the vivid trefoils, beauties of the ground, and the gaily smiling bloom of the verdant herbs, to be offered to the memory of a chief of favorite fame: Humbly I will lay them on the grave of Ivor!”
The Ivor here alluded to was Ivor Hael, or the Generons, an ancestor of the Tredgear familyof Morgans, whose pedigree is traced, by the Welsh bards from the third son of Noah. The poet David, ap Gwillim, styled the Welsh Ovid, loved a lady of the name of Morvid, in whose praise his prolific muse produced no fewer than a hundred and forty-seven poems. A rich rival, however, gained the unwilling prize; and the son of song consoled himself by carrying off his lost mistress on two several occasions, when her husband, Rhys Gwgan, was with the army in France, where he served in the rank of captain at the battle of Crecy. For both these offences he was fined and imprisoned, and in both instances liberated by the gentlemen of Gwent, who came forward in a body in favour of their darling bard. The above extract is taken from one of two poems which he wrote in testimony of his gratitude. It may be added, that when flowers are planted on graves, it was, and we believe is the custom to surround the area with stones, which are periodicallywhitewashed.
On the bank opposite Penalt, or a little further down, is Redbrook, upper and lower, the one standing above the other on the hill side. The stream from which they derive this nameseparates Monmouthshire from Gloucestershire, and the Wye then continues the boundary. The brook, also, serves the purpose of turning the wheels of some iron and tin works; but without vulgarising any more than such accidents have done heretofore, the scenic romance of the river. Wye Seal House comes next, on the same side of the river, with the hamlet of Whitebrook and its paper-mills on the opposite bank. Then Pan-y-van hill, and the ruins of the old manor-house of Pilton—then an iron bridge over the Wye, and then Big’s-weir House, and its surrounding grove, with Hudknolls behind, and the ruins of St. Briavels’ Castle on their summit.
This fortress stands in the forest of Dean, and dates from the reign of Henry I., when it was founded by Milo, earl of Hereford, for the residence and defence of some of the lords-marchers. St. Briavels, formerly a place of some importance, is now a village. Its inhabitants enjoyed several singular immunities which are now obsolete; but they have still a right of common in Hudknolls wood, a tract of land on the banks of the Wye seven miles long. They are supposed toenjoy the privilege through the performance of a strange ceremony on Whit-sunday. Each inhabitant pays twopence to the churchwardens, who buy bread and cheese with the fund, which they cut into small pieces, and distribute to the congregation immediately after the service is ended, in the midst of a general scramble. They are also allowed to cut wood, but not timber, in any part of the forest. It is said that a countess of Hereford procured for them their privileges by the performance of a feat similar to that of the Lady Godiva.
St. Briavels’ Castle was erected by Milo St. Walter, earl of Hereford, in the time of Henry I., as a barrier against the Welsh. Two circular towers alone remain entire with a narrow gateway between, composing the north-west front. They contain several apartments, the walls of which are eight feet thick. One is used as a prison for the hundred. In the interior are two other similar gateways, on the right and left of which are the remains of spacious rooms.
The governor of St. Briavels—for it became a royal fortress after the Hereford family hadpossessed it for about a century—had formerly jurisdiction over the forest of Dean; and it is recorded, that in his court the miners were sworn upon a branch of holly instead of the testament, lest the holy book should be defiled by their fingers.
We now enter a long reach of the river, with Tiddenham Chase Hill rising boldly in front; till Llandogo appears, a beautiful little village on the right bank, seated on a hill side in the midst of gardens and orchards, and with its small church near the edge of the water, peeping through the trees. This is a scene of quiet beauty, which after the massive forms we have passed, we termprettyness. Whatever be its proper name, however, in the pedantry of taste, it is not surpassed on the Wye in its own kind. It is unfortunate, nevertheless, that at this spot an unfavourable change should be observed in the river—although only in the river considered as a volume of water, and not taken in conjunction with its scenery. Here the Wye becomes a tide stream, acted upon by the ebb and flow of the Severn sea; and in consequence, it is henceforward habitually turbid, and no longer a currentof pure element, subject only to the influence of rains and freshes.
This circumstance has also its effect upon the moral character of the river. Large barges are floated up by the tide to Brook Weir, a little lower down, which is midway between Monmouth and Chepstow, or nine miles from each; and there they receive the merchandise brought thither in small inland vessels from the upper part of the Wye. Our romantic stream, therefore, whose outlines hitherto have been broken only by the smokes of furnaces hidden among the trees, and whose still life has been varied only by the corracles of the ancient Britons, and other inland craft that never dreamt of the breezes of the salt sea, becomes now a small highway of trade, a sort of water lane by which the corn, and hoops, and fagots, and other productions of the interior are conveyed to Bristol. But even the coasting barge, with her blackened sails, and sixty tons of cargo, is not here “a jarring and a dissonant thing.” Creeping with the tide along those solemn banks, she acquires a portion of their solemnity; floating silently through those pastoral vales, she is invested, for the time being,with their simplicity. Her characteristics are swallowed up in the character of the river—the spell of the Wye is upon her!
If you doubt the fact, let us wander on but a little further; let us turn the point of Lyn Weir, and, looking along the reach beyond, inquire with what vulgarised ideas, with what broken associations, we find ourselves gliding into the region of Tintern! Near this spot, the great Druid of the Wye, the poet of nature internal and external, produced a poem which in all probability will be read, either with tears or smiles of delight, long after the works of man shall have completely obliterated those features of the grand, the beautiful, the simple, and sublime, to which it is our humble task to point the finger.
“Five years have past, five summers, with the lengthOf five long winters! and again I hearThese waters, rolling from their mountain-springsWith a sweet inland murmur.—Once againDo I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,That on a wild secluded scene impressThoughts of more deep seclusion; and connectThe landscape with the quiet of the sky.The day is come when I again reposeHere, under this dark sycamore, and viewThese plots of cottage ground, these orchard tufts,Which, at this season, with their unripe fruits,Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselvesAmong the woods and copses, nor disturbThe wild green landscape. Once again I seeThese hedgerows, hardly hedgerows, little linesOf sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,Green to the very doors, and wreaths of smokeSent up, in silence, from among the trees;With some uncertain notice, as might seemOf vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,Or of some hermit’s cave, where, by his fire,The hermit sits alone.“These beauteous forms,Through a long absence, have not been to meAs is a landscape to a blind man’s eye:But oft, in lonely rooms, and ’mid the dinOf towns and cities, I have owed to them,In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;And passing even into my purer mind,With tranquil restoration:—feelings tooOf unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,As have no slight or trivial influenceOn that best portion of a good man’s life,His little, nameless, unremembered actsOf kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,To them I may have owed another gift,Of aspect more sublime; that blessed moodIn which the burden of the mysteryIn which the heavy and the weary weightOf all this unintelligible worldIs lightened:—that serene and blessed mood,In which the affections gently lead us on,Until, the breath of this corporeal frameAnd even the motion of our human bloodAlmost suspended, we are laid asleepIn body, and become a living soul:While with an eye made quiet by the powerOf harmony, and the deep power of joy,We see into the life of things.“If thisBe but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft,In darkness and amid the many shapesOf joyless daylight, when the fretful stirUnprofitable, and the fever of the worldHave hung upon the beatings of my heart;How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,O sylvan Wye! Thou wanderer through the woods,How often has my spirit turned to thee.“And now with gleams of half extinguished thought,With many recognitions dim and faint,And somewhat of a sad perplexity,The picture of the mind revives again,While here I stand, not only with the senseOf present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughtsThat in this moment, there is life and foodFor future years, and so I dare to hope,Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when firstI came among these hills; when like a roeI bounded o’er the mountains, by the sidesOf the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,Wherever nature led: more like a manFlying from something that he dreads, than oneWho sought the thing he loved. For nature then(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days,And their glad animal movements all gone by)To me was all in all.—I cannot paintWhat then I was. The sounding cataractHaunted me like a passion: the tall rock,The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,Their colours and their forms, were then to meAn appetite; a feeling and a loveThat had no need of a remoter charm,By thought supplied, nor any interestUnborrowed from the eye.—That time is past,And all its aching joys are now no more,And all its dizzy raptures. Not for thisFaint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other giftsHave followed; for such loss, I would believe,Abundant recompense. For I have learnedTo look on nature, not as in the hourOf thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimesThe still, sad music of humanityNor harsh nor grating, though of ample powerTo chasten and subdue. And I have feltA presence that disturbs me with the joyOf elevated thoughts; a sense sublimeOf something far more deeply interfused,Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,And the round ocean and the living air,And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:A motion and a spirit, that impelsAll thinking things, all objects of all thought,And rolls through all things. Therefore am I stillA lover of the meadows, and the woods,And mountains; and of all that we beholdFrom this green earth; of all the mighty worldOf eye, and ear,—both what they half create,And what perceive; well pleased to recognise,In nature and the language of the sense,The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soulOf all my moral being.”
“Five years have past, five summers, with the lengthOf five long winters! and again I hearThese waters, rolling from their mountain-springsWith a sweet inland murmur.—Once againDo I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,That on a wild secluded scene impressThoughts of more deep seclusion; and connectThe landscape with the quiet of the sky.The day is come when I again reposeHere, under this dark sycamore, and viewThese plots of cottage ground, these orchard tufts,Which, at this season, with their unripe fruits,Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselvesAmong the woods and copses, nor disturbThe wild green landscape. Once again I seeThese hedgerows, hardly hedgerows, little linesOf sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,Green to the very doors, and wreaths of smokeSent up, in silence, from among the trees;With some uncertain notice, as might seemOf vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,Or of some hermit’s cave, where, by his fire,The hermit sits alone.
“These beauteous forms,Through a long absence, have not been to meAs is a landscape to a blind man’s eye:But oft, in lonely rooms, and ’mid the dinOf towns and cities, I have owed to them,In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;And passing even into my purer mind,With tranquil restoration:—feelings tooOf unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,As have no slight or trivial influenceOn that best portion of a good man’s life,His little, nameless, unremembered actsOf kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,To them I may have owed another gift,Of aspect more sublime; that blessed moodIn which the burden of the mysteryIn which the heavy and the weary weightOf all this unintelligible worldIs lightened:—that serene and blessed mood,In which the affections gently lead us on,Until, the breath of this corporeal frameAnd even the motion of our human bloodAlmost suspended, we are laid asleepIn body, and become a living soul:While with an eye made quiet by the powerOf harmony, and the deep power of joy,We see into the life of things.
“If thisBe but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft,In darkness and amid the many shapesOf joyless daylight, when the fretful stirUnprofitable, and the fever of the worldHave hung upon the beatings of my heart;How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,O sylvan Wye! Thou wanderer through the woods,How often has my spirit turned to thee.
“And now with gleams of half extinguished thought,With many recognitions dim and faint,And somewhat of a sad perplexity,The picture of the mind revives again,While here I stand, not only with the senseOf present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughtsThat in this moment, there is life and foodFor future years, and so I dare to hope,Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when firstI came among these hills; when like a roeI bounded o’er the mountains, by the sidesOf the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,Wherever nature led: more like a manFlying from something that he dreads, than oneWho sought the thing he loved. For nature then(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days,And their glad animal movements all gone by)To me was all in all.—I cannot paintWhat then I was. The sounding cataractHaunted me like a passion: the tall rock,The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,Their colours and their forms, were then to meAn appetite; a feeling and a loveThat had no need of a remoter charm,By thought supplied, nor any interestUnborrowed from the eye.—That time is past,And all its aching joys are now no more,And all its dizzy raptures. Not for thisFaint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other giftsHave followed; for such loss, I would believe,Abundant recompense. For I have learnedTo look on nature, not as in the hourOf thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimesThe still, sad music of humanityNor harsh nor grating, though of ample powerTo chasten and subdue. And I have feltA presence that disturbs me with the joyOf elevated thoughts; a sense sublimeOf something far more deeply interfused,Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,And the round ocean and the living air,And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:A motion and a spirit, that impelsAll thinking things, all objects of all thought,And rolls through all things. Therefore am I stillA lover of the meadows, and the woods,And mountains; and of all that we beholdFrom this green earth; of all the mighty worldOf eye, and ear,—both what they half create,And what perceive; well pleased to recognise,In nature and the language of the sense,The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soulOf all my moral being.”
Vales of the Wye—Valley of Tintern—Tintern Abbey—History—Church—Character of the ruin—Site—Coxe’s description—Monuments—Insecurity of sepulchral fame—Churchyarde on tombs—Opinions on Tintern—Battle of Tintern.
The “Lines composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey, on revisiting the banks of the Wye during a tour,” are justly esteemed one of the masterpieces of modern poetry; but independently of this, they belong so peculiarly to the river we are attempting to illustrate, and are associated so intimately with the character of its scenery, and its reputation as a fountain of high thoughts and beautiful feelings, that our volume would have been incomplete without them. It is curious that this piece, which is dated in theconcluding years of the last century, should be the only fruits as yet given to the world of the poetical inspiration of the Wye—for the effusions of Bloomfield are not to be named with those of Wordsworth.
We have seen that where the picturesque character of the Wye is chiefly formed by its banks, which is the case from Goodrich Castle downwards, these embrace the stream with more or less straitness, rising in naked crags from the water’s edge, or throwing their waving woods over the current. At intervals, however, they recede to some little distance from either side; picturesque hills forming the side-screens, and hills, rocks, and trees terminating the perspective in front, and enclosing the river like a lake. In such cases, the bottom is formed by a green pastoral meadow, through which the stream wanders leisurely, as if reposing after former struggles, and preparing for new ones. These lonely vales are not merely secluded from “the hum, the crowd, the shock of men,” but from all turbulent thoughts and unholy desires. The world lives in them only in the recollections of dead things, and feelings, and persons. They arespots, to use the fine but unappreciated image of Maturin,
“Where memory lingers o’er the grave of passion,Watching its tranced sleep!”
“Where memory lingers o’er the grave of passion,Watching its tranced sleep!”
The admirable taste so unequivocally displayed by the monks of old, in the selection of sites for their ascetic retreats, could not have overlooked this characteristic of the Wye; and accordingly we find, in the most beautiful of these delightful nooks, standing on a gently swelling meadow, by the banks of the lake-like river, the finest conventual ruins in England.
Tintern
Tintern Abbey, though one of the oldest of the Cistercian communities in this country, was never famous either for its wealth, or the number of its brethren; and at the dissolution it contained only thirteen monks, supported by a rental of between two and three hundred pounds at the highest calculation.[158]It was founded in 1131 by Walter de Clare, and dedicated to the VirginMary; but the endowments were greatly increased by Gilbert de Strongbow, lord of Striguil and Chepstow, and afterwards earl of Pembroke. The religious colony consisted of Cistercians, otherwise called White Monks, introduced into England only three years before, where they formed an establishment at Waverley in Surrey. These brethren spread so luxuriantly, however, that in the reign of Henry VIII. there were thirty-six greater, and thirty-nine lesser monasteries, and twenty-six nunneries, of their rule.
The founder of the church was Roger Bigod, earl of Norfolk; and it would appear that the choir was finished and consecrated before the rest of the building was complete, a circumstance not unusual at that time. The consecration took place in 1268; and in the body of the church the architecture is of a style long subsequent. The remains of the church are now the only interesting parts of the ruin, at least as a picture: and they are in fact what is called “Tintern Abbey;” although there are still fragments remaining here and there of the other parts of the pile. The church was built in the regular cathedralform; with a nave, north and south aisles, transept and choir, and a tower which stood in the centre.
Complete as the demolition is, there are at least vestiges, even in the most ruinous parts, which explain the original form, and even most of the details of the edifice. The very effects of time, as may be well supposed, are here among the principal advantages. The broken outlines, the isolated columns, the roofless walls, are all adjuncts of the picturesque; but added to these, there are the curtains, the canopies, the chaplets, coronals, festoons, of ivy, mosses and lichens, which give as much effect to a ruin, as rich draperies do to naked walls.
Tintern Abbey
The tiles which formed the flooring have been removed; and a carpet of smooth turf laid down, on which fragments of columns, monuments, statues, and sculptures are scattered. This of course is not entirely the doing of time; but art is not displayed obtrusively enough to offend. A ruined edifice, it should be observed, although this is frequently forgotten by critics, is a work of man and natureconjointly; and the traces, therefore, of taste or ingenuity are not to becondemned, as if these were exercised in shaping a cliff or amending a cataract.
Gilpin describes Tintern Abbey as occupying “a great eminence, in the middle of a circular valley;” and another author declares its site, somewhat tautologically, to be aflat plain; to which some idle person has taken the liberty of appending this marginal note, in the copy of the work in the British Museum—“Flat plain indeed! It is situated just at the brow of a richly wooded hill!” The truth is, that the ruin itself is not to be entirely depended upon, as it contrives to assume a different appearance even in respect of position, at every turn. Viewed from a short distance down the river, it actually looks as if standing on an eminence; but on a nearer approach, we find it in reality not greatly elevated above line of the water. It is in fact built at the bottom of the valley, in a spot chosen apparently for solitude and meditation. The solitude, however, it must be confessed is not now so complete as one would wish. The inhabitants of the monastery, it is true, have vanished, but their places have been supplied by poor cottagers, who hide their misery in the very cells of themonks; and, if this were not enough, fragments of the ruin have been broken up, or unearthed, for the construction of other hovels. In the following description will be found the opinions on this remarkable scene of archdeacon Coxe, who, together with the less correct, but moreartisticalGilpin, have been hitherto the only recognised authorities of the Wye.
“We disembarked about half a mile above the village of Tintern, and followed the sinuous course of the Wye. As we advanced to the village, we passed some picturesque ruins hanging over the edge of the water, which are supposed to have formed part of the abbot’s villa, and other buildings occupied by the monks; some of these remains are converted into dwellings and cottages, others are interspersed among the iron founderies and habitations.“The first appearance of the celebrated remains of the abbey church did not equal my expectations, as they are half-concealed by mean buildings, and the triangular shape of the gable ends has a formal appearance.“After passing a miserable row of cottages, and forcing our way through a crowd of importunatebeggars, we stopped to examine the rich architecture of the west front; but the door being suddenly opened, the inside perspective of the church called forth an instantaneous burst of admiration, and filled me with delight, such as I scarcely ever before experienced on a similar occasion. The eye passes rapidly along a range of elegant gothic pillars, and, glancing under the sublime arches which supported the tower, fixes itself on the splendid relics of the eastern window, the grand termination of the choir.“From the length of the nave, the height of the walls, the aspiring form of the pointed arches, and the size of the east window, which closes the perspective, the first impressions are those of grandeur and sublimity. But as these emotions subside, and we descend from the contemplation of the whole to the examination of the parts, we are no less struck with the regularity of the plan, the lightness of the architecture, and the delicacy of the ornaments; we feel that elegance is its characteristic no less than grandeur, and that the whole is a combination of the beautiful and the sublime.“The church was constructed in the shape of a cathedral, and is an excellent specimen of gothic architecture in its greatest purity. The roof is fallen in, and the whole ruin open to the sky, but the shell is entire; all the pillars are standing, except those which divided the nave from the northern aisle, and their situation is marked by the remains of the bases. The four lofty arches which supported the tower spring high in the air, reduced to narrow rims of stone, yet still preserving their original form. The arched pillars of the choir and transept are complete; the shapes of all the windows may be still discriminated, and the frame of the west window is in perfect preservation; the design of the tracery is extremely elegant, and when decorated with painted glass must have produced a fine effect. Critics who censure this window as too broad for its height, do not consider that it was not intended for a particular object, but to harmonise with the general plan; and had the architect diminished the breadth, in proportion to the height, the grand effect of the perspective would have been considerably lessened.“The general form of the east window isentire, but the frame is much dilapidated; it occupies the whole breadth of the choir, and is divided into two large and equal compartments, by a slender shaft, not less than fifty feet in height, which has an appearance of singular lightness, and in particular points of view seems suspended in the air.“Nature has added her ornaments to the decorations of art; some of the windows are wholly obscured, others partially shaded with tufts of ivy, or edged with lighter foliage; the tendrils creep along the walls, wind round the pillars, wreath the capitals, or, hanging down in clusters, obscure the space beneath.“Instead of dilapidated fragments overspread with weeds and choked with brambles, the floor is covered with a smooth turf, which, by keeping the original level of the church, exhibits the beauty of its proportions, heightens the effect of the gray stone, gives a relief to the clustered pillars, and affords an easy access to every part. Ornamented fragments of the roof, remains of cornices and columns, rich pieces of sculpture, sepulchral stones, and mutilated figures of monks and heroes, whose ashes repose within thesewalls, are scattered on the green sward, and contrast present desolation with former splendour.“Although the exterior appearance of the ruins is not equal to the inside view, yet in some positions, particularly to the east, they present themselves with considerable effect. While Sir Richard Hoare was employed in sketching the north-western side, I crossed the ferry, and walked down the stream about half a mile. From this point, the ruins, assuming a new character, seem to occupy a gentle eminence, and impend over the river without the intervention of a single cottage to obstruct the view. The grand east window, wholly covered with shrubs, and half mantled with ivy, rises like the portal of a majestic edifice embowered in wood. Through this opening and along the vista of the church, the clusters of ivy, which twine round the pillars or hang suspended from the arches, resemble tufts of trees; while the thick mantle of foliage, seen through the tracery of the west window, forms a continuation of the perspective, and appears like an interminable forest.”
“We disembarked about half a mile above the village of Tintern, and followed the sinuous course of the Wye. As we advanced to the village, we passed some picturesque ruins hanging over the edge of the water, which are supposed to have formed part of the abbot’s villa, and other buildings occupied by the monks; some of these remains are converted into dwellings and cottages, others are interspersed among the iron founderies and habitations.
“The first appearance of the celebrated remains of the abbey church did not equal my expectations, as they are half-concealed by mean buildings, and the triangular shape of the gable ends has a formal appearance.
“After passing a miserable row of cottages, and forcing our way through a crowd of importunatebeggars, we stopped to examine the rich architecture of the west front; but the door being suddenly opened, the inside perspective of the church called forth an instantaneous burst of admiration, and filled me with delight, such as I scarcely ever before experienced on a similar occasion. The eye passes rapidly along a range of elegant gothic pillars, and, glancing under the sublime arches which supported the tower, fixes itself on the splendid relics of the eastern window, the grand termination of the choir.
“From the length of the nave, the height of the walls, the aspiring form of the pointed arches, and the size of the east window, which closes the perspective, the first impressions are those of grandeur and sublimity. But as these emotions subside, and we descend from the contemplation of the whole to the examination of the parts, we are no less struck with the regularity of the plan, the lightness of the architecture, and the delicacy of the ornaments; we feel that elegance is its characteristic no less than grandeur, and that the whole is a combination of the beautiful and the sublime.
“The church was constructed in the shape of a cathedral, and is an excellent specimen of gothic architecture in its greatest purity. The roof is fallen in, and the whole ruin open to the sky, but the shell is entire; all the pillars are standing, except those which divided the nave from the northern aisle, and their situation is marked by the remains of the bases. The four lofty arches which supported the tower spring high in the air, reduced to narrow rims of stone, yet still preserving their original form. The arched pillars of the choir and transept are complete; the shapes of all the windows may be still discriminated, and the frame of the west window is in perfect preservation; the design of the tracery is extremely elegant, and when decorated with painted glass must have produced a fine effect. Critics who censure this window as too broad for its height, do not consider that it was not intended for a particular object, but to harmonise with the general plan; and had the architect diminished the breadth, in proportion to the height, the grand effect of the perspective would have been considerably lessened.
“The general form of the east window isentire, but the frame is much dilapidated; it occupies the whole breadth of the choir, and is divided into two large and equal compartments, by a slender shaft, not less than fifty feet in height, which has an appearance of singular lightness, and in particular points of view seems suspended in the air.
“Nature has added her ornaments to the decorations of art; some of the windows are wholly obscured, others partially shaded with tufts of ivy, or edged with lighter foliage; the tendrils creep along the walls, wind round the pillars, wreath the capitals, or, hanging down in clusters, obscure the space beneath.
“Instead of dilapidated fragments overspread with weeds and choked with brambles, the floor is covered with a smooth turf, which, by keeping the original level of the church, exhibits the beauty of its proportions, heightens the effect of the gray stone, gives a relief to the clustered pillars, and affords an easy access to every part. Ornamented fragments of the roof, remains of cornices and columns, rich pieces of sculpture, sepulchral stones, and mutilated figures of monks and heroes, whose ashes repose within thesewalls, are scattered on the green sward, and contrast present desolation with former splendour.
“Although the exterior appearance of the ruins is not equal to the inside view, yet in some positions, particularly to the east, they present themselves with considerable effect. While Sir Richard Hoare was employed in sketching the north-western side, I crossed the ferry, and walked down the stream about half a mile. From this point, the ruins, assuming a new character, seem to occupy a gentle eminence, and impend over the river without the intervention of a single cottage to obstruct the view. The grand east window, wholly covered with shrubs, and half mantled with ivy, rises like the portal of a majestic edifice embowered in wood. Through this opening and along the vista of the church, the clusters of ivy, which twine round the pillars or hang suspended from the arches, resemble tufts of trees; while the thick mantle of foliage, seen through the tracery of the west window, forms a continuation of the perspective, and appears like an interminable forest.”
The reputation of Tintern Abbey dependsupon no historical associations. The romance of its situation is heightened by no romance of incident. It is simply a part of a picture, and might be entitled in the catalogue of a gallery “an abbey.” The sepulchral remains it holds retain neither name nor date; and one of the most entire of the figures (supposed to be the effigies of the founder of the monastery, which, however, must be looked for at Gloucester, where according to Leland he was buried) is disputed the possession of the usual number of fingers on the right hand; one antiquary, hesitating between four and five, and another according to it, more generously, five fingers—and a thumb! In no part of the country has this means of prolonging fame been more constantly resorted to than in Monmouthshire; but unfortunately, owing to its geographical position as a frontier district, in no part of the country has the object been more frequently defeated. As a solitary instance of this among thousands, we are tempted to quote a fragment which just now catches our eye, from the rhymes ofChurchyarde(a most suitable name), and the rather that it exhibits the poet of the “Worthines ofWales” in a more poetical light than usual. He is describing the tombs in the church of Abergavenny; and after noting the arms and other particulars, proceeds—
“But note a greater matter now,Upon his tomb in stone,Were fourteene lords that knees did bowUnto this lord alone.Of this rare work a porch is made,The barrons there remaineIn good old stone, and auncient trade,To show all ages plaine,What honour wass to Hastings due,What honour he did win:What armes he gave, and so to blazeWhat lord had Hastings bin.”
“But note a greater matter now,Upon his tomb in stone,Were fourteene lords that knees did bowUnto this lord alone.Of this rare work a porch is made,The barrons there remaineIn good old stone, and auncient trade,To show all ages plaine,What honour wass to Hastings due,What honour he did win:What armes he gave, and so to blazeWhat lord had Hastings bin.”
But alas for the frailty of fame even so secured! The dilapidated monument laughed in the unconscious rhymer’s face through the rents of time; the principal effigies had been removed to a window, and several of the “fourteene lords” placed in a porch; and the very name of him whose memory the whole had been intended to perpetuate, had become a matter of doubt and controversy! “Some say this great lord wascalled Bruce and not Hastings, but most do hold opinion he was called Hastings!”
It may seem almost superfluous to give any further evidence respecting the picturesque character of Tintern Abbey; but as we design this volume not merely to act the part of a sign-post, but to save the common reader the trouble of reference, we shall add two other quotations.
“It would be difficult to imagine a more favourable situation, or a more sublime ruin. The entrance to it seems as if contrived by the hand of some skilful scene-painter to produce the most striking effect. The church, which is large, is still almost perfect; the roof alone, and a few of the pillars, are wanting. The ruins have received just that degree of care which is consistent with the full preservation of their character; all unpicturesque rubbish which could obstruct the view is removed, without any attempt at repair or embellishment. A beautiful smooth turf covers the ground, and luxuriant creeping plants grow amid the stones. The fallen ornaments are laid in picturesque confusion, and a perfect avenue of thick ivy-stems climb up the pillars, and form aroof over head. The better to secure the ruin, a new gate of antique workmanship, with iron ornaments, is put up. When this is suddenly opened, the effect is most striking and surprising. You suddenly look down the avenue of ivy-clad pillars, and see their grand perspective lines closed, at a distance of three hundred feet, by a magnificent window eighty feet high and thirty broad: through its intricate and beautiful tracery you see a wooded mountain, from whose side project abrupt masses of rock. Over head the wind plays in the garlands of ivy, and the clouds pass swiftly across the deep blue sky. When you reach the centre of the church, whence you look to the four extremities of its cross, you see the two transept windows nearly as large and beautiful as the principal one; through each you command a picture totally different, but each in the wild and sublime style which harmonises so perfectly with the building. Immediately round the ruin is a luxuriant orchard. In spring, how exquisite must be the effect of these grey venerable walls rising out of that sea of fragrance and beauty!”
“It would be difficult to imagine a more favourable situation, or a more sublime ruin. The entrance to it seems as if contrived by the hand of some skilful scene-painter to produce the most striking effect. The church, which is large, is still almost perfect; the roof alone, and a few of the pillars, are wanting. The ruins have received just that degree of care which is consistent with the full preservation of their character; all unpicturesque rubbish which could obstruct the view is removed, without any attempt at repair or embellishment. A beautiful smooth turf covers the ground, and luxuriant creeping plants grow amid the stones. The fallen ornaments are laid in picturesque confusion, and a perfect avenue of thick ivy-stems climb up the pillars, and form aroof over head. The better to secure the ruin, a new gate of antique workmanship, with iron ornaments, is put up. When this is suddenly opened, the effect is most striking and surprising. You suddenly look down the avenue of ivy-clad pillars, and see their grand perspective lines closed, at a distance of three hundred feet, by a magnificent window eighty feet high and thirty broad: through its intricate and beautiful tracery you see a wooded mountain, from whose side project abrupt masses of rock. Over head the wind plays in the garlands of ivy, and the clouds pass swiftly across the deep blue sky. When you reach the centre of the church, whence you look to the four extremities of its cross, you see the two transept windows nearly as large and beautiful as the principal one; through each you command a picture totally different, but each in the wild and sublime style which harmonises so perfectly with the building. Immediately round the ruin is a luxuriant orchard. In spring, how exquisite must be the effect of these grey venerable walls rising out of that sea of fragrance and beauty!”
The other extract belongs to the class sentimental,and is not a description of Tintern Abbey, but of the mood of mind to which it disposes.
“The great tree, or vegetable rock, or emperor of the oaks (if you please), before which I bowed with a sort of reverence in the fields of Tintern, and which for so many ages has borne all the blasts and bolts of heaven, I should deem it a gratification of a superior kind, to approach again with ‘unsandaled feet’ to pay the same homage, and to kindle with the same devotion. But I should find amidst the magnificent ruins of the adjoining abbey, something of a sublime cast, to give poignancy to my feelings. I must be alone. My mind must be calm and pensive. It must be midnight. The moon, half veiled in clouds, must be just emerging from behind the neighbouring hills. All must be silent, except the winds gently rushing among the ivy of the ruins. I should then invoke the ghosts of the abbey; and fancy, with one stroke of her magic wand, would rouse them from their dusty beds, and lead them into the centre of the ruin. I should approach their shadowy existences with reverence, make inquiries respecting the manners and customs, and genius and fate of antiquity,desire to have a glimpse of the destiny of future ages, and enter in conversations which would be too sacred, and even dangerous to communicate.”
“The great tree, or vegetable rock, or emperor of the oaks (if you please), before which I bowed with a sort of reverence in the fields of Tintern, and which for so many ages has borne all the blasts and bolts of heaven, I should deem it a gratification of a superior kind, to approach again with ‘unsandaled feet’ to pay the same homage, and to kindle with the same devotion. But I should find amidst the magnificent ruins of the adjoining abbey, something of a sublime cast, to give poignancy to my feelings. I must be alone. My mind must be calm and pensive. It must be midnight. The moon, half veiled in clouds, must be just emerging from behind the neighbouring hills. All must be silent, except the winds gently rushing among the ivy of the ruins. I should then invoke the ghosts of the abbey; and fancy, with one stroke of her magic wand, would rouse them from their dusty beds, and lead them into the centre of the ruin. I should approach their shadowy existences with reverence, make inquiries respecting the manners and customs, and genius and fate of antiquity,desire to have a glimpse of the destiny of future ages, and enter in conversations which would be too sacred, and even dangerous to communicate.”
The only event unconnected with the monastery which is assigned to this locality is abattle. Whether it was fought on the hills above, or whether the demon of war actually intruded within the charmed circle of Tintern—or whether the whole is a fable, invented for the express purpose of desecrating the very idea of the place—we cannot tell. But however this may be, the fact, or the falsehood, is commemorated in the following epitaph, which is placed on the north side of the chancel of the church of Mathern.
Here lyeth entombed the body ofFrederic, King of Morganoch orGlamorgan, commonly calledSt. Thewdrick, and accounted a martyr,because he was slain in a battle againstthe Saxons, being then Pagans, and indefence of the Christian religion. Thebattle was fought at Tintern, when heobtained a great victory. He died herebeing in his way homeward, threedays after the battle, having takenorder with Maurice his son, who suc-ceeded him in the kingdom, that in thesame place he should happen to decease, achurch should be built, and his body buri-ed in yesame, which was accordingly performedin the year 1601.
Here lyeth entombed the body ofFrederic, King of Morganoch orGlamorgan, commonly calledSt. Thewdrick, and accounted a martyr,because he was slain in a battle againstthe Saxons, being then Pagans, and indefence of the Christian religion. Thebattle was fought at Tintern, when heobtained a great victory. He died herebeing in his way homeward, threedays after the battle, having takenorder with Maurice his son, who suc-ceeded him in the kingdom, that in thesame place he should happen to decease, achurch should be built, and his body buri-ed in yesame, which was accordingly performedin the year 1601.
The Wye below Tintern—Banagor Crags—Lancaut—Piercefield Bay—Chepstow—Ancient and modern bridge—Chepstow Castle—Roger de Britolio—Romance of history—Chepstow in the civil wars—Marten the regicide.
The Wye being now a tide river, time requires to be studied by the traveller who would see it in its beauty or grandeur. The shores must be hidden by the full stream, and the overhanging woods fling their shadow as before over the glancing waters. Some bargain for the moon, to silver the tree tops, and send her angel-visitings through the vistas of foliage. But the truth is, before reaching this point we have become the spoiled children of nature; we have grown fastidious in our admiration, and would criticise perfection itself.
With the one drawback of the sludginess of the shores at ebb water, the Wye below Tintern is as worthy of our homage as ever. But it may be, that the romance of its rocks and woods impending over the current, and the deep stillness of the scene, broken only by the rippling sound of its flow, may harmonizetooclosely with the holy solitude we have left. Our sensations are uninterrupted; we carry with us the ruins and their associations; the mouldering abbey glides upon the stream before us; and the recesses of the rocks, and deep paths of the woods, are peopled with the spectres of the monastery. Thus we have no new impressions to mark our progress, and one of the finest parts of the river escapes almost without notice.
There is notwithstanding much variety in this part of our course. The reaches are short; the banks steep, sometimes overhanging in naked precipices, sometimes waving with romantic woods; while numerous narrow promontories intercept the view, and cut the scene into separate pictures. Banagor Crags, on the left, form a stupendous wall of cliff, extending for a considerable distance, without presenting anythingin themselves to relieve the eye, except here and there some recesses or small shrubs, painting their interstices. But, as if aware of the disadvantage even of a sublime uniformity, nature has spread upon the opposite side a scene incomparable for richness and variety. A bright green sward, broken into narrow patches, swells upwards from the water’s edge, till it is lost in acclivities mantled with woods; and rising from the ridge of these, a mass of perpendicular rock towers aloft to the height, as it is computed, of eight hundred feet, overhung with shaggy thickets.
We now turn the peninsula of Lancaut, which comes sloping down from Tiddenham Chase, till it terminates in fertile meadows; and, on the right, rise from the water’s edge, with a kind of fantastic majesty, the Piercefield cliffs, capped with magnificent woods. Twelve projecting masses of these rocks have received the names of the twelve apostles, and a thirteenth is called St. Peter’s Thumb. While wondering where this will end, we sweep round another point, and find ourselves in Piercefield Bay. To the right a line of perpendicular cliffs is still seen, butcrowned instead of trees with an embattled fortress; which, for a moment, might seem to have been cut out of the rock. The view is closed by a range of red cliffs, with the magnificent iron bridge of Chepstow spanning the river. This is the last of the great viewsonthe Wye; and if seen under favorable circumstances of time and tide, it is one of the finest.
Chepstow
Chepstow stands on the side of an acclivity, overlooked itself on all sides by loftier hills, so that from every part of the town a different view is obtained. Approaching it from the road which leads from the New Passage, this position, owing to the singularity of a part of the higher ground, gives the scene a very peculiar appearance. Nothing is seen but the red cliffs of the Wye, and the tall masts of the shipping rising among them; and it is not till close at hand that the houses appear, shelving down to the river. Archdeacon Coxe observes, that he has seldom visited any town whose picturesque situation surpassed that of Chepstow; and according to Mr. Wyndham, another traveller in this district, “the beauties are so uncommonly excellent, that the most exact critic in landscape would scarcelywish to alter a position in the assemblage of woods, cliffs, ruins, and water.” Among these features, the Wye and its banks are conspicuous. The ridge of cliff on the left bank below the bridge is remarkable both for its form and variety of colouring; while, on the opposite bank above, the gigantic remains of the castle, stretching along the brink of the precipice, give an air of romance to the picture, not frequently found in one of the crowded haunts of men.
The bridge is of cast iron, and was completed only in 1816. There are five arches, resting on stone piers; but although in reality a massive structure, it has the air of lightness, when viewed from the river, which iron bridges usually possess. The old bridge was formerly composed of a level floor, carried along wooden piers, except in the centre, where a massive pillar of stone, dividing Gloucester and Monmouth, was the support. Afterwards, however, stone piers were substituted for those on the Monmouth side, before the two counties joined in the erection of the present noble structure.
“According to tradition,” says Mr. Coxe, “the bridge of the Wye was formerly half amile above the present bridge, at a place called Eddis, nearly opposite to the alcove in Piercefield grounds, and seemingly in a direction leading towards an ancient encampment which encircles the grotto. The remains of the abutments are said to have been visible in the memory of some of the present generation; and the vestiges of a pitched road were recently found in digging near the spot. I walked to the spot, but could not discern the smallest traces of the ancient bridge, and the ground on which the pitched road was discovered was planted with potatoes. I was, however, amply gratified for my disappointment by the pleasantness of the walk by the side of the river, the beauty of the hanging woods of Piercefield, and the picturesque appearance of the castle.”
The castle of Chepstow is said by some antiquaries, to have been built originally by Julius Cæsar; which is denied by others, on the reasonable grounds, that Julius Cæsar never was there, and that Roman reliques, although abundant in the neighbourhood, have never been discovered in the town. However this may be, the name by which it is at present known, is Saxon,and denotes a place of traffic; and Leland traces at least its prosperity to its situation being favourable for commerce. “The towne of Chepstowe,” says he, “hath been very strongly walled, as yet well doth appere. The walles began at the grete bridge, over the Wy, and so came to the castel; the which yet standeth fayer and strong, not far from the ruin of the bridge. A grete lykelyhood ys, that when Carguen began to decay, then began Chepstow to flourish, for yt standeth far better, as upon Wy there ebbing and flowing, by the Rage coming out of the Severn, so that to Chepstowe may come grete shippes.”
The castle, as we have said, crowns the brow of a precipice, forming here the right bank of the Wye; and its walls, on the northern side, are so close to the edge as to seem nothing more than a prolongation of the rock. The rest of the fortress was defended by a moat and its own lofty towers.
The area was divided into four courts. The first, which is entered by a Norman gateway, contained the grand hall, the kitchen, and other apartments, on a scale of considerable grandeur.At the south-eastern angle of this court is the keep, or citadel, now called Harry Marten’s Tower. The second court contains no architectural remains, except the walls; but in the third is a remarkable building, usually designated as the chapel. It seems to have formed one magnificent apartment, probably with a gallery running along the sides. The fourth court was separated from the rest by a moat, which was crossed by a drawbridge. Whether a former building stood here or not, William Fitzosborn, earl of Hereford, is said in Domesday Book to have built the castle of Chepstow. It was inherited by his third son Roger de Britolio, who was deprived of his estates, and condemned to perpetual imprisonment for rebellion. The fierce character of this Norman baron is well illustrated in the following anecdote preserved by Dugdale.
“Though he frequently used many scornful and contumelious expressions towards the king, yet he was pleased, at the celebration of the feast of Easter in a solemn manner (as was then used), to send to this earl Rodger, at that time in prison, his royal robes, who so disdained thefavour, that he forthwith caused a great fire to be made, and the mantle, the inner surcoat of silk, and the upper garment, lined with precious furs, to be suddenly burnt. Which being made known to the king, he became not a little displeased, and said, ‘Certainly he is a very proud man who has thus abused me;but,by the brightness of God,he shall never come out of prison as long as I live.’ Which expression was fulfilled to the utmost, for he never was released during the king’s life, nor after, but died in prison.”
“Though he frequently used many scornful and contumelious expressions towards the king, yet he was pleased, at the celebration of the feast of Easter in a solemn manner (as was then used), to send to this earl Rodger, at that time in prison, his royal robes, who so disdained thefavour, that he forthwith caused a great fire to be made, and the mantle, the inner surcoat of silk, and the upper garment, lined with precious furs, to be suddenly burnt. Which being made known to the king, he became not a little displeased, and said, ‘Certainly he is a very proud man who has thus abused me;but,by the brightness of God,he shall never come out of prison as long as I live.’ Which expression was fulfilled to the utmost, for he never was released during the king’s life, nor after, but died in prison.”
In the reign of Henry I., we find Chepstow in the possession of the Clare family; of whom Richard de Clare, surnamed, like his father, Strongbow, is famous for his Irish adventures. ‘At the solicitation of Dermot Macnagh, king of Leinster, who had been dethroned by his rival Roderic the Great, king of Connaught (for there were then five kings in Ireland), he proceeded to that country with twelve hundred men, to espouse the cause of the unfortunate potentate: being offered, in the spirit of the age, his daughter for a wife, and his kingdom for an inheritance. Strongbow landed at Waterford in 1171;married the princess; and his father-in-law dying at the very moment demanded by poetical justice, conquered his promised kingdom, and took possession of Dublin the capital. The romance, however, was spoiled by Henry II., who, in high dudgeon at this presumption of a subject, confiscated his estates, and carried an army over to Ireland, with the purpose of annexing Leinster to the English crown. Strongbow submitted; abandoned Waterford and Dublin to his feudal master; was restored to his estates, and made constable of Ireland. His character is thus described by Giraldus Cambrensis:
“This earle was somewhat ruddie and of sanguine complexion and freckle face, his eyes greie, his face feminine, his voice small, and his necke little, but somewhat of high stature: he was verie liberall, corteous, and gentle; what he could not compass or bring to passe in deed, he would win by good word and gentle speeches. In time of peace he was more redie to yield and obeie than rule and beare swaie. Out of the campe he was more like to a souldier companion than a captaine or ruler; but in the camp and in the warres he carried with him the state andcountenance of a valiante captaine. Of himselfe he would not adventure anie thing; but being advised and set on, he refused no attempts; but for himselfe he would not rashlie adventure or presumptuouslie take anie thing in hand. In the fighte and battell he was a most assured token and signe to the whole companie, either to stand valiante to the fight, or for policie to retire. In all chances of warre he was still one and the same manner of man, being neither dismaied with adversitie, or puffed up with prosperitie.”
“This earle was somewhat ruddie and of sanguine complexion and freckle face, his eyes greie, his face feminine, his voice small, and his necke little, but somewhat of high stature: he was verie liberall, corteous, and gentle; what he could not compass or bring to passe in deed, he would win by good word and gentle speeches. In time of peace he was more redie to yield and obeie than rule and beare swaie. Out of the campe he was more like to a souldier companion than a captaine or ruler; but in the camp and in the warres he carried with him the state andcountenance of a valiante captaine. Of himselfe he would not adventure anie thing; but being advised and set on, he refused no attempts; but for himselfe he would not rashlie adventure or presumptuouslie take anie thing in hand. In the fighte and battell he was a most assured token and signe to the whole companie, either to stand valiante to the fight, or for policie to retire. In all chances of warre he was still one and the same manner of man, being neither dismaied with adversitie, or puffed up with prosperitie.”
By the marriage of a daughter of Richard Strongbow (who had no male issue) our castle next came into the hands of one of the greatest men of his time, William, marshal of England, lord protector of the kingdom; and by the marriage of his daughter (for although he had five sons they all died without issue), it fell to Hugh Bigod, earl of Norfolk. This daughter was Maud, remarkable for having been in her widowhood createdmarshalin virtue of her descent, the king himself, Henry III., solemnly giving the truncheon into her hands. She was buried in Tintern Abbey in 1248, her body being carried into the choir by her four sons.
After changing hands several times, Chepstow Castle appears to have beensoldto the earl of Pembroke; whose heiress Elizabeth conveyed it by marriage, as we have already had occasion to relate, to Sir Charles Somerset, afterwards earl of Worcester. Churchyarde mentions the fact of the sale in his uncouth rhymes.
“To Chepstowe yet, my pen agayne must passe,When Strongbow once (an earl of rare renown),A long time since, the lord and maister was(In princly sort) of casle and of towne.Then after that, to Mowbray it befell,Of Norfolke duke, a worthie known full well;Who sold the same to William Harbert, knight,That was the earle of Pembroke then by right.”
“To Chepstowe yet, my pen agayne must passe,When Strongbow once (an earl of rare renown),A long time since, the lord and maister was(In princly sort) of casle and of towne.Then after that, to Mowbray it befell,Of Norfolke duke, a worthie known full well;Who sold the same to William Harbert, knight,That was the earle of Pembroke then by right.”