Delphi Complete Works of Ann Radcliffe (Illustrated) (341 page)

In the summer of 1794, subsequent to the publication of “The Mysteries of Udolpho,” Mrs. Radcliffe accompanied her husband on a tour through Holland and the western frontier of Germany, returning down the Rhine. This was the first and only occasion, on which she quitted England; though the vividness of her descriptions of Italy, Switzerland and the south of France, in which her scenes are principally laid, induced a general belief, that she had visited those countries. So strongly was this conviction impressed on the public mind, that a recent traveller of celebrity referred to her descriptions as derived from personal observation; and it was asserted in the “Edinburgh Review” for May 1823, that she accompanied her husband to Italy, when he was attached to one of the British Embassies, and that “it was on that occasion she imbibed the taste for picturesque scenery, and the obscure and wild superstitions of mouldering castles, of which she has made so beautiful a use in her romances.” After their return from the Continent, Mr and Mrs. Radcliffe made a tour to the English Lakes, and were highly gratified by the excursion. On these journeys, Mrs. Radcliffe almost invariably employed snatches of time at the inns where she rested, in committing to paper the impressions and events of the day, which she could afterwards review at leisure — a happy mode of prolonging those vivid pleasures of life, for which she had a fine relish. Such a habit, when it does not become too frequently introspective, or “sickly o’er” our enjoyments with “the pale cast of thought,” tends to impart a unity to our intellectual being. It enables us to live over again the unbroken line of existence; to gather up the precious drops of happiness, that they be not lost; and, in the last moments of feeling and thought, to find “a glass which shows us many more.” After Mrs. Radcliffe’s return, she was prevailed on to give to her notes a regular form, and to publish them in a quarto volume, which met with a favourable reception.

The subsequent excursions of Mr and Mrs. Radcliffe were of less extent, and chiefly directed to the southern coast of England. Always once, and generally twice in the year, they took a journey through some beautiful or interesting country, limiting themselves to no particular course, but enjoying the perfect freedom, which was most agreeable to their tastes. Mrs. Radcliffe continued her little diary of these pleasant rovings, but without the slightest idea of publication, from which she generally shrunk as an evil. Some specimen of these journals are now first presented to the reader, which will exhibit her mind in its undress — show her feelings as they were undisguised — and display her tact of observation and descriptive power, as existing simply for her own gratification. She always travelled with a considerable number of books, and generally wrote, while Mr. Radcliffe derived amusement from reading them.

The following notes are extracted from memoranda made on a little tour to the coast of Kent, in the autumn of 1797. They appear to have been written at the Inn at Hythe, while Mr. Radcliffe rode to Folkstone.

“September 1st. Began our tour to the seaside. Between Gravesend and Rochester, the road, though farther from the river than about Northfleet, commands delightful views of it, expanding to great breadth, and in length reaching towards the Nore; ranges of distant hills in Essex and Kent finally close the prospect. The shores green and rich, and the water covered with sails tacking in all directions. Sweet afternoon. Continual villages; neat and pleasant country houses, with lawns and shrubberies and high-walled kitchen gardens. Views of the river. The dignity of these views now much increased; the distant hills run out into long ridges, and fold one behind the other. The river often seen between green-dipping hills, and then opening in vast majesty. Descended towards Rochester: solemn appearance of the castle, with its square ghastly walls and their hollow eyes, rising over a bank of the Medway,
g
rey and massive and floorless; nothing remaining but the shell. From the bridge looked on the right, up the Medway, winding broad between woody picturesque heights, sometimes shelving into points. On the left, the river busy with shipping, as it winds round the town, towards the Thames, and very broad.

“Made our way in the gig through the long narrow streets, and then, leaving Chatham on the left, mounted a very steep road, having wide views of Chatham, the docks and shipping, the new barracks — a town themselves — rising up a hill, with fortifications above its green mounds, with cannon and two small artificial hills, with flags. A great prospect, but too broken, and full of scars and angles of fortifications and other buildings and of excavations, to be quite pleasing. Further on, mounted Chatham Hill; the view wonderfully grand and various. The vale of the Medway, sweeping from Rochester to Sheerness, and the Nore, with the Essex hills beyond the Thames, bounding the scene to the north-west; one of the richest green landscapes, with wood and villages, I ever saw. The Thames itself visible for many miles, running sometimes almost parallel with the green, rich vale of the Medway, till it pours its broad waves into the sea opposite Sheerness. The fortress lying low upon this side of the Medway, with its shipping distinctly seen by the help of a good glass; the sea, animated with ships beyond Southend, visible on the Thames opposite to Sheerness, almost upon the open sea: knew a sloop to be one, which we had seen sailing on the Thames by Greenhithe. Proceeded to Sittingbourn, through orchards, pastures and fragrant villages; the road frequently rose and fell, but the prospects were not considerable, except at Sittingbourn, an open, pleasant town.

“September
2
. — Set out about eleven for Canterbury. The road very hilly, but through a most rich country of orchards, hop-grounds and pastures, villages and pretty houses, with lawns and gardens frequently occurring. Feversham, a mile on the left; saw it with its arm of the sea, and the sea itself, at a distance. Soon after began the long ascent of Boughton Hill; the summit rewarded us with a prodigious prospect. The hill itself wild with fern and coppice wood. Many woods also in the near prospect, intermingled with surprising richness of pasture, orchard and hops. Descending the other side, saw the tower of Canterbury cathedral, cresting a hill beyond; the body of the cathedral and the city not yet appearing; the tower became visible again at intervals, and, at length, the city, with its ancient gates and buildings. The cathedral itself looked very tall and solemn, like a spectre of ancient times, and seemed to hint of what it had witnessed. As we approached the gate, supported by octagonal towers, a long line of horses and soldiers poured from the high narrow arch. Proceeded, after dinner, to Dover over Barham Downs. Views into rich little valleys on the right; each village having its tall grey steeple. Noble mansions and parks frequently on the rising grounds.

“September 3. — Walked on the beach, watching the retiring and returning waves, and attending to the bursting thunder of the surge.

“Afterwards stood on a fortified point below the castle, immediately and high over the beach, commanding a vast marine horizon, with a long tract of the French coast, a white line bounding the blue waters. Below, on the right, Dover curves picturesquely along the sea-bay; the white and green cliffs rising closely over it, except near the castle, where they give place to hills, that open to a green valley, with enclosures and a pretty village, beyond which it winds away. The most grand and striking circumstances, as we stood on the point, were — the vast sea-view — the long shades on its surface of soft green, deepening exquisitely into purple; but, above all, that downy tint of light blue, that sometimes prevailed over the whole scene, and even faintly tinged the French coast, at a distance. Sometimes, too, a white sail passed in a distant gloom, while all between was softly shadowed; the cliffs above us broken and encumbered with fortifications; the sea viewed beyond them, with vessels passing from behind; the solemn sound of the tide, breaking immediately below, and answered, as it were, at measured intervals, along the whole coast; this circumstance inexpressibly grand; the sound more solemn and hollow than when heard on the beach below. A fleet of merchantmen, with a convoy, passed and spread itself over the channel.

“Afternoon. — Walked towards Shakspeare’s Cliff; the fleet still in view. Looked down from the edge of the cliffs on the fine red gravel margin of the sea. Many vessels on the horizon and in mid-channel. The French coast, white and high, and clear in the evening gleam. Evening upon the sea becoming melancholy, silent and pale. A leaden-coloured vapour rising upon the horizon, without confounding the line of separation; the ocean whiter, till the last deep twilight falls, when all is one gradual, inseparable, undistinguishable, grey.

“September 4. — Morning fine, calm, but become slightly cloudy. Walked to the topmost point of Shakspeare’s Cliff, which appears a huge face of chalk over the sea. The way through fields; the path constantly rising, and leading near the edge of the cliffs; leaned sometimes over the railing, and looked down the precipices and on the blue sea; little boats and a sloop below. Coast of France visible; though always most clearly seen about sunset, when the western rays strike horizontally upon it, and light up all its features. Proceeding to the point of the cliff, had no longer the protection of a railing; bushes of hawthorn, mossed with yellow, alone fence the precipice. Putting our hands on the ground, we peeped over, ledge below ledge, abrupt down. Many of the ledges hung with plants and bushes. On the east, Dover — the bay — the castle — cliffs beyond — the boundless sea. In front, France, (Calais not visible,) a long tract sinking away to the West, and leaving a wider sea. Westward, charming view towards Beachy Head, the high and farthest promontory; black points of land, or rather low promontories, running out, one beyond another, into the sea; hills retiring to some margin, wild, heathy and broken; then the coast makes a fine sweep; and, after forming a vast bay, stretches out in the long, low point of land, called Dungeness, on which stands a lighthouse. Within this fine bay, Folkstone was visible, with Sandgate castle and village on the margin; then Hythe, a little more removed and higher; then an old castle, higher still and further from the shore; Romney, with its long marshes, beyond; and far beyond all, the high lands of Beachy Head, so eminent and bold, as scarcely to be known for a continuation of the same coast. The cliffs decline towards Folkstone, and there are none beyond, on this side of Beachy Head; but at some distance, from the shore, rise broken and wild, though small hills. The best circumstances in the view are, first, the fine dark points and then the noble sweep of the coast, the dark levels of the marshes contrasting with the blue sea they skirt. Crows took wing for their nests in the cliffs below us. Thought of “ the midway air no sea-fowl. The white surf beating far along the curving margin below to where other chalky points uprear themselves. Within land, the hills are brown and bleak and broken. The castle hills, on the land side, scarred by roads and far from picturesque; steep chalk hollows among the heath.

“About half past five in the afternoon, set off for Hythe, ten miles, chiefly along the high sea-cliffs, except that about a mile from Dover, we wound among brown hills, and, the cliffs sometimes sinking a little, we had catches of the sea and of France, between green dipping heights. Near Folkstone, descended a very long chalk hill, whence an enchanting view towards Beachy Head; the hills, retiring at some distance from the shore, open a curving bosom, and show towns and villages at their feet. Glad to get through the narrow steep streets of Folkstone, though the town is well situated. Proceeded in the dusk for Sandgate. Descended upon it — a white, new village, straggling along the beach, on each side of the wide road. Green hills rising all about it, and the place wide and free and pleasant; the sea beach appearing at every step between the houses, on one side, and as easy an access to the hills, on the other side. On the beach an ancient castle, of several round towers, ivied and clustered together, and built low like Sandwich castle. Soldiers on guard at the gate; thick walls; cannon; all on the outside was green sod. The village being full, proceeded through deepening dusk to Hythe, a mile and a half farther, the road leading along the beach, at the foot of green hills; the sea appearing to flow even with us. Cottages by the road side and people straggling all the way. Came late to Hythe, and slept there. Its ancient church stands high, is a sea-mark and a picturesque object, its grey towers and gothic windows appearing among wood, and having a hill behind them.”

In the autumn of 1798, Mrs. Radcliffe, accompanied by her husband, visited Portsmouth, the Isle of Wight and Winchester. Her journal on this little tour, which she seems to have particularly enjoyed, is too minute to give entire; but we select the following specimens.

“September 20 — Set out in a beautiful afternoon for Portsmouth. Ascending to Esher by twilight, heard the bells sounding, with most melancholy sweetness, from the summit, and strengthening as we approached: every thing pensive, and tranquil.

“September 21, 1798. Sweet fresh morning. Left Cobham between seven and eight. Passed under a picturesque bridge uniting the grounds of Paine’s hill; high, rough, broken banks, topped with lofty trees, that hang over a light rustic bridge. Then enter upon a wide scene of heath, skirted here and there with rich distances; afterwards, many miles of heath, of a dull purple and dusty iron brown, with, sometimes, sudden knolls planted with firs; sometimes distances let in between bold hills. After Guildford, a large neat old town, and pretty Godalmin, at the end of a green level; steep hills to Haslemere and beyond it, but opening to vast prospects: — again, many miles of purple and rusty heath, with scarcely a tree or a hut. Nearer to Horndon, the country, though it continues to be heathy, is upon a grander scale, opening to distant ridges of high swelling hills, that probably overlook the sea; the hills in Hampshire, on the right, more cultivated; those in Sussex vast, sweeping and downy. Fine sunset from under clouds; the strong gleam almost blinded us as we descended in a hollow; the high, heathy banks receiving the full effulgence, while all below was gloom. The rays had already become much fainter, as we wound up a chalky precipice of great sweep and length, with steep downs rising over it; sheep on the summit showing themselves against the sky. A fine moon rose, and lighted us over the downs to Horndon. Heard only the sheep-bells, as the shepherd lad was folding his flocks, and they came down from the hills. Slept at Horndon.