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 the concluding 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 are spots, to use the fine but unappreciated image of Maturin,

“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 Virgin Mary; 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 cathedral form; 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 nature conjointly; and the traces, therefore, of taste or ingenuity are not to be condemned, 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 a flat 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 the monks; 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 more artistical Gilpin, 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 importunate beggars, 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 is entire, 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 these walls, 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 depends upon 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 of Churchyarde (a most suitable name), and the rather that it exhibits the poet of the “Worthines of Wales” 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 bow
Unto this lord alone.
Of this rare work a porch is made,
The barrons there remaine
In 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 blaze
What 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 was called 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 a roof 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 only event unconnected with the monastery which is assigned to this locality is a battle. 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 of
Frederic, King of Morganoch or
Glamorgan, commonly called
St. Thewdrick, and accounted a martyr,
because he was slain in a battle against
the Saxons, being then Pagans, and in
defence of the Christian religion. The
battle was fought at Tintern, when he
obtained a great victory. He died here
being in his way homeward, three
days after the battle, having taken
order with Maurice his son, who suc-
ceeded him in the kingdom, that in the
same place he should happen to decease, a
church should be built, and his body buri-
ed in y^e same, which was accordingly performed
in the year 1601.