The church of Chepstow, situated at the extremity of the town, below the bridge, exhibits a curious specimen of Norman architecture, in the massive arches resting on piers within, and the richly ornamented mouldings of the western entrance. The tower was erected during the last century. This church formed the nave of a much larger structure which belonged to a priory of Benedictine monks, founded by the builder of the castle. Some remains of the priory walls may be traced near the church, and of several other religious buildings in different parts of the town.
Chepstow Bridge is a singular structure: it was formerly entirely built with timber; but the piers of the Monmouthshire half are now constructed of stone. The flooring of this bridge, like that of many others in the county, is formed of thick planks, which are kept firm in their places by tenons, or rather wedges of wood. It is usually said, that this flooring is loose, and calculated to rise with the torrents, which sometimes swelling above the bridge would otherwise carry it away; but the fact is, that the planks are not loose: as I was informed by a workman repairing the floor, they are fastened in the manner related, in preference to nailing, that they may be more easily replaced when worn out. The tide here is reckoned to rise higher than in any other part of the world; accumulating to the height of seventy feet at particular periods; but a late examination has proved fifty-six feet to be the highest point that it has risen to during the present generation; which, though a very great rise, is not superior to what happens in some other places. The cause of this extraordinary swell proceeds from the rocks of Beachly and Aust; which, protruding far into the Severn near the mouth of the Wye, obstruct the flow of the tide, and oblige it to turn with increased rapidity into the latter river. I am informed, that the ruined chapel on a rock, near the mouth of the Wye, in the Severn, is an excellent subject for the pencil, in composition with the cliffs of Beachly and the adjacent scenery. [255]
On quitting Chepstow, and proceeding about a mile and half on the road to Monmouth, a capital lodge with iron gates and palisadoes announced the entrance of Piercefield. Eager to view this enchanting domain, the favourite resort and theme of tourists, nor less the pride of Monmouthshire, we applied at the gate for admission; when a well-grown lad made his appearance, who stared at us through the rails, with more than the usual stupidity of boys brought up at a distance from towns. Again and again, with entreaties and threats, we stated our business; but nothing could excite the gaping vacuity of his countenance, or induce him to open the gate. Rightly concluding that he was an idiot, we were returning towards the town for instructions how to act, when a venerable pate with “silver crowned” appeared at the window of the lodge, and by dint of hallooing and patience, in waiting upwards of a quarter of an hour, we had the old man at the gate. He was the boy’s grand-father; and, if intellect were hereditary, the boy might presume on his lineage with more chance of correctness than many of higher birth. The old man, after obliging us to hear a tedious incomprehensible narrative to account for his babbling attendance, at length concluded by telling us, that we could not upon any account see the grounds, as they were only shewn on Tuesdays and Fridays. This was on a Saturday; but to wait until the following Tuesday would be a tax indeed; and to proceed without seeing Piercefield a sad flaw in our tour; so we essayed with success a means which, it may be remarked, when applied in a due proportion to its object, is scarcely ever known to fail.
We rode up an embowered lane to the village of St. Arvans, and, leaving our horses at the blacksmith’s, entered Piercefield Grounds at a back gate. Here commencing a walk of three miles in length, we passed through agreeable plantations of oak, ash, and elm, to the edge of a perpendicular cliff, called the Lover’s Leap, overlooking an abyss-like hollow, whose fearful depth is softened by a tract of forest extending over the surrounding rocks. High above competition at the northern extremity of the scene rises Wynd cliff: a dark wood fringes its lofty summit, and shelves down its sides to the river Wye, which urges its sinuous course at the bottom of the glen. In one place, the river, gently curving, appears in all the breadth of its channel; in another, projecting rocks and intervening foliage conceal its course, or sparingly exhibit its darkened surface. Following the bend of the river on its marginal height, a range of naked perpendicular cliffs (the Banagor rocks) appear above the wooded hills that prevail through the scenery; of so regular a figure, that one can scarcely help imagining it the fortification of a town, with curtains, bastions, and demi-bastions. But a very leading feature is, the peninsula of Llanicut: the hills of Piercefield, here receding into a semicircular bend, watered by the river immediately beneath, are opposed by a similar concavity in the Banagor rocks: the whole forming a grand amphitheatre of lofty woods and precipices. From the opposite side descends a fertile expanse, or tongue of land, filling up the area of the circle. This singular valley is laid out in a compact ornamented farm; the richly verdant meadows are intersected by flourishing hedge-rows; while numerous trees diversify the tract, and imbower the farm-house: a row of elms shadows the margin of the river, which, skirting the base of the hills, nearly surrounds the valley.
These subjects disclose themselves in different combinations through intervals in the shrubbery which encloses the walk; and which, although selected from the nicest observations, are managed with so just an attention to the simplicity of nature, as to appear the work of her plastic hand.
The Giant’s Cave, a little further, is a passage cut through a rock. Over one of the entrances is a mutilated colossal figure, which once sustained the fragment of a rock in his uplifted arms, threatening to overwhelm whoever dared enter his retreat; but some time since the stone fell, carrying the Giant’s arms along with it; yet he continues to grin horribly, although deprived of his terrors. From this place a path, traced under the woods, descends to the bath, a commodious building concealed from outward view by impendent foliage.
Deserting for a while the course of the river, we ascend a superior eminence called the Double View, whence the different scenes that have presented themselves in detail appear in one comprehensive range. Here too a new field of prospect discloses itself, much more extensive than the former, and beautifully picturesque. The mazy Wye, with all its interesting accompaniments, passes from beneath us, through a richly variegated country, to its junction with the Severn, beyond whose silvery expanse the grand swelling shores of Somersetshire form the distance. A curious deceptio visus occurring here must not be passed over: it arises from a coincidence in the angle of vision between the embattled rocks already mentioned, and a part of the Severn; which appears to wash their summit, although in reality it is many miles distant. But the subject of the prospect from this spot is seen much more picturesquely combined as we continue our walk on a gentle descent, and catch the varying scene through apertures in the foliage; yet there is something that one would wish to add or remove, until we reach the grotto, when a picture is exhibited in the happiest taste of composition.
In this charming view from the grotto, a diversified plantation occupies the fore-ground, and descends through a grand hollow to the river, which passes in a long reach under the elevated ruin of Chepstow Castle, the town and bridge, towards the Severn. Rocks and precipices, dark shelving forests, groves, and lawns, hang on its course; and, with a variety of sailing-vessels, are reflected from the liquid mirror, with an effect that I cannot attempt to describe, and at which the magic pencil of a Claude would falter. The distant Severn and its remote shores form an excellent termination, and complete the picture.
On our visit, the rich extent of variegated woods that mantles this charming domain received an additional diversity in the endless gradations of autumnal tints that chequered their surface; while in a few places the still uniform sombre hue of the pine and larch was admirably relieved by the silvered verdure of the lightly-branching ground-ash and witch-hazel.