CONWAY.
The town derives its name from Cyn (chief) and Wy (river).
The principal inn is the Castle, which affords every accommodation the traveller can desire. The Wynnes are celebrated here, as in all parts of North Wales. In the interior of the town stands Plas Mawr, which was erected in 1585, and is still a remarkable structure; its founder was Robert Wynne of Gwydir, the uncle of Sir John Wynne the historian. Over the grand entrance is inscribed, in Greek characters, “bear and forbear,” over which in Roman characters, “J. H. S. X. P. S.” (Jesus Hominum Salvator et populi salus). The old college is in Castle Street, and the church is built from the remains of the ancient Cistercian Abbey, which was founded here by Llewellyn ap Jorwerth, 1185. It contains a rich baptismal font of gothic structure, with a tablet to the memory of Nicholas Hookes of the town of Conway, who was the forty-first child of William and Alice Hookes, and who was himself the father of twenty-seven children.
During my short stay in Conway, I endeavoured to discover the best view of the town, which I think is from the eastern side of the river, about midway between the chain bridge and the mansion of Sir John Hilton. Nothing can be more interesting. The variety of small craft, sailing and anchored, before its warlike screen; the castle, with its towers and turrets, rising in hostile grandeur upon its rocky base; the bridge, and lovely scenery beyond of purple hills and thriving villages; and the bright waters sporting with the luxuriant foliage of its woody margin, create a sensation of delight in the pursuer of picturesque scenery, which he has probably seldom before experienced.
Another delightful view may be obtained by ascending the rock, which overhangs the lodge of the bridge upon its eastern side. A flight of steps conducts to the summit, where a seat is most conveniently placed for the accommodation of the lovers of romantic beauty; and the bridge, although inferior in magnitude to the stupendous work of art which stretches over Bangor Ferry, commands the admiration of the spectator. But the chief object of interest is the castle, which surpasses in picturesque grandeur any building of the kind I ever beheld. I thought Carnaervon Castle the most beautiful of ruins, but it is not, in my opinion, to be compared with Conway. The solidity of its structure, and its expansive site, resembling the fortresses of Syria and the Holy Land, give to its exterior all that the most romantic imagination could desire. Its foundation is a rock of slate, and its works are impregnable. Nothing but famine could, at the time it was erected, have had power to subdue it. Its walls are from ten to twelve feet in thickness, and it had formerly a deep and broad moat, on the west and north west sides; which with the sea washing its base on the east and south, formed insurmountable barriers to the assailants.
It was evening when I first entered this noble ruin. The porteress very ungraciously left me to my meditations after admitting me, locking the gate after her, and leaving me like a state prisoner in the royal fortress. I confess I was little pleased with the manners of my conductress and the solitary situation in which I was placed, and sensations arose within me like those which a school boy feels when passing a churchyard at midnight.
The sun had set, and the deep shadows of eve were darkening into night, as I stood alone in the court yard, and flitting visions arose before me of those who crossed its space in distant bygone ages—“the plumed troops,” and courtly dames, and all the glitter of the olden times. As I thus stood amongst the ruins, a deep drawn sigh, close by my ear, made my heart leap into my throat, as I turned to discover from whence it proceeded. But all was solitude around. The huge festoons of ivy, unruffled by a breath of air, hung heavily in funereal grandeur on the walls. As I passed into what had been the banqueting hall, the darkness increased. It was a noble apartment, and measured 130 feet in length, and thirty in breadth, in height twenty. Nine windows looked southward, up the river, and two into the courtyard. In the recesses were stone seats, capable of accommodating twelve persons; and, as I seated myself in one of these, my delusion of other days came over me. Here sat the first Edward, the hero of Palestine; here was the monarch besieged, and almost reduced by famine; here Hotspur and King Richard held a conference; and the latter, putting himself into the power of Northumberland, was betrayed by him, and sent a prisoner to the usurper Bolingbroke.
“Life’s but a walking shadow—a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more!”
As I made this apt quotation, another deep and heavy sigh, and a rustling in the ivy, startled me, and the bird of solitude, the lonely owl, flapped his heavy wings, and flew past me to a remoter corner of the ruined hall. I arose, and walked to a small chamber, where there was an open ornamented casement, and which, as I was afterwards informed, bears the name of the queen’s oriel; from which there is a pleasant prospect of part of the ruin and scenery beyond.