Delphi Complete Works of Ann Radcliffe (Illustrated) (340 page)

I am now preparing to leave my excellent benefactor, and get my bread in a service, to which he has recommended me in a neighbouring family. A state of servitude, to which once I could not resolve to yield, appears no longer dreadful to me; that pride, which would have made it galling, Christianity has subdued, though philosophy attempted it in vain. As a penitent, I should gratefully submit to mortification; but as a Christian, I find myself superior to every mortification, except the sense of guilt. This has humbled me to the dust: but the assurances that are given me by the Saviour of the world of the divine pardon and favour, upon sincere repentance, have calmed my troubled spirit, and filled my mind with peace and joy, which the world can neither give nor take away. Thus, without any change for the better in my outward circumstances, I find myself changed from a distracted, poor, despairing wretch, to a contented, happy, grateful being; thankful for, and pleased with my present state of existence; yet exulting in the hope of quitting it for endless glory and happiness.

O! Sir, tell the unthinking mortals, who will not take the pains of enquiring into those truths which most concern them, and who are led by fashion, and the pride of human reason, into a contempt for the sacred oracles of God, tell them this truth, which experience hath taught me, that though vice is constantly attended by misery, virtue itself cannot confer happiness in this world, except it is animated with the hopes of eternal bliss in the world to come.

Ramsgate, Kent, in the early nineteenth century. During the last twelve years of her life, Radcliffe suffered from a spasmodic asthma, calling for the unwearied attentions of her affectionate husband. In the hope of obtaining relief, they visited Ramsgate in the autumn of 1822. Radcliffe wrote her last piece of writing here.

An anonymous 1826 biography, with extracts from Mrs. Radcliffe’s journals

THE LIFE OF MRS. RADCLIFFE is a pleasing phenomenon in the literature of her time. During a period, in which the spirit of personality has extended its influence, till it has rendered the habits and conversation of authors almost as public as their compositions, she confined herself, with delicate apprehensiveness, to the circle of domestic duties and pleasures. Known only by her works, her name was felt as a spell by her readers. Among the thousands, whose life-blood curdled beneath her terrors, many little suspected, that the potent enchantress was still an inhabitant of this “bright and breathing world.” Even her romances, forming a class apart from all, which had gone before, and unapproached by imitators, wore a certain air of antiquity, and seemed scarcely to belong to the present age. Having long ceased to publish, she acquired in her retreat the honours of posthumous fame. Her unbroken retirement suggested to those, who learned that she still lived, a fancy that something unhappy was connected with her story, and gave occasion to the most absurd and groundless rumours, respecting her condition. But, while some spoke of her as dead, and others represented her as afflicted with mental alienation, she was thankfully enjoying the choicest blessings of life — with a cheerfulness as equable as if she had never touched the secret springs of horror, and with a humility as genuine as though she had not extended the domain of romance, for the delight and the benefit of her species.

In drawing aside the veil from the personal course of this celebrated lady, her biographer cannot exhibit any of the amusing varieties, which usually chequer the lives of successful authors: here are no brilliant conversational triumphs; no elaborate correspondence with the celebrated, or the great; no elegant malice; no anecdotes of patrons or rivals; none of fashion’s idle pastime, nor of controversy’s more idle business. Even the great events of Mrs. Radcliffe’s life, the successive appearances of her novels, extend over a small part only of its duration. A stranger, witnessing its calm tenor of happiness, would little guess to what high and solemn inventions some of its hours had been devoted; yet the more attentive observer would perceive, in her ordinary reflections and pleasures, indications of the power so marvellously exerted in her works. Fortunately, the means of watching the development of her faculties and tastes in her daily pursuits are supplied by copious memorandums written on several of her journeys; in which, among rich and vivid descriptions, many characteristic traits of sentiment and feeling are scattered, and her moral excellencies shine forth in a lustre which warms, while it enlightens.

Mrs. Radcliffe was born in London, in July 1764. She was the only child of William and Ann Ward, persons of great respectability, who, though engaged in trade, were allied to families of independent fortune and high character. She was descended from the family of the De Witts of Holland. It appears, from some of the documents in the hands of her friends, that a member of this distinguished house came to England in the reign of Charles the First, under the patronage of Government, to execute a plan for draining the fens of Lincolnshire. The project was interrupted by the political troubles which ensued; but its author remained in England, and passed the remainder of his days in a mansion near Hull. He brought with him an infant daughter, named Amelia, who was the mother of one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s male ancestors. Her paternal grandmother was the sister of Cheselden, the celebrated Surgeon, of whose kindness her father retained a lively recollection. Her maternal grandmother was Ann Oates, the sister of Doctor Samuel Jebb, of Stratford, who was the father of Sir Richard Jebb; and she was related, on her mother’s side, to Dr, Halifax, Bishop of Gloucester, and to Dr. Halifax, Physician to the King. She was instructed in all womanly accomplishments after the earlier fashion of the time, but was not exercised in the classics, nor excited to pursue the studies necessary to form the modern heroine of conversations. In childhood, her intelligence and docility won the marked affection of her relatives, who moved in a somewhat higher sphere than her parents, and she passed much of her time at their houses. Her maternal uncle-in-law, the late Mr. Bentley, of the firm of Wedgewood and Bentley, was exceedingly partial to his niece, and invited her often to visit him at Chelsea, and afterwards at Turnham Green, where he resided. At his house she enjoyed the benefit of seeing some persons of literary eminence, and many of accomplished manners. Mrs. Piozzi, Mrs. Montague, Mrs. Ord, and the gentleman called “Athenian Stuart,” were among the visitors.

Although the quickness and accuracy of Mrs Radcliffe’s powers of observation were early felt by her friends, it does not seem, that the peculiar bent of her genius was perceived till after her marriage. She had been educated among members of the old school, in manners and morals, whose notions while they prompted the most considerate kindness towards their young charge, did not perhaps tend to excite precocious intellect, especially in a female of diffidence, approaching to shyness. Something of the formality derived from education may be traced in her works, supplying a massive but noble and definite frame-work for her sombre and heroic pictures. There was also, in the feeling of old gentility, which most of her relatives cherished, a natural repugnance to authorship, which she never entirely lost even after her splendid success was ensured, and she had found herself the creator of a new class in English romances.

In the twenty-third year of her age, Miss Ward was married to Mr. William Radcliffe, a graduate of Oxford, who, at one period, intended to follow the profession of the law, and, with that view, kept several terms at one of the Inns of Court, but who afterwards changed his purpose. The ceremony was performed at Bath, where her parents then resided, and she afterwards proceeded with her husband to live in the neighbourhood of London. Encouraged by him, she soon began to employ her leisure in writing; and, as her distrust of herself yielded to conscious success, proceeded with great rapidity. Mr. Radcliffe, about this time, became the proprietor of “The English Chronicle,” and took an active share in the management of the paper, which, with other avocations, obliged him to be frequently absent from home till a late hour in the evening. On these occasions, Mrs. Radcliffe usually beguiled the else weary hours by her pen, and often astonished her husband, on his return, not only by the quality, but the extent of the matter she had produced, since he left her. The evening was always her favourite season for composition, when her spirits were in their happiest tone, and she was most secure from interruption. So far was she from being subjected to her own terrors, that she often laughingly presented to Mr. Radcliffe chapters, which he could not read alone without shuddering.

Although Mrs. Radcliffe was as far as possible removed from the slavery of superstitious fear, she took an eager interest in the work of composition, and was, for the time, completely absorbed in the conduct of her stories. The pleasures of painting have been worthily celebrated by men, who have been devoted to the art; but these can scarcely be regarded as superior to the enjoyments of a writer of romance, conscious of inventive power. If in the mere perusal of novels we lose our painful sense of the realities of “this unimaginable world,” and delightedly participate in the sorrows, the joys, and the struggles of the persons, how far more intensely must an authoress like Mrs. Radcliffe feel that outgoing of the heart, by which individuality is multiplied, and we seem to pass a hundred lives! She spreads out many threads of sympathy and lives along every line. The passions, the affections, the hopes of her character are essentially her’s; born out of her own heart; figured from the tracings of her own brain; and reflecting back again, in shape and form, the images and thoughts, which work indistinctly in the fancies of others. There is a perpetual exercise of that plastic power, which realizes the conceptions of the mind to itself, and gives back to it its own imaginations in “clear dream and solemn vision.” How delightful to trace the dawnings of innocent love, like the coming on of spring; to unveil the daily course of a peaceful life, gliding on like smooth water; to exhibit the passions in their high agitations and contests; to devise generous selfsacrifice in heroic thought; to pour on the wearied and palpitating heart overflowing happiness; to throw the mind forward to advanced age, and through its glass to take a mournful retrospect of departed joy, and pensively understand a mild and timely decay! No exertion of the faculties appears more enviable than that of forming the outline of a great tale, like “ The Mysteries of Udolpho;” bringing out into distinctness all the hints and dim pictures, which have long floated in the mind; keeping in view the catastrophe from the first, and the relations to it of the noblest scenes and most complicated adventures; and feeling already, as through all the pulses of-the soul, the curiosity, the terror, the pity and the admiration, which will be excited by the perusal in the minds of thousands and thousands of readers.

Incited by the intellectual recompense of such a pursuit, Mrs. Radcliffe gave her romances in quick succession to the world: — her first work, “The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne,” was published in the year 1789; the “Sicilian Romance,” in 1790; the “Romance of the Forest,” in 1791; “The Mysteries of Udolpho,” in 1794; and “ The Italian,” in 1797. It is pleasing to trace the development of her resources and her gradual acquisition of mastery over them in these productions. The first, with a goodly number of old towers, dungeon keeps, subterraneous passages and hair-breadth escapes, has little of reality, or life; as if the author had caught a glimpse of the regions of romance from afar, and formed a sort of dreamy acquaintance with its recesses and glooms. In her next work, the “Sicilian Romance,” she seems to obtain a bird’s-eye view of all the surface of that delightful region — she places its winding vales and delicious bowers and summer seas before the eye of the mind — but is as yet unable to introduce the reader individually into the midst of the scene, to surround him with its luxurious air, and compel him to shudder at its terrors. In the “Romance of the Forest,” she approaches and takes up her very residence in the pleasant borders of the enchanted land; the sphere she chooses is small and the persons limited; but here she exercises clear dominion, and realizes every thing to the fancy. The “Mysteries of Udolpho” is the work of one, who has entered and possessed a mighty portion of that enchanted land; who is familiar with its massive towers and solemn glooms; — and who presents its objects of beauty, or horror, through a certain haze, which sometimes magnifies and sometimes veils their true proportions. In the Italian,” she occupies a less space; but, shining in golden light, her figures have the distinctness of terrible pictures; and her scenes, though perhaps less astounding in the aggregate, are singly more thrilling and vivid.

This splendid series of fictions became immediately popular with the numerous class of readers, who seek principally for amusement, and soon attracted the attention of the finer spirits of the age. Dr. Joseph Warton, the Head Master of Winchester School, who was far advanced in life when “The Mysteries of Udolpho” was published, told Mr. Robinson, the publisher, that, happening to meet with it, he was so fascinated, that he could not go to bed till he had finished it, and actually sat up the greater part of the night for the purpose. Mr. Sheridan spoke of the same work in terms of the highest eulogy. Mr. Fox, in a letter written to an intimate friend, soon after the publication of “The Italian,” spoke of Mrs. Radcliffe’s works in terms of high praise, and entered into a somewhat particular examination and comparison of the respective merits of the “Mysteries of Udolpho” and “The Italian.’” The author of the Pursuits of Literature, not much given to commend, describes her as “ The mighty magician of The Mysteries of Udolpho, bred and nourished by the Florentine muses, in their sacred, solitary caverns, amid the paler shrines of Gothic superstition, and in all the dreariness of enchantment: a poetess, whom Ariosto would, with rapture, have acknowledged as

— La nudrita

Damigella Trivulzia al sacro speco.”

The pecuniary advantages, which she derived from her works, though they have been exaggerated, were considerable, according to the fashion of the times. For the “Mysteries of Udolpho” she received from Messrs. Robinson £500.; a sum then so unusually large for a work of fiction, that Mr. Cadell, who had great experience in such matters, on hearing the statement, offered a wager of £10. that it was untrue. By the Italian, although considerably shorter, she acquired about the sum of £800.

The reputation, which Mrs. Radcliffe derived from her writings did not draw her from the retirement, in which they were written. Although, as she had no children, the duties of a family did not engross her attention, she declined entering into the society she was so well calculated to adorn. Nothing but entire reciprocity in all the accompaniments of society could satisfy her ideas of the independence it became her to preserve. She would, indeed, have conferred honour and obligation on any circle, which she could prevail on herself to join; but a scrupulous self-respect, almost too nice to be appreciated in these days, induced her sedulously to avoid the appearance of reception, on account of her literary fame. The very thought of appearing in person as the author of her romances shocked the delicacy of her mind. To the publication of her works she was constrained by the force of her own genius; but nothing could tempt her to publish
herself;
or to sink for a moment, the gentlewoman in the novelist. She felt also a distaste to the increasing: familiarity of modern manners, to which she had been unaccustomed in her youth; and, though remarkably free and cheerful with her relatives and intimate friends, she preferred the more formal politeness of the old school among strangers. Besides these reasons for preserving her seclusion, she enjoyed, with peculiar relish, the elegant pleasures it gave her the means of partaking with her husband. She chose at once the course she would pursue, and, finding that her views met the entire concurrence of Mr. Radcliffe, adhered to it through life. Instead of lavishing time and money on entertainments, the necessity for which, according to her feelings, was connected with a participation in general society, she sought the comforts of residing in airy and pleasant situations, of unbroken leisure and frequent travelling; and, as her income was increased by the death of relatives, she retained the same plan of living, only extending its scale of innocent luxury.