There is one expedition from Monmouth that we cannot possibly undertake in a car, yet should by no means omit. The famous Symond’s Yat, with its perfect river scenery, cannot be approached by road, but it is easy to reach it by train, and very delightful to return to Monmouth by water, past the great limestone crags known as the Seven Sisters. At the hotel, where the train deposits one, the attraction is simply the view of the river and its wooded banks, but for the energetic this view may be much enlarged by half an hour’s climb to the summit of the Yat itself, where those who enjoy scenery in proportion to the number of counties visible, may have the satisfaction of seeing seven. It was near Symond’s Yat, at a defile significantly called The Slaughter to this day, that the Danes, under Eric of the Bloody Axe, were defeated by King Alfred’s son Edward the Elder, named also the Unconquered, whom Matthew of Westminster declares to have been “even more glorious than his father for power and dignity.”
The last fifteen miles of the Wye Valley, from Monmouth to Chepstow, where the Wye falls into the estuary of the Severn, are probably as beautiful as any fifteen miles of English road. It is late in May or early in October that we should drive along this road to see it at its best, for the whole landscape is filled with trees. The quiet river, with the road close beside it, winds between two wooded heights from Redbrook to the Severn. A gentle rise takes us out of Redbrook, which has spoilt its beauty by manufacturing tin-plate; then we run down to Bigsweir Bridge, and cross it, with a lovely view downstream; pass Llandogo, where the Wye becomes tidal; pass Brockweir with its ferry; and driving through Tintern Parva come within sight of the unsurpassed beauty of Tintern Abbey.
Go to Tintern again and again, for it never palls. See it when the trees are first breaking into leaf, and all the leaves are of different colours; and see it again against the heavy foliage of the summer woods; and again when the hills behind it are red and gold in autumn. For the Cistercians, though they denied art, were surely admirable artists; and being forbidden by their stern rule to adorn their churches with coloured glass or superfluous carving, they raised for themselves buildings of perfect form in the loveliest places in all England, where in spring and autumn the cold grey stone of their exquisite windows was the frame of fairer colours than were ever stained on glass.
It was of this abbey that the incomparable Gilpin wrote quite gravely: “A number of gable-ends hurt the eye with their regularity and disgust it by the vulgarity of their shape.” A mallet, judiciously used, he suggested, might make improvements. Unfortunately time and long neglect have done only too much towards the ruin of Tintern, without any help from the judicious mallet of Gilpin. For many years the place was utterly uncared for; the stones were used by any one who wished to build a cottage, and an old beggar-woman made her dwelling in the library of the monks. This was long ago: every care is given to Tintern now. The floor of the nave is covered with well-kept turf, the fallen fragments of masonry are gathered together, the weak places of the building are strengthened wherever it is possible. But the alarming curves of the arches bear witness to past neglect, and the timid tourist is appalled by the ominous warning on the notice-board: “Persons who visit this Abbey do so at their own risk.” This is discouraging.
TINTERN ABBEY.
CHEPSTOW CASTLE.
From Tintern the road rises for about three miles towards the splendid scenery of the Wyndcliff. The river winds below, and beyond it among the trees a discerning eye may detect the straight ridge of Offa’s Dyke. The view from the road as it passes beneath the famous cliff is wonderfully beautiful—a view of tortuous river and height beyond height of woodland, and gleaming in the distance the waters of the Severn estuary: and those who climb the Wyndcliff come down again well contented, having seen nine counties.
As we pass the little village at St. Arvan’s the river is completely hidden by the walls and trees of Piercefield Park. A gentle descent of about two miles brings us to the steep hill that winds downwards into Chepstow above the castle, passing under one of the old town-gates.