with towns, villages, churches, castles, and cottages; with many a
classic spot on which the stamp of history is indelibly impressed--names
embodied in our poetry, and embalmed by religious associations. From the
edge of the precipice, nearly a thousand feet in height, the prospect
extends into eight counties--Brecon, Glamorgan, Monmouth, Hereford,
Gloucester, Wilts, Somerset, and Devon.
For the enjoyment of this inspiring scene, every facility has been
supplied; and even the invalid tourist, with time and caution, may reach
the summit without fatigue. “The hand of art,” says the local guide,
“has smoothed the path up the declivity, tastefully throwing the course
into multiplied windings, which fully accord with its name, and the
nature of the scenery which it commands. At every turn some pendant rock
girt with ivy, some shady yew, or some novel glimpse on the vale below,
caught through the thick beechy mantle of this romantic precipice,
invite the beholder to the luxury of rest.” Still ascending, the tourist
penetrates a dark-winding chasm, through which the path conducts him in
shadowy silence to the last stage of the ascent, which gradually
discloses one of the most enchanting prospects upon which the human eye
can repose. From the platform to the extreme verge of the horizon, where
the Downs of Wiltshire and the Mendip hills form the boundary line, the
eye ranges over a vast region of cultivated fields, waving forests, and
populous towns, sufficient of themselves to furnish the resources of a
principality.
The pens of Reed, Warren, and Gilpin, have been successively employed in
sketching the features of this magnificent panorama; but nothing can be
more correct and graphic than the following description by
Fosbroke:--“What a cathedral is among churches, the Wynd Cliff is among
prospects. Like Snowdon, it ought to be visited at sunrise, or seen
through a sunrise-glass called a _Claude_, which affords a sunrise view
at mid-day, without the obscuration of the morning mist. This cliff is
the last grand scene of the Piercefield drama. It is not only
magnificent, but so novel, that it excites an involuntary start of
astonishment; and so sublime, that it elevates the mind into
instantaneous rapture. The parts consist of a most uncommon combination
of wood, rock, water, sky, and plain--of height and abyss--of rough and
smooth--of recess and projection--of fine landscapes near, and excellent
prospective afar,--all melting into each other, and grouping into such
capricious lines, that, although it may find a counterpart in tropic
climes, it is, in regard to England, probably unique. The spectator
stands upon the edge of a precipice, the depth of which is awful to
contemplate, with the river winding at his feet. The right screen is
Piercefield ridge, richly wooded; the left is a belt of rocks, over
which, northward, appears the Severn, with the fine shores between
Thornbury and Bristol, rising behind each other in admirable swells,
which unite in most graceful curves. The first foreground appears to
the eye like a view from the clouds to the earth, and the rich contrast
of green meadows to wild forest scenery,--the farm of Llancaut, clasped
in the arms of the winding river, backed by hanging wood and rock. The
further horn of the crescent tapers off into a craggy informal mole,
over which the eye passes to a second bay; this terminates in Chepstow
Castle, the town and rocks beyond all mellowed down by distance, into
that fine hazy indistinctness which makes even deformities combine into
harmony with the picture.”[32]
<g>An observatory</g>, the guide informed us, was intended some years since to
have crowned this noble eminence, and a subscription was got up for the
purpose; but some difference having arisen between the projectors of the
scheme and the proprietor of the land, it was dropped. It was suggested
by a local writer, that a few Doric columns with architraves, however
rude, would have had an imposing effect on the summit of the Wynd Cliff,
and reminded the classic traveller of the ruined temple of Minerva on
the Sunium promontory. “It might,” he says, “be partially immersed in
wood; while, in the native rock, niches might be hollowed out; and on a
tablet, at the finest point of view, the following words should be
inscribed:--VALENTINE MORRIS[33] _introduced these sublime scenes to
public view. To him be honour: to_ GOD _praise_.”[34] This is concise
and classical; but it is reserved probably for another generation to
witness the completion of the design.
The whole scene, from this point to the Abbey of Tinterne, presents an
uninterrupted combination of picturesque and romantic features. Above
are hanging cliffs, richly clothed in variegated woods, perfumed with
flowers, irrigated by murmuring rivulets, fountains, and cascades, and
rendered vocal by the songs of birds. These woody solitudes are the
annual resort of nightingales, whose note is familiar to every late and
early tourist, who with slow and lingering step measures his leafy way
between <g>Chepstow</g> and <g>Tinterne</g>--unable to decide at what point of the
road there is the richest concentration of scenery. It is, indeed, a
sylvan avenue of vast and variegated beauty, reminding us of the softer
features of Helvetian landscape.
Far below, and seen only at intervals through its thick curtain of
foliage, the classic <g>Vaga</g> continues its winding course. Here basking in
sunshine, there sweeping along under shadowy cliffs--now expanding its
waters over a broad channel, or rushing through deep ravines, it is
often enlivened by boats laden with produce, or visitors in
pleasure-barges, who make the “descent of the Wye,” as, in former days,
pilgrims made that of the Rhine and Danube; for the boats that perform
the trip from Ross to Chepstow, make, in general, but one voyage, and
are otherwise employed or broken up at its conclusion--
Facilis descensus Averni--
Sed revocare gradum.
It is but recently, says a periodical authority, that the Wye has become
at all frequented on account of its scenery. About the middle of last
century, the Rev. Dr. Egerton, afterwards Bishop of Durham, was collated
by his father to the rectory of Ross, in which pleasant town, situated
on the left bank of the river, and just at the point where its beautiful
scenery begins, the worthy doctor resided nearly thirty years. He was a
man of taste, and had a lively enjoyment of the pleasures of society
amidst the beautiful scenery of his neighbourhood. His chief delight was
to invite his friends and connections, who were persons of high rank, to
pay him summer visits at Ross, and then to take them down the Wye--
“Pleased Vaga echoing through its winding bounds,”--
which, as well as the town of <g>Ross</g>, had derived a new interest from the
lines of Pope. For this purpose, we are told, Dr. Egerton built a
pleasure-boat; and, year after year, excursions were made, until it
became fashionable in a certain high class of society to visit the Wye.
But when the rector of Ross was consecrated to the see of Durham, his
pleasure-boat, like that of the Doges of Venice and Genoa, was suffered
to rot at anchor; and with no successor of similar means and taste to
follow his example, excursions on the Wye became unfrequent, because no
longer fashionable. Yet the beauties of the scenery once explored,
became gradually more attractive; and some pilgrim of Nature, deviating
now and then from the beaten track, spoke and sang of its beauties,
until, having again caught the public ear, it was admitted that we had a
“Rhine” within our own borders--with no vineyards and fewer castles, but
with a luxuriance of scenery peculiarly its own, and with remains of
feudal and monastic grandeur which no description could exaggerate. Mr.
Whately, a writer on landscape gardening, and an exquisite critic, first
directed attention to the new weir at Tinterne Abbey, and one or two
other scenes on its banks; and, in 1770, the Wye was visited by William
Gilpin, who did good service to taste and the lovers of nature by
publishing his tour. The same year, a greater name connected itself with
the Wye--for it was visited by the immortal author of the “Elegy in a
Country Churchyard.” “My last summer’s tour,” says Gray, in one of his
admirable letters to <g>Dr. Wharton</g>, “was through Worcestershire,
Gloucestershire, Monmouthshire, Herefordshire, and Shropshire--five of
the most beautiful counties in the kingdom. The very principal sight and
capital feature of my journey was the river Wye, which I descended in a
boat for nearly forty miles, from Ross to Chepstow. Its banks are a
succession of nameless beauties.”[35] The testimony thus bequeathed to
it by the illustrious <g>Gray</g>, has been confirmed and repeated by
<g>Wordsworth</g>, while other kindred spirits, following each other in the
same track, have sacrificed to Nature at the same altar, and recorded
their admiration in immortal song:--
... “Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion, and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
“How oft,
In darkness, and amid the many shapes
Of joyless daylight, when the fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,
Have 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!”
WORDSWORTH, _July 13, 1798_.
* * * * *
AUTHORITIES quoted or referred to in the preceding
article:--Dugdale’s Monasticon.--Baronage.--Camden’s
Britannia.--Leland’s Itinerary.--County History.--Local Guides:
Heath.--Wood.--De la Beche.--Williams.--Thomas.--Roscoe.--Burke’s
Peerage and Commoners.--Chronicles.--Giraldus Cambrensis.--William
of Worcester.--History of the Commonwealth.--Life of
Cromwell.--Notes by Correspondents.--MS. Tour on the Wye, 1848;
with other sources, which will be found enumerated in the article
upon _Tinterne Abbey_.
[Illustration]
[Illustration] TINTERNE ABBEY.
“There are some, I hear, who take it ill that I mention monasteries
and their founders; I am sorry to hear it. But, not to give them
any just offence, let them be angry if they will. Perhaps they
would have it forgotten that our ancestors were, and we are,
Christians; since there never were more certain indications and
glorious monuments, of Christian piety than these.”--CAMDEN’S
_Britannia, Pref. Ages of Faith_, Book xi.
[Illustration: T]<g>he Abbey of Tinterne</g>, though one of the oldest in
England, makes no conspicuous figure in its history, a proof that its
abbots were neither bold nor ambitious of distinction, but devoted to
the peaceful and retiring duties of their office. We do not find that
the secluded Tinterne was ever the scene of any rebellious outbreak, or
the refuge of any notorious criminal. From age to age, the bell that
summoned to daily matins and vespers was cheerfully obeyed; and all they
knew of the great world beyond the encircling hills, was learned,
perhaps, from the daily strangers and pilgrims who took their meal and
night’s lodging in the _hospitium_.
The name of <g>Tinterne</g>, as etymologists inform us, is derived from the
Celtic words _din_, a fortress, and _teyrn_, a sovereign or chief; for
it appears from history, as well as tradition, that a hermitage,
belonging to Theodoric or Teudric, King of Glamorgan, originally
occupied the site of the present abbey; and that the royal hermit,
having resigned the throne to his son Maurice, “led an eremitical life
among the rocks of Dindyrn or Tynterne.” It is also mentioned, as a
remarkable coincidence in history, that two kings, who sought Tinterne
as a temporary place of refuge, only left it to meet violent deaths. The
first was Theodoric, who was slain in battle by the Saxons, under
Ceolwilph, King of Wessex, in the year 600, having been dragged from his
seclusion by his own subjects, in order that he might act once more as
their leader. The next was “the unfortunate King Edward,[36] who fled
from the pursuit of his queen,” Isabella. The Welsh monarch is said to
have routed the Saxons at Mathern, near Chepstow, where his body was
buried. Bishop Godwin says, that he there saw his remains in a stone
coffin; and on the skull, after the lapse of nearly a thousand years,
the wound of which he died was conspicuous--thus verifying the tradition
as to the place and manner of his death.
Nothing could be more happily chosen for the seat of a religious
community, than the beautiful valley of which these ruins are the
unrivalled ornament. It would be difficult to picture, even with the aid
of a fertile imagination, scenes more fitted to cherish devout feelings;
to instruct us, from the tranquil bosom of Nature, to look up to
Nature’s God; and in the exclusion of the busy world, to feel
aspirations of gratitude continually ascending towards Him who enriched
the valley with his bounty, and in homage to whom that temple and its
altars were first erected. The latter, as the work of man, and a prey to
neglect and violence, have disappeared or crumbled into ruins; but the
former, as the work of God, has lost nothing of its original beauty. The
woods that curtain the scene; the river that sweeps along under pendent
cliffs of oak; the meadows and orchards that cover and adorn its
banks,--all continue as luxuriant, as copious and abundant, as verdant
and blooming, as on that day when the first pilgrim-father planted his
cross in the soil, and consecrated the spot to the service of God.
It has been often observed--and the observation is confirmed by
fact--that those venerable ascetics, who acted as pioneers in the army
of Christian pilgrims, were no mean judges of soil and climate, and
generally chose some fertile spot upon which nature had bestowed her
special favour. But many instances may be pointed out where they chose
even the inhospitable desert for their habitation; and, by unremitting
labour, transformed that desert into a garden. To the personal example
of those ancient Cistercians, the country is indebted for many
improvements in all branches of cultivation and embellishment. From the
model-garden and orchard of the monastery, hints were communicated and
lessons taught, which found their way into every part of the country,
and carried with them the principal arts of civilization and
improvement. Thus, what first gave a prosperous agriculture to our own
shores, is still in operation upon the barbarous islands of the Pacific,
where Christian missions, religious fraternities, are busily
propagating, by their own example, those domestic and mechanical arts
which are the safest and best introduction to religious knowledge. Of
this happy influence on the minds and habits of the peasantry, none of
the monastic orders was more fully sensible than the Cistercians, whose
laborious but abstemious lives, sumptuous temples, and gorgeous ritual,
threw an air of luxury upon every spot where the Order had once set its
name.[37]
From the shadowy woods which shelter and encompass it, Tinterne may be
justly denominated the _Vallis umbrosa_ of Monmouth; but the fertility
of the soil, and solemn retirement of the scene, so desirable for a
great sanctuary in the “<g>Ages of Faith</g>,” had an immense advantage in the
noble and navigable river which formed the channel of communication
between the interior and the sea; and, like an artery supplying
nutriment to the system, brought its supplies of provision or treasure
to the very gate of the abbey. And many a goodly cargo of corn from
Hereford, and wine from Normandy, has been disembarked at that old pier,
where the abbot’s galley has degenerated into a clumsy ferryboat, with
old Richard Tamplin, the ferryman, for its commander.
From ancient historical sources, which treat of the origin, progress,
and dissolution of this abbey, we select the following materials:--The
founder was <g>Walter de Clare</g>, a name famous in the annals of chivalry and
church-building. The first stone was laid in the thirty-first year of
the twelfth century; but more than a century and a half elapsed before
its completion. In those days churches were the work of generations; and
it was rarely, indeed, that the founder lived to witness the fulfilment
of his vow. “These all died in faith.” In 1287, we are told the <g>White
Friars</g> took possession of the edifice consecrated to the <g>Blessed
Virgin</g>,[38] and commenced those hallowed services which the Eighth
Henry, by his _sic volo_, was destined to silence. These services,
however, had lasted for centuries; and who shall say, during the lapse
of barbarous times, how much crime was prevented, how much good
effected, by those holy men. Shut out from the haunts and habits of
secular life, they exercised their spiritual functions, we may
charitably believe, in a manner that drew many penitents to their altar;
and, in the midst of wars and tumults, displayed the sacred banner of
peace, and published the doctrine of salvation. Their record is on high.
And, in justice to the Cistercians, it must be confessed, that if less
learned, they were more exemplary, and not more worldly, than some other
fraternities of higher pretensions. They exercised and patronised
agriculture; and planting themselves, as the rule directed, in the
depths of forests, or on desert heaths, they drew from the earth such
sustenance as it would yield to the hand of labour; and trusted to those
who sought their spiritual aid and counsel, for the means of building
and embellishing their altars.
[Illustration]
The order of <g>Cistercians</g>, as the reader is aware, made its appearance in
England about the year 1128. In imitation of CHRIST and his twelve
Apostles, the brotherhood was limited to twelve, with an abbot at their
head, according to the rule of the Founder:--“Et sicut ille monasteria
constructa, per _duodecim_ monachos adjuncto patre disponebat, sic se
acturos confirmabant.”--_Mon. Ang._ iv. 699. Their first establishment
in England was at Waverley, in Surrey; and in the course of time, their
numbers had so multiplied, that, shortly before the dissolution of
religious houses, they had seventy-five monasteries, and twenty-six
nunneries in this country. Their patriarch was St. Robert, Abbot of
<g>Molesme</g>, a Benedictine monastery in the bishopric of Langres. This holy
man becoming alarmed at the gradual decay of vital religion among the
brotherhood, and their wilful neglect of the rules instituted by their
founder, adopted measures for the immediate reformation of the order.
Having obtained the Pope’s sanction in support of his design, he chose
twenty-one of the brethren, and retiring from Molesme to the
neighbourhood of Chalons-sur-Saone, took up his abode in the
wilderness[39] of Citeaux; where, under the protection of Otho, Duke of
Burgundy, and the Bishop of Chalons, he laid the foundation of a
religious house, in which the rules of <g>St. Benedict</g> were to be strictly
enforced, and the character of his followers restored. But the wisdom
and piety of Robert having introduced several improvements into the
rules of St. Benedict, the brotherhood began to present features so
distinct from the parent establishment, that, on the return of St.
Robert to Molesme, his successor, Albericus, obtained a charter from the
Pope, constituting the monks of Citeaux into an independent order--that
of Cistercians, or Whitefriars. Their rules were positive and stringent;
they involved the surrender of all secular affairs into the hands of lay
brothers, so that their lives and labours might be exclusively devoted
to the exercise of charity and the service of the altar. In their choice
of localities for the establishment of new houses, they were enjoined,
as already observed, to avoid cities, and go forth into the wilderness.
This was favourable to pilgrimages; and with the fruits of these, and
benefactions from all classes, what they had found a desert on their
arrival, was speedily converted by labour and industry into a garden;
and what was at first only a cell or chapel, was gradually extended into
a church and abbey. The revenue of the order was divided into four
parts--to the bishop, a fourth; to the priests, a fourth; to the
exercise of hospitality, a fourth; and another fourth for the support of
widows and orphans, the relief of the sick, and the repairs of churches
and cloisters. And inasmuch as they could not find, either in the life
or rule of <g>St. Benedict</g>,[40] that their founder had possessed any
churches, or altars, or ovens, or mills, or towns, or serfs; or that any
woman was ever permitted to enter his monastery, or any dead to be
buried there, except his sister; they therefore renounced all these
things: “Ecce hujus seculi divitiis spretis cœperunt novi milites
Christi cum paupere Christo pauperes inter se tractare, quo ingenio, quo
artificio, quo se exercitio in hac vita se hospitesque divites et
pauperes supervenientes quos ut Christum suscipere præcipit regula
sustentarent.” For a time the Cistercians continued in exemplary
observance of their rules: poverty and humility walked hand in hand;
but, in proportion as their revenues increased, their discipline began
to relax; a taste for luxury[41] succeeded; and whoever has visited
their splendid abbeys abroad, will readily confess that, while
professing abstinence and self-denial, they were lodged like princes,
and like princes shared in the vanities and pleasures of the world.
Their ruling passion was said to be avarice; but if they amassed riches,
they spent them with a princely liberality; and their buildings, in this
and other countries, present some of the finest specimens of taste ever
raised by the hand of man.[42]
<g>Cistercians</g> were Benedictines, according to the _letter_ of the rule,
without mitigation.[43] Their peculiarities are thus described in
Dugdale’s Warwickshire:[44]--“First, for their habits, they wear no
leather or linen, nor indeed any fine woollen cloth; neither, except it
be on a journey, do they put on any breeches, and then, after their
return, deliver them fair washed. Having two coats with cowls, in winter
time they are not to augment, but in summer, if they choose, they may
lessen them; in which habit they are to sleep, and after matins not to
return to their beds. For prayers, the hour of _Prime_, they so
conclude, that before the _Lauda_ it may be daybreak, strictly observing
their rule, that not one iota or tittle of their service is omitted.
Immediately after Lauda, they sing the Prime; and after Prime, they go
out performing their appointed hours in work. What is to be done in the
day, they act by daylight; for none of them, except he be sick, is to be
absent from his diurnal hours or Complinæ. When the Compline is
finished, the steward of the house and he that hath charge of the guests
go forth, but with great care of silence serve them.
For _diet_, “the Abbot assumes no more liberty to himself than any of
his convent, everywhere being present with them, and taking care of his
flock, except at meat, in regard his talk is always with the strangers
and poor people. Nevertheless, when he eats, he is abstemious of talk or
any dainty fare; nor hath he or any of them ever above two dishes of
meat; neither do they eat of fat or flesh, except in case of sickness;
and, from the _ides_ of September till Easter, they eat no more than
_once_ a day, except on Sunday, and not even on festivals.
“Out of the precincts of their cloyster they go not but to work; neither
there nor anywhere do they discourse with any but the abbot or prior.
They unweariedly continue their canonical hours, not piecing any service
to another, except the _vigils_ for the deceased. Their manual labour
was as follows: In summer, after Chapter, which followed Prime, they
worked till Tierce; and, after Nones, till Vespers. In winter, from
after Mass till Nones, and even to Vespers, during Lent. In harvest,
when they went to work in the farms, they said Tierce and the conventual
Mass immediately after Prime, that nothing might hinder their work for
the rest of the morning; and often they said divine service in their
places where they were at work, and at the same hours as those at home
celebrated in the church.[45]
“They observe the office of <g>St. Ambrose</g>, so far as they can have perfect
knowledge thereof from Millain; and, taking care of strangers and sick
people, do devise extraordinary afflictions for their own bodies, to the
intent their souls may be advantaged.” Of the same Order--
Hospinian says--“They allowed to candidates a year’s probation, but no
reception to fugitives after the third time. All fasts were observed
according to the rule: to visitors prostration was enjoined, with
washing of feet. At the Abbot’s table sat the guests and pilgrims: they
laboured more than the rule required: delicate habits were exploded:
obsolete and primitive fervour was diligently revived and practised. But
of this powerful order, avarice was the besetting vice: they were great
dealers in wool, generally very ignorant, and, in fact, farmers rather
than monks.”[46] The best account of this brotherhood, as Fosbroke has
told us, is to be found in the _Usus Cisterciensium_; but of their
habits and ceremonies further notice will be found when we come to treat
of the more opulent houses. Guyot le Provins, first a minstrel, then a
monk, has thus satirized them in a poem, which he called a _bible_, or,
more properly, libel. The Cistercian “abbots and cellarers have ready
money, eat large fish, drink good wine, and send to the refectory, for
those who do the work, the very worst. I have seen these monks,” he
affirms, “put pig-sties in churchyards, and stables for asses in
chapels. They seize the cottages of the poor, and reduce them to
beggary.”--With this brief account of the Order, we return to the
subjects selected for illustration.
In a historical sketch, by the late Archdeacon Coxe, the ruins of
Tinterne Abbey are thus described, and his description is at once
accurate and graphic:--
“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 us 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 once 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, no less than grandeur,
is its characteristic, and that the whole is a combination of the
beautiful and the sublime. The church, constructed in the shape of a
cathedral, is an excellent specimen of Gothic architecture in its
purity. The roof has long since fallen in, and the whole ruin is thus
thrown 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 their 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
arches and pillars of the transepts are complete: the shapes of all the
windows may yet be discriminated; 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 gorgeous
effect. The general form of the east window is also entire, but its
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, with an appearance of singular
lightness, which, in particular points of view, seems as if suspended in
the air. To these decorations of art, nature has added her own
ornaments. Some of the windows are wholly obscured, others partially
shaded, with tufts of ivy, or edged with lighter foliage:
[Illustration:
_W.H. Bartlett_ _A. Willmore_