Piercefield—Points of view—Curious appearance—Scenic character of the place—View from Wyndcliff—Account of Valentine Morris—Anecdotes—The Wye below Chepstow—Aust Ferry—Black Rock Ferry—St. Theodric—Conclusion.

The romantic region of Piercefield, extending from Chepstow to Wyndcliff—a distance of about three miles by the sinuous walk, is one of the grand attractions of this place. It is nothing more, it is true, than a gentleman’s park; but then the landscape gardener by whom this park was laid out is Nature herself, who has lavished here her beauty, her grandeur, and her romance, in the wildest profusion. Art is entirely subservient to her purposes, opening the view where it was shut in, and forming paths for the pilgrim foot that would approach to worship.“In the composition of the scenery,” says the historical tourist, “the meandering Wye, the steep cliffs, and the fertile peninsula of Lancaut, form the striking characteristics.

“The Wye, which is everywhere seen from a great elevation, passes between Wyndcliff and the Bangor rocks, winds round the peninsula of Lancaut, under a semicircular chain of stupendous cliffs, is lost in its sinuous course, and again appears in a straight line at the foot of the Lancaut rocks, and flows under the majestic ruins of Chepstow Castle towards the Severn.

“The rocks are broken into a variety of fantastic shapes, and scattered at different heights and different positions: they start abruptly from the river, swell into gentle acclivities, or hang on the summits of the hills; here they form a perpendicular rampart, these jet into enormous projections, and impend over the water.

“But their dizzy heights and abrupt precipices are softened by the woods which form a no less conspicuous feature in the romantic scenery; they are not meagre plantations placed by art, but a tract of forests scattered by the hand of nature. In one place they expand into open groves of large oak, elm, and beech; in another form a shade of timber trees, copses, and underwood, hiding all external objects, and wholly impervious to the rays of the sun, they start from the crevices of the rocks, feather their edges, crown their summits, clothe their sides, and fill the intermediate hollows with a luxuriant mass of foliage, bring to recollection of the border

“‘Of Eden, where delicious paradise,
Now nearer, crowns with her enclosure green,
As with a rural mound, the champaign head
Of a steep wilderness, whose hairy sides,
With thicket o’ergrown, grotesque and wild,
Access denied, and over head up grew
Insuperable height of loftiest shade,

* * * * * *

A sylvan scene and as the banks ascend
Shade above shade, a woody theatre
Of stateliest view.’”

And this grandeur is heightened, not diminished, by the view presented in the midst of fertile fields, and the simple details of rural occupation. The peninsula of Laucaut, on the opposite bank of the Wye, is a comparatively extensive farm, cultivated to the highest perfection, and rich with the gifts of Ceres. It is dotted with trees, and a range of elms fringes it on the side of the river. Towards the middle of its pear-shaped area, or rather approaching the isthmus, stands the farm house, with rocks and woods behind. The principal points of view are the following:

1. The Lover’s Leap. 2. A seat near two beeches on the edge of the precipice. 3. The Giant’s Cave, which occupies the centre of the amphitheatre and overlooks Lancaut peninsula. 4. The halfway seat under a large beech tree. 5. The double view. 6. Above Piercewood. 7. The grotto. 8. The platform. 9. The alcove.

But other portions of the grounds not so frequently visited are noticed by an observant traveller. “From the Giant’s cave, a road winds beautifully along the brow of the cliff to a grove of lofty oak, beech, and sycamore, which is cleared from underwood, in the centre of the extensive forest which spreads beneath the Lover’s Leap. In this charming and sequestered spot is a cold bath supplied by a copious and transparent rill, which springs at the foot of the winding cliff, and ripples down the side of the declivity. The road then descends to Malridge meadow, on the bank of the Wye, where the river appears like a lake, and the fertile peninsula of Lancaut rises in a gentle declivity from the margin of the stream to the isthmus.

“A beautiful walk, two miles in length, skirts this meadow, at the foot of the stupendous range of Piercefield cliffs, and then mounts to the house by steps, cut in a steep rock. As the house stands several hundred feet above the river, the ascent is long and difficult, but the toil is amply repaid by the beauty and sublimity of the scene.”

From some of these points, it may be observed, the Severn, seen beyond the Wye, appears to be considerably above it; and, however easily explained the phenomenon may be, an indescribably puzzling effect is produced by the idea that the latter river, a few miles lower down, runs into the former. The fact is noticed by Mr. Coxe, whose description is truly excellent.

“From the Lover’s Leap the walk is carried through a thick mantle of forests, with occasional openings, which seem not the result of art or design, but the effect of chance or nature, and seats placed where the spectator may repose and view at leisure the scenery above, beneath, and around. This

Bowery walk
Of covert close, where scarce a speck of day
Falls on the lengthened gloom,

is conformant to the genius of Piercefield; the screen of wood prevents the uniformity of a bird’s eye view, and the imperceptible bend of the amphitheatre conveys the spectator from one part of the fairy region to the other without perceiving the gradation. Hence the Wye is sometimes concealed or half-obscured by overhanging foliage, at others, wholly expanding to view, is seen sweeping beneath in a broad and circuitous channel; hence in one place the Severn spreads in the midst of a boundless expanse of country, and on the opposite side to the Wye; at another both rivers appear on the same side, and the Severn seems supported on the summit of the cliffs which form the bank of the Wye. Hence the same objects present themselves in different aspects, with varied accompaniments; hence the magic transition from the impervious gloom of the forest to open groves; from meadows and lawns, to rocks and precipices, and from the beauties of English landscape, to the wildness of Alpine scenery.

View from Wyndcliff

“The summit of Wind Cliff, which towers above the northern extremity of the grounds, commands, in one point of view, the whole extent of this interesting scenery: as I stood on the brow of this precipice, I looked down on the fertile peninsula of Lancaut, surrounded with rocks and forests, contemplated the hanging wood, rich lawns, and romantic cliffs of Piercefield, the castle and town of Chepstow, and traced the Wye, sweeping in the true outline of beauty, from the Bangor crags to its junction with the Severn, which spreads into an estuary, and is lost in the distant ocean.

“A boundless extent of country is seen in every direction from this commanding eminence, comprehending not less than nine counties. In the midst of this expanse, I principally directed my attention to the subject of my tour, which now drew to a conclusion. I traced, with pleasing satisfaction, not unmixed with regret, the luxuriant vallies and romantic hills of this interesting country, which I had traversed in various directions, but I dwelt with peculiar admiration on the majestic rampart which forms its boundary to the west, and extends in one grand and unbroken outline, from the banks of the Severn to the Black Mountains,

“‘Where the broken landscape, by degrees
Ascending, roughens into rigid hills;
O’er which the Cambrian mountains, like far clouds
That skirt the blue horizon, dusky rise.’”

Till Piercefield was inherited by Valentine Morris, whose father had obtained it by purchase, the capabilities of the place were unknown, principally, we should think, from the view being hidden by a deep veil of forest. Morris saw everything, however, with the eye of taste; and without officiously intermeddling with nature, he contrived, by merely displaying the treasures that before were concealed, and by opening out paths through the woods to enable visiters to enjoy them, to render Piercefield the fairy-land it now appears. He seems to have been a man of a princely mind, but a thoughtless, unreflecting disposition. His beautiful property was nothing to him without admirers; and he was so grateful for admiration, that he caused his servants to wait upon and feast, gratuitously, even the vagrant stranger, as soon as his foot had entered the magic circle. It is hardly necessary to add, therefore, that by the time the beauties of Piercefield had become extensively known, their master was ruined. Various other circumstances, however, concurred to dissipate a large fortune, and at length he retired to the West Indies, where he had inherited considerable property. The following anecdote is told of his adieu to Piercefield:—

“Before his final departure from England, he indulged himself with bidding adieu to Piercefield. In company with a friend he surveyed his own creation, for the last time, with apparent composure and manly resignation. On his return to Chepstow he was surrounded by the poor; who, throwing themselves on their knees, thanked him for the numerous instances of his bounty, and implored the blessing of Heaven on their generous benefactor. Even this affecting spectacle he bore with silent fortitude, and entered the chaise which conveyed him to London. But he no sooner reached the Gloucestershire side of the bridge, than his ear was struck with the mournful peal of bells, muffled, as is usual on the loss of departed friends; deeply affected with this mark of esteem and regret, he could no longer control his emotions, and burst into tears.”

He was made lieutenant-governor, and afterwards governor in chief, of St. Vincent’s; where his affairs prospered so much that he had almost recovered his fortune, when the island was attacked by the French. With his usual nobility of spirit, he advanced large sums out of his private funds towards the defence, but all in vain: St. Vincent’s was taken, and Morris Piercefield never could obtain from government either his outlay or arrears. He returned to England to seek redress; was arrested by his creditors, and himself a creditor of the country to a large extent, languished in a debtor’s prison for seven years. His books, movables, trifles, everything were sold for bread; and his wife sunk under the horrors of their situation, and became insane. Morris at length recovered his liberty, and Lord North determined to shame his predecessors in the ministry, by performing an act of common honesty. A minister, however, is seldom honest from choice, because the outlay of money curtails his resources, and because the wilful withholding, even of a just debt, does not involve his character in society as a man of honour. Lord North accordingly delayed the restitution as long as he could; and poor Valentine Morris in 1789, was indebted to his brother-in-law for a bed on which to die.

We cannot refrain from adding an anecdote relating to one of the family of Walters, to whom the estate of Piercefield formerly belonged.

“Holding one day a conversation with Mr. Knowles, whom he employed in building the alcove, he made inquiries concerning the family of Walters, and asked if any of them were yet living. Knowles replied that William, the brother of John who sold the estate, was still alive and in great distress. ‘Bring him to Piercefield,’ said Morris, ‘and I will make him welcome.’ ‘If you would give him your whole estate he could not walk, he is so much affected with the gout in his feet, and earns a precarious livelihood by fishing.’ ‘If he then cannot come to me, I will take the first opportunity of calling on him.’ Being some time afterwards engaged with Knowles in forming an opening in the wood, he saw two men in a boat; ‘Stay here,’ he said to Knowles, ‘I will cross the river in that boat, and examine whether the objects I want to show can be seen from hence.’ Descending hastily he hailed the watermen, leaped into the boat, was ferried over, and on his return entered into conversation with the men, and inquired their names and condition. ‘My name,’ said one of them, ‘is * * * * *, I am a native of Chepstow; and that man, pointing to his companion, is William Walters.’ ‘What, Walters of Piercefield!’ exclaimed Morris. ‘Yes, please your honour, I am the brother of John, who sold the estate that you now enjoy.’ Morris made no reply; but giving a gratuity to each of the men, leaped on shore, rapidly ascended the hill, and rejoining Knowles, cried, ‘I have been talking with Walters:’ taking out several guineas, he added, ‘carry these to him, and tell him that he shall never want while it is in my power to assist him.’ Knowles suggested, that as the man was much addicted to liquor, he would render him more service by a weekly allowance. The next market-day one of Morris’s servants carried to Walters a joint of meat, and a small sum of money, which was continued weekly until his death. Morris defrayed the expenses of his funeral, and his carriage conveyed the corpse to St. Arvans, where it was interred in the family vault.” [204]

From Chepstow to the confluence of the Wye with the Severn, the distance is three miles; but although the banks are in general lofty, they possess no features of interest to the descending traveller. It may be sufficient merely to name the Red Rocks, the Hardwick Cliffs, and Thornwell Woods. After these St. Ewan’s Rocks appear on the left bank; and we glide gradually into the wide expanse of the Severn. A prolongation, however, of the left bank continues for some time after we are fairly out of the Wye; the peninsula of Beachley, extending almost half way across the Severn. From this is the ferry of the Aust Passage, supposed to have been named after one of the Roman generals. A steam-packet now plies instead of an open boat, and lands passengers at a handsome pier at all hours of the tide.

On the Monmouthshire coast, a little way beyond the mouth of the Wye, is the Black Rock Inn of the New Passage ferry, supposed, notwithstanding its name, to be as ancient as the other. This ferry was suppressed by Oliver Cromwell, on account of a catastrophe which took place here of a very interesting description. When the king was pursued by his enemies, he crossed the Severn to Chiswell Pill on the opposite side; but when the boatmen returned to the Black Rock, they found a party of sixty armed republicans, waiting to follow the royal fugitive. The ferrymen were royalists, but there was no resisting commands enforced by so many drawn swords, and reluctantly they took the enemies of their prince on board, and pulled across the Severn. They landed their unwelcome freight upon the English Stones, which appeared to be a part of the shore, but was in reality separated by water, fordable only at low tide. The tide had just turned. Some moments, no doubt, were lost in dismay, and some in shouting to the treacherous boatmen, who lay upon their oars to watch the event. The English Stones disappeared with a suddenness customary in the flow of that river; and the cries of sixty drowning men were lost in the rush of the wild waters of the Severn.

Before the Black Rock Inn, and near the mouth of the Wye, is Mathern, formerly the episcopal residence of the bishops of Llandaff. The church close by is the one pointed to by tradition as having been raised over the ashes of Theodoric, the hermit-king, who desecrated the holy solitude of Tintern with the sounds of battle.

“The manor of Matherne, where there is now a palace, was given to the bishops of Llandaff by Maurice, king of Glamorganshire, about the year 560, on the following occasion:—His father, St. Theodoric, as he is usually called, having resigned his crown to this son, embraced the life of a hermit. The Saxons invading the country, Theodoric was reluctantly called from his hermitage to take the command of the army; he defeated them near Tintern upon the Wye. Being mortally wounded in the engagement, he precipitated his return, that he might die among his friends, and desired his son to erect a church, and bury him on the spot where he breathed his last: but scarcely had he proceeded five miles, when he expired at a place near the conflux of the Wye and Severn. Hence, according to his desire, a chapel being erected, his body was placed in a stone coffin. As I was giving orders to repair this coffin, which was either broken by chance or decayed by age, I discovered his bones, not in the smallest degree changed, though after a period of a thousand years, the skull retaining the aperture of a large wound, which appeared as if it had been recently inflicted. Maurice gave the contiguous estate to the church, and assigned to the place the name of Merthur Tewdrick, or the martyrdom of Theodorick; who, because he perished in battle against the enemies of the christian name, is esteemed a martyr.”

Our task is now finished: we turn away to seek “fresh fields and pastures new,” but the murmur of the Wye will remain long in our ear.