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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78468 ***
+
+
+
+
+                           ST. ALBAN’S ABBEY
+
+                                   A
+
+                           POETICAL ROMANCE.
+
+
+
+
+                         GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE,
+                                   OR
+                        THE COURT OF HENRY III.
+                      KEEPING FESTIVAL IN ARDENNE,
+                              =A Romance.=
+
+                           ST. ALBAN’S ABBEY,
+                            A METRICAL TALE;
+                       WITH SOME POETICAL PIECES.
+
+
+                           BY ANNE RADCLIFFE,
+
+   AUTHOR OF “THE MYSTERIES OF UDOLPHO,” “ROMANCE OF THE FOREST,” &c.
+
+                          TO WHICH IS PREFIXED
+
+                        A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR,
+
+                    WITH EXTRACTS FROM HER JOURNALS.
+
+
+                            IN FOUR VOLUMES.
+
+                                VOL. I.
+
+
+                                LONDON:
+                 HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
+                                 1826.
+
+
+                                LONDON:
+
+              PRINTED BY S. AND R. BENTLEY, DORSET-STREET.
+
+
+
+
+                                CONTENTS
+                          OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
+
+
+                                                          Page.
+        Memoir of the Life and Writings of Mrs. Radcliffe   iii
+                        GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE.
+        Introduction                                          3
+        The First Day                                        79
+        The Second Day                                      105
+
+
+
+
+                                 MEMOIR
+
+                                 OF THE
+
+                           LIFE AND WRITINGS
+
+                                   of
+
+                            MRS. RADCLIFFE.
+
+
+
+
+                           LIFE AND WRITINGS
+                                   OF
+                            MRS. RADCLIFFE.
+
+
+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 developement 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 hers; 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 self-sacrifice 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 developement 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.
+
+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, grey 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 light-house. 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.
+
+“September 22. Showers, but cleared up to a fine morning. Passed over
+two or three miles of the beautiful forest of Bere, the most picturesque
+of any we have seen in England, breaking in sweet woodland glades, all
+around to other hills and valleys, with patches of green-sward and
+heath; and to the bold ridges, that extend to the sea. A cottage, here
+and there, under the trees, with its grey curling smoke. As we mount
+Portsdown hill, views, on the left, towards Chichester and the bay of
+the sea; on the right, towards Southampton; retrospect of Bere forest in
+the valley, and ascending among the Hampshire hills most beautifully.
+Having reached the summit of Portsdown hill, the channel, the blue,
+high, sweeping ridge of the Isle of Wight, Spithead, Portsmouth, with
+its long embankments and spacious harbour, spread before our eyes. This
+view, though very grand, was not so striking as I expected. The hills do
+not advance near enough to the shore to hang over it, nor are they bold
+and broken in their shapes. We are not allowed to look down abruptly on
+the sea and the Isle of Wight; but view the first at four miles
+distance, after the eye has gradually passed over the flat lands below,
+and the landlocked harbours, which break the scene with comparative
+littlenesses. The shipping at Spithead appeared beyond the town, on the
+left, where a low coast extends to the Chichester river, and towards St.
+Helens on the main sea. The Isle of Wight rises immediately in front of
+the picture. Farther is the chalky ridge, that sinks towards the
+Southampton water, and admits within its concave a tract of low coast,
+that extends towards the channel.
+
+“Descend, and pass through the village of Cosham, at its foot. The road
+now becomes animated, and shows symptoms of a populous place; carts,
+coaches, horsemen, private carriages, soldiers, frequent signs and dusty
+air, instead of the lonely wilderness and breezy freshness of the hills
+and forest. Pass Portsea bridge, fortified and guarded, and so to
+Portsmouth, between other fortifications and the deeply-arched gates of
+the town. The ditches, the turfed embankments, crowned with rows of
+trees, reminded me of Bommel, in Holland. On the right, a view over the
+harbour, with huge, black prison-ships moored upon it. Passed through
+the long dusty old suburbs. The town itself old, level and somewhat
+mean, except the High-street, and about the seaward ramparts. Drove to
+the Fountain, a large and good inn, but could hardly get a room to dine
+in, as a West India and a Lisbon fleet were waiting to sail in a day or
+two. Went to the ramparts over the sea, crowded with officers of the
+army and navy, their wives and friends, and many well-dressed people
+attending to see the guns fired, in honour of the coronation. From this
+place the shipping at Spithead in front, and the Isle of Wight, with the
+whole channel, are enchanting. Returned to the Inn.
+
+“After dinner we left the horse and chaise at the inn, and walked down
+to the busy, dirty place, called the Point, where we got into a wherry,
+and so went over the harbour to the decked passage-boat, that was to
+carry us to the Isle of Wight. Adverse wind, but not much of it. Sat on
+the deck; a fine view of the town, the hospital, the forts and harbour,
+as we sailed out: the sea not rough. Hear the _he-hoes_ of the sailors,
+afar in the channel, and the boatswain’s shrill whistle. Passed through
+a part of the fleet; saw Sir Sidney Smith’s fine ship, of immense size,
+with many other large ones round it. A cloudy sunset, but a gleam came
+out that fell upon the distant town and harbour, lighted up the sea, and
+touched the dark polished sides of all the ships; glanced athwart the
+western hills of the island, of which we were now gaining a view. Sailed
+down the channel for Cowes. The breeze gradually sunk, and we were
+becalmed. A full September moon rose, and shed its radiance on the
+waters. Glided along the woody steeps of the island, and saw many a
+sweeping bay and obscure valley beyond. Reached Cowes about nine; the
+approach to it, in a beautiful bay, striking, with its summer lights
+illuminating many windows, and its houses seeming to rise steeply from
+the shore; many vessels at anchor in the bay; its slopes of scattered
+wood and pasture traced darkly round the bright clear water, and opening
+to an obscure valley. Landed at West Cowes, and went to the Vine Inn.
+
+“September 23. Lovely day. Walked down to the shore and to the castle, a
+low grey tower on a rocky point, washed by the tide and shadowed by
+lofty elms; sentinels pacing under them, round the fort; fine view of
+Cowes and the bay. Thence mounted the rising ground over the shore, and
+walked a mile on the Yarmouth road, the views opening between trees and
+hedges to the dark lines of the New Forest; the Southampton water just
+opposite; eastward, Portsmouth faintly seen and the shipping at
+Spithead; the masts of the ships at Cowes caught among the trees below;
+the scene changing at every step, with the winding road; sometimes quite
+shut out, then smiling in the softest colours. All was in gradual shades
+of blue; the calm sea below, the shores and distant hills, stretching
+along a cloudless blue sky. Innumerable vessels and little sails, whose
+whiteness was just softened with the azure tint. It is impossible to
+express the beauty of those soft melting tints, that painted the distant
+perspective, towards Spithead, where sea and sky united, and where the
+dark masts and shapes of shipping, drawing themselves on the horizon,
+gave this softness its utmost effect.
+
+“Returned to dine at the Vine. Hired a good sailing-boat, to take us to
+Ryde; and, after dinner, sailed from the harbour. The points, that form
+the horns of the crescent, are of rough, dark rock and shrub. On a brow,
+over a wood, rose the picturesque tower of a modern castle, which we
+heard had lately been the residence of a sister of Admiral Macbride.
+Glided with gentle breeze along the quiet and beautiful shores of the
+island, undulating in gentle slopes, covered with woods, to the water’s
+edge; sometimes the lighter green of meadows and pastures stretched to
+the very bank, with here and there a cottage, a village church, or some
+ornamented house on an ascent among trees, above which rose the main
+hills of the island. The shore seldom runs out into points, but winds
+into easy bays, hung with woods, sometimes opening into sweet valleys,
+at others, advancing gently, with all their “green delights,” to meet
+the passing sails. The coast immediately opposite is uninteresting and
+flat; the chalky ridge of Portsdown too distant and uniform to be grand.
+In the retrospect, indeed, the New Forest spread a dark line along the
+sea, and the western hills of the island, near Yarmouth, waved along the
+horizon, and two pointed summits of the Isle of Purbeck folded in behind
+them, making it difficult to discern which were the different coasts.
+Sea-fowl showing their white wings in the sun, as they circled over the
+waters. The breeze increased, and we sailed finely among the now
+roughening, yet still green and almost transparent waves, along the
+shore. About half way, the coast returns into a green recess, and the
+waters wind away among the hills verdant with thick woods and
+enclosures. Here the Governor has built a picturesque tower above his
+woods. Hence extend along the shore the fine woods of the rector of a
+village on an ascent, where the tower of the church, almost hid in wood,
+insists upon being painted. Here imagination has nothing to do; we have
+only to preserve the impression of the living picture on the memory, in
+its own soft colours.
+
+“Vessels of all sizes in the channel; the sailors’ _he-ho_, the shrill
+whistle, and the rattle of cordage, as the sails were altered.
+
+“Reached Ryde, about sunset. The town, among trees, rises from the shore
+up a long hill.
+
+“At the inn, though very neat, accommodations were so inadequate, that
+we resolved to proceed in an open boat, which was about to return to
+Portsmouth. After taking a hasty dish of very good tea, went down a
+rough causeway, where many people were hurrying to the same boat, and
+such a crowd collected as alarmed me. A small party was, however, soon
+made up for a second boat; when, with little sails and two oars, we
+launched among the peaceful waters; tinged, on one side of the horizon
+with the red glow of sunset, and brightening on the other, under a broad
+moon rising over the ships at Spithead. Passed through the fleet. Heard
+voices talking far off over the dim waves, and sometimes laughter and
+joviality; especially as we passed near a large ship, where lights in
+the great cabin high above, told of the Captain and cheer. Distant
+lights appearing from the ships successively, as the evening deepened,
+like glowworms, and dotting the waters far around. As we drew near the
+shore, the music of French horns sounded with faint and melancholy
+sweetness; discovered at last to come from Monckton Fort. Landed after
+an hour and a half, at the rampart steps. Walk by moonlight on the
+rampart. Supped and slept at the Fountain, after a day the most
+delightful of the whole tour.”
+
+From Portsmouth Mr. and Mrs. Radcliffe proceeded by Winchester to
+London. The following is her notice of the approach to Winchester, of
+the City and the Cathedral.
+
+“Saw the City lying deep among the hollows, sheltered from the winds by
+bare hills, which half conceal the town at their feet. The King’s house,
+once really a palace, with new houses, conspicuous on rising ground.
+Found out at last, through the dusk, the venerable Cathedral, with its
+long roofs and very low tower, among fine old elms; a recess deep and
+retired. The streets clean and quiet; not a student visible. This
+decorum and neatness form a curious contrast to the bustle and tumult of
+Portsmouth, sending forth her people to the whole world; while
+Winchester seems to be so much withdrawn from it. Went to the George, a
+noble inn: sat in a part of the Assembly room, severed off. Angelica
+Kauffman’s drawings at each end. Walked by moonlight up the High-street;
+good, terminated by a fine old gate. Led by the sound of martial music
+to the court of the barracks in the old palace. The suburbs old and
+narrow.
+
+“September 25. Sweet morning. Rose soon, and went, before breakfast, to
+see the Cathedral, a very large ancient fabric, not highly ornamented
+without. Walks round it of most noble, tall elms, forming almost a
+perfect archway and as high as the roof of the Church. Old men employed
+to weed them. The Cathedral, we were told, is fifteen feet longer than
+any other in England, but it did not appear to the eye so long as that
+of Canterbury. Nave of great height; painted windows poor, but the choir
+affords the most beautiful _coup d’œil_ I ever saw; the carving of the
+dark stalls, and of the pulpit exquisitely fine; but the white
+filigranne-work of the altar is as delicate to the eye as point-lace.
+The altar-piece, by West, is Lazarus rising from the dead. The face well
+expresses the wanness and sharpness of death; but it might have been
+much more descriptive of reviving life, beginning to steal upon the
+languor of death; and of surprise and joyful hope, on beholding our
+SAVIOUR. The attitude of Lazarus is indeed such, that he might be taken
+for a person dying rather than one returning to life. The countenance of
+our SAVIOUR is full of placid benevolence; but the action should have
+been more expressive of command——of command, without effort. The
+principal female figure, who supports Lazarus, is clear, beautiful and
+natural; she looks up to our SAVIOUR, with tears of awe and gratitude;
+but the grief and anxiety she has suffered are not yet entirely chased
+from her countenance by joy and thankfulness; their impression was too
+deep to be suddenly effaced, though the cause of them is removed. The
+faces of the spectators do not sufficiently speak astonishment, awe and
+adoration, except that of one, seen remotely and obscurely, as if
+pressing forward more fully to ascertain the fact.”
+
+On the 10th of July, 1800, Mr. and Mrs. Radcliffe left home on a tour to
+the southern coast. The first evening they reached Capel;—after this the
+Journal proceeds.
+
+“July 11th.—Fine airy morning. Set off at ten. Hilly road, often narrow
+and shady. Upon the eminences views over the tops of oaks to mountainous
+hills and promontories, covered nearly to their summits with thick,
+woody inclosures; whenever the bank-trees opened, caught blue, peeping
+hill tops, or mountainous lines, coloured with a lovely blueish haze,
+and seen enchantingly beyond the dark, tufted foliage of majestic oak.
+Passed several open, pleasant villages. Every where, vegetation seems in
+the utmost luxuriance; every cottage-window arboured with rose, or
+woodbine. The South Downs, at a distance, heaved up their high, blue
+lines, as ramparts worthy of the sublimity of the ocean, from whose
+power they seemed to guard the island. Dined at a little inn in a
+village—Billinghurst. Terrible road after this; flinty, sandy, and over
+frequent hills, but with some recompensing prospects. As we drew nearer
+the South Downs, distinguished the smooth green of their swelling
+summits from the dark woods below, and in the hollows of the hills, over
+which the evening sun threw rich lights and shadows. Abundance of wood
+round the villages; good gardens to the cottages.
+
+“Came at length to Bury, only four miles from Arundel; but our horse
+wanted rest after so toilsome a road, and we drank tea, before beginning
+to mount one of the prodigious hills we had long seen. Came at last to
+the fine downs on its summit, whence a world seemed to lie before us.
+Grandeur, grace and beauty united in this wonderful view. We could just
+distinguish doubtfully in the twilight, at great distance, the channel
+between the coast and the Isle of Wight, a line of light upon the scene,
+with faint cloudy lands of the island beyond. We soon entered upon the
+domain of Arundel, the road winding finely among its pompous woods and
+rough forest lawns. Partly by the tediousness of the ascent and partly
+by our delay upon the summit, these four miles occupied an hour and a
+half. We did not see the castle from the road, but the woods and the
+remains of old gateways were perceptible. A church of great extent,
+apparently old and grand. The main street of the town fearfully steep.
+Reached an excellent inn, about half past nine.
+
+“July 12. Fine day, but very hot. Went in the morning to see the castle,
+which stands on an eminence, near the town, about four miles from the
+sea. An irregular avenue leads to a solemn old gateway very deep and
+bending like those at Mentz, which, with the ruinous tower over it,
+mantled with ivy, looked well in the dark perspective of the trees. Low
+arched doors in the gateway, at the sides; loops for archers and
+abundance of room for them in the immense thickness of the walls.
+
+“The library is in a long gallery, where hang some portraits; among them
+James the Second; his first wife, Lord Clarendon’s daughter, handsome,
+but with an air of discontent; Elizabeth of Bavaria and her husband; two
+Cardinals, one of them a Howard. In many of the rooms, the walls,
+wherever a window occurs, are lined with dark mahogany, which forms the
+cases into frames, as it were, for the landscape seen through them, but
+in general looks brown and poor: little wood visible from this side of
+the castle. We passed through several noble apartments, not quite
+finished, and others indifferently furnished; the walls of several,
+however, wainscoted, chair-high, with beautiful mahogany. The pillars
+and Gothic arch-work of the music-gallery exquisitely carved.
+
+“Monday, July 14.—Cool, cloudy morning. Set off, at eleven, for
+Worthing. A flat, uninteresting coast. Drove partly over the sands, the
+tide being down. Larks singing among the corn, near the shore. A
+sea-gull fishing in the salt-pools, near the sands. Within a few miles
+of Worthing discovered the sweep of grey downs about Brighton, that form
+a background to the large bay; within which, Brighton, Worthing, &c. are
+seated. Soon after, distinguished the dark masts of vessels lying before
+Worthing, some of which, seen upon the lighter grey of the distant
+hills, forming that fine bay, were picturesque, and seemed to be of
+consequence, but proved to be only small sloops. Horses and a carriage
+upon the sands informed us of our nearer approach to Worthing, which
+stands well upon the beach; the tide out, and a fine plain of sand
+spread before the village. It was animated by groups of the busy and the
+idle; little boats along the edge of the tide, others at anchor:
+altogether it was a very lively and amusing scene. A fleet of ships,
+said to be transports, convoyed by two men-of-war, came upon the
+distance, and clouded the horizon for some time, but were too far off to
+be interesting. Dined at a pleasant hotel near the beach, with a
+grass-plot before it. Amused with numerous parties, who had come from
+Brighton in sociables, chariots and gigs, to dine, and who exhibited
+themselves on the grass-plot under our window. After dinner, and after
+seeing the tide flow up the beach, very high, set off for Little
+Hampton, by an inner road, through pleasant, shady lanes, between corn
+fields, with a range of distant hills on one side, their feet darkened
+with wood. Delightful afternoon. After a sweet ride, met the sea again,
+at the Beach House, where we drank tea, supped, and slept.
+
+“July 15. Lovely day. Left Little Hampton about one for Worthing. Could
+not go by the sands, the tide being too near. Stopped to dine at the
+village of Terring, at a small house with a garden. After dinner, walked
+up a high hill to see a celebrated prospect. Gained the summit of the
+sheep-down, and stood on the top, whence we saw the whole compass of the
+horizon and such a stretch of sea and landscape! The whole southern sky,
+and the blue sea, extending from the Isle of Wight (its faint blue-lands
+rising towards the west) to the white face of what we took to be Beachy
+Head, but afterwards learned to be Seaford Cliffs: beneath, lay sloping
+towards the sea, a landscape of exquisite hues, of corn and thick
+hedge-rows of woods and intermingled villages. Within the scope of the
+bay, towards Beachy Head, Worthing, Shoreham, Brighton, on the sea edge,
+backed with downs. Farther on, the hills begin to whiten, and rise into
+the high face guarding the entrance of Newhaven river, which seems to
+fall into a fine bay. To the west, Little Hampton, the woods, town and
+castle of Arundel; further on, amidst a long tract of woody country, the
+spire of Chichester Cathedral; further still, the high point of
+Portsdown hill, but not Portsmouth. The whole of the Isle of Wight
+clearly within view; the ridge of hills divided into three parts.
+Spithead may be distinguished, it is said, at times. To the north, we
+looked down into woody valleys at the feet of the Downs, and saw Mr.
+Shelly’s new mansion, among his fine woods.
+
+“Went back to our cottage inn delighted. Went to Worthing to tea. The
+tide just turning, the blue sea flowing almost even with our windows.
+Parties again from Brighton at our inn. Lovely evening. When the tide
+was lower, the sands were gay with fine company. In another part, a
+cricket match going on upon the sands. Fishing vessels at anchor. Saw
+the Isle of Wight under the evening light, more distinctly in some
+respects, than before, yet like a dark cloud rising out of the sea.”
+
+From Worthing, Mr. and Mrs. Radcliffe went by short journeys to Seaford.
+The following reflections, prompted by the “melancholy greatness of
+nature,” on a little excursion by the shore, will strikingly illustrate
+the thoughtful and pious cast of the writer.
+
+“July 19.—Went to see the rural village of Alfriston, over such a road
+as I never saw before; and leading over such hills! Two men helped the
+chaise down one of them. Some finely spreading oaks about the village,
+which stands on an eminence in a green valley backed by grey downs.
+Dined at a very old inn; had seats brought on the ground, before and
+after dinner. Walked the greatest part of the way back to Seaford; saw
+the sun set behind one of the vast hills. The silent course over this
+great scene awful—the departure melancholy. Oh GOD! thy great laws will
+one day be more fully known by thy creatures; we shall more fully
+understand Thee and ourselves. The GOD of order and of all this and of
+far greater grandeur, the Creator of that glorious sun, which never
+fails in its course, will not neglect us, His intelligent, though frail
+creatures, nor suffer us to perish, who have the consciousness of our
+mortal fate long before it arrives, and of HIM. He, who called us first
+from nothing, can again call us from death into life.
+
+“In this month, on the 24th of July, my dear father died two years
+since: on the 14th of last March, my poor mother followed him: I am the
+last leaf on the tree! The melancholy greatness with which I was
+surrounded this evening, made me very sensible of this.”
+
+From Seaford the tourists proceeded to Eastbourne, and visited Beachy
+Head. The journal contains the following short description, which places
+a striking scene before us, with a few strokes of a masterly pencil.
+
+“July 20.—Dined at the little village of Friston, seated deep down
+between immense hills, in a valley, that about a mile off opens to the
+sea, at the dangerous place called Burling Gap. A Prussian captain,
+whose vessel had been wrecked at the foot of Beacky, as our landlord
+called it, had been nine weeks at our poor little inn. The village had
+been almost buried in the snow, which came down upon the village from
+the steep sides of the hills; then the thaw nearly overwhelmed it. From
+the summit of a hill, on our way to Eastbourne, immense retrospect of
+sea and land. Surprising appearance of the sea, which seemed to rise so
+high, that it could scarce be distinguished from clouds; ships looked
+like birds in the sky. Nothing seen but great and simple objects—the
+round sea—the huge uncultivated headlands.”
+
+The ascent of Beachy Head, and the view from it, are described at some
+length in the Journal; but the following scene on the shore is more
+peculiar and striking.
+
+“July 23. Walked to the shore and along it, with a hope of having some
+sight of the sea—front of Beachy Head from beneath it, though four or
+five miles off. The beach impassable by any sort of carriage. A shore of
+ruins under the cliffs, which gradually rise from what is called the
+Wish-House, a small white building standing sweetly near the beach, to
+the summit of the Cape. Large blocks of granite imbedded on the shore,
+and extending to the waves, which rage and foam over them, giving one
+dreadful ideas of shipwreck. Sometimes, patches of gravelly sand, or
+pebbles, soon ending against masses of granite, or chalk, between which
+it is difficult, and not always possible to walk; some of them must be
+stepped upon. Within half a mile of the great front, unable to proceed
+farther; sat down on a block, wearied out, desiring William to go on; he
+was soon hid by a turn of the cliffs. Almost frightened at the solitude
+and vastness of the scene, though _Chance_[1] was with me. Tide almost
+out; only sea in front; white cliffs rising over me, but not impending;
+strand all around a chaos of rocks and fallen cliffs, far out into the
+waves; sea-fowl wheeling and screaming; all disappeared behind the
+point, beyond which, is the great cliff; but we had doubled point after
+point, in the hope that this would be the next, and had been much
+deceived in the distances by these great objects; after one remote point
+gained, another and another succeeded, and still the great cliff was
+unattained; the white precipices beautifully varied with plants, green,
+blue, yellow and poppy. Wheat-ears flew up often from the beach:
+_Chance_ pursued them. At length, William returned, having been nearly,
+but not quite, in front of the great promontory. Slowly and laboriously
+we made our way back along the beach, greatly fatigued, the day
+exceedingly hot, the horizon sulphurous, with lowering clouds; thunder
+rolled faintly at a distance.”
+
+Footnote 1:
+
+  Her favourite Dog.
+
+The same afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Radcliffe continued their tour to
+Hastings. The following is the picturesque view of their journey from
+Bexhill to Hastings, in the evening.
+
+“From Bexhill, descended between the high, shrubby banks of lanes, so
+narrow, that the wheels seemed to fill the passage; in some places a
+horse could not have passed; we met no carriage, or we must have backed
+a great way. Breathing honeysuckles on the banks; deep twilight. Heard
+the sea frequently on our right when the wheels stopped. We had before
+passed Pevensey levels and the town, with its fine old castle: towers in
+ruins. On our approach, it reminded one of Newark castle. Near eleven,
+before we reached Hastings; no moon; starlight; milky-way very lucid;
+seemed to rise out of the sea. Solemn and pleasing night-scene.
+Glowworms, in great numbers, shone silently and faintly on the dewy
+banks, like something supernatural. Judgment of Shakspeare in selecting
+this image to assist the terrific impression in his ghost-scene. May be
+called earth-stars. The coast patrole passed us. How far to Hastings?
+Three miles. Farther on had a narrow escape: horse and chaise suddenly
+plunged down a bank into the pebbles; nearly overturned. Happily our
+horse stood quite still, after the shock, and until we had ascertained
+the rugged course we were in; I walked the rest of the way. Pass under
+grand, dark rocks, disjointed and starting up in splintered points, and
+huge masses. These rocks, near the beach and over the road, continue to
+where the houses open.”
+
+From Hastings Mrs. Radcliffe proceeded along the coast to Dover, to
+which place she was extremely partial, and thence by Feversham to
+London. After minutely detailing her little adventures, she thus
+concludes her journey:—
+
+“In all our tour saw nothing so fine and beautiful as the views of sea
+and land from the Downs over the East Bourne. The sweet repose of the
+landscape and sea-bay to Hastings, and the grandeur of the various
+views, on all sides between the valleys of the South Downs, and even
+above these summits, circling nearly the whole horizon, with soft blue
+waves.”
+
+In the autumn of this year, Mrs. Radcliffe spent a fortnight at Little
+Hampton, and returning by Haslemere, thus describes the country
+immediately southward of that place.
+
+“Three miles of continual ascent, or descent of almost tremendous hills,
+long and steep opening to vast distances, now obscured in ruin, but
+sublime in their obscurity—
+
+                ‘Where wilds immeasurably spread,
+                Seem lengthening, as we go.’—GOLDSMITH.
+
+            ‘These high, wild hills and rough uneven roads,
+            Drag out our miles and make them wearisome.’
+                                                 CYMBELINE.
+
+“This is the country, from which Collins drew his first ideas, and fed
+his early taste for the wild and the grand.
+
+            ’O! vales and wild-woods, would he say,
+            In yonder grave your Druid lies.”
+                                                   COLLINS.
+
+“Have never seen such wild woody mountains before in England; they
+resemble the forests of Wetteravia more than any I have seen, but with
+this difference, that there the mountains are more pointing, abrupt and
+rocky, and that here the road often winds round the edge of the hills
+into deep and most picturesque glades, where comfortable cottages lie
+snug beneath noble trees, and ruddy children play under the branches,
+among the huge timber felled on the ground, the Woodman’s implements and
+the thatched hovel. Sylvan, or other rural industry appeared in every
+hamlet. Clouds of smoke from places, where wood was charred, sometimes
+darkened the air. This is the most woody tract in Sussex, and probably
+in England. The eastern end of the country has no wood: the immense
+hills stand bare in all their grandeur.”
+
+The following notes are extracted from the Journal of a Tour, made in
+the autumn of 1801, to Southampton, Lymington, and the Isle of Wight.
+The two first days’ journey supply no matters of interest: in the
+afternoon of the third day, 29th Sept. the travellers thus approach the
+beautiful neighbourhood of Southampton:
+
+“At length, the blue hill tops of the Isle of Wight appeared faintly on
+the horizon, over the stretching forest masses of the near scene. At the
+sixth mile-stone, entered a part of the New Forest; beautiful woods and
+glades; thick trees shadowing the road; wherever the woods opened,
+especially on the right and in front, other rich masses and others still
+beyond, rose pompously. One of the perspectives in front particularly
+fine, as we saw our road descending among the deep woods, and other
+woods rising up the hills and crowning the bold summit of an eminence,
+that seemed to rear itself over all the forest. The deep gloom of stormy
+clouds and fleeting lights of sunshine extremely various; the sun often
+shedding a misty glory over the solemn woods in the west, while sudden
+and awful shadows dwelt wide over other summits. Passed a most
+picturesque hamlet of green mossed cottages scattered round a little
+lawn, where the woods opened, but closed again in thicker shades. Four
+miles of this sweet scenery, when we entered upon heath, and came upon a
+high level common, extending a mile, or two, that opened upon a vast
+prospect on either hand: in front, all the hills of the Isle of Wight,
+from east to west, swelled along the horizon. On the right, the wavy
+woods of the New Forest bounded all the western and northern view. The
+richness of this vast mass of tufted woods is indescribable. Part of the
+Southampton water was visible on this side, flowing between wooded banks
+with villages on its edge. On the left, the view over the vale was not
+so grand, but more diversified by the light green of pastures and by
+frequent villages and white mansions among the woods, that spread among
+the gentle slopes. Showers and sunshine alternately dimmed and
+brightened the hills. The splendour of the sun fell, at times, upon the
+forest, in the west, while a heavy shower darkened an open valley in the
+east, softened the verdure of the nearer hills, and spread over the
+woods and meadows and villages a gradual chastening tint, that was
+enchanting. At length, the spire of the great church of Southampton
+appeared over the woods in front, while the town was yet unseen.”
+
+After a short notice of Southampton, where Mrs. Radcliffe remained only
+two nights, the Journal proceeds:—
+
+“After breakfast, set off for Lyndhurst; passed along the head of the
+bay, and by Millbrook, then the long bridge and causeway. After a long
+hill, descend upon the New Forest, and pass between open lawns and
+woods, capping every little eminence, and spreading round like those of
+Kensington Gardens. Longed for the speed of a stag to bound along these
+lawns and endless forest-glades. Dined at the Crown, in a parlour
+opposite to the inn, which was full; some forest-commissioners here. The
+Princess Sophia of Gloucester expected at the King’s House; shown to us
+by an elderly woman. Good rooms; ancient furniture. A wood fire on the
+hearth of the Princess’s room and on that of the dining-room below. All
+these rooms look under thick lofty trees to the forest woods, that rise
+close over the village, towards Brokenhurst. Oak-benches at the upper
+end of Rufus’-hall, where the forest courts are held—the most ancient
+part of the building. A large iron stirrup, called Rufus’s stirrup.
+
+“From Lyndhurst, the ride to Brokenhurst is through five miles of
+pompous forest groves, of which grandeur is the characteristic, mingled
+with great beauty. The forest crowds over the road. Only two spots the
+whole way where the trees retire round lawns. Hence to Lymington: the
+country is inclosed; but still the lanes are forest-lanes. Passed
+Boldre, leaving Mr. Gilpin’s a mile on the left, and soon came in view
+of the Isle of Wight, with Lymington, and its neat cupola-church. Came
+in at dusk; made our way in the market-place, between waggons and cheese
+piled up for the morrow’s fair.
+
+“Oct. 3. Left Lymington at half past three, in the packet for Yarmouth;
+after viewing the fair, and the fine booths of trinkets and plate.
+Passed many charming residences among the woody banks on the left.
+Glided smoothly under a light summer air; the evening splendid, and the
+scene most lovely. The Needles are vast dark blocks of rock, tall, but
+not pointed, standing out from the island in the sea. Hurst castle, with
+its dark line of peninsula stretching athwart the Channel. The Needles
+become more huge seen against the light, with the point of the Alum Rock
+in shade. These objects, with the high line of the Isle of Purbeck,
+faintly grey beyond, composed a perfect picture, with most harmonious
+colouring. The light silver grey of the sea first met the eye, then the
+dark Alum Rock projected to meet Hurst Castle, whose towers were
+pencilled in deep grey beyond, which softened away to the heights of
+Purbeck, that closed the perspective. After sunset, streaks of brightest
+crimson appeared on the sky, behind clouds, black and swelling; the
+upper shores clear, though dark. Approached Yarmouth, under this sweet
+twilight. The western shore of Yarmouth goes off in a darkly wooded
+point, with many white houses, or cottages, among the trees. Landed on
+Yarmouth quay, small, and crowded with people. Dutch sentinels on the
+little fort over the quay and rampart of the old castle. Our inn built
+by Sir Robert Holmes, governor of the island, on the scite, I fancy, of
+Henry the Eighth’s old castle. Our horse and gig came in another packet.
+
+“Oct. 4. After breakfasting at Yarmouth, set out in a bright morning for
+the Light-house above the Needles. As we rose, the Channel and the
+English coast, from Portsdown Hill (known by its long chalk-pit) to the
+shore near Pool in Dorsetshire, lay before us, bounded partly by the New
+Forest and thick inclosures, and spreading with towns and villages and
+innumerable seats and farms, with a vast extent of the northern part of
+the Isle of Wight, and with Southampton Bay, to Lymington, here and
+there a white house on the shore, snug under trees, and other house-tops
+peeping out, almost wherever I directed the glass, above the forest.
+Discovered Lyndhurst steeple, with the large white house at Mount Royal,
+‘bosomed high in tufted trees.’ The whole country, from the
+neighbourhood of Southampton to the West, rises gradually from the shore
+into a line of horizon little varied; but the richness and cheerful
+beauty of this widely extending amphitheatre, seen over the calm blue
+Channel, with here and there a white sail and a ship of war at anchor,
+permit no desire for greater variety. As we rose upon the down, this
+scene enlarged: the Isle of Purbeck became more majestic; its outline is
+more mountainous than that of the Isle of Wight, with a range of high
+awful cliffs below. It was now tinged with misty azure, but the sun
+brightened all the sea before it. Two of its summits appeared finely in
+the perspective from Cowes’ Point. The effect of the sea so close on
+either hand of this vast western promontory, called the Needle Point, or
+the Alum rock, running out upon the ocean like a long narrow causeway,
+is awful. You have a wonderful and rather a painful sensation of the
+narrowness of the earth that bears you, though it may be half a mile, or
+more, in width. As the Needle rocks were not visible from the
+Light-house, we left the chaise, and descended the down half a mile, and
+looked upon them. On their summits, which now seem sharp, and splintered
+into ledges and points, perceived with the glass numbers of dark birds
+quietly seated; not one took wing, or uttered any cry. Perhaps it was
+owing to our great height, that the Needles disappointed us, and
+appeared insignificant, compared with the grander objects around us:
+listened to the surge breaking below, round the feet of these rocks. Did
+not venture near enough the edge to see into Alum Bay. Drove to
+Freshwater Bay. The inn at Freshwater Gate in the bottom is a little
+cottage, with two or three rooms apart on the beach. A ruinous and
+desolate shore spreads and rises on either hand. Mounted a promontory,
+which confined our view from the inn, on the right. Greatness and
+desolation. As the tide was coming in, could not see a cave in the cliff
+below. Returned to Yarmouth at five.”
+
+The following is Mrs. Radcliffe’s account of a visit to the tract called
+Undercliffe.
+
+“Oct. 6. Set off for the Undercliffe, a tract of shore formed by fallen
+cliffs, and closely barricadoed by a wall of rock of vast height.
+Entered upon it about a mile from Kniton, and found ourselves in such a
+scene of ruin, as we never saw before. The road is, for the most part,
+close to the wall of rock, which seems to lie in loose horizontal
+strata, with frequent perpendicular fissures, which threaten the
+traveller with destruction, as he passes sometimes beneath enormous
+masses, that lean forward. This is the boundary on one side of the road;
+on the other side, is an extremely irregular and rugged descent of half
+a mile towards the sea: on this side, there are sometimes what may be
+called amphitheatres of rock, where all the area is filled with ruins,
+which are, however, frequently covered with verdure and underwood, that
+stretch up the sides, with the wildest pomp, and shelter here a cottage,
+here a villa among the rocky hillocks. We were two hours and a half in
+going from Kniton to the inn at Steephill, five miles, W. leading the
+horse almost the whole way: a Druid scene of wildness and ruin.
+Sometimes the road led us into vast semicircular bays of rock, filled up
+entirely to the eye with wild wood and broken hillocks; the sea below
+appearing to stretch so from point to point, that it seemed impossible
+to make our way out, till the road led us under projecting crags of the
+promontory into other recesses, and, winding under these threatening
+walls, again led near the sea, on which I looked down, not without
+terror. Descended upon the romantic and sweet village of St. Lawrence,
+among thickets on a hill, near the shore. Beautiful cottages, covered
+with ivy even to the chimney tops, with each its garden, and some with
+little orchards hung with golden fruit; clear, gushing rills passing
+under the shades to the sea. A mile beyond, the beautiful village of
+Steephill, in the same style. Went to the New Inn, standing on a hill,
+with a wide sea view in front, half a mile off, and at the foot of St.
+Boniface Downs, whose steep green sides rise to a tremendous height
+behind it, having below them, on the other hand, the little woody
+village of St. Boniface, with its beautiful cottages and villas.”
+
+The remaining memoranda of the visit to Steephill, are too long to be
+extracted, but contain some beautiful descriptions, and several vivid
+notices of the effects of light, as for example:—“The sea in gloom, with
+gleams of cold silvery light upon it, where the clouds began to break:
+these lights finely marked the distances on the grand surface of the
+ocean, as they fell in blue lines.” Again, “Sunlights on the sea, and,
+now and then, bright green spots between black shadows;”—in the evening
+“a fiery sunset with _sullen_ clouds.” The following short recollection
+of a storm is full of feeling and power:—
+
+“After dark, a storm, with thunder and lightning; listened to the
+strong, steady force of the wind and waves below. The thunder rolled and
+burst at intervals, and often the sound was so mingled with that of the
+wind and waves, as to be scarcely distinguished from it. No complaining
+of the wind, but a strong and awful monotony. Lightning, very blue,
+showed at moments the foaming waves far out: utter darkness between the
+flashes. Glad to hear from the other side of the house, cheerful voices
+talking, or singing. When the storm subsided, the thunder rolled away
+towards the Sussex coast. This display of the elements was the grandest
+scene I ever beheld; a token of God directing his world. What
+particularly struck me was the appearance of irresistible power, which
+the deep monotonous sound of the wind and surge conveyed. Nothing
+sudden; nothing laboured; all a continuance of sure power, without
+effort.”
+
+From Steephill the travellers proceeded to Ryde, where Mrs. Radcliffe
+made the following characteristic remarks:—“Rejoice to look again on a
+peopled sea, and prefer this point of the Isle, for animated and
+beautiful scenery, to any other. The back of the island has very
+extensive views; and, for that extensiveness, may be called grand; but
+there are no mountain lines, no shapes, that overwhelm us with
+admiration: the want of wood forbids them magnificence. The undercliff
+is wild and romantic, rather than grand; but the sea horizon from it, is
+often very grand. Upon the whole, I prefer rich beauty to wild beauty,
+unless accompanied by such shapes of grandeur as verge upon the sublime.
+Lovely sunset; a roseate, melting into saffron and shades of blue; some
+light purple streaks. Below, the dark woody line of shore bending
+towards Cowes; the bay at its feet, purpled from the clouds. All this
+seen from our bed-room windows, above and between lofty trees.”
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Radcliffe returned by Salisbury. We extract from the
+journal the approach to Salisbury and the description of its Cathedral.
+
+“Oct. 13. Rainy morning; cleared up to a lovely afternoon. Left
+Southampton before twelve, for Salisbury. Turned out of the road, at the
+village of Totting, and soon entered upon the skirts of the New Forest,
+but saw no avenues there, no lovely forest-glades, rather forest-land,
+than forest; but we had often rich woody views into the vale, near
+Southampton on the right, and continual forests rising on the left; and
+a few miles from Plaitford, came upon some of the sweetest scenery of
+the New Forest. Upon a wild glade, touching effect of misty light,
+beyond its gloom. Sometimes an opening in the near copses showed a
+distant perspective of deep shade. About five miles from Salisbury, gain
+the summit of a high ridge, and look at once upon a new and grander
+ridge large and sharper hills rising to a great extent, with the vast
+Cathedral and lofty spire of Salisbury in front. We had lingered so much
+on our road, that as we entered Salisbury, a new moon gave us faintly
+the shadow of its sublime Cathedral, with its pointed roofs and its
+pinnacles and its noble spire. How could Mr. Gilpin prefer a tower to
+it! Saw, as we passed, the moonlight shining through the windows of the
+aisles and touching aslant the lofty spire, while the elms beside it
+were in deep shade. Had entered the city by a deep Gothic gateway, and
+saw others lighted up in perspective, in a street, out of which we
+turned to our inn, the Antelope—a very good inn.
+
+“Oct. 14. Went, in the rain, to the Cathedral; entered it just as the
+organ and chaunt struck up; very fine, but not so solemn, as at
+Canterbury. The church most light, beautiful and elegant; but it did not
+affect me, like the solemn simplicity, the awful roofs and grand
+perspective of Canterbury. The tone of the organ, too, very good, but
+did not listen for its swelling and dying sounds, as through the vast
+aisles of Canterbury; there is not space for them to roll in, and murmur
+afar off, as there. Was much struck with the effigies of the dead, laid
+out on each side of the great aisle, from pillar to pillar. Having been
+brought by Mr. Wyatt from St. Mary’s Chapel, that terminates the choir,
+they have been placed on a raised step, that seems indeed to have been
+originally designed for them. The pillars of this Cathedral are in
+Gothic clusters, not of the slender form, that afterwards prevailed,
+but, as Mr. Gilpin says, “when Saxon heaviness first began to give way.”
+Their effect is elegant. They are washed of a stone colour, as are the
+walls and roofs; the last are without tracery, and are marked as if of
+brick. The arches are obtusely pointed, having one narrow vein of open
+work running near the outer edge, which gives lightness to them.”
+
+After an attempt to visit Stonehenge, which was frustrated by a violent
+storm, Mr. and Mrs. Radcliffe returned, in the leisurely manner which
+they preferred, to London.
+
+In the autumn of 1802, Mr. and Mrs. Radcliffe took a journey to
+Leicester and Warwick, and returned by Woodstock and Oxford. From the
+journal kept during that tour, the following descriptions of Kenilworth,
+of one or two scenes in Warwick Castle, and of Blenheim, are perhaps
+most worthy of selection. Both Warwick Castle and Blenheim are described
+with great minuteness; but both these mansions are so generally known,
+that it is thought sufficient to extract such portions of the accounts
+of them only, as are most characteristic of the writer’s feelings and
+tastes.
+
+
+                              KENILWORTH.
+
+“Left Coventry at half past twelve, and passed through a pleasant
+well-wooded country to Kenilworth. Almost every village over-topped with
+lofty trees. Passed for some miles over Kenilworth Chase, by a straight
+road of noble breadth, bordered with forest. Part of this forest was, in
+former times, cut down, in order to dislodge robbers. The gate of the
+castle, to which we drove up, is in the grey square tower, built on a
+high rock, by Leicester. This gate being now a residence, the former
+entrance by it to the court of the Castle is stopped up, and we passed
+through the garden, at its side, into the green and open area, that was
+once the grand court of the castle. Hence we looked up to the noble
+masses of ruin, that still stand proudly, and form three broken and
+irregular sides of what was once the inner court. Of the buildings that
+formed the fourth side, there are now no vestiges, except the
+_knolliness_ of the ground, where they once stood, may be called such,
+and except part of the buildings still called Leicester’s, these having
+been built by him. These are a fine mass of ruined walls, covered with
+thickest ivy, on the left; on the right, stands a more noble mass, with
+three lofty arches in a row, going the whole depth of the wall, sixteen
+feet: this is called Cæsar’s Tower, and, though the oldest part of the
+Castle, appears, on the outside, the freshest and newest. It is of a
+greyer and more solid stone than the rest. This, too, is finely hung
+with ivy. Between these masses, in perspective, forming the third side
+of the court, is the most picturesque remainder of the castle, though
+Cæsar’s Tower is the grandest. This was once the great hall, or
+banqueting-room. Its three beautiful pointed window-frames are there
+still; and the arch of a Gothic door, most elegantly twined with
+vine-leaves, all now hung and clustered with the richest drapery of ivy.
+The trunk of some of this ivy is of great thickness, and it is so old,
+that in some places, the branches are sapless and leafless, and the grey
+stalks seemed to crawl about the ruin in sympathy. Other remains of
+buildings partly connect the three sides of the court, and are
+intermingled and crowned with alder and ash plants. This view of the
+ruin was very striking; the three chief masses great and solemn, without
+being beautiful. They spoke at once to the imagination, with the force
+and simplicity of truth, the nothingness and brevity of this
+life—‘generations have beheld us and passed away, as you now behold us,
+and shall pass away: they thought of the generations before them, as you
+now think of them, and as future ages shall think of you. We have
+witnessed this, yet we remain; the voices that revelled beneath us are
+heard no more, yet the winds of Heaven still sound in our ivy.’ And a
+still and solemn sound it was as we stood looking up at these walls.”
+
+
+                       SCENES IN WARWICK CASTLE.
+
+“After leaving the great hall, went, on the left, into the chapel—a
+plain memorable chapel, lined with oak; then to the armoury, a long,
+narrow gallery, or rather a suite of narrow rooms, communicating by
+small Gothic doorways, and extending, perhaps, nearly the whole length
+of the Castle, with tall windows of painted glass, bowing out into the
+court of the Castle. The walls of this armoury were covered with weapons
+of various kinds and sizes, from the Indian war-spear, to the Highland
+dirk, with a knife and fork tucked into the same sheath. But what struck
+me most was near the end of the gallery (when it makes a sudden turn
+into the tower that terminates the castle), where appeared before me a
+broad, yet dark staircase of oak, and at the foot of it, as if guarding
+the passage, a large figure in complete armour, the beaver down, and a
+sword in its hand! The general twilight, with the last western gleam
+breaking through the painted window at the foot of the staircase, and
+touching the bronze, gave full effect to this scene, and heightened the
+obscurity of the stairs, in perspective. This armour came from Germany;
+our conductor knew no more. Saw the brass coat, shot-proof, worn by Lord
+Brooke when he was shot in the eye during his attack upon Lichfield
+Cathedral. On the opposite side, a complete suit of black armour, the
+knees with projecting points: could learn nothing of its history. Left
+the building with regret. Paused again in the court to admire the
+beautiful lofty acacias and other noble trees surrounding the lawn, and
+the most majestic towers forming the grand front. The octagon tower,
+rising in the angle of the walls near the house-door, the most
+beautiful, as far as regards proportion; the one nearest the house the
+most venerable and warlike. Near the summit an embattled overhanging
+gallery, where formerly, no doubt, sentinels used to pace during the
+night, looked down upon the walls of the Castle, the rivers and the
+country far and wide, received the watch-word from the sentinel, perched
+in the little watch-tower, higher still and seeing farther in the
+moonlight, and repeated it to the soldiers on guard on the walls and
+gates below. Before those great gates and underneath these towers,
+Shakspeare’s ghost might have stalked; they are in the very character
+and spirit of such an apparition, grand and wild and strange; there
+should, however, have been more extent. Stayed before these grey towers
+till the last twilight.”
+
+
+                               BLENHEIM.
+
+“Lovely day. At eleven, walked through the Park. The triumphal arch, at
+the entrance, has too much the air of a merely handsome gateway; the
+convenient division into passages in the ordinary mode of considerable
+gates, leaves nothing appropriate to Fame. The view of the Park, with
+the turrets of the palace, of the mass of wood beyond, the verdant sweep
+of the intermediate ground, that descends to the water, with the water
+itself and the Palladian bridge beyond, is very striking, a few paces
+after the entrance. The palace itself, though here seen beyond and over
+clumps of trees, appears to greater advantage than when more distinctly
+viewed: its many turrets, now beheld in clusters, have an air of
+grandeur, which they want when separately observable. As we advance, the
+groves on the left thicken and have a forest-like shade; but the view on
+the rising ground, including the celebrated pillar, is too much broken
+into parts. Though the ground rises finely, its great flowing lines are
+spoiled by too many groves; there should have been one, or two, grand
+masses of wood, and the rest sweeping lawn. This park is not comparable
+with that at Knole, either for swell and variety of surface, or for
+grandeur and disposition of wood; no such enchanting groves of plane and
+birch and oak, as there. But a very grand avenue extends from the Oxford
+gate to the palace. On entering the garden, of finest turf and shade,
+pass the east front to the lawn of the back front, opening to a view of
+distant hills between the high groves. The back front of the house much
+the best; more simple, and, seen in perspective, very good. Parterres in
+the flower-garden, with basket-work round them, in the pretty fashion of
+the last century in France. Hence, through deep shade to the sheep-walk,
+where the light opens upon the country, and then soon look down upon
+another bridge and water. This walk continues on the brow, for about
+half a mile, very sweetly, and leads to a sloping lawn shaded with the
+noblest trees in the garden. More struck with this spot than with any,
+except about the large lake. First, two poplars of most astonishing
+height, much larger than those in the avenue at Manheim. At their feet,
+the light green spray foliage of these deciduous cypresses had a most
+charming effect. Near the poplars, a lofty plane, but inferior in
+height. Near this, a surprising Portugal laurel swept the ground, and
+spread to a vast circumference; a very extraordinary tree for size.
+Delighted with the steep green slope, the water and bridge below, the
+abrupt woody banks opposite, and, above all, the grandeur of the shades.
+Pass the bridge: on the right, the massy rocks of the cascade, but no
+water; on the left, the water winding beyond the woody banks; a highly
+tufted island, with a wooden building near its margin, very picturesque.
+
+“Over a sofa, in the dining-room, a large family picture by Sir Joshua
+Reynolds. The Duke seated, and turning to the Marquis of Blandford, when
+a boy, with an air and countenance in which the nobleman and the good
+man are blended; more pleasing and dignified than Romney’s portrait of
+him. The Duchess, of pleasing countenance, and much sweetness in her
+eyes. Of the children, the most striking is Lady Charlotte (Nares), five
+or six years old, playfully holding a mask, and laughing behind it, as
+she frightens her sister, who draws back in doubt and with some
+apprehension but calmly. The figure of Lady C. has all the natural,
+playful grace of a child, though the attitude is rather overstrained.
+Vandyke’s portrait of Charles the First’s Queen is not so fine as his
+picture of her in the domestic drawing-room at Warwick Castle.
+
+“It is in the superior colours and expressive drawing of the tapestry,
+that Blenheim chiefly excels the interior decorations of other great
+mansions. That in the state room is from Brussels, and most exquisite;
+presented by that city to the great Duke. It entirely covers the lofty
+walls. Each compartment displays a different siege or battle, and the
+distance, fading often into blue hills, is so finely shaded, that the
+whole seems almost a living prospect, and that you might step into the
+scene. The figures in the foreground are nearly as large as life, and
+chiefly portraits: they are admirably grouped, and the action not only
+spirited and natural, but often full of character. The Duke is always on
+horseback, and has the same air of countenance—attentive and eager; the
+features somewhat thin. The face of a French spy, under examination
+before the Duke, is admirable; watchful, sedate, and firm. In the next
+compartment is a very spirited figure of Lord Cadogan, on horseback, his
+hat held off at arm’s length, receiving orders from the Duke. His
+eagerness, proud submission, and impatience to be gone, while he bends
+to listen, and can scarcely rein his impatient charger, are all
+conspicuous. His faithful dog, that would be near him in every battle,
+and that returned safe home at last, is waiting beside him.”
+
+In June 1805, Mrs. Radcliffe went to see Belvedere House, the seat of
+Lord Eardley. The following is an extract from her account of that
+mansion.
+
+“The park entrance from Lexden Heath is through a low, iron gate, beyond
+which is seen the gravel road, winding like a path, among the turf,
+under the stately branches of clumps of oak, &c. Neither the house, nor
+any good prospect is visible here; but, as you advance along the elegant
+plain of the park, a blue distance of the Essex hills appears beneath
+the low-spread branches of oaks, where there is a seat; on the right,
+the Grecian portico of the house, among the deep shades, which exclude
+all other view. The entrance is to a light, elegant hall, or vestibule,
+of French grey stucco, as are all the extensive passages of the house,
+the floors covered with oilcloth, of a small pattern, in shades of blue.
+On the right, through an ante-room of elegant simplicity, pass to a
+dining-room; the walls of French grey; silk-moreen curtains, orange;
+chocolate-coloured fringe. Over the door, two exquisite views of Venice,
+by Canaletti; the Alchymist, Teniers, in a corner near the fire; then
+Rembrandt (by himself), looking out of the picture, with a broad smile,
+a coarse but arch countenance; Van Trump, the Dutch Admiral, a bluff
+countenance, as if the habits of a seaman predominated over those of the
+officer. After seeing several other very fine pictures here, pass some
+smaller rooms and elegant passages to the red drawing-room, the finest
+in the house; hung with crimson damask, bordered with gold; curtains and
+chairs the same, and a most rich carpet, in crimson and black. A finely
+stuccoed carved ceiling; a large bow-window looking upon the woods of
+the park. In a shaded corner, near the chimney, a most exquisite Claude,
+an evening view, perhaps over the Campagna of Rome. The sight of this
+picture imparted much of the luxurious repose and satisfaction, which we
+derive from contemplating the finest scenes of Nature. Here was the
+poet, as well as the painter, touching the imagination, and making you
+see more than the picture contained. You saw the real light of the sun,
+you breathed the air of the country, you felt all the circumstances of a
+luxurious climate on the most serene and beautiful landscape; and, the
+mind being thus softened, you almost fancied you heard Italian music on
+the air—the music of Paisiello; and such, doubtless, were the scenes
+that inspired him. Passed into smaller rooms, and by the same elegant
+lobbies, to the summer drawing-room, where the bowed window looks down
+upon a noble sweep of the Thames, with the well-wooded sloping hills of
+Essex in the distance. The noble simplicity of this long bend of the
+Thames, and of the whole scene, is very striking. The eye passes
+abruptly, between the hanging woods of two jutting eminences of the
+park, to the green level below, which forms in front a perfect bow of
+several miles. The woods near the house are so planted, as to conceal
+the entrance and exit of the river upon the plains below, leaving
+nothing of it visible but that line of perfect grace and grandeur which
+it marks between the two green shores, while the vessels seem to steal
+upon the scene, appearing and disappearing, on either hand, from behind
+the woods. The dark verdure of these, the lighter green of the plain
+beneath, the silver grey of the river that bounds it, the white sails
+and various shades of the fleeting vessels, ships with clustering
+top-gallant sails, sloops with the stretching and elegantly swelling
+sails at their heads and above them, and skiffs, or other boats, with
+their little spritsails, too often bending low:—these, with the hills of
+Essex bending into bluish distance, form altogether a soothing harmony
+of tints and objects.—Among other pictures that struck me, (especially
+the family of Snyders, by Rubens,) was one of Wouvermans, representing
+the dark gate of a fort, with cavaliers on war-horses, waiting
+impatiently for admittance, their horses rearing and prancing; upon the
+high, shadowing walls, shrubs appear against the light sky, and above
+them is seen a high embankment, with a cannon pointed downwards, and
+near it a tree, down which a man is hastily descending, as if he had
+been overlooking a skirmish on the plains below, (not in view,) whence
+the party without the gate seem to have made a precipitate retreat. They
+are, perhaps, waiting till he has reported to the guard at the gate,
+whether they are friends or enemies. The impatience for admittance of
+those who think themselves likely to be pursued, the cautious
+apprehension of those within the fort, and the unseen and doubtful
+battle, hinted at by the man on the tree, render this a very interesting
+picture.
+
+“The grand staircase, by which we passed to the room over this, is
+remarkable for its lightness and elegance. All its light is received
+from a raised frame of glass, which crowns a most richly stuccoed roof,
+that forms a broad border only round it. I was much struck with the
+lightness, proportion, and elegance of this staircased hall, and indeed
+with the numerous long passages of the house. In the family dining-room
+the pictures are all portraits. One of the late Lady Eardley, when
+young, is a profile of most exquisite sweetness.
+
+          ‘Softness and sweetest innocence she wears,
+          And looks like Nature, in the world’s first bloom.’
+
+Strong countenance of a tutor of Lord Eardley. No view, but of the Park,
+from any of these rooms; nor from the library, opening by pillars from a
+kind of ante-room, or vestibule. Before a cone at the upper end, is a
+most noble mahogany library-table with drawers. Between the windows are
+semicircular inlaid tables, with deep drawers for maps; some valuable
+modern books, but no old ones. The art of giving effect to the finest
+views, by permitting them to be seen only from the rooms whence they may
+be observed without interruption and in their perfection, is carried
+very far here; for, as you advance through the grounds to the house, the
+eye is confined by the woods; and is suffered only once to catch a
+glimpse of distance under the spreading shades, sufficient to touch the
+imagination and excite expectation of a scene, whose grandeur and
+simplicity, when at length it does appear, fully repays the impatience
+of curiosity. We did not see the woody grounds extending very far along
+the brow over the Thames, nor the tower of the Belvedere, nearly at the
+extremity of them and on their highest point. This must look down
+suddenly upon a new scene of the river, where it spreads into that broad
+bay, whose eastern point projects opposite to the broken steeps of
+Purfleet, and comprehends within its curve Erith, with its ivied church,
+and the hills around it, varied with woods and villas, and whose western
+point lies near the foot of this eminence, concealed by the woods. But
+from a window of this lofty tower I doubt not the eye extends to
+Gravesend in the east, and probably further. Its southern window must
+look athwart the back of Shooter’s Hill to the Knockholt beeches on the
+ridge near Seven-oaks; and its northern one over Epping Forest and a
+great part of Essex. Wherever the wood-walks open, there must be a
+glimpse of the river, and white sails gliding athwart the vista.”
+
+In the autumn of 1807, Mr. and Mrs. Radcliffe visited Knole House for
+the second time. The following is a small portion of Mrs. Radcliffe’s
+reminiscences of the house, and especially of its pictures.
+
+“We were astonished at the extent of this mansion, and at its vast
+collection of portraits. Warwick Castle has the greatest number of
+Vandyke’s pictures; Blenheim of Rubens’s; Knole of Holbein’s, with many
+of Vandyke too. The old porter at the first gate had lived about the
+spot fifty years; was there in the time of the late Duke’s grandfather:
+those were grand times; the late Dukes were very good, but things had
+got dearer then. When we were going, he desired Mr. R. to write our
+names in the book, that my lord might have the _pleasure_ of seeing who
+had been there.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+At the upper end of the lofty and noble hall, where the high table
+stood, is now a very large statue of Demosthenes, robed, with buskined
+feet and a book or scrowl in his hand; the attitude composed; the
+countenance expresses nothing of the energy and fire that characterize
+his eloquence. It was bought by the late Duke in Italy, for seven
+hundred pounds. The brown gallery is almost covered with portraits by
+Holbein, the greatest assemblage of famous persons I ever saw. In the
+little closet of entrance, the countenance of Giardini, the composer,
+gives you the idea that he is listening to the long drawn notes of his
+own violin. Holbein’s Erasmus, in the gallery, must be truth itself: the
+keen and quick, small eye; the humorous, though serious smile; the thin,
+finely-pointed, yet bending nose; the thin-drawn lips and chin, are all
+exquisite. In a picture containing three portraits, that in the middle
+is of Luther. His bluff, blunt, strong habits of expression; his
+dauntless and persevering mind; his consciousness of the truth and
+importance of his cause, and his resolution to maintain it, are well
+expressed: strength and resolution in the chin. On his right is
+Melancthon, reasoning, acute, amiable. On his left, Pomeranius; a
+somewhat sly and monkish countenance. Queen Elizabeth and several of her
+Court: Salisbury, civil, sagacious and fastidious; effeminate; very
+fair: Burleigh, with a steady, penetrating, grey eye, high forehead,
+with black hair; a cast of humour: Leicester, sturdy and crafty.
+
+“Lord Surrey, the poet, young, thin and melancholy. No very fine
+pictures in what is called Lady Betty Germain’s room, which looks
+delightfully upon the green and stately alleys of the garden. High
+state-bed; dingy white plumes crown the bed-posts. In the dressing-room
+are three Earls of Dorset, and drawings by Titian and Michael Angelo. In
+another room a state-bed, presented by James the First. In the
+dressing-room, among many fine pictures, is one of Sir Theodore Mayerne,
+physician to James the First, and to two of his successors, by Vandyke:
+he is seated in an armchair, and his right hand rests on a human skull;
+his own head is grey, and he looks at you with a mild and sensible
+countenance, turned a little towards his left shoulder; the fading look
+of age, without actual weakness.
+
+“In the great dining-room below, Hoppner’s copy of his portrait of Mr.
+Pitt, a strong, and, I think, not a flattering likeness. Fletcher,
+intelligent, thoughtful, and tender; brown complexion, acute black eyes.
+Beaumont, florid, with light blue eyes; of an open, cheerful, handsome
+countenance. Near the windows is a group of portraits, painted by Sir
+Joshua Reynolds, with one of himself, in the midst of these his familiar
+friends, now all dead. On his right is Doctor Johnson, drawn
+bareheaded—a severe deduction from the harmonies of any frame: it is
+nearly a profile; intense thought and anxiety press down the benevolent
+brow. On the left is Goldsmith, painted in the same style, a strong
+countenance, but of very different expression; coarse; the eyebrow’s not
+bent, like Johnson’s, firmly and evenly over the eyes, but only towards
+the nose; the other end highly hoisted, as if with caprice; unpleasing
+countenance; nothing of the goodness of Johnson. Garrick, with a most
+pleasant and living look, piercing eyes fixed upon you, with perfect
+ease and kindness, as he leans with both arms on a table; older than the
+portraits I have seen. Burke, vulgarized by Opie. Betterton, the actor,
+manly, sensible face. Pope, old, wrinkled, spectre-like. Swift, gentle
+in comparison with Pope. Otway, heavy, squalid, unhappy; yet tender
+countenance, but not so squalid as one we formerly saw; full, speaking,
+black eyes; it seems as if dissolute habits had overcome all his finer
+feelings, and left him little of mind, except a sense of sorrow. Dryden,
+in his velvet cap, younger than usual. Addison, mild. Waller, thinner
+and older than usual, with scarce a spark of his fire left, but still a
+courtier-like gentleman.
+
+“In a small, domestic parlour, leading into the book-room, is that fine
+picture of Lord Gowrie and Vandyke, by the latter; the finest portrait I
+ever saw, except one of Rubens, by himself, at Buckingham House, and
+another at Warwick, in the cabinet that terminates the long suite of
+staterooms.
+
+“In a blue room, a domestic drawing-room, Lord Whitworth, a shrewd and
+comely man of the world, with spirited and penetrating grey eyes; an
+expressive but somewhat clouded brow. The Duchess, in a black velvet
+riding habit, with a hat and feather, by Opie; a pleasing picture: you
+do not think of her in this portrait as of the Duchess, which is the
+object of one in the drawing-room, but as of a happy wife and a
+good-natured, sensible woman; a little too much care in the attitude.
+
+“In one room a head of Louis the Fourteenth, all flutter and fume.
+
+“The rooms are so numerous and the suites of them so long, that, though
+I have seen them twice, I could not now find my way through them, and
+cannot even recollect them all. All the principal rooms look upon the
+garden, with its lawns and lofty shades. Scarcely a spot of brown earth
+is visible: so many various tints of green; the trees sometimes bending
+their branches down to the shrubs and flowers.
+
+“In the Park, abounding with noble beech groves, is one, on the left of
+the road leading to the house, which, for mass and overtopping pomp,
+excels even any in Windsor Park, when viewed as you descend from the
+Park gate, whence shade rises above shade, with amazing and magnificent
+grandeur. In this mass of wood is one beech, that stretches upwards its
+grey limbs among the light, feathery foliage to a height and with a
+majesty that is sublime. Over a seat, placed round the hole, it spreads
+out a light yet umbrageous fan, most graceful and beautiful. With all
+its grandeur and luxuriance, there is nothing in this beech heavy or
+formal; it is airy, though vast and majestic, and suggests an idea at
+once of the strength and fire of a hero! I should call a beech-tree—and
+this beech above every other—the hero of the forest, as the oak is
+called the king.”
+
+In the autumn of 1811, Mrs. Radcliffe went again to Portsmouth and the
+Isle of Wight. The following extracts bear but a small proportion to her
+entire journal of this little tour.—“Passed through Bere Forest, on the
+right, with many seats and woods and spires, around. Almost dusk. An
+horizon of glowing crimson lay behind the woods on the right, where the
+sun had set. Delightful to catch the different saffron, crimson, or
+fiery tints among the purple streaks. All the prospect lay in sullen
+twilight from Portsdown Hill, and it was quite dark when we reached
+Portsmouth. Could just discern the high rampart walks, with trees,
+before we rambled under the deep, fortified gateway of Portsea. Went to
+the George Inn, a very large handsome house, with many galleries and
+staircases. Handsome furniture and excellent accommodation, except that
+you could get nothing when you wanted it. We had fish brought without
+plates, and then plates without bread. All this owing to a vast throng
+of company, two hundred vessels or more being detained by winds, besides
+many ships of war. Nothing but ringing of bells and running about of
+waiters. If you ask a waiter a question, he begins a civil answer, but
+shuts the door before you have heard it all. It was very diverting to
+hear the different tones and measure of the ringings, particularly about
+supper time, and the next day about five, when every body happened to be
+dining at one and the same time, to hear them all ringing together, or
+in quick succession, in different keys and measure, according to the
+worn out, or better, patience of the ringer. These different keys
+enabled me to distinguish how often each bell was rung before it was
+answered; also the increasing impatience of the ringer, till, at the
+third, or fourth summons, the bell was in a downright passion. There was
+a mischievous amusement in this, after we had gone through the delay
+ourselves, and had gotten what we wanted. Such life and bustle is
+inspiriting, for a little while. Before supper, we had been down to the
+platform, over the sea. All was indistinct and vast; the comet high, but
+no moon; calm. Heard the falling of the tide—monotonous, not
+grand—cannon all around and sentinels; some old seamen.
+
+“Oct. 11.—Cloudy, with silver gleams. In the afternoon, sailed in the
+packet for Ryde. The wind being contrary, though moderate, we were two
+hours and a half on our passage; had a delightful sail, festooning among
+all the fleet at Spithead. A passenger asked ‘What brig is that?’ as we
+passed a man-of-war. A midshipman, who leaned over the side, made no
+answer. ‘What brig is that, sir?’—‘The Rover.’ Every body admired this
+vessel. Two ships of 100 guns, one of 74, and many of other degrees of
+force. It was a grand and glorious sight, this anchored fleet, at
+various distances on the gleaming waves, some in shadow, others upon
+long lines of distant light, of coldest silver. Among other passengers
+were two Missionaries going to Sierra Leone in the brig Minerva,
+belonging to Mr. Macaulay: the eldest Wilhelm, a German, the younger a
+Persian; modest, sedate, well-intentioned men; had some knowledge of
+Greek; one of them was taking his wife with him. The captain of their
+ship, on board, seemed to be a good sort of German. Another captain of a
+trading ship was a passenger, Captain Reynolds, going to his ship, the
+Crescent, bound for the Mediterranean: a plain, steady, grave seaman, of
+the old stamp; good sense, with a pious tender heart. Said he had
+carried, or that he was then about to carry, several hundred copies of
+the New Testament in the modern Greek, to be distributed under the
+direction of agents of the British and Foreign Bible Society. Captain
+——, a Cornish man, going to his ship, the Commerce. These two captains
+had met “on strands afar remote,” and now, by accident, on board this
+packet. One of them accosted the other with an apology for some apparent
+inattention at Malta, where they had last parted—his ship having been
+“so far to leeward.” They talked of parts of Smyrna, Constantinople, and
+other ports beyond the Straights, as familiarly as they could of London
+or Bristol. Mr. W——, a London merchant, having a seat somewhere in the
+west, a tall thin man, about sixty, with a florid face and white hair;
+an unassuming well-bred man. The captain of the packet, formerly a
+pilot, had a keen, steady, dark eye, with a brow low-bent, from
+attention to distant objects, and a countenance quick and firm, that
+seemed to say he was master of his business, and proud of it.
+
+“Landed at Ryde, after a fine sail, through a grand and interesting
+scene.
+
+“Oct. 15.—After a foggy night, a clear and cloudless day, with the
+warmth of June. At Steephill; saw the skirts of the fog clearing up the
+steeps of Boniface, like a curtain, and the sea below brightening from
+misty grey into it’s soft blue, and the whole horizon gradually
+clearing, till all was cheerful warmth and sunshine, about ten o’clock.
+About twelve, we set off to walk to the Signal-house, on the highest
+steep of Boniface, not visible near the house, nor indeed till we had
+gone a long way, being on the eastern side of the down. Followed the
+steep Newport road, for a mile or two; looked down on the vast sea-line,
+and on the huge promontories and broken rocks of the Undercliffe. Then,
+leaving the road, turned into a field on the right, with heathy steeps
+and downs, that would have been capped with clouds, had there been any.
+The air keen, and the climate considerably different from that below.
+The views astonishing and grand in a high degree. From these ridges we
+looked down, on one side, over the whole interior of the island: but the
+sublime view was that to the south; where, as we seemed perched on an
+extreme point of the world, we looked immediately down on hills and
+cliffs of various height and form, tumbled in confusion, as if by an
+earthquake, and stretching into the sea, which spreads its vast
+circumference beyond, and its various shades of blue. This soft blue,
+thus spreading below us, was, in general, deeper than that of the
+cloudless sky; and the sky itself was paler at the horizon than high
+above, appearing there like the dawn of light, and deepening as the arch
+ascended. This might be the effect of vapour, drawn up from the sea.
+Found our way at length over nearly trackless furze and heath, to the
+Signal-house, which looks down on the steeps of Boniface, and the rocks
+of Bonchurch, and over to the sweep of Sandown Bay, then all over
+Brading Harbour and the long coast of Sussex, which, in clear weather,
+may be seen as far as Beachy Head.
+
+“In returning, we endeavoured to follow a path down the steeps near
+Bonchurch, and to find some steps, cut in the precipice, by which to
+descend. The look down upon the shores and sea tremendous—steeps below
+steeps, to the surge beating and whitening below all. Followed, for
+some time without dizziness, till we lost our little track, and saw
+all around and beneath us scarcely any thing but pathless
+descents—tremendous. From the fear of coming to some impracticable
+steep in this wild descent and being unable to find the hewn steps, we
+re-ascended to the Signal-house, and so returned home. The sea a
+desert, except that a fine frigate sailed majestically at a distance,
+and one brig was also in sight.
+
+“How sweet is the cadence of the distant surge! It seemed, as we sat in
+our inn, as if a faint peal of far-off bells mingled with the sounds on
+shore, sometimes heard, sometimes lost: the first note of the beginning,
+and last of the falling peal, seeming always the most distinct. This
+resounding of the distant surge on a rocky shore might have given
+Shakspeare his idea when he makes Ferdinand, in the Tempest, hear,
+amidst the storm, bells ringing his father’s dirge; a music which Ariel
+also commemorates, together with the sea-wave:—
+
+                   ‘Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell,
+                       Ding, dong, bell!’
+
+“This chiming of the surge is when the tide is among the rocks, and the
+wind, blowing from the sea, bears and softens all the different notes of
+the waves to a distance, in one harmonious cadence; as in a concert,
+your distance from the orchestra blends the different instruments into a
+richer and softer harmony.”
+
+From several walks in the neighbourhood of Steephill, we select the
+following:—
+
+“Passed Lord Dysart’s beautiful cottage. It stands at some distance from
+the shore, and has several distinct roofs, well thatched: a large
+conservatory stands on a winding lawn, with a fine beech grove and a
+long and richly coloured copse, bending along down, and afterwards along
+the feet of cliffs below. The crimson berries of the hawthorn gave
+exquisite tints to this coppice, among the brown and various shades of
+the autumnal woods, and appeared in abundance every where among the
+trees and wild shrubs of the whole Undercliffe. The little church of St.
+Lawrence, perhaps the smallest in England, stands on a knoll, and
+terminates the cultivated valley; immediately beyond which, we entered
+upon a scene of extreme wildness, grandeur and solitude. Many of the
+ruinous precipices of the upper cliffs project in horizontal strata, yet
+have perpendicular rents. Some of the shattered masses give most clear
+echoes: we stood before one, which repeated every syllable of several
+passages from the most sonorous languages, with an exactness of tone
+that was truly astonishing. It seemed as if a living spirit was in the
+rock, so near, so loud, and so exact! ‘Speak to it, Horatio!’ I could
+have listened to it for hours. How solemn is the voice of cliffs and
+seas! How great the style of Nature! how expressive! ‘Speak to the
+rock!’ and again it gave every word, as if in sport or imitation, but
+with truth itself. How long had it slumbered in silence? We returned by
+the course we had come, the yellow sun lighting up seas and shores with
+the warmth of May, and the birds singing every where.
+
+“Oct. 19.—Left Steephill. Sailed from Cowes in the Southampton packet,
+about half past five; the Naiad frigate lying before the town. What
+particularly struck me in the passage was, not only the sun actually
+appearing to set in the sea, but the splendid amber light, left upon
+that long level perspective of waters, and the vessels upon it at
+various distances, seeming dark on this side, and marking out its extent
+to the eye. The grace and majesty of an anchored ship, too, lying with
+her stern to the eye, though at less distance, is indescribable; showing
+all her shrouds and yards lessening, like a pyramid, as they rise upon
+the light. How tranquil and grand the scene lay, beneath the gradually
+deepening shade! Still the dark shores and stately vessels kept their
+dignity upon the fading waters. How impressive the silence, and then how
+according the solemn strain, that died upon the waves from unseen and
+distant bugles, like a song of peace to the departing day! Another of
+those measured portions that make up our span of life, was gone; every
+one who gazed upon this scene, proud or humble, was a step nearer to the
+grave—yet none seemed conscious of it. The scene itself, great,
+benevolent, sublime—powerful, yet silent in its power—progressive and
+certain in its end, steadfast and full of a sublime repose: the scene
+itself spoke of its CREATOR.”
+
+In this year Mrs. Radcliffe visited Penshurst. From some very extensive
+notes upon this ancient seat of the Sydneys, we extract the following:—
+
+“As we drew near, the woods began to thin; and an old latticed wooden
+gate showed one entrance into a park, now in ruins, for the grass is
+tall, scanty, and intermingled with taller fern. No deer appeared on the
+rusty lawns, or under the scattered trees, or decaying groves, of this
+once rich domain. Penshurst lies in a small valley of its own, that
+hangs upon the ridge of hills which form the southern boundary of the
+grand valley overlooked from Riverhill. All its heights are hung with
+its own woods, which shut out every distant prospect from the house,
+except from the turrets; and even from these, at least from the one I
+climbed, the view is not extensive; but it is a pleasing scene, with
+here and there an intermingled spire and ancient mansion. After
+following for a considerable time the paling of this extensive park, an
+elderly woman admitted us to it through the chief gate, and the ancient
+mansion immediately appeared over a rough lawn, surrounded with groves.
+The house is much in the style of Knole, but more irregular, and not of
+half the size. It is of brick and rough stone, with now a tower, and now
+a turret; high lozenge chimneys, an embattled wall, and, above all, the
+long peaked roof of the great hall. In the court, over the arched
+portal, is a row of five shields of the family arms, in stone. The great
+hall is on the opposite side: it is grand, but gloomy, showing the dark
+rafters of the roof; the tall, pointed windows below shed but a subdued
+light on the pavement, which is of brick. The rafters have been
+blackened by the fires of two centuries, lighted on the centre of the
+pavement, where the bricks, raised half a foot, form a small octagon, on
+which, perhaps, Sir Philip Sydney and the knights his companions have
+often stood round the blazing fagots, piled upon the same iron dogs, of
+enormous size, that still remain there. I think I see, in glimpses, the
+strong blaze of the wood flashing on their visages. The armour of Sir
+Philip himself, with helm (the vizor closed), stands at the back of an
+obscure gallery, and close beneath a high window, whose small frames
+admit a blunted, melancholy light. It stands like a spectre in arms,
+watching over the scene it once inhabited; and is admirably placed to
+touch the imagination, but not to gratify curiosity, its distance being
+considerable. A partial light, thrown more strongly on the head, would
+give it very fine effect. It is best seen from one of the doors, that
+open from the raised step at the upper end of the hall, where the high
+table stood.
+
+“The hall being so lofty as to seem shorter than it should be, and than
+it really is, one of the late owners, to remedy this defect, had a
+painted perspective placed at one end—a most unsuitable expedient in so
+great and simple a scene; but the drawings of knights in armour, larger
+than life, between the windows, are well done. Several very rudely
+carved wooden images, now whitened and probably brought from some other
+part of the house, are placed in front of the gallery, as if looking
+over the railing.
+
+“Mrs. Perry, the grandmother of the present Mr. Sydney, who changed his
+name from Shelley, was a niece of Sydney, Earl of Leicester, and
+co-heiress with her sister, Lady Howard, of the Penshurst estates. The
+old housekeeper, who attended us, lamented much that Mr. Sydney did not
+now live here, but hoped to see him return. She had been all her life on
+the spot, and told us what fine times she remembered when _Lady_ Perry
+used to drive to the gate in a coach and six, and come down with such ‘a
+sight of servants.’ All the tenants used to come to meet her, and ‘_we
+girls_’ (the speaker was a grandmother) used to stand all in a row to
+meet her. Such noble liveries! and then the poor woman shook her head,
+and bustled about, with emotion. The bells were a ringing all day, and
+there were such goings on. ‘Was she _Lady_ Perry?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ rather
+sharply, as if astonished that we could doubt it. ‘Was she a _Lady_ by
+birth?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ more sharply, ‘she _was_ a Lady indeed.’ She led us
+down a modernized winding staircase into a small hall in the chief part
+of the mansion, opening into the garden. We passed a fine Gothic window,
+that gives light to it, having painted shields of arms; among them Queen
+Elizabeth’s. From the great dining-parlour, a staircase leads past many
+rooms lined with oak panels, worm-eaten; among them the nursery, which
+the housekeeper pointed out, with a strong regret of _old times_—not
+those of Sir Philip Sydney, but of Lady Perry. And there were the
+children’s playthings; there they were all—with some sighs. As I
+humoured her, she began, in the midst of her regrets, to apologize for
+her dress, and to lament that she had not had time to appear better. ‘Do
+the stairs near the nursery lead to the top of the turret?’—‘I don’t
+know, ma’am, but I’ll see.’ I followed to the small platform, and looked
+over the battlements upon the wood and the valley. The view was
+pleasing, but not impressive, or extensive.
+
+“She led us through the great hall, to see the kitchen; one suitable to
+such a hall, with a lofty, raftered roof, enormous chimney, and long old
+tables of oak, not nearly so thick as those in the hall at Coventry.
+Here the good woman was at the climax of her regrets, and she shook her
+head and sighed often. ‘It is a dismal place now, and what do I remember
+it in _Lady_ Perry’s time! I remember, when all them hooks,’ pointing to
+rows of them that run, at a great height, over the wide and lofty
+chimney piece and round the roof, ‘were hung with sides of bacon; ay, I
+ha’ seen them all hung with bacon. And here was such a sight of servants
+running about, some one way, some another.’ She then reverted to Lady
+P.’s coach and six, and the rejoicings that were to take place when she
+came down, and ‘_we girls_ used to stand all in a row.’ In short, one
+would have thought that nobody had ever lived in this mansion but Lady
+Perry. As to Sir Philip and the rest of the Sydneys, they were never
+thought of when she spoke of _old times_—a neglect which at first
+somewhat embarrassed me, who thought of them and old times as
+inseparable. She took us into a smaller kitchen, to show us the stoves
+and the iron plates, on which, in her old times, teacakes and crumpets
+were baked, and related, with pride, that she used to assist in turning
+them.”
+
+In October 1812, Mrs. Radcliffe visited Malvern. The following is her
+note of her walk to the summit of the hills:—
+
+“Oct. 21, 1812.—Having slept at the Foley Arms hotel, an excellent inn,
+delightfully situated, we walked out, about eleven, hoping to reach the
+highest point of the Malvern Hills. By the zigzag turf-path, we reached
+the little Well-house, where we came upon the wild turf, and began to
+ascend the higher steeps of a mountain. The hoary crags, in vast masses,
+looked out from among the brown and red tints of the autumnal fern, and
+from the green earth, but the crags ceased below the summits, which were
+smooth and still green. Our view here commanded the vast expanse to the
+eastward, which we had seen from the inn; but we now saw over the broad
+Breedon hill, which there bounded the horizon in one direction; and many
+lines were now visible beyond it. This view is great and comprehensive,
+but not sublime; the elevation reducing the importance of other heights,
+so that no single object remains sufficiently striking, either in form
+or character, to arrest attention, and break the uniform harmony of that
+rich and woody scene, the vale of the Severn, whose waters were visible
+only here and there, in little glimmering threads of light. At the
+summit, we could just discern them near Bristol, rolling in greater
+breadth. From the Well-house, we soon reached a good winding path, cut
+in the turf, which led us round one mountain, overlooking other craggy
+or green steeps of Malvern, till we caught a first glimpse of
+Herefordshire and of the hills of South Wales, over the ridge, to the
+west. They were more distant, and less broken and individual, than I had
+hoped, but grand notwithstanding. Having, at length, turned into a sort
+of intrenchment, which runs up to the summit, and divides Worcestershire
+and Herefordshire, we walked in this securely, and with some little
+shelter from the winds, till we reached the highest point of Malvern,
+and beheld a vast horizon circling at our feet. Thirteen counties are
+said to be visible from this summit, which overlooks the other heights
+of Malvern. It is indeed a defect in the scene, that there are no other
+supereminent heights, except those which are too distant to have a fully
+impressive effect. Even Breedon hill, that broad feature in the vale of
+the Severn, was here too much lowered. Towns and villages were often
+distinguishable chiefly by the wreaths of smoke that spread from them
+along the vale, but sometimes by the broad tower of a church. On a more
+intent view, white mansions and woody parks would frequently appear; and
+rich meadows, hedge-rows and groves filled the vale, ascended to the
+hills of other counties, and often spread over their summits too. Few of
+the mountains of South Wales were sharp, or very bold, at this distance.
+On this side of them, the square mass of the tower of Hereford Cathedral
+was perceivable; and, far more southward, the high, level downs of
+Clifton. Bristol itself is sometimes seen hence. The broad Gloucester
+hills—the Cotswolds—and the city of Gloucester, with its noble
+cathedral, are in the nearer vale. From this spot, we could distinguish,
+merely by turning round, three great cities, with their
+cathedrals—Gloucester, Worcester, and Hereford, to say nothing of the
+fine abbey-church of Tewksbury. The tower of Malvern church, once a
+priory-church, is also a venerable feature in the scene. One of the most
+striking circumstances was the vast sweep of shadows and lights thrown
+from the clouds over this great prospect. The mottled expanse of moving
+lights over the surface of the wide vale sometimes resembled the billows
+of a sea, on which you look down from some lofty cliff. The lights
+brought out the villages and mansions on the knolls of Herefordshire
+surprisingly; and many are most charmingly seated.”
+
+Mrs. Radcliffe was particularly interested by Kenilworth Castle, and
+spent much time in exploring its history after she had visited its
+ruins. The subject struck her imagination; and in the winter of 1802,
+she wrote the tale of Gaston de Blondeville, now for the first time
+given to the world. After this, she undertook no work of magnitude, but
+occasionally employed her leisure in composing poems, from which a
+selection has been made for these volumes. In Romance, she probably felt
+that she had done enough; and, feeling it impossible to surpass her
+“Mysteries of Udolpho” and her “Italian,” declined again to subject
+herself to criticism by publication. Though gratified by a sense of the
+enjoyment she had provided for multitudes, and justly proud of the
+honest and blameless means by which it was produced, she rarely alluded
+to her novels. At first, the sums she received, though not necessary,
+were welcome; but, as her pecuniary resources became more ample, she was
+without sufficient excitement to begin on an extended romance, though,
+had the first effort been made, the pursuit must have been delightful.
+Even Gaston de Blondeville was not intended for the press, and, having
+amused herself and her husband, was laid aside, so disinclined had she
+become to publication.
+
+It is curious that several years after this tale was written, Mrs.
+Radcliffe, having forgotten many of the incidents, perused it with
+nearly the same interest as if it had been the production of a stranger.
+It was again laid aside; and in the latter part of life she repeated the
+experiment, but it did not absorb her attention as before, the former
+perusal having stamped the contents on her memory.
+
+Secluded as Mrs. Radcliffe was from the world, she was tremblingly alive
+to every circumstance which could, by the remotest possibility, raise an
+inference injurious to the personal character she valued far above
+literary fame; and, as nothing could induce her to appear before the
+public in any sort of contention, every thing of this nature preyed long
+upon her mind. She was much affected by a passage of Miss Seward’s
+correspondence, which seemed, to her apprehensive feelings, to convey an
+imputation that she had allowed the dramas afterwards avowed by Miss
+Baillie to be attributed to her pen. Miss Seward in one of her letters
+dated May 21, 1799, after mentioning the plays, gave the following
+quotation from a letter of “her literary friend and correspondent Mrs.
+Jackson”—“Before their author was known, I observed so much of the power
+and defects of Mrs. Radcliffe’s compositions in these dramas, as to
+believe them hers, and I hear she owns them. Mrs. Radcliffe, in whatever
+she writes, attentive solely to the end, is not sufficiently attentive
+to observe probability in the means she uses to attain it. She bends her
+plan—or, if it will not bend, she breaks it, to her catastrophe, by
+making it grow out of the preceding events. Still she always takes hold
+of the reader’s feelings, and effects her purpose boldly if not
+regularly. Her descriptive talent, used to satiety in her novels, is
+here employed with more temperance, and consequently to better purpose.”
+
+The imputation thus conveyed was, perhaps, implicitly removed by two
+letters of a few months later date; in one of which Miss Seward,
+speaking of the Plays on the Passions, says, “My literary friends now
+assert that they are not Mrs. Radcliffe’s;” and in the other, “The
+literary world now asserts, that the Plays on the Passions are not Mrs.
+Radcliffe’s;” for, if Mrs. Radcliffe had really owned them, it is
+scarcely probable the literary world could so soon have discredited her
+acknowledgment, while the real author remained unknown. This implied
+vindication from a charge, which perhaps no one ever regarded, was not
+sufficient for Mrs. Radcliffe’s delicate sense of propriety and honour.
+She made inquiries after Mrs. Jackson, the lady mentioned as Miss
+Seward’s informant, in order that she might trace out the origin of her
+rumour. Having learned that Mrs. Jackson, after residing at Bath, had
+removed to Edinburgh, she requested Mr. Davies, of the firm of Cadell
+and Davies, who had ample opportunities of procuring information
+respecting the literary society of Edinburgh, to ascertain if Mrs.
+Jackson was still in that city. In the result of these inquiries it
+appeared, that the lady, to whom the report was ascribed, had left
+Edinburgh; that her residence was unknown; and that she was not even
+supposed to be living. Under these circumstances, Mrs. Radcliffe was
+obliged to leave her vindication (as, in truth, she safely might) to the
+tenor of her whole literary course; for no one ever felt, or expressed,
+more repugnance to factitious praise, or more strenuously declined to
+avail herself of the warmth of private regard in softening the rigour of
+criticism. The prayer of the poet, “O grant an honest fame, or grant me
+none!” was the language of all her actions. She even took pains to
+prevent some, who, she knew, were desirous of expressing their sense of
+her genius, from writing eulogies on her works, as she could not endure
+the conscious degradation of being exalted even by the genial quackery
+of friendship. It is scarcely necessary now to assert, that the
+supposition of her having laid claim to the authorship of the Plays on
+the Passions, or voluntarily endured the ascription of those powerful
+compositions to her pen, was utterly groundless. Rich as these works are
+in passion, and richer in fancy, they could not tempt the author of the
+Mysteries of Udolpho, even if she had not been restrained by any higher
+feeling than pride, to claim them—not because they would have been
+unworthy of her, if she had written them, but because the secret sense
+of merited reputation must alone have created a distaste for eulogies
+which she did not deserve. Anxious as Mrs. Radcliffe was to repel the
+suggestion, she felt that, as she could not discover its author, it
+would not become her to intrude on Miss Baillie a denial of the report,
+which she had not sanctioned; and the same susceptible delicacy, which
+made her feel it so deeply, compelled her to bear it in silence. The
+subject, which was always painful to her, is rather now alluded to as an
+instance of the singular apprehensiveness of her moral sense, than as at
+all required for the vindication of her character.
+
+Another circumstance, of a more trivial nature, gave her uneasiness,
+though in a less degree. In one of the published letters of the late
+Mrs. Carter, was a passage of a eulogistic nature, alluding to her
+works; and to this a note was appended by the editor, showing that “Mrs.
+Carter had no personal acquaintance with Mrs. Radcliffe.” This statement
+was literally true; but to her sensitive nature it seemed to bear the
+construction, that the excellent lady referred to would have avoided her
+acquaintance. The fact, indeed, was exactly the reverse; for, in the
+spring of 1799, Mrs. Carter sent to Mrs. Radcliffe a letter of
+introduction from a lady of high respectability at Bath, and proposed by
+note to wait on her on the following day; but Mrs. Radcliffe, being
+engaged to leave town in the morning with her husband, whose health
+required country air, was obliged respectfully to decline the intended
+honour. The correspondence appeared in the Annual Biography for 1824,
+with a short Memoir of Mrs. Radcliffe; and produced from Dr. Pennington,
+the writer of the note, a most handsome letter, in which he earnestly
+disclaimed even the slightest idea of disrespect to Mrs. Radcliffe,
+stating that he was not aware of the little correspondence, or he would
+have mentioned it with pleasure. Dr. Pennington also avows, not merely
+with candour, but cordially, the admiration and personal respect, with
+which Mrs. Carter thought and spoke of Mrs. Radcliffe.
+
+With more reason, Mrs. Radcliffe was amazed at an absurd report, that,
+haunted by the images of fear, with which she had thrilled her readers,
+she had sunk into a state of mental alienation. A more unphilosophical
+foundation for an untruth was never imagined; for it is obvious, that
+through all her works she holds entire mastery over the terrors which
+she employs, and even sedulously prepares the means of explaining them
+by natural causes. It seems, however, that the authoress of a Tour
+through England, in noticing the Duke of Rutland’s venerable and
+romantic seat, called Haddon House, asserted that it was there that Mrs.
+Radcliffe acquired her taste for castles and ancient buildings, and
+proceeded to lament that she had, for many years, fallen into a state of
+insanity, and was under confinement in Derbyshire:—the fact being, not
+only that the main assertion was false, but that all its accompaniments
+were destitute of foundation;—for Mrs. Radcliffe was only in Derbyshire
+on two occasions, for a few days each, after her marriage, and never saw
+Haddon House at all. This report, the falsehood of which might have been
+ascertained by the authoress, on a reference to her own publisher, was
+copied in a larger work of more recent date; and to complete the
+fiction, a plate and description of Haddon House, as the scene of Mrs.
+Radcliffe’s early impressions, were annexed by way of illustration. It
+also supplied materials for poetry; as in an “Ode to Terror,” with other
+effusions, published by a clergyman in 1810, Mrs. Radcliffe is bemoaned,
+as having died in that species of mental derangement called “the
+horrors.” Some of these rumours reached her; but she could not endure
+the thought of writing in the newspapers that she was not insane; and,
+at last, learned to smile at the pity of those, who thought her in
+confinement, and the charity of others, who had kindly permitted her to
+find a release in death from her supposed intellectual sufferings.
+
+While the fate of the authoress of Udolpho was thus considered by the
+world as sealed, she was enjoying her wonted recreations and studies,
+with entire relish. As, however, curiosity was satiated with exploring
+all the finest country within 100 miles of London, and she became more
+attached to the comforts of home, she contracted the sphere of her
+excursions. Instead of making journeys of length, Mr. and Mrs. Radcliffe
+hired a carriage for the summer months, in which they were accustomed to
+make frequent trips to beautiful spots in the neighbourhood of London,
+where they dined and spent the day at some good inn, and returned in the
+evening. Esher, Stanmore, Richmond, Southgate, and Harrow, were their
+favourite places of resort, especially the latter, where they chose the
+room, not the largest, but which commands the richest prospect, and
+where Crawley Wood, near Ashridge, could be often distinctly seen. Mrs.
+Radcliffe also was much attached to St. Alban’s, the antiquities of
+which she explored with unwearied zeal, and the historical dignity of
+which she has vindicated in her longest poem. From 1812 to 1815
+inclusive, she passed much time at Windsor and its neighbourhood, and
+formed an intimate acquaintance with all the recesses of its forest.
+
+              “She knew each lane, and every alley green,
+              Dingle or bushy dell of those old woods,
+              And every bosky bower from side to side.”
+
+She often vividly described the beautiful spots of this regal domain.
+There was scarcely a tree of importance, with the peculiar form of which
+she was not familiar, and the varieties of whose aspect in light and
+shade she could not picture in words. With reference to their age and to
+the analogy she fancied to the lines of monarchs, with which they might
+be coeval, she described the trees separately as Plantagenet oaks, Tudor
+beeches, or Stuart elms. At this time, she expressed her feelings in
+verse, rather than in prose, and the reader will find them chronicled in
+several of her poems. One night-scene on the terrace, however, deserves
+to be inserted; and may be compared with the descriptions of castellated
+heights, which abound in her novels.
+
+“We stood in the shade on the north terrace, where a platform projects
+over the precipice, and beheld a picture perfect in its kind. The massy
+tower at the end of the east terrace stood up high in shade; but
+immediately from behind it the moonlight spread, and showed the flat
+line of wall at the end of that terrace, with the figure of a sentinel
+moving against the light, as well as a profile of the dark precipice
+below. Beyond it, was the park and a vast distance, in the faint light,
+which spread over the turf, touched the avenues, and gave fine contrast
+to the deep shades of the wooded precipice, on which we stood, and to
+the whole line of buildings, which rise on the north terrace. Above this
+high dark line the stars appeared with a very sublime effect. No sound
+but the faint clinking of the soldier’s accoutrements, as he paced on
+watch, and the remote voices of people turning the end of the east
+terrace, appearing for a moment in the light there and vanishing. In a
+high window of the tower a light. Why is it so sublime to stand at the
+foot of a dark tower, and look up its height to the sky and the stars?
+
+“What particularly strikes at Windsor is the length of terrace in the
+east, thus seen by moonlight; the massy towers, four in perspective; the
+lights and shades of the park below, the obscure distance beyond them,
+the low and wide horizon, which you seem to look upon, the grandeur of
+the heavenly arch, which appears to spring from it, and the multitude of
+stars, which are visible in so vast and uninterrupted a view. Then the
+north terrace stretching and finally turning away from them towards the
+west, where high dark towers crown it. It was on this terrace, surely,
+that Shakspeare received the first hint of the time for the appearance
+of his ghost.—
+
+                           ‘Last night of all,
+           When yon same star that westward from the Pole
+           Had made his course to illume that part of heaven
+           Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,
+           The bell then beating one——’”
+
+From inclination, Mrs. Radcliffe was minutely attentive to her household
+affairs, probably thinking with Schiller, that, after all, one of the
+best enjoyments of life arises from the exact performance of some
+mechanical duty. Although by no means disposed to parsimony, she kept an
+exact account of daily disbursements, until a very short time before her
+death. Much of her leisure was spent in reading the literary productions
+of the day, especially poetry and novels. Of the latter works she always
+spoke with an entire freedom from jealousy, and devoured the earlier
+Scotch novels with all the avidity of youth, although she felt deeply a
+slighting expression in “Waverley,” towards herself, which the author
+might have spared. Sir Walter Scott has, however, made ample amends to
+her reputation by his elaborate criticism prefixed to Ballantine’s
+edition of her romances. To music she was passionately attached, and
+sang herself with exquisite taste, though her voice, remarkably sweet,
+was limited in compass. At the Opera she was a frequent visitor, and on
+her return home would sit up singing over the airs she had heard, which
+her quickness of ear enabled her to catch, till a late hour. She was
+peculiarly affected by sacred music, and occasionally went to the
+oratorios, when they afforded her the opportunity of listening to the
+compositions of Handel. She sometimes, though more rarely, accompanied
+Mr. Radcliffe to the theatres; and was a warm admirer of Mrs. Siddons,
+whom she recollected at Bath, when herself was young. She used to speak
+with much pleasure of having seen this great actress, before the
+commencement of her splendid career in London, going to Church with her
+little son Henry, and was struck by her exceeding dignity and grace.
+When she visited the theatre, Mrs. Radcliffe generally sat in the pit,
+partly because her health required warm clothing, and partly because, in
+that situation, she felt more withdrawn from the observation she
+disliked. She was fond of listening to any good verbal sounds, and would
+often desire to hear passages from the Latin and Greek classics,
+requiring at intervals the most literal translations, that could be
+given, however much the version might lose in elegance by the exactness.
+
+During the last twelve years of her life, Mrs. Radcliffe suffered at
+intervals from a spasmodic asthma, which occasioned a general loss of
+health, and called for the unwearied attentions of her affectionate
+husband. In the hope of obtaining relief, she visited Ramsgate in the
+autumn of 1822, and, deriving benefit from the air, recurred to her old
+habit of noting down her impressions of scenery. The following is the
+last she ever wrote.
+
+“Ramsgate, Saturday morning, Oct. 19, 1822.—Stormy day, rain without
+sun, except that early a narrow line of palest silver fell on the
+horizon, showing, here and there, distant vessels on their course. Ships
+riding in the Downs, exactly on the sea-line, over the entrance into the
+harbour, opposite to our windows, were but dim and almost shapeless
+hints of what they were. Many vessels, with sails set, making for the
+port; pilot-boats rowed out of the harbour to meet them; the tide
+rolling in, leaving the foaming waves at its entrance, where vessels of
+all kinds, from ships to fishing-boats, appeared in succession, at short
+intervals, dashing down among the foam, and rushing into the harbour.
+The little black boats around them often sunk so low in the surge, as to
+be invisible for a moment. This expansive harbour, encircled by the
+noble piers, might be considered as a grand theatre, of which the
+entrance and the sea beyond were the stage, the two pier-heads the
+portals, the plain of the harbour the pit, and the houses at the end of
+it the front boxes. This harbour was not now, as some hours since,
+flooded with a silver light, but grey and dull, in quiet contrast with
+the foaming waves at its entrance. The horizon thickened, and the scene
+around seemed to close in; but the vessels, as they approached, though
+darker, became more visible and distinct, the sails half-set, some
+nearly whole set. They all kept away a little to the westward of the
+west pier, the wind south-west, then changed their course, and dashed
+round the light-house pier-head, tossing the foam high about them, some
+pitching head foremost, as if going to the bottom, and then rolling
+helplessly, and reeling in, settled in still waters. A lofty tide.”
+
+Although the health of Mrs. Radcliffe was improved by this excursion,
+she was much affected by the severe cold in the beginning of the ensuing
+winter. On the ninth of January, 1823, another attack of her disease
+commenced, which ultimately proved fatal. At first it appeared less
+serious than some of her previous seizures; but it soon became alarming.
+On the eleventh of January, Dr. Scudamore, to whose care she had
+formerly been indebted, was called in, and did every thing for her that
+skill and tenderness could suggest; but in vain. A few days before her
+death, an account, which she had accidentally read, of a shocking murder
+recently perpetrated, pressed on her memory, and joined with the natural
+operation of the disease to produce a temporary delirium. From this,
+however, she completely recovered, and remained sensible to the last. On
+the sixth of February, she did not appear to be in any immediate danger,
+though in a state of great weakness. At twelve at night, Mr. Radcliffe
+assisted in giving her some refreshment, which she took with apparent
+satisfaction, her last words being, “There is some substance in that.”
+She then fell into a slumber; but, when Mr. Radcliffe, who had been
+sitting up in the next room, re-entered her apartment, in the course of
+an hour or two, she was breathing rather hardly, and neither he nor the
+nurse was able to awake her. Dr. Scudamore was instantly sent for; but,
+before his arrival, she tranquilly expired, at between two and three
+o’clock in the morning of the seventh of February, 1823, being in the
+59th year of her age. Her countenance after death was delightfully
+placid, and continued so for some days. Her remains were interred in a
+vault in the Chapel of Ease, at Bayswater, belonging to St. George’s,
+Hanover Square.
+
+As, since Mrs. Radcliffe’s death, the story of her mental alienation has
+been revived, in reference to her later days, it has been deemed right
+to apply to Dr. Scudamore for an authentic statement, which he has
+kindly given, and which must set such idle reports entirely at rest. It
+is as follows:
+
+“Mrs. Radcliffe had been for several years subject to severe catarrhal
+coughs, and also was occasionally afflicted with asthma.
+
+“In March 1822, she was ill with inflammation of the lungs, and for a
+considerable time remained much indisposed. With the summer season and
+change of air, she regained a tolerable state of health.
+
+“In the early part of January 1823, in consequence of exposure to cold,
+she was again attacked with inflammation of the lungs, and much more
+severely than before. Active treatment was immediately adopted, but
+without the desired relief; and the symptoms soon assumed a most
+dangerous character. At the end of three weeks, however, and contrary to
+all expectation, the inflammation of the lungs was overcome; and the
+amendment was so decided, as to present a slight prospect of recovery.
+
+“Alas! our hopes were soon disappointed. Suddenly, in the very moment of
+seeming calm from the previous violence of disease, a new inflammation
+seized the membranes of the brain. The enfeebled frame could not resist
+this fresh assault: so rapid in their course were the violent symptoms,
+that medical treatment proved wholly unavailing.
+
+“In the space of three days, death closed the melancholy scene.
+
+“In this manner, at the age of fifty-nine, society was deprived of a
+most amiable and valuable member, and literature of one of its brightest
+ornaments.
+
+“The foregoing statement will, I hope, afford all the explanation, which
+can be required, of the nature of Mrs. Radcliffe’s illness. During the
+whole continuance of the inflammation of the lungs, the mind was perfect
+in its reasoning powers, and became disturbed only on the last two or
+three days, as a natural consequence of the inflammation affecting the
+membranes of the brain.
+
+“Previously to the last illness, and at all times, Mrs. Radcliffe
+enjoyed a remarkably cheerful state of mind; and no one was farther
+removed from “mental desolation,” as has been so improperly described of
+the latter part of her life.
+
+“She possessed a quick sensibility, as the necessary ally of her fine
+genius; but this quality would serve to increase the warmth of the
+social feelings, and effectually prevent the insulation of the mind,
+either as regards the temper or the understanding.”
+
+Mrs. Radcliffe was, in her youth, exquisitely proportioned, though she
+resembled her father, and his brother and sister, in being low of
+stature. Her complexion was beautiful, as was her whole countenance,
+especially her eyes, eyebrows, and mouth. She was educated in the
+principles of the Church of England; and through life, unless prevented
+by serious indisposition, regularly attended its services. Her piety,
+though cheerful, was deep and sincere. Although perfectly well bred, and
+endowed with faculties and tastes which rendered her a delightful
+companion, she wanted that confidence which is necessary to mixed
+society, and which she could scarcely acquire, without losing something
+of the delicacy of feeling, which marked her character. If, in her
+retirement, she was sometimes affected by circumstances which would have
+passed unheeded amidst the bustle of the world, she was more than repaid
+by the enjoyments, which were fostered in the shade; and perhaps few
+distinguished authors have passed a life so blameless and so happy.
+
+Mrs. Radcliffe may fairly be considered as the inventor of a new style
+of romance; equally distinct from the old tales of chivalry and magic,
+and from modern representations of credible incidents and living
+manners. Her works partially exhibit the charms of each species of
+composition; interweaving the miraculous with the probable, in
+consistent narrative, and breathing of tenderness and beauty peculiarly
+her own. The poetical marvels of the first fill the imagination, but
+take no hold on the sympathies, to which they have become alien: the
+vicissitudes of the last awaken our curiosity, without transporting us
+beyond the sphere of ordinary life. But it was reserved for Mrs.
+Radcliffe to infuse the wondrous in the credible; to animate rich
+description with stirring adventure; and to impart a portion of human
+interest to the progress of romantic fiction. She occupied that middle
+region between the mighty dreams of the heroic ages and the realities of
+our own, which remained to be possessed; filled it with goodly imagery;
+and made it resonant with awful voices. Her works, in order to produce
+their greatest impression, should be read first, not in childhood, for
+which they are too substantial; nor at mature age, for which they may
+seem too visionary; but at that delightful period of youth, when the
+soft twilight of the imagination harmonizes with the luxurious and
+uncertain light cast on their wonders. By those, who come at such an age
+to their perusal, they will never be forgotten.
+
+The principal means, which Mrs. Radcliffe employed to raise up her
+enchantments on the borders of truth, are, first, her faculty of
+awakening emotions allied to superstitious fear; and, secondly, her
+skill in selecting and describing scenes and figures precisely adapted
+to the feelings she sought to enkindle. We will examine each of these
+powers, and then shortly advert to their developement in her successive
+romances.
+
+I. The art, by which supernatural agency is insinuated, derives its
+potency from its singular application to human nature, in its extremes
+of weakness and strength. Simply considered, fear is the basest of
+emotions, and the least adapted to the dignity of romance; yet it is
+that, of which the most heroic heart sometimes whispers a confession. On
+the other hand, every thing, which tends to elevate and ennoble our
+feelings, to give the character of permanency to our impressions, and
+impart a tongue to the silence of nature, has reference to things
+unseen. The tremblings of the spirit, which are base when prompted by
+any thing earthly, become sublime when inspired by a sense of the
+visionary and immortal. They are the secret witnesses of our alliance
+with power, which is not of this world. We feel both our fleshly
+infirmity and our high destiny, as we shrink on the borders of spiritual
+existence. Whilst we listen for echoes from beyond the grave, and search
+with tremulous eagerness for indications of the unearthly, our Curiosity
+and Fear assume the grandeur of passions. We might well doubt our own
+immortality, if we felt no restless desire to forestal the knowledge of
+its great secret, and held no obstinate questionings with the sepulchre.
+We were not of heavenly origin, if we did not struggle after a communion
+with the invisible; nor of human flesh, if we did not shudder at our own
+daring;—and it is in the union of this just audacity and venial terror,
+that we are strangely awed and affected. It is, therefore, needless to
+justify the use of the supernatural in fiction; for it is peculiarly
+adapted to the workings of the imagination—that power, whose high
+province is to mediate between the world without us and the world within
+us; on the one hand to impart sentiment and passion to the external
+universe, and make it redolent of noble associations; and, on the other,
+to clothe the affections of the heart and the high suggestions of the
+reason with colour and shape, and present them to the mind in living and
+substantial forms.
+
+There are various modes, in which the supernatural may be employed,
+requiring more or less of a dextrous sympathy, in proportion to the
+depth and seriousness of the feeling, which the author proposes to
+awaken. In cases where the appeal is only made to the fancy, it is
+sufficient if the pictures are consistent with themselves, without any
+reference to the prejudices, or passions, of those, before whom they are
+presented. To this class the fables of the Greek mythology belong,
+notwithstanding their infinite varieties of grandeur and beauty. They
+are too bright and palpable to produce emotions of awe, even among
+those, who professed to believe them; and rather tended to inclose the
+sphere of mortal vision, which they adorned and gladdened, with more
+definite boundaries, than to intimate the obscure and eternal. Instead
+of wearing, then, the solemn aspect of antiquity, they seem, even now,
+touched with the bloom of an imperishable youth. The gorgeous Oriental
+fictions and modern tales of fairy lore are also merely fantastical, and
+advance no claim on faith, or feeling. Their authors escape from the
+laws of matter, without deriving any power from the functions of spirit;
+they are rather without than above nature, and seek only an excuse in
+the name of the supernatural for their graceful vagaries. Akin
+essentially to these are mere tales of terror, in which horrors are
+accumulated on horrors. Beyond the precincts of the nursery, they are
+nothing but a succession of scenic representations—a finely coloured
+phantasmagoria, which may strike the fancy, but do not chill the blood,
+and soon weary the spectator. It is only the “eye of childhood” which
+“fears a painted devil.” In some of the wild German tales, indeed, there
+is, occasionally, a forcible exaggeration of truth, which strikes for a
+moment, and seems to give back the memory of a forgotten dream. But none
+of these works, whatever poetical merit they may possess, have the power
+to fascinate and appal, by touching those secret strings of mortal
+apprehension, which connect our earthly with our spiritual being.
+
+In these later days, it, no doubt, requires a fine knowledge of the
+human heart to employ the supernatural, so as to move the pulses of
+terror. Of all superstitions, the most touching are those, which relate
+to the appearance of the dead among the living; not only on account of
+the reality which they derive from mingling with the ordinary business
+of life, but of the cold and shuddering sympathy we feel for a being
+like to whom we may ourselves become in a few short years. To bring such
+a vision palpably on the scene is always a bold experiment, and usually
+requires a long note of preparation, and a train of circumstances, which
+may gradually and insensibly dispose the mind to implicit credence. Yet
+to dispense with all such appliances, and to call forth the grandest
+spirit, that ever glided from the tomb, was not beyond Shakspeare’s
+skill. A few short sentences only prepare the way for the ghost of the
+murdered King of Denmark; the spirit enters, and we feel at once he is
+no creature of time; he speaks, and his language is “of Tartarus, and
+the souls in bale.” Such mighty magic as this, however, belonged only to
+the first of poets. Writers who, in modern times, have succeeded in
+infusing into the mind thoughts of unearthly fear, have usually taken
+one of these two courses: either they have associated their
+superstitions with the solemnities of nature, and contrived to
+interweave them in the very texture of life, without making themselves
+responsible for the feelings they excite: or they have, by mysterious
+hints and skilful contrivances, excited the curiosity and terror of
+their readers, till they have prepared them either to believe in any
+wonder they may produce, or to image for themselves in the obscurity
+fearful shapes, and to feel the presence of invisible horrors.
+
+Those, who seek to create a species of supernatural interest by the
+first of these processes, find abundant materials adapted to their use
+in the noblest parts of our own intellectual history. There are doubtful
+phenomena within the experience of all reflecting minds, which may
+scarcely be referred to their mere mortal nature, and which sometimes
+force on the coldest sceptic a conviction, that he is “fearfully” as
+well as “wonderfully made.” Golden dreams hover over our cradle, and
+shadows thicken round the natural descent of the aged into the grave.
+Few there are, who, in childhood, have not experienced some strange
+visitings of serious thought, gently agitating the soul like the wind
+“that bloweth where it listeth,” suggesting to it holy fancies, and
+awakening its first sympathy with a world of sorrow and of tears. Who
+has not felt, or believed that he has felt, a sure presentiment of
+approaching evil? Who, at some trivial occurrence, “striking the
+electric chord by which we are darkly bound,” has not been startled by
+the sudden revival of old images and feelings, long buried in the depth
+of years, which stalk before him like the spectres of departed
+companions? Who has not shrunk from the fascination of guilty thoughts,
+as from “supernatural soliciting?” Where is the man so basely moulded,
+that he does not remember moments of inspiration, when statelier images
+than his common intellect can embody, hopes and assurances brighter than
+his constitutional temperament, may recal, and higher faculties within
+himself than he has ever been able to use, have stood revealed to him
+like mountain-tops at the utmost reach of vision, touched by a gleam of
+the morning sun? And who, in the melancholy calm of the mind, sadly
+looking into its depths, has not perceived the gigantic wrecks of a
+nobler nature, as the fortunate voyager on some crystal lake has
+discerned, or fancied he discerned, the wave-worn towers of a forgotten
+city far in the deep waters? There are magic threads in the web of life,
+which a writer of romance has only to bring out and to touch with
+appropriate hues of fancy. From the secret places of the soul are voices
+more solemn than from old superstitions, to which he may bid us hearken.
+In his works, prophecies may be fulfilled; presentiments justified; the
+history of manhood may answer to the dreams of the nursery; and he may
+leave his readers to assert if they can, “These have their causes; they
+are natural.” Let him only give due effect to the problem, and he may
+safely trust their hearts to supply the answer!
+
+The other mode of exciting terror requires, perhaps, greater delicacy
+and skill, as the author purposes to influence the mind directly from
+without, instead of leaving it, after receiving a certain clue, to its
+own workings. In this style, up to the point where Mrs. Radcliffe
+chooses to pause and explain, she has no rival. She knows the string of
+feeling she must touch, and exactly proportions her means to her design.
+She invariably succeeds not by the quantity but the quality of her
+terrors. Instead of exhibiting a succession of magnificent glooms, which
+only darken the imagination, she whispers some mysterious suggestion to
+the soul, and exhibits only just enough of her picture to prolong the
+throbbings she has excited. In nothing is her supremacy so clearly
+shown, as in the wise and daring economy, with which she has employed
+the instruments of fear. A low groan issuing from distant vaults; a
+voice heard among an assembly from an unknown speaker; a little track of
+blood seen by the uncertain light of a lamp on a castle staircase; a
+wild strain of music floating over moonlight woods; as introduced by
+her, affect the mind more deeply than terrible incantations, or
+accumulated butcheries. “Pluck out the heart of her mystery!”—tell, at
+once, the secret, the lightest hint of which appals—verify the worst
+apprehensions of the reader; and what would be the reality in common
+hands? You can suspect nothing more than a cruel murder perpetrated many
+years ago by an unprincipled monk, or an avowed robber! Why should we
+suffer all the stings of curiosity on such an issue? Human life is not
+held so precious, murder is not so strange and rare an occurrence, that
+we should be greatly agitated by the question whether, two centuries
+ago, a bandit destroyed one of his captives; but the skill of the
+writer, applying itself justly to the pulses of terror in our
+intellectual being, gives tragic interest to the inquiry, makes the
+rusted dagger terrible, and the spot of blood sublime. This faculty is
+the more remarkable, as it is employed to raise a single crime into
+importance; while others of equal dye are casually alluded to, and
+dismissed, as deeds of little note, and make no impression on the
+reader. Assassins who murder for hire, commonly excite no feeling in
+romance, except as mere instruments, like the weapons they use; but,
+when Mrs. Radcliffe chooses to single out one of these from the mass,
+though undistinguished by peculiar characteristics, she rivets our
+attention to Spalatro, as by an irresistible spell; forces us to watch
+every movement of his haggard countenance, and makes the low sound of
+his stealthy footsteps sink into the soul. Her faculty, therefore, which
+has been represented as melo-dramatic, is akin to the very essence of
+tragic power, which is felt not merely in the greatness of the actions,
+or sorrows, which it exhibits, but in its nice application to the inmost
+sources of terror and of pity.
+
+It is extraordinary, that a writer thus gifted should, in all her works
+intended for publication, studiously resolve the circumstances, by which
+she has excited superstitious apprehensions, into mere physical causes.
+She seems to have acted on a notion, that some established canon of
+romance obliged her to reject real supernatural agency; for it is
+impossible to believe she would have adopted this harassing expedient if
+she had felt at liberty to obey the promptings of her own genius. So
+absolute was her respect for every species of authority, that it is
+probable she would rather have sacrificed all her productions, than have
+transgressed any arbitrary law of taste, or criticism. It is equally
+obvious, that there is no valid ground of objection to the use of the
+supernatural, in works of fiction, and that it is absolutely essential
+to the perfection of that kind of romance, which she invented. To the
+imagination it is not only possible, but congenial, when introduced with
+art, and employed for high and solemn purposes. Grant only the
+possibility of its truth, which “the fair and innocent” are half
+disposed to believe, and there is nothing extravagant in the whole
+machinery, by which it works. But discard it altogether, and introduce,
+in its stead, a variety of startling phenomena, which are resolved at
+last into petty deceptions and gross improbabilities, and you at once
+disappoint the fancy, and shock the understanding of the reader. In the
+first case, the reason is not offended, because it is not consulted; in
+the last, it is expressly appealed to with the certainty of an
+unfavourable decision. Besides it is clear that all the feelings created
+up to the moment of explanation, and which it has been the very object
+of the author to awaken, have obeyed the influence of these very
+principles, which at last she chooses to disown. If the minds to whom
+the work is addressed were so constituted as to reject the idea of
+supernatural agency, they would be entirely unmoved by the circumstances
+arranged to produce the impression of its existence; and “The Mysteries
+of Udolpho” would have fallen still-born from the press! Why then should
+the author turn traitor to her own “so potent art?” Why, having wrought
+on the fears of her readers till she sways them at her will, must she
+turn round and tell them they have been awed and excited by a succession
+of mockeries? Such impotent conclusions injure the romances as works of
+art, and jar on the nerves of the reader, which are tuned for grand
+wonders, not paltry discoveries. This very error, however, which injures
+the effect of Mrs. Radcliffe’s works, especially on a second perusal,
+sets off, in the strongest light, the wizard power of her genius. Even
+when she has dissolved mystery after mystery, and abjured spell after
+spell, the impression survives, and the reader is still eager to attend
+again, and be again deluded. After the voices heard in the chambers of
+Udolpho have been shown to be the wanton trick of a prisoner, we still
+revert to the remaining prodigies with anxious curiosity, and are
+prepared to give implicit credence to new wonders at Chateau le Blanc.
+In the romance of Gaston de Blondeville, Mrs. Radcliffe, not intending
+to publish, gratified herself by the introduction of a true spectre;
+and, without anticipating the opinion of the public on that work, we may
+venture to express a belief, that the manner, in which the supernatural
+agency is conducted, will deepen the general regret, that she did not
+employ it in her longer and more elaborate productions.
+
+II. Mrs. Radcliffe’s faculties of describing and picturing scenes and
+appropriate figures was of the highest order. Her accurate observation
+of inanimate nature, prompted by an intense love of all its varieties,
+supplied the materials for those richly coloured representations, which
+her genius presented. Without this perception of the true, the liveliest
+fancy will only produce a chaos of beautiful images, like the remembered
+fragments of a gorgeous dream. How singularly capable Mrs. Radcliffe was
+of painting the external world, in its naked grandeur, her published
+tour among the English Lakes, and, perhaps still more, the notes made on
+her journeys for her own amusement, abundantly prove. In the first, the
+boldness and simplicity of her strokes, conveying the clear images to
+the eye of the mind, with scarcely any incrustation of sentiment, or
+perplexing dazzle of fancy, distinguish her from almost all other
+descriptive tourists. Still the great charm of simplicity was hardly so
+complete, as in her unstudied notices of scenery; because in writing for
+the press, it is scarcely possible to avoid altogether the temptation of
+high sounding and ambiguous expressions, which always impede the distant
+presentiment of material forms. To this difficulty, she thus adverts in
+her account of Ulswater. “It is difficult to spread varied pictures of
+such scenes before the imagination. A repetition of the same images of
+rock, wood, and water, and the same epithets of grand, vast, and
+sublime, which necessarily occur, must appear tautologous, though their
+archetypes in nature, ever varying in outline or arrangement, exhibit
+new visions to the eye, and produce new shades of effect on the mind.”
+In the journals, as no idea of authorship interposed to give restraint
+to her style, there is entire fidelity and truth. She seems the very
+chronicler and secretary of nature; makes us feel the freshness of the
+air; and listen to the gentlest sounds. Not only does she keep each
+scene distinct from all others, however similar in general character;
+but discriminates its shifting aspects with the most delicate exactness.
+No aerial tint of a fleecy cloud is too evanescent to be imaged in her
+transparent style. Perhaps no writer in prose, or verse, has been so
+happy in describing the varied effects of light in winged words. It is
+true, that there is not equal discrimination in the views of natural
+scenery, which she presents in her romances. In them she writes of
+places, which she has not visited; and, like a true lover, invests
+absent nature with imaginary loveliness. She looks at the grandeurs and
+beauties of creation through a soft and tender medium, in which its
+graces are heightened, but some of its delicate varieties are lost.
+Still it is nature that we see, though touched with the hues of romance,
+and which could only be thus presented by one who had known, and studied
+its simple charms.
+
+In the estimate of Mrs. Radcliffe’s pictorial powers, we must include
+her persons as well as her scenes. It must be admitted that, with
+scarcely an exception, they are figures rather than characters. No
+writer ever produced so powerful an effect, without the aid of sympathy.
+Her machinery acts directly on her readers, and makes them tremble and
+weep, not for others, but for themselves. Adeline, Emily, Vivaldi, and
+Ellena, are nothing to us, except as filling up the scene; but it is we
+ourselves, who discover the manuscript in the deserted abbey; we, who
+are prisoners in the castle of Udolpho; we, who are inmates of
+Spalatro’s cottage; we, who stand before the secret tribunal of the
+Inquisition, and even there are startled by the mysterious voice
+deepening its horrors. The whole is prodigious painting, so entire as to
+surround us with illusion; so cunningly arranged as to harrow up the
+soul; and the presence of a real person would spoil its completeness. As
+figures, all the persons are adapted with peculiar skill to the scenes
+in which they appear;—the more, as they are part of one entire
+conception. Schedoni is the most individual and fearful; but through all
+the earlier parts of the romance, he stalks like a being not of this
+world; and works out his purposes by that which, for the time at least,
+we feel to be superhuman agency. But when, after glaring out upon us so
+long as a present demon; or felt, when unseen, as directing the whole by
+his awful energies; he is brought within the range of human emotion by
+the discovery of his supposed daughter, and an anxiety for her safety
+and marriage; the spell is broken. We feel the incongruity; as if a
+spectre should weep. To develope character was not within the scope of
+Mrs. Radcliffe’s plan, nor compatible with her style. At one touch of
+human pathos the enchantment would have been dissolved, as spells are
+broken by a holy word, or as the ghost of Protesilaus vanished before
+the earthly passion of his enamoured widow.
+
+As the absence of discriminated feeling and character was necessary to
+the completeness of the effect Mrs. Radcliffe sought to produce, so she
+was rather assisted by manners peculiarly straight-laced and timorous. A
+deep vein of sentiment would have suggested thoughts and emotions
+inconsistent with that “wise passiveness,” in which the mind should
+listen to the soft murmur of her “most musical, most melancholy” spells.
+A moral paradox could not co-exist with a haunted tower in the mind of
+her readers. The exceeding coldness and prudence of her heroines do not
+abstract them from the scenes of loveliness and terror through which we
+desire to follow them. If her scrupulous sense of propriety had not
+restrained her comic powers, Mrs. Radcliffe would probably have
+displayed considerable talent for the humorous. But her talkative
+servants are all very guarded in their loquacity; and even Annette,
+quaintly and pleasantly depicted, fairly belongs to the scene. Her
+old-fashioned primness of thought, which with her was a part of
+conscience, with all its cumbrous accompaniments, serves at once to
+render definite, and to set off, her fanciful creations. Romance, as
+exhibited by her, “tricked in antique ruff and bonnet,” has yet eyes of
+youth; and the beauty is not diminished by the folds of the brocade, or
+the stiffness of the damask stomacher.
+
+These remarks apply, in their fullest effect, only to “_The Mysteries of
+Udolpho_,” and “_The Italian_,” in which alone the chief peculiarities
+of Mrs. Radcliffe’s genius are decidedly marked. In her first work,
+“_The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne_,” it is scarcely possible to
+discover their germ. Its scene is laid “in the most romantic part of the
+Highlands of Scotland,” yet it is without local truth or striking
+picture. It is at once extravagant and cold. Except one scene, where the
+Earl of Athlin pursues two strangers through the vaults of his castle,
+and is stabbed by one of them in the darkness, nothing is delineated;
+but incredible events follow each other in quick succession, without any
+attempt to realize them. Those, who complain of the minuteness of Mrs.
+Radcliffe’s descriptions, should read this work, where every thing
+passes with headlong rapidity, and be convinced of their error. In some
+few instances, perhaps, in “The Mysteries of Udolpho,” the descriptions
+of external scenery may occur too often; but her best style is
+essentially pictorial; and a slow developement of events was, therefore,
+necessary to her success.
+
+The “_Sicilian Romance_” is a work of much more “mark and likelihood;”
+and, very soon after its first appearance, attracted a considerable
+share of public attention. Here the softer blandishments of our author’s
+style, which were scarcely perceptible in her first production, were
+spread forth to captivate the fancy. Transported to the “sweet south,”
+her genius, which had shrunk in the bleak atmosphere of Scotland, caught
+the luxurious spirit of a happier clime. Never was a title more justly
+applied than to this romance; it reminds the reader of “Sicilian
+fruitfulness.” In tender and luxurious description of natural scenery,
+it is surpassed by none of Mrs. Radcliffe’s productions. The flight of
+her heroine is like a strain of “lengthened sweetness long drawn
+out;”—as one series of delicious valleys opens on us after another; and
+the purple light of love is shed over all. Still she had not yet
+acquired a mastery over her own power of presenting terrific incidents
+and scenes to the eye of the mind, and awakening the throbs of suspense
+by mysterious suggestions. The light seen through the closed windows of
+the deserted rooms—the confession of Vincent stopped by death—the groans
+heard from beneath Ferdinand’s prison—and the figure perceived stealing
+among the vaults, are not introduced with sufficient earnestness, and
+lose all claim to belief, by the utter incredibility of the incidents,
+with which they are surrounded. Escapes, recaptions, encounters with
+fathers and banditti, surprising partings, and more surprising meetings,
+follow each other as quickly as the changes of a pantomime, and with
+almost as little of intelligible connexion. One example may
+suffice.—Hippolitus enters a ruin by moonlight, for shelter; hears a
+voice as of a person in agony; sees, through a shattered casement, a
+group of banditti plundering a man, who turns out to be Ferdinand, his
+intended brother-in-law; finds himself, he knows not how, in a vault;
+hears a scream from an inner apartment; bursts open the door and
+discovers a lady fainting, whom he recognizes as his mistress; overhears
+a quarrel and combat for the lady between two of the banditti, which
+ends in the death of one of them; fights with the survivor, and kills
+him; endeavours to escape with Julia; finds his way into a “dark abyss,”
+which is no other than the burial-place of the victims of the banditti,
+marked with graves, and strewed with unburied carcases; climbs to a
+grate, and witnesses a combat between the robbers and officers of
+justice; escapes with the lady through a secret door into the forest,
+where they are pursued by her father’s party; but, while he fights at
+the mouth of a cavern, she loses her way in its recesses, till they
+actually conduct her to the dungeon where her mother, who had been
+considered dead for fifteen years, is imprisoned;—and all this in a few
+pages! There are, in this short story, incidents enough for two such
+works as “The Mysteries of Udolpho,” where, as in that great romance,
+they should not only be told, but painted; and where reality and
+grandeur should be given to their terrors.
+
+In “_The Romance of the Forest_,” Mrs. Radcliffe, who, since the dawn of
+her powers, had been as one “moving about in worlds unrealized,” first
+exhibited the faculty of controlling and fixing the wild images which
+floated around her, and of stamping on them the impress of consistency
+and truth. This work is, as a whole, the most faultless of all her
+productions; but it is of an inferior order to “The Mysteries of
+Udolpho” and “The Italian;” and can only be preferred by those, who
+think the absence of error of more importance than original excellence.
+There is a just proportion between all its parts; its mysteries are
+adequately explained; it excites and gratifies a very pleasant degree of
+curiosity; but it does not seem to dilate the imagination, nor does it
+curdle the blood. Its opening after a sentence of marvellous
+common-place, is striking; the midnight journey of La Motte and his
+family they know not whither, and the introduction of the heroine, under
+extraordinary circumstances, to their care, rivet attention to all that
+is to follow. The scenes in the forest where they take up their abode
+are charming. This seems the most delicious asylum for the persecuted
+outlaw; its wood-walks and glades glisten before us with the morning
+dew; and there is something in the idea of finding a home in a deserted
+abbey, which answers to some of the wildest dreams of childhood, and
+innocently gratifies that partiality for unlicensed pleasure, or repose,
+which is so natural to the heart. The whole adventure of La Motte and
+the Marquis is sufficiently probable and interesting; and the influence,
+which it ultimately enables the more resolute villain to exercise over
+the weaker, is managed with peculiar skill, and turned to great account
+in the progress of the story. There is here scarcely any hint of the
+supernatural; but the skeleton in the chest of the vaulted chamber; the
+dagger, spotted with rust; the manuscript of the prisoner, which Adeline
+reads by the fitful light of her lamp, and which proves to be written by
+her own father, possess us with the apprehension of some secret crime,
+which acquires importance from its circumstances and its mystery. There
+are some highly-finished scenes; as that where Adeline, in her solitary
+chamber, dares not raise her eyes to her glass, lest another face than
+her own should meet them; her escape with a man whom she supposes to be
+the servant she had trusted, and who startles her with a strange voice;
+the luxurious pavilion of the Marquis, to which we are introduced after
+a frightful journey through a storm; and, above all, the conversation,
+in which the Marquis, after a series of dark solicitations, understood
+by La Motte, as pointing to Adeline’s dishonour, proposes her death.
+This last, as a piece of dramatic effect, is perhaps equal to any
+passage in the author’s works. The closing chapters of the work are
+inferior in themselves to its commencement; but they gratify by
+affording a worthy solution of the intricacies of a plot, which has
+excited so deep an interest in its progress.
+
+“_The Mysteries of Udolpho_” is by far the most popular of Mrs.
+Radcliffe’s works. To this preeminence it is, we think, justly entitled;
+for, although “_The Italian_” may display more purely intellectual
+power, it is far less enchanting. Of all the romances in the world, this
+is perhaps the most romantic. Its outline is noble, it is filled with
+majestic or beautiful imagery; and it is touched throughout with a
+dreamy softness, which harmonizes all its scenes, and renders its
+fascination irresistible. It rises from the gentlest beauty by just
+gradations to the terrific and the sublime. Nothing can be fancied more
+soothing to the mind, fevered with the bustle of the world, than the
+picture of domestic repose, with which it opens. We are dwellers in the
+home of the good St. Aubert, who has retired to a beautiful spot, once
+the favourite scene of his youthful excursions; and sharers in its
+elegant and tranquil pleasures. Next come the exquisite journey of the
+father and daughter through the heart of the Pyrenees, where we trace
+out every variety of mountain grandeur; the richly coloured scene of
+vintage gaiety among the woods of the chateau; and the death of St.
+Aubert in the neighbourhood of a place, which we understand to be
+connected with his destiny, and where strains of unearthly music are
+heard in sad accordance with human sorrow. When Emily’s aunt, to whose
+care she is consigned, marries the desperate Montoni, we feel that the
+clouds are gathering round her progress, and we shudder at the
+forebodings of approaching peril. A little interval is given among the
+luxuries of Venice, which are painted with exquisite delicacy and
+lightness; and then the work of terror begins. Nothing can be more
+picturesque than the ascent of the Apennines; mountain seems to rise
+above mountain in gloomy stateliness before us, till we skirt the inmost
+valley, far shut out from the world, and Montoni, breaking a long
+silence, utters the charmed words, “There is Udolpho!” The ideas of
+extent, of massiveness, and austere grandeur, conveyed in the
+description of the castle, have matchless force and distinctness, and
+prepare the mind for the crimes and wonders, of which it is the silent
+witness. Every thing beneath “these dark battlements” is awful; the
+slightest incidents wear a solemn hue, and “Fate in sullen echoes” seems
+to “tell of some nameless deed.” Not only the mysterious appearances and
+sounds appal us, but the rushing wind, a rustling curtain, the lonely
+watch-word on the terrace, have power to startle, and keep curiosity
+awake. The whole persecution and death of Madame Montoni seem
+prodigious, as though they were something out of nature; yet they derive
+all this importance from the circumstances, with which they are
+invested; for there is nothing extraordinary in the fate of a despicable
+woman, worried into the grave by her husband, because she will not give
+up her settlement. The mysteries of Chateau le Blanc are less majestic
+than those of Udolpho, but perhaps they are even more touching; at
+least, the visit of Emily to the chamber where the Marchioness died,
+twenty years before, not without suspicion of poison, and which had been
+shut up ever since, is most affecting and fearful. The faded
+magnificence of the vast apartment; the black pall lying on the bed, as
+when it decked the corpse; the robe and articles of dress remaining as
+they had been carelessly scattered in the lifetime of their owner; her
+veil, which hand had never approached since, now dropping into pieces;
+her lute on the table, as it was touched on the evening of her death;
+would be solemn and spectral, even if the pall did not move and a face
+arise from beneath it. This scene derives a tenderer interest from the
+strange likeness, which Emily seems to bear to the deceased lady, and
+which is artfully heightened by the action of the old housekeeper
+throwing the black veil over her, and by her touching the long-neglected
+lute. Such are some among the many striking features of this romance;
+its defects are great and obvious. Its mysteries are not only resolved
+into natural causes, but are explained by circumstances provokingly
+trivial. What reader would bear to be told that the black veil, from
+which his imagination has scarcely been allowed to turn for three
+volumes, conceals a waxen image; that the wild music, which has chanced
+to float on the air, in all the awful pauses of action, proceeded from
+an insane nun, permitted to wander about the woods; and that the words,
+which startled Montoni and his friends, at their guilty carousals, were
+uttered by a man wandering through a secret passage almost without
+motive; unless the power and sweetness of the spell remained after it
+was thus rudely broken?
+
+“_The Italian_” has more unity of plan than “The Mysteries of Udolpho;”
+and its pictures are more individual and distinct; but it has far less
+tenderness and beauty. Its very introduction, unlike the gentle opening
+of the former romance, impresses the reader with awe. Its chief agent,
+Schedoni, is most vividly painted; and yet the author contrives to
+invest him with a mystery, which leads us to believe, that even her
+image is inadequate to the reality. Up to the period, at which he
+unnaturally melts from demon to man, he is the always chief figure when
+he is present; and, where we do not see him, his spirit yet seems to
+influence all around us. The great scenes of this romance stand out in
+bold relief as in compartments; of which the chief are the adventures in
+the vaults of Pallozzi; the machinations of Schedoni and the
+Marchioness, for the destruction of the heroine; her confinement in the
+monastery of San Stephano, and her escape with Vivaldi; her terrible
+sojourn in Spalatro’s cottage on the seashore; and the whole
+representation of the Inquisition, which fills the mind when Schedoni’s
+supremacy ceases. Of these, perhaps the very finest is the scene in the
+church, where the Confessor makes palpable to the Marchioness the secret
+wishes of her heart for Ellena’s death: the situation is essentially
+fearful; and all the circumstances are contrived with admirable effect
+to heighten, vary and prolong the feeling of curiosity and terror. The
+dreary horrors of the fisherman’s cottage are admirably painted; but the
+effort to produce a great theatrical effect is very imperfectly
+concealed; and we cannot help being somewhat dissatisfied with the
+process of bringing a helpless orphan to such a distance, merely that
+she may be murdered with eclat; with the equally unaccountable delay in
+performing the deed; the strange relentings of the ruffian; and the long
+preparation, which precedes the attempt of Schedoni to strike the fatal
+blow. There is great art in the scene, to which all this is
+introductory; and the discovery of the portrait is a most striking _coup
+de theatre_; but the art is too palpable, and the contrast between the
+assassin and the father too violent—at least, for a second perusal. Not
+so, the graphic description of the vast prisons of the Inquisition; they
+are dim, prodigious, apparently eternal; and the style is solemn and
+weighty as the subject. Mrs. Radcliffe alone could have deepened the
+horror of this gloom by whispers of things yet more terrible; and
+suggest fears of the unseen, which should overcome the present
+apprehensions of bodily torture.
+
+Of the tale and the poems now first presented to the world, it would
+scarcely become us particularly to speak. The verses, scattered through
+all the romances, are so inartificially introduced, that they have
+little chance of being estimated by an impatient reader; but, when
+examined, they will be found replete with felicitous expression and with
+rich though indistinct imagery.
+
+In her own peculiar style of composition, Mrs. Radcliffe has never been
+approached. Her success naturally drew forth a crowd of imitators, who
+produced only cumbrous caricatures, in which the terrors were without
+decorum, and the explanations absolutely farcical. No successful writer
+has followed her without calling to aid other means, which she would not
+condescend to use. The Author of “The Monk” mingled a sickly
+voluptuousness with his terrors; and Maturin, full of “rich conceits,”
+approached the borders of the forbidden in speculation, and the
+paradoxical in morals. She only, of all writers of romance, who have
+awed and affected the public mind, by hints of things unseen, has
+employed enchantments purely innocent; has forborne to raise one
+questionable throb, or call forth a momentary blush. This is the great
+test not only of moral feeling, but of intellectual power; and in this
+will be found her highest praise.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Editor of the present Publication, who is not the Writer of the
+preceding Memoir, is aware, that it would be unbecoming for him to say
+more of Works, written by one so dear to him, than may be necessary to
+give the Public an early assurance of their authenticity; and that fact,
+he apprehends, will be sufficiently proved by the distribution, which he
+has resolved to make, of the whole purchase-money of the copy-right.
+Every part of that produce will be paid, as it shall accrue to him, to
+some public charitable institution in England. The Lord Bishop of Bath
+and Wells, and Sir Walter Stirling, Bart. in consideration of the
+utility of this purpose, allow him the honour of saying, that they will
+audit his account of that distribution.
+
+
+
+
+                         GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE;
+
+                                 OR THE
+
+                        COURT OF HENRY THE THIRD
+
+                       KEEPING FESTIVAL IN ARDEN.
+
+
+
+
+                         GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE.
+
+
+                             INTRODUCTION.
+
+“Well! now are we in Arden,” said an English traveller to his companion,
+as they passed between Coventry and Warwick, over ground, which his dear
+Shakspeare had made classic. As he uttered this exclamation of Rosalind,
+he looked forward with somewhat of the surprise and curiosity, which she
+may be supposed to have felt, and with an enthusiasm all his own, on
+beholding the very scene, into which the imagination of the poet had so
+often transported him with a faint degree of its own rapture. He was
+not, it appears, one of those critics, who think that the Arden of
+Shakspeare, lay in France. But he looked in vain for the thick and
+gloomy woods, which, in a former age, were the home of the doubtful
+fugitive, and so much the terror of the traveller, that it had been
+found necessary, on this very road, to clear the ground, for a breadth
+of six acres on each side, in order to protect the wayfaring part of his
+Majesty’s liege subjects.
+
+Now, albeit the landscape was still wild and woody, he could not any
+where espy a forest scene of dignity sufficient to call up before his
+fancy the exiled duke and his court, at their hunter-feast, beneath the
+twilight of the boughs; nor a single beech, under the grandeur of whose
+shade the melancholy Jaques, might “lose and neglect the creeping hours
+of time,” while he sadly sympathized with the poor stag, that, escaped
+from the pursuit of man, came to drop his tears into the running brook,
+and to die in quiet. Not even a grove appeared, through whose deep vista
+the traveller might fancy that he caught, in the gayer light, a glimpse
+of the wandering Rosalind and her companions, the wearied princess and
+the motley fool, or of the figure of Orlando, leaning against an oak,
+and listening to her song: he could not even catch the last faint echo
+of that song, in a scene so different from the one his fancy had
+represented to him for the forest of Arden.
+
+“Alas!” said he, “that enchanting vision is no more found, except in the
+very heart of a populous city, and then neither by the glimmering of the
+dawn, nor by the glow of evening, but by the paltry light of
+stage-lamps. Yet there, surrounded by a noisy multitude, whose cat-calls
+often piped instead of the black-bird, I have found myself transported
+into the wildest region of poetry and solitude; while here, on the very
+spot which Shakspeare drew, I am suddenly let down from the full glow of
+my holiday-feelings into the plain reality of this work-a-day world.”
+
+Here ensued a conversation on illusions of the imagination and on the
+various powers of exciting them, shown by English poets, especially by
+Shakspeare and Milton, which it is unnecessary to repeat in this place.
+Such was its length, that Mr. Simpson’s part in it had gradually become
+less and less active, while Willoughton’s increased earnestness had
+rendered him less and less sensible of the deficiency of replies. At
+last, on his asking, rather peremptorily, whether his friend did not
+recollect some fine effects of the towers of Windsor Castle upon the
+imagination, Mr. Simpson, fortunately concealing how nearly he had
+approached to a nap, answered, “No, no; I do not recollect any thing of
+what you tell me; but you were talking a little while ago of Hamlet and
+towers; now, if you want towers that would do honour to Hamlet, go to
+Warwick Castle, and if we reach it, as we hope, this night, you can walk
+from the inn while supper is preparing, and you will find, on the
+terrace or platform before the gates, towers frowning and majestic
+enough. If the moon is up, you will see them to perfection, and, as you
+are so fond of ghosts, you can hardly fail to make an assignation with
+one there.” “I shall delight in the advantage,” replied Willoughton,
+laughing: “Though I am not so fond of ghosts in general, as you seem to
+think. It is only for a few of particular excellence, that I feel a
+friendship; for them, indeed, I am willing to own even an affection.”
+
+Willoughton, not receiving a rejoinder, observed, that his friend had
+fallen again into his nap; and he returned to the busy thoughts, to
+which his first view of this land of Arden, the ground of Shakspeare,
+had led. Sunk in reverie, he was no longer in the living scene, but
+ranging over worlds of his own, till a jolt of the carriage awoke his
+companion; who, shaking his head, and looking out of the window, with
+the sudden alertness of one who thinks he has been losing time, now
+supposed himself bound to brush up his thoughts and to talk to his
+friend.
+
+Willoughton could well have spared the interruption, till a remark,
+delivered with an air of self-satisfaction, touched the string that
+recalled him willingly to the present scene.
+
+“There now is an oak,” said Simpson, “that may have been of Elizabeth’s
+time, by the hollowness of its vast trunk and the state of its
+branches.”
+
+“Ay, long before her time,” said his companion, “and perhaps
+Shakspeare’s eyes have dwelt on it; perhaps he has rested under its
+shade:—O! we are coming now to something like the Forest of Arden: see
+how finely the woods rise in the distance, and what a rich gleam the
+western sun throws along the ground, beyond those low-hung boughs on our
+left.”
+
+As the travellers advanced upon Kenilworth-chace, the country assumed a
+more forest-like appearance, and a new train of ideas engaged
+Willoughton, on approaching the venerable ruins of the once magnificent
+castle, at one period its prison, and at another, the _plaisance_ of
+royalty, where Edward the II. groaned under the traiterous power of
+Mortimer, and his abandoned Queen; and where the crafty Leicester
+entertained Elizabeth, with princely splendour. The domain of this
+castle, with its parks and chaces, included a circuit of nearly twenty
+miles; and when a survey of it was taken in the reign of James the I.,
+on its forfeiture by the voluntary exile and contempt of Sir Robert
+Dudley, the son of Leicester and of his first wife, the Lady
+Sheffield,—the woods alone were valued at twenty thousand pounds,
+according to Dugdale, who observes of the castle and its territory, that
+“the like, both for strength, state, and pleasure, was not within the
+realm of England.”
+
+Recollections of the long and varied history of this castle, crowded
+upon the mind of Willoughton, and he looked out, with impatience, for a
+glimpse of its stately towers in the distance, and then of its
+mouldering gateways, in the sun gleam, beneath the woods that now rose
+round him with majestic shade. Here, at least, was a mass and pomp of
+foliage worthy of the noble ruin he was approaching and of the memory of
+Arden; and, when he first caught a view of the grey walls and turrets
+overtopping the woods, lighted up by the evening sun, whose long beams,
+slanting now under the boughs, touched with a golden flush the bending
+trunk of many an old beech standing deep within the shade, he uttered a
+note of admiration and curiosity that discomposed Mr. Simpson, who
+immediately directed the postilion to make his way to the nearest gate.
+
+Soon afterwards they found themselves in a valley, whose woody slopes
+excluded all distant prospect, and confined their attention to the
+venerable relique, which seemed to characterise, with its own quiet
+gloom, the surrounding landscape. They observed the several fine and
+detached masses of the castle rising on a lone rock in the centre of
+this secluded little valley; and, as they drove towards the only
+entrance of the area of these deserted courts, near the square-turreted
+gateway, which Leicester built for the grand approach to the castle, the
+impatience of Willoughton became tempered with a gentle and luxurious
+melancholy, and he forgot even Shakspeare, while he was influenced by
+somewhat of the poet’s feelings.
+
+But a sense of real life broke in upon him even in this scene of solemn
+grandeur, and it required somewhat of the patience of a philosopher to
+endure, in the full glow of his present enthusiasm, the clamorous
+impetuosity of idle children, who, on the first sound of wheels, were
+seen running to assail the strangers from every cottage on the
+neighbouring banks. The visions of quiet solitude and of venerable
+antiquity were, in an instant, dispersed; the chaise was surrounded, and
+the travellers, having alighted, made their way with difficulty to the
+little gate, that led through a garden beside Leicester’s ruined tower
+into the area that was once the lower court of the castle, followed by a
+noisy troop, whom neither money, nor command, could for some time
+disperse.
+
+The tower—the gateway being now closed up,—was no longer accessible to
+curiosity, nor could gratify it by any traits of the customs of former
+times. No warder’s bench lurked within the gloom, nor portcullis hung in
+the arch. The warden’s chamber for those, who, by military tenure, kept
+guard on certain nights of the year, was transformed into a light
+parlour, and the whole building changed into a modern habitation. From
+the green and broken square, anciently the lower court-yard, the
+travellers looked up to the noble mass of ruins that yet stand proudly
+on their rocky knoll, and form three irregular sides of what was once
+the inner and grand court.
+
+Of the fourth side, which separated the upper from the lower court, are
+now no vestiges, save in the inequality of the ground where their
+foundations stood, and where the walls, fallen from above, may lie
+buried under the turf and briers, that now cover the spot.
+
+On the left, the shattered walls of that lofty pile, built by Leicester
+and still called by his name, advance proudly to the edge of the
+eminence that overlooked the lower court, hung with the richest drapery
+of ivy; on the right, stands the strong square tower, called Cæsar’s,
+which, though the most ancient part of the castle, appears fresher and
+less injured by time, than parts that were raised some ages later. This
+was the keep, or citadel, of the castle; and the prodigious thickness of
+the walls appears through the three arches in front, proportioned and
+shaped like some which may yet be seen in aqueducts near Rome; the walls
+here show a depth of fifteen or sixteen feet. The stone, of which this
+noble tower is built, is of closer texture and of a greyer hue, than
+that in any other part of the building; and this hue harmonizes
+beautifully with the ivy towers, which overshadow its arches and
+doorcases, and with the ashlings and elder crowning its summit, which
+highly overtops every relique of this once magnificent abode of princes.
+
+“It should seem,” said Willoughton, “that no human force could lay low
+walls of such strength as these; yet, as one side of the tower is
+destroyed, while the other three remain nearly entire, it must have been
+assailed by some power more sudden and partial than that of time.”
+
+“Yes, Sir, yes,” said a man, who had been standing by, observing the
+strangers with attentive curiosity, “that part was pulled down by
+Cromwell’s soldiers, and, if they had had more time on their side, they
+would have pulled it all down; as it was, they did a mort of mischief.”
+
+Willoughton turned to look at his informer, and saw a tall, thin man,
+who appeared to be a villager, and who, without waiting for
+encouragement, proceeded: “I have heard say, they destroyed all that
+stood between Cæsar’s and John O’Gaunts tower there, at the end of the
+great hall, and a deal on the other side of the court, between the
+Whitehall and Lord Leicester’s buildings.”
+
+“Are those walls before us the remains of the great hall?” inquired Mr.
+Simpson, pointing to a picturesque mass of ruins, standing on the third
+side of the upper court and seen in perspective between the other two.
+
+“Yes, Sir,” said the man, “that there was the great banqueting-hall
+where”—
+
+“Leicester entertained Queen Elizabeth,” observed Willoughton. “How
+beautifully the ivy falls over those light Gothic window-mullions and
+that arched door-way, so appropriately and elegantly sculptured with
+vine-leaves! The sun now slopes its rays through the arch, as if
+purposely to show the beauty of its proportion and the grace of the vine
+that entwines it.”
+
+“Ay,” said Mr. Simpson, “many a pitcher of wine and many a baron of beef
+have been carried under that arch by the king’s yeomen, when Henry the
+Third kept his court here.”
+
+“I doubt whether by yeomen,” replied Willoughton, “for, though yeomen of
+the household are mentioned, about this time, yeomen of the guard, a
+part of whose office it afterwards became to carry certain dishes to the
+king’s table, do not occur till the reign of Henry the Seventh. However,
+it is probable, that, before the appointment of the latter, yeomen of
+the household might perform this business on state occasions, and in
+that very hall may have stood before the long tables, in double row,
+with wine ewers in their hands.”
+
+“Those were times worth living in,” observed Mr. Simpson.
+
+“Ay, those were jolly times! Sir,” said the stranger man; “it’s lonely
+and sad enough in that old hall now; nothing but briers and ivy. Why,
+there is an ivy tree now against that old wall there, partly as old as
+the wall itself. Look, Sir, it is as grey, and almost as sapless as the
+stone it crawls upon, though the trunk is such a size, and hardly shows
+a green leaf, spring or summer.”
+
+The travellers made their way among the briers to take a nearer view of
+it; and, if verdant festoons of younger plants had charmed them,
+Willoughton, at least, was no less affected by the withered sinews and
+grey locks of this most forlorn and aged tree, which had itself become a
+ruin, while adorning another. He climbed over hillocks of briers and
+weeds, which now covered the ruins of walls, fallen into this
+court-yard, and he looked down into the area of the great hall, through
+a door-way which had once led from it by a vestibule towards the white
+hall, of which latter hardly a vestige remains, and to King Henry’s
+lodgings. Here he distinguished the upper end of that magnificent
+banqueting-room, the very spot where the _deis_, or high table, had
+stood, which had feasted kings and princes, its lords, or visitors;
+where Henry the Third had sitten, where John O’Gaunt had caroused, and
+where Elizabeth had received the homage of Leicester.
+
+At one end of this platform were still the remains of the large
+bay-window, opening upon the grand court, where the cup-board had stood,
+and the golden plate was piled; at the other end, a windowed recess
+bowed out towards the spot, where there had been a lake, and to woods,
+that still flourished. This also, on state occasions, had probably held
+a plate-board, or cup-board, and, on others, had been occupied as a
+pleasant seat, commanding the finest views of the park.
+
+The four walls only of this noble hall marked its former grandeur, not a
+fragment of either roof, or floor, remaining; the ground, upon which
+Willoughton immediately looked, having been the foundation of a chamber,
+or hall, for domestic and inferior guests, under the great one, which
+was eighty-six feet in length, and forty-five in width.
+
+Those walls, where gorgeous tapestry had hung, showed only the remains
+of doorways and of beautiful gothic windows, that had admitted the light
+of the same sun, which at this moment sent the last gleam of another day
+upon Willoughton, and warned him, that another portion of his life too
+was departing.
+
+The melancholy scene around him spoke, with the simplicity of truth, the
+brevity and nothingness of this life. Those walls seemed to
+say—“Generations have beheld us and passed away, as you now behold us,
+and shall pass away. They have thought of the generations before their
+time, as you now think of _them_, and as future ones shall think of you.
+The voices, that revelled beneath us, the pomp of power, the
+magnificence of wealth, the grace of beauty, the joy of hope, the
+interests of high passion and of low pursuits have passed from this
+scene for ever; yet we remain, the spectres of departed years and shall
+remain, feeble as we are, when you, who now gaze upon us, shall have
+ceased to be in this world!”
+
+“Why, here is a stone bench yet in this old window,” said Mr. Simpson;
+“and a pleasant window it is still. This homely bench has outlived all
+the trappings of the castle, though, I dare say, it was little valued in
+their time!”
+
+“You see, Sir,” said the old man, “it belongs to the wall itself; else
+it would have been carried off long ago.”
+
+Willoughton turned at the now repeated voice of this stranger, whose
+intrusion he did not entirely like, though his knowledge of the castle
+might be useful, and his conduct did not appear to be ill-meant. To an
+inquiry, whether he lived in the neighbourhood, he answered, “Hard by,
+Sir, in Kenilworth. I saw you was a stranger, Sir, and thought you might
+like to know a little about the castle here; and, unless you hap to
+light on such a one as me, you may go away as wise as you came—for, you
+will know nothing. No offence, I hope, Sir.”
+
+“No, no; no offence at all;” replied Willoughton; “and since you are so
+well acquainted with this spot, let me hear a little of what you know of
+it.”
+
+“Ay, let us hear what you have to say,” said Mr. Simpson.
+
+Willoughton, turning as he heard this, perceived his friend seated in
+the recess he had before noticed. Much remained of the beautiful
+stone-work of this bay-window, and it now showed itself upon the glowing
+west, where the sun had just descended, behind the dark woods of the
+valley. He advanced into it, and looking out upon the scenery, was
+interested by the stillness and solemnity that began to prevail over it.
+At some distance down the steep bank on which the castle stands, he
+could distinguish fragments of the walls that once surrounded it, with
+here and there some remains of a tower, or a banqueting-house. The
+ground below seemed marshy, but pasture of a better green stretched up
+the opposite slopes, and mingled with the woods, that, on every side,
+shut out the world! This valley seemed the home of a composed
+melancholy.
+
+“But where,” said Willoughton, “is the noble lake that, in Leicester’s
+time, surrounded this castle, on which, as you may have heard, Queen
+Elizabeth was welcomed with pageants and so much flattery?”
+
+“Ay, where is it?” echoed Mr. Simpson, looking at the old man with an
+air that seemed to say, “Now we have some use for you, and will put you
+to the test.”
+
+But Willoughton, without giving him time to reply, proceeded:—
+
+“I am doomed to disappointment in Arden. For many miles, I could not
+discover any thing like a forest-shade, that might have sheltered a
+banished court, or favourite; and here not a wave of the lake, that
+delighted a festive one, and which might have supplied me with a
+floating island, moving to the sound of invisible music, or to the
+shells of surrounding tritons and sea-nymphs. Nay, I cannot even catch a
+gleam of the torches, which, on such an occasion, might have thrown
+their light on the woods and towers of the castle, and have quivered on
+the waters over which they passed.”
+
+“No, sir,” said the old man, “it would be a hard matter to find any
+thing of all that now. Cromwell’s people would have knocked all that o’
+the head, when they drained off the water, if such things had been there
+then.”
+
+“Cromwell’s people again! However it is as well to remember them. What
+had the venerable scenes of Kenilworth to do with politics, or freedom?
+But thus it is; if even the leaders in political agitations have a
+better taste themselves than to destroy, for the mere sake of
+destruction, they let the envy and malice of their followers rage away
+against whatsoever is beautiful, or grand.”
+
+So said Willoughton to his friend, who smiled, as he perceived that the
+indignant admirer of antiquity had allowed himself to speak of a
+military operation, as though it had been a popular commotion.
+
+“Where went the line of the lake, my man of Kenilworth?” asked Simpson.
+
+“Why, Sir, it flowed round two sides of the castle, as I have heard say;
+it went from the tilt-yard, all along the valley here, for half a mile,
+and spread out at the foot of these banks,—as wide as to the woods
+yonder, on the hill side.”
+
+“What a noble sheet of water,” exclaimed Willoughton, “with lawns and
+woods sloping to its margin and reflected on its surface!”
+
+“Yes, Sir, all that on the opposite side was a deer-park then, as I’ve
+heard from the account of some book, except that low ground further on,
+and that was pasture for cattle.”
+
+“For cattle!” exclaimed Mr. Simpson,—“how they would poach such ground
+as that!”
+
+“But what a beautiful picture they helped to make from the castle
+windows here,” said Willoughton; “when, on a summer’s noon, they lay
+under those shades, or stood in the cool waters of the lake.”
+
+“Ay,” said Mr. Simpson, “to such as did not value the land.”
+
+“It was just opposite the Pleasant, yonder,” said the aged historian.
+
+“The _Pleasant_!”
+
+“Yes, Sir; if you look this way, I will tell you where it stood:—it was
+a banqueting-house on the lake.”
+
+“O! the _Plaisance_!”
+
+“It stood on the walls there, down in the valley, to the right of John
+O’Gaunt’s tower here, and not far from the Swan Tower; but it is so dusk
+now you can hardly see where I mean.”
+
+Willoughton inquired where the Swan Tower stood.
+
+“Further off, a good way, Sir; but there is nothing of it to be seen
+now. It stood at the corner of the garden-wall, just where the lake came
+up; but there is nothing to be seen of that garden either now, Sir,
+though we know the place where it was. Queen Elizabeth used to take
+great delight in the banqueting-house, as I’ve heard.”
+
+“It was pleasantly seated;” observed Willoughton.
+
+“Yes, Sir; but there was rare feasting and music too, I reckon. She used
+to be fond of sitting in this very window, too!”
+
+“How do you know all this, my friend?”
+
+“Why, Sir, the place is called Queen Elizabeth’s turret, to this day,
+because she took such a fancy to it; and it was pleasant enough to be
+sure, for it overlooked the widest part of the lake;—this bench had
+velvet trappings enough then, I warrant.”
+
+“I have no pleasure in remembering Elizabeth;” said Willoughton, as he
+turned to look for his friend.
+
+“No!—not in remembering the wisest princess that ever reigned?” said Mr.
+Simpson.
+
+“No: her wisdom partook too much of craft, and her policy of treachery;
+and her cruelty to poor Mary is a bloody hand in her escutcheon, that
+will for ever haunt the memory of her.”
+
+“You are too ardent,” observed Mr. Simpson; “much may be said on her
+conduct on that head.”
+
+“She inspires me only with aversion and horror,” replied Willoughton.
+
+“She gives other people the horrors, too,” said the villager.
+
+“How do you mean, friend?”
+
+“There are strange stories told, Sir, if one could but believe
+them;—there are old men now in the parish, who say they have seen her
+about the castle here, dressed in a great ruff about her neck, just as
+she is in her picture; they knew her by that.”
+
+Here Mr. Simpson, giving Willoughton a look of sly congratulation, on
+his having met with a person of taste seemingly so congenial with his
+own, burst forth into a laugh, or rather a shout, that made every echo
+of the ruin vocal, his friend smile, and the old man stare; who,
+somewhat gravely, proceeded——
+
+“They say, too, she has been seen sitting there, in that very window,
+when there was but just light enough to see her by.”
+
+“A ghost in a ruff and farthingale!” exclaimed Mr. Simpson, in
+exultation;—“that is, surely, the very perfection of propriety in the
+ghost-costume;” and again the roar of laughter rolled round every turret
+of the castle.
+
+“Why does that strike you as so absurd?” asked Willoughton; “this is
+only a ghost representing the familiar image of the person when alive.
+Can it be more ridiculous than the Scotch plaid for the supernatural
+being, whom we call a witch? And yet, when you and I used to discuss the
+taste of ghost-dresses, you did not object to that appearance; but
+justified it, as one with which popular superstition was familiar.”
+
+“Yes,” replied Simpson; “but though the ruff and farthingale accompany
+our idea of Queen Elizabeth, it is of her, as a living character, not in
+that of her apparition.”
+
+“And yet,” rejoined Willoughton; “if you remain in this ruin, half an
+hour longer, till you can scarcely distinguish the walls, you will feel
+less inclined to laugh at Queen Elizabeth’s ghost in a ruff and
+farthingale.”
+
+“Perhaps I might,” said Mr. Simpson, “if you had not let me so much into
+the secret of effect in these cases. Yet I question whether it would
+have been possible for Elizabeth’s picture, arrayed in that ridiculous
+court-dress, supposing it actually to appear, to extort from me any
+thing but laughter.”
+
+“They say, Sir,” said the aged man, “that she looked solemn and stern
+enough as she sat in that window, just where you do now, leaning her
+head upon her hand, or something that looked like one. She sat quite
+still, for some time, and old Taylor sat quite still looking at her, for
+he could not move;—but when she rose up and turned round, and made a
+motion with her hand—thus—as much as to say, ‘Go about your business!’
+he thought he should have dropped, and would have gone fast enough if he
+could.”
+
+“Ay,” said Mr. Simpson; “there was the characteristical in manner, as
+well as in dress. This must be a true history!”
+
+“Well, friend,” said Willoughton, “and what followed?”
+
+“Why, Sir, then she went down this steep place you now stand upon, into
+the hall there, where _he_ could not have gone, in broad day-light,
+without risk of his neck; she sank down, as it were, and he lost her
+awhile, it was so dark; but presently he saw her, all on a sudden,
+standing in that door-way there,—and I can almost guess I see her there
+now.”
+
+“You are a silly old man,” said Mr. Simpson; and he looked immediately
+to the door.
+
+“You would not like,” said Willoughton, smiling, “to inquire minutely
+into the difference between purposely avoiding to look, and purposely
+looking in the midst of this story;” but—turning to the old man—“what
+next?”
+
+“Why, Sir, she stood in the arch some time with a very stern look; but I
+never rightly understood what became of her. Old Taylor said she passed
+away like a cloud; but then afterwards he was not sure but he saw her
+again, in a minute or two, in this very window.”
+
+“And have you never been fortunate enough,” said Mr. Simpson, “to see
+any of those sights?”
+
+“No, Sir, no; I hope I have no need of them; though, if I was that way
+given, I might have thought _I_ saw things too sometimes. Once by
+Mortimer’s tower, down in the tilt-yard, I as good as thought I saw a
+man standing with a mask on his face, in a moonlight night, with a drawn
+sword in his hand.”
+
+“That tower,” remarked Willoughton, “was doubtless named after Mortimer,
+the paramour of the infamous Isabel?”
+
+“They say, Sir, some king was once shut up there.”
+
+“Ay, Edward the Second, for a short time.”
+
+“And they will tell you a power of stories of what was to be seen about
+that tower, before it was pulled down, and after too; but I don’t
+believe a word of them. People are always conjuring up strange tales
+when they have nothing better to do. I have got an old book at home full
+of them, enough to make one’s hair stand on end, if one could but make
+it all thoroughly out. I showed it to Mr. Timothy, the school-master,
+and he could hardly make it out neither; but he said it was no matter,
+for it was full of nothing but nonsense. He read me some of it, and I
+could not get it out of my head again for a week.”
+
+“Ay, it met with a thriving soil,” said Mr. Simpson, “it’s well you got
+the nonsense out of your head at all. But how happened you to buy a book
+in a language you could not read?”
+
+“I did not buy it, Sir; and, as to the language, I could understand that
+well enough, but I could not read the letters; and Timothy himself
+bungled at the spelling.”
+
+Willoughton inquired where this book was met with; and whether he could
+have a sight of it?
+
+“Why, Sir, it was dug out of the ground, where an old chapel once stood,
+belonging to the Priory hard by.”
+
+“O! I remember,” said Willoughton; “there was formerly a monastery of
+Black Canons at Kenilworth, founded by Geoffry de Clinton, lord
+chamberlain to the first King Henry, and the founder of this same castle
+too: but go on.”
+
+“The place is used for a burial-ground still,” resumed the old villager;
+“and it happened, that as Guy, our sexton, was one day going to dig a
+grave there, he lighted upon a coffin, or the chest, or whatever it was,
+that held a many things besides this strange book.”
+
+“Indeed!” said Willoughton, eagerly; “let us hear a little about this.”
+
+“We shall not get to Warwick to-night,” said Mr. Simpson, gravely.
+
+“Why, Sir, it was one day last autumn,—no, I believe it was as late as
+November; I remember it had rained hard all morning; but whether it was
+October or November, I cannot be sure.”
+
+“That, I should suppose, does not much signify,” said Mr. Simpson.
+
+“Come, now,” said Willoughton, “do let him be as circumstantial as he
+pleases.”
+
+“Willingly, willingly, only remember, we are not to sleep at
+Kenilworth.”
+
+“Well, Sir, I cannot be sure exactly of the time, only it had been a
+dismal day; but the rain was over, when old Guy came running to me in as
+great a fright as ever I saw a man, and said he had found something in
+the ground, he could not tell what, but he never felt any thing so heavy
+in his life; he could not move it, and desired I would go and help him
+to raise it; and he stared, as if he was out of his wits. When I heard
+it was so heavy, I thought we might as well have my son to help us, for
+he was a stout lad. Guy did not much like this, I saw, for he was
+thinking he should find a treasure, and Guy was always a close one, and
+for getting as much as he could; it was only two years before he got his
+money raised for tolling; and there is not one in the parish has liked
+him since. However, I got my son to go with me, and we set to work,
+without saying a word to any one; and it was so near dark that nobody
+was likely to see us in that lonely place.”
+
+“Well! but if it had been treasure, it would have belonged to the Lord
+of the Manor,” said Mr. Simpson.
+
+“Yes, Sir, I know that well enough; but you shall hear. We raised it out
+of the ground at last, and what should it be but an old oak chest. It
+was so large, a man might have lain down in it at full length; but what
+helped to make it so heavy was the iron bands that held it together, and
+three great iron locks, that fastened it. Now, as the place where it was
+dug up was the east end of the church, Guy took it into his head it
+contained church plate, that had been put there, in troublesome times,
+by the monks of the priory. If you had but seen him! he thought his
+fortune was made; he threw away his spade, and cut a caper as high as a
+wall. I thought myself there must be something worth looking at o’the
+inside, but by this time it was so dark we could hardly see what we were
+about; so I sent my son home for the lantern, and then we tried with old
+Guy’s crow to get the lid open. We got it off at last; and what do you
+think, Sir, we found? Why, nothing but old parchments; some with seals
+dangling to them, and some old books, dropping to pieces with the worms,
+though the leaves were thick enough, too: at the bottom of the chest was
+a great heap of dust.”
+
+“Did you find nothing else?” asked Mr. Simpson, fixing his eyes on him.
+
+“No, Sir, nothing else,” said the old man, with a little hesitation;
+“nothing else, except an old staff, with a large head; and there was a
+little silver on that and on a book I have at home.”
+
+Mr. Simpson inquired what had made the chest so weighty.
+
+“Why, Sir, it was made of solid oak, six inches thick, I warrant, and
+had a great deal of iron about it. I took a fancy to that book, though I
+could not read it, for I could not make out the letters; but there is
+some pretty pictures on the leaves, and the colours are as fresh as if
+they were just painted; and some of the great letters are done all over
+with gold as bright as the sun.”
+
+“A manuscript, illuminated probably by some monk of the priory,” said
+Willoughton; “can I see it?”
+
+“Yes, Sir,” replied the old man, “I have it at home; but what made me
+wonder most was to see it look so fresh, after it had lain all that time
+in the ground; to be sure it was well wrapped up in parchment, and the
+trunk was thick enough, for that matter; but some of the other books
+dropped to pieces as soon as the air came to them.”
+
+Willoughton asked what had been done with the parchments; adding, to his
+companion, that they were probably the leigerbook and some other
+muniments of the Priory, hidden when the terrors of Henry the Eighth
+first prevailed in the monasteries, and afterwards pretended to be lost,
+first from some hope of their future utility, and then from a fear of
+avowing their concealment.
+
+“When Guy,” resumed the old man, “found what sort of treasure he had
+gotten, he was ready to throw himself into the old chest, to be put
+under ground with it again; but I said there was no need of that; so we
+took out some of the best of the books, but none of the others had
+pictures; and Guy took the old staff, and then we did lay the trunk in
+the earth again.”
+
+Willoughton made many inquiries concerning the parchments with the
+seals, and the seals themselves, and whether his informant could find
+again the spot where they were deposited.
+
+“Come, come,” said Mr. Simpson; “let us leave this place; it is almost
+dark.”
+
+The old man said he thought he could find the spot; but that would be of
+no use; for it had lain so deep in the ground, that there had been depth
+over it for graves, and it was now beneath them.
+
+Willoughton, shocked at this circumstance, said no more on the subject;
+but the old man proceeded.
+
+“Among other things in the book, Sir, is a view of this old hall. I
+should never have found it out myself; for it was no more like what it
+is now than nothing: but Timothy Crabb, our school-master, knew it at
+once by this very window—and he read something about this window,
+too,—and by a door-way in the wall, yonder.”
+
+“How does it appear in the drawing?” asked Willoughton.
+
+“Why, Sir,—but you shall see the book, if you like. The hall had a high
+roof, like a church there, and a gallery ran all along the bottom of it,
+and such a chimney!”—
+
+“Ay! like the remains of what we see here now, I suppose,” said Mr.
+Simpson.
+
+“No, Sir, as different as can be.”
+
+“O! perhaps,” turning to Willoughton, “it was such an one as we saw at
+Penshurst; a raised hearth, with irons to hold wood, in the middle of
+the hall.”
+
+“No; that style,” observed Willoughton, “was of later date than chimneys
+in English halls. It came in, I apprehend, with the castellated mansion,
+of which style is Penshurst, the more ancient part of the building at
+least. In the hall of the older castle, a chimney sloped back from the
+line of the wall into the thickness of it, and let out the smoke through
+a loop above. Thus, the raised hearth, on which the wood fire blazed,
+projected into the chamber, and was sometimes overhung by a canopy of
+stone-work supported by pillars, that gave it a resemblance to a gothic
+porch, such as adorn some of our finest cathedrals.”
+
+“Yes, Sir, this in the book looks like something like a church porch
+without the sides, the top comes so far over the hearth. Then all down
+the hall are rows of tables, with gentle-folk and ladies sitting at
+them, and—”
+
+“I must see this manuscript,” interrupted Willoughton; “it appears to be
+a curious one.”
+
+“Come,” said Mr. Simpson, “it is already so dark, we can hardly see our
+way hence. There is scarce a gleam of light left on the horizon.”
+
+“No, Sir, but the moon is rising yonder, and some gentry have a fancy to
+see this place by moonlight.”
+
+“O! we have seen enough of it.”
+
+“I recommend you,” said Willoughton, “to avoid looking, just at this
+moment, towards the door at the bottom of the hall, lest you should see
+the stately form of Elizabeth in the archway; I had a glimpse of
+something like her just now; nay, I am not quite sure that I did not see
+the grave physiognomy of Leicester, under his small black velvet cap and
+feather.”
+
+“We shall not get to Warwick to-night,” said Mr. Simpson, fretfully.
+“They talk of the patience of a painful antiquary; think what the
+patience of his friend must be.”
+
+“I have not the honour to deserve the former title,” said Willoughton.
+
+“Between us, we approach to it; the painful part of it, you will allow,
+belongs to me.”
+
+“In the old sense of the word,” said Willoughton, “you do not claim it;
+and, as to the new one, your jests recompense you for your pain: I have
+all possible inclination to deserve the title, in its best sense; at
+least by cherishing those inquiries, which make us intimate with the
+characters and habits of our fellow creatures in past ages, which show
+them to us in their halls, their ceremonies, their tournaments, their
+banquets, their domestic usages and even in their monastic retirement.
+These picturesque visions, in which the imagination so much delights,
+and every discovery, however remote, awaken a peculiar kind of interest
+and of sentiment no less delightful, which render antiquity, of all
+studies, the least liable to the epithet of dry, though dull and dry
+people so liberally bestow it. Antiquity is one of the favourite regions
+of poetry.”
+
+“Nay,” said Mr. Simpson, “your woods and your meadows are the region for
+that. Who ever thought of looking for a muse in an old castle? But come,
+let us remember, that we are on the road for Warwick.”
+
+“Before we go, my friend here must show me his old manuscript; and I
+must see this fine ruin by moonlight.”
+
+“By moonlight!” exclaimed Simpson; “would you really stay for so
+romantic a purpose? We have seen it already by sun-light, and almost by
+no light at all?”
+
+“The moon is rising, now, Sir,” said the old man, “and by the time the
+gentleman has seen the book it will be risen high enough to give you
+light on your journey.”
+
+“Meanwhile, the horses will have no objection to a little corn,”
+remarked Willoughton; “nor the postilion to a little ale, if this good
+man will direct him where to get it.”
+
+Mr. Simpson having added, that he too should like a little Warwickshire
+ale, the old man replied, “The ale they sell is not much to brag on;
+but, if you please, gentlemen, I will direct the lad where he and the
+horses may rest themselves, and, if you will step with me, you can taste
+some of my home-brewed, and see the book at the same time.”
+
+The travellers assented, and their conductor, after having directed the
+postilion to a house, accompanied them to his cottage, where he produced
+the desired manuscript. It was written on vellum, and richly
+illuminated, and purported to be an account of what passed at
+Kenilworth, when Henry the Third there kept the feast of Saint Michael,
+and of some wonderful accident that there befel.
+
+“There is a title-page written almost in the form of a triangle,” said
+Willoughton, “and that about as closely as if it were printed. The date,
+which forms the apex of the reversed triangle, I cannot wholly make out,
+but it is twelve hundred and something.”
+
+At the heads of chapters and sometimes on the broad margins, there were
+made drawings of parts of Kenilworth Castle, as it had appeared in the
+time of Henry probably, with some of the scenes which had there passed,
+and sometimes with single portraits of the chief persons engaged in
+them. These gave vivid ideas of the customs and manners of that period,
+and were traced, with more knowledge of perspective and more attention
+to proportion, than Willoughton expected. Among them was a procession of
+knights and ladies, led by numerous harpers, returning from the
+tilt-yard to the great hall, which showed a high sloping roof, while the
+windows below, at a considerable elevation from the ground, had
+round-headed arches, instead of pointed ones. The door-way, leading into
+it, accorded with the place where one still appears; but the arch was
+differently constructed, and the receding mouldings seemed to have been
+ornamented with chevron work, or zigzag, instead of the elegant vine now
+sculptured there, which latter he had no hesitation in assigning to the
+time of Leicester.
+
+Another drawing gave an inside view of the hall, as mentioned by the old
+man. The roof was of great height, open to the rafters, and with pendent
+beams below, formed into arches, ornamented with inverted pinnacles,
+nicely carved. Another drawing gave the inside of a chapel, of which
+there are no longer any remains at Kenilworth.
+
+The original style of the building appeared very ancient, but this was
+mixed with one more light and elegant, like that of the pointed arches
+of the windows; and Willoughton conjectured this improvement to have
+been made by Henry the Third, who is known to have repaired the chapel
+of the castle for his own use, during his occasional residence there.
+
+There was a representation of a marriage ceremony in celebration at the
+altar, where a numerous assemblage of dignified persons were arranged in
+state. A king was giving the hand of the bride to a young man, who was
+decorated with many military insignia, but who was so far from receiving
+the gift with joy, that he appeared to be struck with consternation,
+while the lady, by her attitude, seemed to be fainting.
+
+In the margin was a portrait of a king robed and wearing a crown of
+gold, which seemed intended for Henry the Third, to whose statue in
+brass, in his monument in Westminster Abbey, it bore a considerable
+resemblance.
+
+At the head of another chapter was an inside view of a tower, where a
+man was sitting alone near a lamp. In the background a face appeared at
+the grate. The same chamber was represented afterwards, with a man
+stretched upon a low pallet, but whether asleep, or dead, was not
+expressed by the drawing. The lamp had gone out, and, instead of a face
+at the grate, the moon appeared through a window beyond, and threw a
+pale light on the couch.
+
+Another drawing gave a view of a chapel, or hall; Willoughton was not
+certain which: there was, however, something like an altar at the
+farthest end, near which stood a figure alone, the face concealed in a
+vizor, the left arm, uplifted, held a shield, the right a lance, but the
+feet were in a position of rest, though another figure near a door was
+departing, as if with the fear of being pursued, his hands outstretched,
+and his face turned back over his shoulder. There, too, the moon
+appeared through a window, and the light fell upon the lifted shield.
+
+While Willoughton was musing what this could mean, the old man, looking
+upon the leaf, said, “Timothy Crabb, Sir, maintains this is a picture of
+the Priory-Chapel, he is sure, as it stood formerly. I should never have
+found it out myself, there is so little left of the chapel; but Tim
+makes it all out fine enough.”
+
+“Does he tell you what that figure means?”
+
+“Not as I remember, Sir; but the book tells that, I reckon.”
+
+Willoughton turned over the leaves near the drawing; the language, the
+orthography and the characters were all so ancient, that he hesitated
+much. What he did make out, however, fixed his attention so deeply, that
+his friend lost the small remains of his patience, and declared he would
+set off without him. Willoughton then told his humble host, that, if he
+was willing to part with the manuscript, he was disposed to give him his
+own price for it.
+
+“Why, Sir, I like to look at the pictures sometimes, and the gold is so
+bright it is a pleasure to see it; but the book for other matters is not
+of much value to me, though it may be to other people, seeing as I can’t
+make it out; and, for that matter, if I could, I do not know any good it
+would do; for, what Tim did read made me as foolish almost as old John,
+and afraid to go near the castle, for some time, after dark, though I
+was always counted a little more sensible than some. But I see no good
+in such things, not I.”
+
+“You are a sensible fellow,” said Mr. Simpson, “and I wish my friend
+here had a little less curiosity, and a little more such wit as yours.
+And now, Harry, do leave the book and come away.”
+
+“No, I shall first console myself for the mortification of your
+compliments. What shall I give you for the book, my friend?”
+
+“Why, Sir, I don’t know, I am sure; I don’t know the value of such
+things. Tim Crabb said it might be worth its weight in gold for aught he
+knew; but I leave it, Sir, to your generosity.”
+
+“It is well you do not leave it to mine,” said Mr. Simpson, “for I
+should make a low reckoning of it.”
+
+The sum Willoughton offered accorded with his own estimation of so
+curious a relick, rather than with the expectation of his host, who
+heard it with exclamations of thankfulness; while Mr. Simpson expressed
+not merely surprise but reprehension, and the vulgar proverb of “Fools
+and their money—” was nearly audible on his lips.
+
+“What other books did you find in the same place?” asked Willoughton.
+
+“Ah! bless you, Sir,” replied the ancient villager, “I wish I had a
+score of them.”
+
+“Well you may, my friend, if they would fetch you such a price as this!”
+was the ready remark of Mr. Simpson.
+
+“It is his honour’s own generosity, Sir, and I suppose he thinks the
+book worth the money, or he would not give it.”
+
+“Come, Harry,” continued Simpson, “here has been folly enough for once;
+let us be gone.”
+
+“You are sure you have no other book like this?” inquired Willoughton.
+
+“There is another or two, that do still hold together, I think,” said
+the old man; “They have got no pictures; but then they have the same
+kind of letters, that cannot be understood.”—He went for them.
+
+“You will tempt the man to steal the parish-register, and offer it to
+you as a curious relick,” said Mr. Simpson; “and indeed it will deserve
+your money better than this.”
+
+The old man returned with a small quarto, printed in black letter and
+bound in real boards, which had been guarded at the corners with brass;
+the marks of clasps remained on it and those of a lozenge in the centre
+of each board.
+
+“Though this is of later date, much later date, than the manuscript,”
+said Willoughton, “I see it is one of the earliest books that came from
+the press in England. It appears also by its contents, to have been
+intended to assist the purposes of the monks of that dark age.”
+
+“A Boke of Sprites!” exclaimed Simpson, with a shout of exultation: “a
+boke of sprites, with the signs they may be known by, and divers rules
+to keep you from harm: the like was never known before!”
+
+“Excellent! excellent!” said Willoughton; “and here is another
+black-letter volume. Well, friend, without looking further, what shall I
+give you for them?”
+
+“This is past endurance!” said Mr. Simpson; “my patience is out!”
+
+“O Sir! I will give you these into the bargain,” said the old man,
+smiling; an offer which Willoughton would not accept, who paid the old
+man what he thought they were worth. Mr. Simpson, then taking his friend
+by the arm, desired his host to direct them to the chaise.
+
+“I must see the ruin by moonlight,” said Willoughton; “but I will not
+detain you many minutes.”
+
+“No, no; you will see the towers of Warwick by moonlight; which will be
+much finer.”
+
+“My good friend here,” said Willoughton, “will order the chaise round to
+the gate where it set us down; and, by the time it arrives, I shall have
+seen what I wish to see.”
+
+“Be it so,” said Mr. Simpson, with an air of resignation; “one is sure
+of you when a journey is to be begun; but never when one would end, or
+hasten it. I have not forgotten our midnight rambles about Stonehenge!
+Doubtless we were the first human beings, who had appeared there, at
+such an hour, for many centuries; and what astonished me afterwards,
+more than any thing I saw, was, that I myself should have been conjured
+there at such an unseasonable hour; I, whose brain never hatched any of
+those ‘high and unimaginable fantasies,’ as your poet Gray calls them,
+‘which distract the heads of some of his readers.’”
+
+“Ay! those shadows of the moon at full,” said Willoughton laughing, as
+they walked towards the ruin, his friend remonstrating with him on the
+imprudence of this passion for antiquities and on his credulity. “And
+can you really hold,” said he, “that these books were found in the
+manner related; and that any of them, especially the ‘Boke of Sprites,’
+ever belonged to the library of the priory?”
+
+“It does not seem probable,” replied Willoughton, “that the old man
+should have invented the story he has related of the discovery of them;
+but, be that as it may, the books themselves announce their own genuine
+antiquity. The manuscript is laboriously illuminated, and it is well
+known, that such works were chiefly performed by the inhabitants of
+monasteries. The Boke of Sprites even was likely to have served the
+purposes of the monks. We know that the libraries of monasteries
+contained a most heterogeneous assemblage: Ovid, the Romance of
+Charlemagne, Guy of Warwick, and the Rimes of Robin Hood, have been
+found on the shelf with Homilies, and other books; which, although they
+might be tinged with the corruptions of the Papal school, ought not to
+have had such companions. You may recollect, that Warton, in the
+interesting sketches of ancient manners which he gives in his History of
+English Poetry, mentions this very fully; and that, among others, the
+library of Peterborough contained ‘Amys and Amdion,’ ‘Sir Tristram
+Merlin’s Prophecies,’ and the ‘Destruction of Troy:’ and books of this
+sort were not only copied, but often invented by the monks, sometimes
+for their amusement, sometimes for worse purposes.”
+
+“One of the old books you have relates to their castle, I think,” said
+Mr. Simpson, looking up at the shadowy masses; which, shown thus faintly
+by the rising moon, seemed more majestic than before.
+
+“Yes, and I perceive,” continued Willoughton, “that even you feel a
+curiosity to know what may have passed so many ages back, on the spot we
+now stand upon.”
+
+“Why,” acknowledged Simpson, “when one looks up at the very walls now
+crumbling into ruin, that were once so magnificent, and that inclosed
+beings with passions as warm as our own—beings, who have so long since
+vanished from the earth, one cannot help wishing to know a little of
+their history and of the scenes they witnessed; but, for your legend, I
+fear to trust it.”
+
+“It speaks of the times of Henry the Third,” said Willoughton, “those
+were lawless enough to permit many adventures; and, if the citizens of
+London were then robbed in the streets even at noon-day, what could
+travellers in the forest of Arden expect? But this Manuscript seems to
+tell of princely feasts given in the castle, and of adventures passing
+in the presence of the Court.”
+
+“Ay, if one could but believe them.”
+
+“A great part of the castle,” pursued Willoughton, “which then existed,
+is now gone; and much that we look at, stands in its place; but that
+noble hall, and Cæsar’s tower and several other towers, such as those
+where the moonlight falls, beheld the very court of Henry the Third, ay,
+and Montfort, on whom he had bestowed Kenilworth, and who added
+ingratitude to treason, by holding the fortress against his benefactor
+and liege lord.”
+
+They stood for some minutes in silence, looking up at the ruin and
+listening, as the breeze rushed by, to the shivering of the ivy, that
+overhung it,—all the shining leaves trembling in the moonlight. The
+pauses of solemn stillness, that followed these sighings of the air
+among the old branches, were very solemn, and the sound itself—so still,
+uncertain, and sudden, Willoughton could have fancied to have been the
+warning murmurs of one, who, in his mortal state, had lived within these
+walls, and now haunted the scene where it had once revelled, or,
+perhaps, suffered. It seemed like a voice imperfectly uttering forth
+some dark prophecy, and telling of the illusion of life and the
+certainty of death. To Willoughton’s recollection this spectacle of the
+remains of ages past, now glimmering under the soft shadows of
+moonlight, brought those touching lines of Beattie—
+
+          “Hail, awful scenes, that calm the troubled breast,
+              And woo the weary to profound repose,
+            Can passion’s wildest uproar lull to rest,
+              And whisper comfort to the man of woes.”
+
+Willoughton stood so wrapt, that he heard not his friend’s inquiry,
+whether he meant to pass a night at Kenilworth, as a sequel to a former
+one at Stonehenge; nor was he immediately aware of the nearer approach
+of his aged conductor, who said, in a tone somewhat tremulous, “You are
+now on the very spot, Sir, where Mortimer’s tower stood; it was the main
+entrance to the castle, when there was a lake, and it opened from the
+tilt-yard, that ran along the end of the water into the lower court: you
+see, Sir, it was quite on the opposite side of the castle from Lord
+Leicester’s great gate.”
+
+Willoughton surveyed the place, but not a vestige of the building
+remained. “Here then,” said he, “the unhappy Edward the Second was, for
+a while, imprisoned, before he was removed to Corfe and Berkeley
+Castles, his last abodes.”
+
+“If you please, Sir,” said the man, “the chaise is at the gate; and, if
+you will take my advice, you will not stay here long, for I cannot say I
+like it myself; I shall begin to think I see that strange figure again,
+and I had rather not.”
+
+“Well, let us go,” said Mr. Simpson, “or I shall begin to fancy
+something of the same sort, too. What did you say, it had a mask on its
+face?”
+
+“Yes, Sir, and a drawn sword in its hand; but I don’t like the place,
+Sir, let us go.”
+
+“Ay, ay,” said Mr. Simpson, “let us go; we—we—we shall not get to
+Warwick to-night.”
+
+A laugh from his friend, which he too well understood, both vexed and
+ashamed him. “I did not think it possible,” said he, “that I could have
+yielded to the contagion of this folly thus; remember, however, it is
+not Elizabeth in her ruff and farthingale, that I fear, nor any thing
+else distinctly.”
+
+Willoughton laughed again triumphantly. “Better and better; your
+feelings are true to my arguments, in spite of your own. I desire no
+farther proof of the effects of time and circumstances—of solitude and
+obscurity on the imagination.”
+
+As they passed by Cæsar’s tower, and inquired where the line of the
+castle-ditch had been traced, he observed, that probably the chief
+entrance had at first been over a draw-bridge to that tower, though now
+no sign of it could be distinguished.
+
+When the travellers were once more seated in the chaise, Mr. Simpson
+betook himself to sleep; while, on their journey of four miles through
+the checkered moonlight of woody lanes to Warwick, Willoughton did not
+lament the silence of his friend, which left him to the quiet musings of
+his own mind, and to the peace of nature, reposing under this soft and
+beautiful shade. The air was so still that scarcely a leaf trembled of
+the lofty boughs that overshadowed the road; and when the postilion
+stopped to make some alteration of the harness, the breathing of the
+horses alone was heard through all this scene of night.
+
+There is a peace of the spirits, which has surely somewhat holy in it.
+Such is the calmness which the view of a midsummer-dawn communicates, or
+that of moonlight on woods and green plains; and such Willoughton
+experienced during this short ride, till he drew near Warwick, when the
+beautiful towers of Saint Mary’s appeared on the right, and the more
+lofty and distant ones of the castle on the left of the perspective; and
+these awakened the stronger interest of expectation.
+
+Having reached the inn, and Mr. Simpson, late as it was, having ordered
+a good supper, they walked out to take a view of the castle. Finding
+that, at this hour, they could not gain admittance by the porter’s gate,
+they went to the bridge over the Avon, on the outside of the town, and
+thence had a fine retrospect of the castle, with all its towers crowning
+the high, woody bank of that peaceful and classic stream. One vast,
+round tower of most warlike air, looking down upon the precipice,
+delighted Willoughton more than any other. A part of the edifice,
+repaired and adorned in the time of James the First, containing the
+state rooms, which run in a long line upon the steep, was not in harmony
+with this tower, and gave very different ideas of the character and
+manners of the respective ages to which they belonged. The moonlight
+touched this tower with a fine solemnity, and fell on the tops of the
+dark cedars and other trees, that clothe the precipice, as it glanced to
+Shakspeare’s stream below, where it rested in all its silver radiance,
+as if pleased to claim it for its home.
+
+Willoughton leaned over the bridge, and looked upon the scene in
+silence. The brightness of the river, the dark, clear shade of the
+woods, reflected on its margin and rising with majesty up the steep,
+with the grey towers, in softened light, crowning all, formed a harmony
+of tints and of objects such as he had not often seen, and which
+recalled to him that state of holy peace he had so lately experienced.
+
+Amidst the stillness of this scene, there arose a strain, as if
+commanded by Shakspeare’s wand, and to which his words might have been
+applied. “O! it came o’er mine ear, like the sweet south, that breathes
+upon a bank of violets.” It was the music of French horns, sweetened by
+distance and by the water, over which it passed, accompanied by a few
+voices addressing the river and celebrating the bard in the well-known
+song of Garrick and Arne,—“Thou soft-flowing Avon!”
+
+Nothing could exceed the beauty of some of the cadences, prolonged by
+the deep, mellow tones of the horns, or of the chorus, and of the close,
+that gave these words:—
+
+          “The fairies by moonlight dance round the green bed,
+          For, hallow’d the turf is, that pillows his head.”
+
+They brought tears into the eyes of Willoughton, and drew from him a
+deep sigh long after silence had returned.
+
+Mr. Simpson looked about to discover whence this charming tribute to the
+memory of the loved poet came, and perceived two little boats stealing
+along the margin of the stream, under shadow of the bank that rose to
+the castle. The white awning of the first betrayed it to his eye, before
+it emerged on the moonlight; and now the measured trampling of the oars
+told its departing course upon the waters, till once again that chorus
+died along the air, and then the steps of the oars were heard no more.
+
+The travellers remained for some moments, as if spell-bound, in
+thoughtful silence; and they left this enchanting scene, and returned to
+their inn, without having uttered a word. This was an unusual mood with
+Mr. Simpson; he had caught it from his companion, rather than from the
+scene; and now, on the entrance of supper, he rejoiced to get rid of it,
+and to return to the more substantial pleasures of this world.
+
+Willoughton, when he had retired to his chamber, and had, as was his
+custom, looked out upon the night, now overcast with gloomy clouds, sat
+down to examine his manuscripts, instead of seeking repose. Bound up
+with that of the “Trew Chronique,” was another, entitled “A Trew
+Historie of two Mynstrells, that came by night to the Priory of Saint
+Margaret, and what they disclosed, and what one in the convent by his
+art, proved them to bee.” This “Trew Historie” was more difficult to be
+deciphered than the “Trew Chronique,” and Willoughton left it for the
+present, and took the “Boke of Sprites.”
+
+As he turned over the leaves, curious to see the thraldom of
+superstition to which the people of a remote age were liable, he often
+smiled at the artless absurdities he discovered, the clumsy inventions
+practised upon the fears of the ignorant by the venality of the monks.
+Yet he sometimes found his attention seized, in spite of himself, by the
+marvellous narratives before him; till, at length, he began to feel that
+he was alone, to recollect that it was past midnight, to observe that
+all around him was still as death; and gradually to think he might as
+well lay aside the “Boke of Sprites” till day-light should return and
+the world again sound busily around him.
+
+He did so, and again took the “Trew Chronique,” desirous of ending his
+long day, with some new traits of an age so distant from his own and of
+the style, in which they might be shadowed forth. The mere spelling did
+not render this so difficult, as the character in which it was written,
+with its abundance of abbreviations and contractions.
+
+The following is a modernized copy, which he afterwards wrote out for
+the amusement of a friend, who was fond of the subjects it touched upon,
+but had not industry enough to work his way through the obstructions of
+the original. In this copy, while Willoughton endeavoured to preserve
+somewhat of the air of the old style, without its dryness, he was often
+compelled to regret, that much of the effect of the story was lost, with
+the simplicity, brevity and quaintness of the ancient manner. However,
+he often retained the old words, where they did not seem to form too
+glaring a contrast with the modern style, and, now and then, somewhat of
+the quaintness of the original, the title of which ran thus:—
+
+                               =A Boke,=
+
+             =Contenynge a trew chronique of what passed at
+               Killingworth, in Ardenn, when Our Soveren
+                 Lord, the Kynge, kept ther his fest of
+                    Senzt Michel; with ye marveylous
+           accident, that ther befel, at the solempnissazion
+                            of the marriage
+                       of Gaston de Blondeville.
+                      With divers things, curious
+                              to be known,
+                         thereunto purtayning.
+                                With an
+                             account of the
+                             grete Turney,
+                               ther held
+                                 in the
+                                  yere
+                                MCCLVI.=
+
+                   =Changed out of the Norman tongue
+                    By Grymbald, Monk of Senzt Marie
+                        Priori in Killingworth.=
+
+
+
+
+                             THE FIRST DAY.
+
+
+At the head of this chapter was a drawing, of the King and Queen, with
+their train, passing under the towers of Kenilworth. Near the King rode
+a young knight of a very spirited air; in one hand he held his cap,
+bending towards the King, who seemed to be speaking to him, and with the
+other he reined in his fiery courser. At some distance, was a man
+pressing through the crowd, with eager gesticulation and a wild
+countenance, towards the King. The royal banner, on the tower above, was
+tinged by the setting sun, and the arms and caps of the soldiers on the
+battlement there glistened with the rays. The cap of one of these, who,
+as if to obtain a longer view of the King, appeared to have stretched
+too far forward, was falling on the multitude below; some of whom were
+laughing.
+
+
+                               FIRST DAY.
+
+It was at the feast of Saint Michel, that King Henry, the third of his
+name, with his Queen and sundrie of the nobles of the realm and a
+marvellous train of estates and gentils, came to keep court in Ardenn,
+at his castle of Kenilworth. The day was drawing to an end ere they
+arrived: and it was a goodly sight to see this noble company coming over
+the forest, till then so lonesome; and the last light of this day’s sun
+glittering upon the helmets and lances of the King’s guard; likewise on
+the gorgeous apparelling of their horses and trumpets, with their
+banners unrolled, that went before his grace; also on the litters of the
+Queen, covered with cloth of gold and with tapestry of rich colours,
+brought from her own land beyond the sea.
+
+This noble train, with all the spear-men attendant on the King, was like
+unto a little army covering the paths and tracks, for many miles, as
+they wound amongst the woods of Ardenn; or like unto some mighty river,
+that flowing along, appears, where the shades open, in shining bends
+upon the plain, and is lost again as they enter beneath the gloom; but
+yet may you judge of their course throughout all the prospect. Like as
+you may the broken lines of the great aqueduct, stretching over the
+plains of our dear father of Rome; which, as we perceive its distant
+points athwart those solitudes, we connect in our minds into one great
+whole, grander in its sweep than it might have shown when it stood
+complete.
+
+There went before the King a hundred archers in pairs, sumptuously
+apparelled, and having the feathers of their arrows stained with green;
+the horns sounded before them through the woods: then fifty
+demi-lancemen, two abreast; then fifty pike-men; then trumpets, with
+their banners also displayed; then officers at arms, in their sur-coats,
+the serjeants with their maces. In the midst was borne up the royal
+banner, by six of the standard-bearers: the pipes of it were of silver,
+and were slided along the banner-staff; which was held with horn in a
+girdle of white leather, embroidered, worn by the King’s chief
+standard-bearer.
+
+The King’s Highness came riding on a noble grey, widely encompassed
+about with pike-men, and attended by divers nobles of the realm and by
+knights and gentils, without number. His Highness wore that day a cloak
+of purple velvet, lined with yellow satin, and furred with martin and
+ermine; on his head was a cap of black velvet, bearing a sable plume.
+His countenance was goodly and gracious, and he often turned and spoke
+to those about him.
+
+On his right hand, rode the young Prince Edward, holding in his fiery
+charger, yet looking as though he would fain spur him to the top of his
+speed. Next to him rode the Archbishop of York. On the King’s left, was
+his brother, the Earl of Cornwall. The Bishop of Coventry would have
+been there, but he was then lying sick on his bed; but the Prior and
+divers of the monks attended on the King.
+
+First amongst the knights, that waited on his grace, was Gaston de
+Blondeville, a young Provençal; whom King Henry had raised, for some
+daring exploits in his dominions beyond the sea, to be a knight of his
+household. He was of comely person and gallant air; and managed his
+proud charger with such easy grace, as a lady might, with silken
+bandage, guide a fawn. He wore a cloak of pale olive, lined and guarded
+with rose colour; his cap was of velvet like to it, and he wore his
+feathers in the French fashion: for he was of the Queen’s country, and
+had all the gaiety of her nation in his countenance and ’haviour.
+
+Yet were there some in the court, men of English ground, who liked him
+not; it may be, because he was a stranger in our land, or that he bore a
+proud defiance in his eye, or that they envied him his favour with the
+King.
+
+Some way before the Queen, went fifty of the foresters of Ardenn clothed
+in green, sounding their horns. She was in her litter, tapestried with
+cloth of gold, and she was compassed all about with her ladies and her
+nobles and esquires. Her litter was borne by two brave coursers, right
+richly trapped with velvet, and led by pages apparelled in sumptuous
+liveries; other pages, in ‘broidered doublets, went beside her, or
+following. Then came her master of the horses, leading her palfrey, very
+richly appointed, the bridle and breast-chain studded with jewels,
+followed by another of her palfreys, led by a page. Her Highness was
+adorned in a close gown of velvet, ’broidered about with pearls, and
+bearing upon her head a great hood of black velvet, richly sewed with
+large pearls. Following her Highness, came her ladies and gentlewomen
+mounted on fair palfreys, richly appointed and apparelled; a goodly
+company.
+
+Then came her Highness’s chariot empty, drawn by six horses, led by
+pages in jackets of scarlet damask, with the English crown ’broidered on
+their backs. They bore in their caps a white feather; dropping aside, in
+the manner of France, whereat the people murmured, and well they might;
+for such a sight of strangers, from her own land, the like was never
+seen! But the Queen bore herself so graciously towards the people,
+smiling upon them with her comely countenance, that she won away their
+discontent. Other gentlewomen of her court followed her car, mounted on
+palfreys.
+
+Next came Eleanor, the widowed Countess of Pembroke, the King’s sister,
+now Countess of Leicester, in her litter, with a sumptuous train: and
+then Cincia, the Countess of Cornwall, the sister of the Queen, right
+freshly apparelled, and sumptuously attended by noble dames and gentils;
+and a sight of people followed, in the different liveries of their
+masters.
+
+Before the Queen, went her _mynstrells of music_; who, when they came
+nigh to Kenilworth, began to blow upon their pipes, and to strum their
+stringed instruments with most sweet noise—so that the bells of a
+village there, which were rung for mirth, could not be heard so far.
+
+Amongst the damsels attending the Queen, none were so fair as the lady
+Isabel, daughter of the Earl of Arundel, and the lady Barbara, daughter
+of the Earl of Huntingdon; who followed her Highness, on white palfreys.
+Ychon of them was beautiful beyond thought: the lady Isabel was the more
+stately and carried a higher brow; but Lady Barbara’s smiles were
+blyther than the morn.
+
+Soon as the towers of Kenilworth showed themselves upon the West, which,
+if it had not been for the glowing spears of those on the battlements,
+would hardly have been known from the dark woodtops,—soon as they
+appeared, some halfscore of the foresters rode forward with their
+bugles, to give sign of the King’s approach; but were straight sounded
+back by the trumpets, which blew up a blast, that filled the forest, and
+echoed to the very castle walls, ere the proud trumpeters would stop.
+
+Then his Highness courteously commanded, that those who had come forth
+so many miles, to welcome him on his way, should be appointed to
+proclaim him at the gates. They waited not for second bidding; but,
+tuning up so clear and sweet, set spurs to their hobbies, and flew
+swiftly as the arrows from their own bows.
+
+All the way hence to Kenilworth was lined with other troops of foresters
+in green; who, at certain distances, saluted the King, as he passed,
+with their bugles, in spite of the trumpets, that charged so loud and
+shrill their minet-flourishes: and they followed in the Queen’s train.
+The King’s pike-men and lance-men going after of all.
+
+At the first sound of the bugles before the gate, you might see the
+great banner of England raised upon the keep of Kenilworth. Then, the
+chief wardour of the castle appeared upon the turret; though he stayed
+not long there, but went down to join his lord, in their service at the
+gate. The archers behind the battlements stood in order; other bow-men
+and the lance-men ranged themselves behind the tower-walls, and the
+trumpets there answered the summons, with a blast, that shook the
+forest, and made the fair waters of the valley tremble; roughening the
+portraiture of towers and woods, which had seemed to sleep upon their
+surface, as in a glass of chrystal.
+
+Then the Lord Constable, coming down from the keep, followed by a posse
+of his officers, took to horse and went out to meet the King. As he
+turned out of the gate, he met the Prior of Saint Mary’s, with the
+twelve canons, and a long train processioning, all in full ceremony,
+bearing precious reliques, to welcome his Highness; after them came the
+priest and sundry of the parish-church, singing.
+
+The press of people, from all the country about, was so thick, that
+hardly could the monks make way among them. The castellan, a man proud
+and jealous of his high place, was not well pleased, that they should
+try to present themselves to the King, before himself; but they were
+soon right glad to follow in his train, for strait as he appeared, the
+crowd was forced back, and they passed, without difficulty, in that
+wise, full three furlongs.
+
+The castellan, coming in presence of his Highness, leaped from his
+horse, and, on his knee, presented him the keys of the castle, on a rich
+plate; the which his Highness readily delivered to him again, with a
+gracious speech, bearing, that they were well in his custody. Then, the
+Prior and canons of Saint Mary’s showed themselves in procession, with
+banners, and chaunting sweet anthems, and his Highness looked kindly on
+them; after which they went on to the Queen, and, paying duty, attended
+her to the castle. But my Lord Constable, remounting his horse, rode
+bareheaded before his Highness, to the very gates.
+
+Immediately before the King, was borne his sword of justice, by the Lord
+Hubert de Lacey; where, on the sheath, you might behold, in letters of
+rubies, these words, “Truth and Right.” As he passed all the people
+cried out, “King Henry, King Henry, long live King Henry! and blessings
+on your sweet-favoured visage!”
+
+Then, they threw forth on the air, for joy, among other tokens, corn and
+flour; so that many of the nobles of the realm, nay, some of the King’s
+guard, liked it not, for the flour-dust, falling on their garments,
+disguised them like unto grinders of corn: but they held their peace, as
+needs must, passing on in solemn stateliness.
+
+Before the castle gates, a great show of the King’s bow-men were drawn
+out to receive him, and the courts within were lined, and every tower
+and battlement was thronged with his soldiers. There, too, were the
+foresters ready at the gates, who, on the King’s approach tuned up their
+merry bugles, with might and main; as though one breath sounded through
+the whole of them. But, when the heralds passed under the towers, their
+trumpets took their revenge, for they gave many blasts, that made every
+court within shake for joy; and showed more like a triumph of war than a
+flourish of festival. They on the ramparts now seemed to take the hint,
+and joined them with such warrior-sounds of fierce disdain, that the
+clear bugle seemed but as a shepherd-pipe beneath them, and, for a
+season, was not heard at all.
+
+Certes, the noise of the trumpets and cornets, the clanging of bells,
+the trampling of horses over the bridge, the striking of swords upon
+shields, with, ever and anon, the shouts of the multitude, astounded
+cattle and fowl in the woods, far and wide. Old wives and they that
+might not leave their homes for sickness could hear the mingled uproar;
+and could know as surely, when the King reached Kenilworth, as those,
+who had journeyed thither to behold him. And many an outlaw in the
+forest, who feared to show his face among the crowd, lay hearkening in
+his den, or stalked under the old oaks, while he watched the minutes of
+the coming twilight, and reckoned on the booty he should seize from
+careless travellers, returning, at night, to distant towns.
+
+Some too there were, who, in the pathless holds of this forest, heard
+the far-off voice of joyance and society, with bitter grief; finding
+out, too late, they were not made for that lonesomeness of heart their
+thoughtless vices had condemned them to. Alas! for such, let them shrive
+and betake themselves, as penitents, to holy cloister.
+
+When the Queen’s litter came near the gates of the castle, her minstrels
+of music sang with most sweet glee, and the bugles saluted her as she
+passed into the barbican, or first tower of defence; but, soon as she
+appeared on the draw-bridge, the trumpets from the ramparts blew up a
+flourish, and then the minstrels stopped, though they had not finished
+their fit. And they did well; for hardly could there be heard the
+trampling of the horses’ hoofs upon the bridge, nor the distant music in
+the courts before the King. The walls and turrets, thronged with faces,
+seemed to be alive, and to shout, as with one voice, “Queen Eleanor!
+Queen Eleanor! long live Queen Eleanor!”—but some few were heard to
+shout, “Away with the foreigners!—away with all foreigners!” which the
+good Queen seemed not to hear, though she guessed in her heart what they
+said; and many a noble knight and lady near her knew well. She, with
+unchanged countenance, showed only sweet smiles to those numberless
+eyes, darting from the walls and battlements, all turned upon her
+litter, as it passed over the bridge, glittering in the last beams of
+this day’s sun, and then entered beneath that deep and dark archway of
+the great tower, leading into the base court.
+
+Beyond, in the sunshine, could be seen the King’s Highness, preceded by
+the Lord Constable, and having the Archbishop on his right and Prince
+Edward on his left, passing forward to the upper court; where, on the
+steps, stood the marshals of the hall, the stewards, the esquires of the
+household, with many officers of the castle, waiting to receive him,
+some with chains of gold on their necks: the royal banner waving over
+all. They stood so thick, looking over one another’s shoulders, face
+above face, on the steps there, that they seemed like a rampart of
+heads; while, below them, in the same court, the lance-men and yeomen of
+the household stood waiting to receive the Queen.
+
+And truly it was a pleasureful sight, to behold that vision of light
+appearing beyond the deep portal, under which stood, on either hand, the
+wardours in their niches, to the number of eight; so dim, they showed
+like shadows more than substance, albeit, they did not lack of that. And
+a more delightful sight it was to behold the Queen and all her train,
+winding through that dark arch into the beams beyond; the rich trappings
+of steeds and men, their breast-plates and spears and steel caps, all
+glancing in the setting sun. There, too, you might see, through the
+higher bars of the portcullis, the windows of the great chamber hung out
+with tapestry of silk and cloth of gold.
+
+But that, which caused some surprise to those who watched without, was a
+sudden turmoil, that appeared around the King in the court, just as the
+Queen’s litter was advancing forth of the archway. A man was seen
+forcing himself among the guards, towards his Highness, who turned his
+face backwards in the sun, as if to see what was going on; and seemed to
+rein in his steed, while he held forth his right arm to Sir Gaston de
+Blondeville, who, with cap in hand, leaned forward on his courser, as if
+receiving some command. The while, the heads and spears of soldiers
+gathered round, moving in tumultuous hurry, rising and falling
+incessantly, like unto those stormy white tops coming on over a darkened
+sea.
+
+On a sudden, the King disappeared: some thought he had fallen from his
+steed, struck by the hand of the stranger; and then, such was the throng
+of people beyond the portal to get forward for more certainty, that
+hardly could the Queen’s guard keep them back, till his Highness was
+seen ascending the steps of the high court.
+
+At last, out of the midst of the confusion a shield was seen raised upon
+the traversed spears of six soldiers, and borne towards the outer gate,
+having upon it a man stretched, as if dead. But at the great portal the
+soldiers stopped, and drew aside to make way for the Queen; his
+Highness, meanwhile, with his nobles and young knight, had withdrawn
+into the state apartments.
+
+When her Highness was gone by, they brought the man upon the shield into
+the free air without the walls, and lowered their burden on the grass;
+but the tumult of the people was so great, (they suspecting that he had
+attempted the Kings life) that the soldiers with their spears had much
+ado to save him from their fury, or to keep a little space open around
+him.
+
+He was a man of goodly appearance, that lay there, seeming without life.
+Anon, he began to stir himself, and in a little while opened his eyes;
+the which, when the people saw it, redoubled their fury; and they
+demanded, that he should be had to prison, for “he has assailed the life
+of our good King!” With that they made such a roaring, that the shouts
+of the soldiers, who wanted to set them right, could not be heard, the
+women brawling louder than all of them together.
+
+Thus it went for some time: and then, the noise being hushed, they found
+out the man was innocent of what they had suspected.
+
+When the stranger had recovered himself a little, he stared wildly; and,
+raising himself up, he looked round him, as if examining the countenance
+of every one, whom curiosity or anger had made to bend over him. And so
+he looked again and again, till they asked him, if he thought he saw the
+countenance of any one there, whom he knew. Then he fetched a deep sigh,
+and said, “I as surely saw him as I now breathe, but he is not here.”
+
+Divers present then asked him, of whom he spoke, but he only muttered to
+himself, “I could not be deceived; it is impossible for me ever to
+forget him.” Then he shook from limb to limb, and was nigh going off
+into a swoon again. The people, meanwhile, pressed upon the soldiers to
+know what all this meant; and curiosity and pity began to take the place
+of rage.
+
+The tale went, that, as King Henry had approached the entrance of the
+second court, this man, who had passed the portal amongst the King’s
+horses, at the risk of his life, came beside him, and, having fixed his
+eyes with the greatest attention upon a knight of the King’s household,
+cried out, “Justice! most noble Henry.” Then, as if unable to utter
+something he would have spoken, he fell down in strong convulsions, and
+was nigh being trampled to death. His Highness, seeing the condition of
+the man, had commanded he should be taken forth of the court, and aid
+administered to him; and this was all the soldiers could tell.
+
+There were some amongst the crowd who thought they had seen him before,
+and questioned him of his name, and wherefore he had presumed to
+approach the King in such manner; to all which he would nothing answer;
+but seemed heavy at heart, and as if his very sadness would not let him
+speak; only these words he uttered, once or more,—“It was he himself! I
+should have known him at Cairo!”
+
+Some still said they had seen the poor man before; naithless he proved
+to be a stranger in Kenilworth. When he could walk, he was led back to
+the little hostel, where he had taken up his lodging, and there he
+remained closely hid from the eyes of every one, all that night.
+
+
+                            THE SECOND DAY.
+
+At the head of this chapter was a view of the tilt-yard, at the end of
+the great lake, with the towers of Kenilworth above.—In the lists were
+two armed knights, on foot, each poising his spear at the other. They
+were cased in complete steel; their visors closed, each bearing on his
+helmet his plume and crest. There was somewhat very impressive in the
+station and in the whole appearance of these armoured figures. Each
+stood with his right foot advanced; the right arm, holding the spear,
+was raised high, displaying at once the strength and grace of an
+accomplished warrior. At the end and along one side of the tilt-yard,
+were galleries hung with tapestry, where sat the Queen and her ladies,
+and the King and his nobles, waiting to behold the encounter. The
+opposite sides were open to the lake, the woods, and the castle.
+
+
+                            THE SECOND DAY.
+
+In the morn, next after the King came to Kenilworth, there was tilting
+in the great yard of the castle, at which his Highness, with the Queen
+and her court, were present. This was the day of Turney; but, although
+this noble company made a goodly show, they were not apparelled with
+that splendour they showed on the chief day, as will be hereafter
+rehearsed.
+
+Among the ladies of the court, none surpassed for beauty the lady
+Barbara, daughter of the Earl of Huntingdon and a favourite damsel of
+the Queen; her the King intended to bestow in marriage, during his
+sojourn in Ardenn. She was innocent and graceful, as the fawns that
+bound in our forest, and excelled in all the accomplishments of the
+court. She had fixed her heart on Sir Gaston de Blondeville, a young
+knight of the King’s household, who had entreated her of her father in
+vain; for, though he was of a good family, it was a foreign one, being
+of the Queen’s country, and he had little besides the favour of his
+master to depend on. The youth was of a comely person and gallant
+bearing; well practised in all martial exercises of war, of which he had
+given some proof in exploits, and had latterly so much displayed himself
+in a fierce adventure against some of King Henry’s rebellious subjects,
+beyond sea, that his Highness had incontinently advanced him to be one
+of his own knights. Moreover, the King, on hearing of his ill-faring
+suit, had taken that matter into his special cognizance; and the King
+knew so well how to command the earl, that he consented to give his
+daughter to the knight, and his Highness determined the marriage should
+be solemnized forthwith.
+
+But, on this very first day, after his arrival, his spirit was ruffled
+by a strange accident. As his Highness was returning from the Tilt-yard,
+accompanied by the Queen, and attended by the whole court, his harpers
+playing before him, a stranger came forth of the crowd, and falling at
+his feet, called out boldly for justice. Many there present knew him for
+the man who, the night before, had showed such striking signs of a
+disturbed mind; and now, noting his unseemly vehemence, they stopped and
+asked for what offence he demanded justice. The King, too, remembered
+him; and listening what he should say, the man, observing that,
+addressed his looks and his voice eagerly to him, and exclaimed, that he
+demanded justice upon robbers and murderers who infested the highways of
+his kingdom with more violence and frequency than was ever known before,
+so that none of his peaceable subjects were safe from them.
+
+The King, seeing the wildness of his look and the strangeness of his
+gesture, guessed the man was not rightly himself; yet he commanded him
+forthwith into the castle, there to wait, till he should speak with him,
+or order some others to do so; and the procession passed on.
+
+Meanwhile, the King determined not to leave this matter, till he should
+have seen something more about it, with his own discernment. He went
+speedily into the white hall, which was the court of justice, keeping
+only a few of his nobles and other attendants, where he summoned the
+stranger before him, and had question put to him, who he was and of what
+particular grievance he had to complain.
+
+The man answered, that his name was Hugh Woodreeve, a merchant of
+Bristol: and then he told his story—that, three years before, travelling
+with a very large sum of money in his possession, and, being in company
+with three other travellers, two of them merchants of good repute, and
+the other a kinsman of his own, they were attacked in the forest of
+Ardenn, when about two miles from Kenilworth, and robbed of nearly all
+they carried. They did not part with it quietly, it was so much. His
+kinsman, however, was the only one of the party that had good arms; he
+had served in the wars, and he now manfully resisted the ruffians, who
+directed most of their vengeance to him; he was murdered on the spot;
+for the rest of his company, they escaped with some hurts. No one of the
+robbers was killed, but two or three were wounded.
+
+Here the merchant stopped and seemed ready to sink. His Highness, having
+declared his indignation at this villany, assured the merchant, that
+justice should be done upon the guilty, if they could be found, and
+asked whether he could swear to them, if he should see them again. The
+stranger straight replied, that he could truly swear to the murderer,
+and that he had seen him in the very court, nay, that he saw him at that
+very instant, standing even beside the King’s chair.
+
+King Henry, struck with astonishment, fixed his eyes sternly on the
+stranger, for a moment, and then looked at those around him. On his
+right hand, was his son, Prince Edward, and, on his left, his young
+favourite, Gaston de Blondeville, upon whom all eyes were fastened; for
+to him the answer pertayned, and to him the accuser pointed, with a look
+of horror, which convinced every one present, except his Highness, he
+did indeed believe he saw before him the murderer of his friend, whether
+his fancy deceived him, or not. For the King himself, he inclined to
+think the accuser was either disordered in his mind, or that, from some
+unknown cause, he was the enemy of Sir Gaston; and his Highness knew
+well of the unreasonable and deadly abhorrence, in which many of his
+subjects of Britain held some of those strangers from France, who had
+risen into favour.
+
+At the boldness of this accusation, Sir Gaston stood, at first, like one
+stricken with dismay; then, moving his hand towards his sword, he said,
+“but for the presence of the King, my master, I should soon avenge me
+for so foul a slander.”
+
+To which the merchant, now much more tranquil than he had been, said,
+“The same reason must restrain all; but I do not need it: I would not
+set my life against that of an assassin! I ask for justice from his
+Highness.”
+
+At these words, Sir Gaston was hardly withheld from his accuser. King
+Henry commanded silence: and, as soon as all noise had ceased, he turned
+with a severe countenance to the stranger, and said, “Know you not, that
+he, whom you accuse is a knight of my household, advanced to honour for
+his valour?”
+
+“Yea, noble King Henry,” replied the merchant, “I have heard so; but, I
+repeat, he is the man who killed my kinsman! I never can forget that
+face: if I had met him in a distant land, I should have seized him for
+the murderer!”
+
+The King, more fully convinced of the unsoundness of his mind, said,
+“Your passion has deceived you; thus far I am willing to pardon you; if
+you go farther, you must be taught what it is to dishonour a gentleman
+and a knight.”
+
+Upon this, the merchant fell at the King’s feet; and, with uplifted
+hands, again cried out for justice! Henry, hardly less astonished at the
+resolution of the man, than that one of his household should be thus
+accused, (although he might have bethought him of the law he had himself
+found it expedient to make heretofore at Kenilworth, respecting
+robberies then committed in a very extraordinary manner on the
+highways)—King Henry, though astonished, began to doubt. He fixed a
+look, in which there was somewhat of inquiry, upon Sir Gaston, whose
+visage was pale, though his eye was fierce; but who may say, whether
+fear or anger maketh some men pale?
+
+The King held it to be the last; a momentary doubt had entered his mind;
+but he promptly dismissed it. His Highness was commanding, that the
+stranger should be removed; and, for the present, confined in the
+castle; when Prince Edward, who, young as he was, had closely observed
+all that had passed, craved humbly of the King, his father, to suffer
+the merchant to be further questioned; and the King consented thereto.
+
+Then the man was asked, whether he could tell the year and the month,
+when the robbery he spoke of had been committed. He was ready enough
+with his answers, and said it was on the eighteenth of October, in the
+year twelve hundred and fifty-three, and on the chase; that he was sure
+of the time, because it was within three days of that, when he should
+have paid to a goldsmith the most part of the money, whereof he was
+robbed. Upon this, the King seemed to consider awhile, for he knew,
+that, about that time, a camp lay in the neighbourhood of Warwick and on
+the edge of the forest, and that Sir Gaston was there, he being then
+serving as esquire to Sir Pierse Mallory.
+
+At the last words of the merchant, Sir Gaston moved towards the King, as
+though he would privily say something; but his Highness reproved him
+with a frown; and asked the merchant at what hour the robbery was
+committed, and what were the array and appearance of the robbers?
+
+The knight interrupting the reply, then said aloud, “Sire! I entreat
+you, be mindful of the condition of disgrace, in which I must stand, if
+you seem to give countenance to this scandalous accusation. I know not,
+that I shall be able to breathe, if it be thought, that your Highness
+could, for one minute, think it possible I could have committed so foul
+a deed.”
+
+King Henry, looking kindly upon him said, “It is right you should be
+cleared with those, who know you not so well as I do; and chiefly with
+those, who love not men of your country; and, therefore, would I examine
+this witless charge to the uttermost.” His Highness then made all his
+questions over again.
+
+The merchant considered awhile, and somewhat of his boldness seemed to
+forsake him: he then answered, “the number of the robbers was three;
+they were most of them tall in stature; they wore cloaks about them, and
+had masks on their faces.”
+
+“Masks?” said the King.
+
+“Masks!” murmured the courtiers, with one voice.
+
+The King, daunting the accuser with the anger of his countenance, said,
+“You could swear to this knight, as one of the robbers, and yet you say,
+he had a mask on his face! I suspect you now for an impostor more than
+for a moody man. If it prove so, tremble! for I swear by my sword you
+shall not escape. I give you one more warning, to stop before you
+totally plunge into your ruin.”
+
+At these words, delivered with vehemence, the paleness left Sir Gaston’s
+face, and he made a profound obeisance, showing his gratitude to the
+King. The accuser, dismayed, could not immediately find his voice, as it
+seemed. Haply, he could not so speedily send back his thoughts to the
+rest of his story. Incontinently, the most of the assemblage began to
+look ychon in other’s face.
+
+By-and-bye, the merchant said, that in the struggle between his
+companions and the robbers, two of the vizors fell off, and so he saw
+plainly the faces of the robbers, and he perfectly remembered the face
+of the knight. His Highness, without telling his thoughts on this, which
+many there present scrupled not to hold an after-invention of the
+accuser, commanded him to begin his tale anew, and to tell, one by one,
+every particular he could bring to mind of the alleged adventure; but
+before he began, Sir Gaston, surveying him, asked whether, about four
+years back, he was not at Embrun, in the Dauphiné.
+
+Denying, that he had been at that place, the accuser then renewed his
+story, which purported, that he and his companions were travelling,
+about the close of day, through the forest, or chase, of Kenilworth,
+when they were attacked by robbers. He was bidden to repeat the number
+of them and of his company, which he did, without varying his tale. The
+King asked how long after sunset it was when the assault began? which he
+could not readily tell; but said it was so nearly dark, that hardly
+could he see the figures of the robbers under the shade of the woods,
+from which they burst: the merchant paused a moment—
+
+“Go on,” said the King, impatiently:—
+
+“But I could, afterwards, see them plainly enough by a torch I took from
+my companions, who had lighted it, at a smith’s in a village by the
+way-side; an iron-smith’s.”
+
+The King asked him if he knew the name of this village, but he knew it
+not; and whether he should know the smith again? and he answered, he
+thought he should. Then he was ordered to proceed with his story:
+
+“My kinsman,” said he, “was the only one of us, who was well-armed; and
+a braver spirit never lived. He fought with his sword that man, who now
+stands beside your Highness; it was a trusty weapon, and had done him
+good service in Syria, where he had it for booty, after a skirmish, as I
+heard. When my kinsman first made up to that man, I followed him with
+the torch, and to aid him, as I might, with an oaken staff I had in my
+hand; but I received a blow upon the arm, that held the torch, which was
+knocked to the ground, and the vizor of the man fell also, that very
+man, who now presses behind your Highness’s chair. The torch was not
+extinguished, and, by its light, I plainly saw that same countenance,
+that now glares upon me so vengefully. I saw it while he aimed the blow,
+which penetrated the head of my unfortunate kinsman, Reginald de
+Folville.”
+
+The merchant paused, seemingly overcome by the remembrance of this
+event, while Sir Gaston exclaimed,—“Was it Reginald de Folville? He was
+esquire to a knight of Saint John, and was then at Lydda: so much for
+the truth of your story in that main point.”
+
+At the first words of Sir Gaston, the King and the courtiers had turned
+their faces upon him; but though his words were so strong and
+sufficient, they beheld in his countenance paleness and consternation.
+But he soon recovered; and, asking pardon of his Highness for the
+emotion with which he had spoken, accounted for it by saying, that
+Reginald de Folville had been his earliest friend.
+
+“Your father’s friend, you must surely mean,” said the merchant; “for he
+was at the wars at a time, that would have made that possible. You must
+have been a child, when he went there.”
+
+“I _was_ then a child,” said Sir Gaston, averting his eyes from the
+stranger; “and I must ever remember the kindness he showed me after the
+death of my father; I owe him much. He went from Provence to Syria; I
+heard he fell in battle there. Sure I am he never returned: he died in
+battle there.”
+
+“He died in the forest of Ardenn,” said the merchant with solemnity,
+“and lies buried in the priory of Saint Mary here. He died by your hand:
+that is his very sword by your side; I remember it now.”
+
+The audacity of this assertion struck all present and none more than the
+King himself. His Highness desired to examine the sword, and asked the
+merchant why he had not sooner challenged it; to which he answered
+nothing. Sir Gaston, as he delivered it on his knee to the King,
+said—“If I know my accuser, which I think I do, he is no stranger to
+this weapon: he knows well that I usually wear it; but it never belonged
+to Reginald de Folville. My liege, it was my father’s sword; he won it
+in the plains of Palestine.”
+
+The King examined it with attention. It was of eastern shape and finely
+wrought. In the hilt were a few jewels. Prince Edward, as he leaned over
+it, pointed out to his father a motto in an unknown tongue; and then, at
+some distance below it, a date, with the Roman letters, H. A.,
+remarking, that probably these letters alluded to some exploit achieved
+in the year noted. The King addressed himself to Sir Gaston for the
+meaning of the motto and of these letters; but he knew not their
+meaning, and said they were as when his father won the sword from his
+enemy.
+
+Then the King addressed the merchant with the same question, observing,
+that, as the sword seemed to be familiar to him, he probably had been
+told the signification of the letters on it. With that, the merchant was
+hastily advancing to receive it of one, to whom his Highness had
+delivered it; when he suddenly drew back, covered his eyes with his
+hand, and stood immovable. Those near almost expected to see him fall,
+as he had done before in the castle court on the night last past. Sir
+Gaston, at the same time, stepping forward, presumed to take it, and to
+deliver it again to the King, with these words:—“Your Highness will not
+tempt the villany of this man by putting him in possession of the sword
+he falsely claims.”
+
+But the merchant claimed it not; nor could he even endure to look upon
+it. Heavy sighs burst from him, while with eyes still covered with his
+hands, he said,—“That was the sword, with which the villain murdered
+him; and can I endure to take it in my hand, and to look upon the blade,
+on which his life blood flowed?” and he groaned more piteously than
+before.
+
+There were some in the hall, who instantly thought this sorrow of the
+merchant was a mimickry, and asked how it could happen, that his kinsman
+was killed by his own weapon; to which, soon as he could recollect his
+thoughts, he made answer, that the robber, on wrenching the sword from
+his friend, struck him his death-wound with it. The King, returning the
+sword to the young knight, bade him keep it forthcoming till he should
+demand it of him again, and then said to the stranger these or such-like
+words:—
+
+“You, a man unknown to me and to mine, and without a name, except as far
+as you have declared one, have dared to come into my court, and to
+accuse to me one of my own servants, a gentleman and a knight, of a
+crime most foul and incredible. You have related your story, and I have
+waited patiently for some evidence, that the murderer of your kinsman,
+if, in truth, he were ever destroyed by violence, was Sir Gaston de
+Blondeville. I find none, except your story. And in this you have not
+scrupled to affirm, that you would have seized him for the murderer,
+even in a distant land, though you also say, that your knowledge of his
+countenance was obtained only from the sudden (and, therefore, the
+uncertain) light of a torch lying on the ground, at a moment, when the
+danger you were yourself exposed to, might, it may be readily believed,
+have prevented you from closely observing any face whatsoever. You must
+be held unworthy of credit; and I commit you into safe custody, till it
+shall be discovered who you are, and who those are, who urged you to
+this base accusation.”
+
+When his Highness had ended, they were going to convey away the merchant
+from his presence, but he craved leave to speak, and it was granted.
+
+“My liege,” said he, “at any other than that moment of horror, I might
+have seen the face of this stranger, without remembering it the next;
+but the impression made, at that moment, will remain with me, as long as
+the strong feelings, which then struck me, shall return with the
+recollection of my kinsman’s fate. On seeing the same face, I was seized
+with the same horror; your Highness’s people can be witnesses, that
+yester-eve, when I saw that knight, I fell into convulsions, and was
+carried senseless from your presence.”
+
+His Highness, remembering what had happened, and, on inquiry, finding,
+that this was the very man, who had then fallen senseless, perceived,
+that the merchant had not spoken this untruly. He asked again whether he
+was known to any person in Kenilworth, also whether either of the
+merchants, travelling in his company, at the period of the alleged
+murder, was at hand. The accuser stood, for a while, bewildered, and
+then repeating, that he was a stranger, having only passed through the
+place, a few times, on his way to or from Coventry, said, that of his
+two companions one was dead, and the other following his merchandize, in
+a distant land.
+
+“Then,” said the King, “it appears you cannot bring any evidence of the
+truth of your story; even so far, as that a robbery was actually
+committed. Your accusation of this knight is, therefore, likely to be
+impelled either by malice, or by some other bad motive. If it shall
+prove so, dread the punishment that awaits you.”
+
+“My liege,” said Sir Gaston, “I think I know the man, and also his
+motive. He wronged my father at Embrun; and now his malice,—but this
+story is connected with family circumstances, that should only be
+divulged to your Highness; and, if you will suffer me to unfold them in
+private, I shall prove, not mine innocence only—for of that your
+Highness does not doubt—but that man’s former and present guilt.”
+
+At these words, the stranger fell again on his knees, and besought aloud
+justice on “a villain.”
+
+The King looked long upon him and upon Sir Gaston, and sat pondering
+awhile. He then turned to the merchant, and, bidding him rise, asked
+him, a second time, if he were not known to any one person in
+Kenilworth? and received for answer, “Only as a traveller.”
+
+“An adventure as remarkable as that you have related,” pursued his
+Highness, “must have been known here at the time it happened, and must
+be remembered now. It is strange, if there be none who can recollect you
+also.”
+
+“My lord,” observed Prince Edward, “he said his friend was buried here
+in the priory. If so, the prior must know him and his strange history.”
+
+“Said he so?” quoth the King; and, turning to the stranger, he inquired
+how it happened, that he was not known to the prior? and who it was that
+commanded the burial of his kinsman.
+
+The merchant said, he had himself ordered it, and had conversed with a
+monk and even with the Prior himself.
+
+“Then you are known to the Prior, at least,” said the King; “he will
+surely recollect your story: let him be sent for. It is strange you
+should have said you were unknown: you are either guilty of falsehood,
+or your senses are unsettled.”
+
+The stranger raised his hand to his head and sighed. “I recollect the
+Prior,” said he, “but he may not remember me.”
+
+“We shall see!” said the King, calmly, as he rose from his chair: “If
+you are innocent, fear not! if you are guilty, you will lose your life,
+in seeking that of an innocent man.”
+
+As his Highness left the hall, he looked somewhat sternly upon the
+accuser, and commanded, that he should be held in close custody, while
+more inquiry should be made. He then ordered Sir Gaston to attend him in
+his privy-chamber, and so departed forth of the hall, leaving the
+accuser speechless and dismayed.
+
+As the merchant was led through this court of the castle to the tower,
+where was his prison, the lady Barbara, sitting in her bower-window
+above, saw the passing crowd, and inquired the occasion of it; but none
+would inform her. While she gazed with curiosity, she observed Sir
+Gaston going to the King’s privy-chamber; he looked not at her window,
+but went his way with a hurried step, and with such a countenance as she
+had never witnessed in him, till this time. At length, word was brought
+to my lady, her mother, of what had passed before his Highness. The
+Earl, her father, was promptly filled with disgust; and thought the
+occurrence would be sufficient to prevent the marriage, which neither
+his English heart, nor his pride of ancient blood, had suffered him to
+approve. His daughter, the lady Barbara, was differently minded; she
+would not believe him she loved capable of even a dishonourable action,
+much less of so foul a one; and, assured of his innocence, she would
+have thrown herself at the King’s feet, had that seemed always, as it
+did at first, proper, to urge his Highness to clear Sir Gaston instantly
+from the suspicion.
+
+But truly the King needed no advocate for Sir Gaston de Blondeville; and
+so she thought, at last. His Highness’s own inclination was sufficient;
+and so angered was his generous spirit by what he held to be not only a
+false, but a malicious accusation, that he had determined after proof of
+this, to give a signal warning by the accuser’s doom; and this not only
+to prevent other false accusations proceeding from private motives, but
+to reprove and caution those of his subjects, who had a public prejudice
+against strangers, and were too likely to delight in the ruin of such
+especially as had risen to honours.
+
+The King, therefore, willingly gave audience privately to the young
+knight, that he might explain to him the circumstances, which should
+assure him of his innocence. What Sir Gaston told his Highness was never
+assuredly known; some reports went on one side of the matter, some on
+the other: there was not one witness of what passed. Who then might
+know, unless they could guess by the countenances, and by what passed,
+when the hearing was over? But, if they had gone by no other guide, they
+would have been all for the knight, since he had made the King quite
+convinced; and moreover, the Earl of Huntingdon was summoned to the
+closet, where the King promised him the honour of the young knight would
+always remain unsullied in his opinion; and so commanded, that the
+marriage with the lady Barbara should be solemnized, as had been before
+appointed, on the day next following.
+
+The Earl besought, nay, as some say, dared to remonstrate, that the
+marriage should be postponed till the stranger should have been lawfully
+convicted of falsehood; but his Highness said, “Nay; lest it should seem
+that the accusation was probable enough to require such delay. It is
+already well-known, as a matter agreed upon, that the nuptials are to be
+held on the morrow, the preparations are nearly all made, and they are
+public. It is necessary for the honour of Sir Gaston de Blondeville,
+that the appointment should be kept. If you are not convinced, still you
+will not be required to make disavowal of any thought you may have; for
+I myself will lead your daughter to the porch, and will so, by my
+presence and by this act of parental kindness, show my estimation both
+of the fair bride and of him who shall become your son. Farther proof of
+my regard shall not be wanting hereafter.”
+
+His Highness was peremptory, and the Earl, swayed by his master’s
+positive opinion, and, it may be, by that promise of regard hereafter,
+at last obeyed.
+
+While these things were passing in the King’s chamber, the unhappy
+merchant was taken to a turret of the castle, called Cæsar’s Tower; and
+there, with nothing but a pallet and the bare walls, was left to think
+of his jeopardy. What his thoughts were I know not; but he was heard
+sorely to sigh and groan, and with good reason; for, if he knew himself
+perjured, he knew also, that he should find no mercy from the King; and,
+if innocent, he could expect little justice against so great a
+favourite. But, whatever were his meditations, they held not till night,
+for he was called and led forth of the tower into the presence of the
+King; and, before even-song, the Prior of Saint Mary’s was in attendance
+upon his Highness. He was not an aged man, yet was he a stern one. When
+he was asked whether ever before he had seen the merchant, he answered
+resolutely, that he had no knowledge of him. The same question being put
+to the merchant, touching his knowledge of the Prior, he returned a like
+answer.
+
+At this seeming self-contradiction, the King could scarcely command his
+anger, till it was discovered, that a Prior of Saint Mary’s had died,
+since the time when the murder was alleged to have been committed, and
+that it must needs be he, whom the merchant meant.
+
+“But, where is the monk, with whom you consulted?” asked the King; “can
+you tell his name?”
+
+“His name was Ewdwyn,” replied the merchant.
+
+“He died yesternight!” said the Prior.
+
+At this there was a pause, and a dead silence throughout the chamber.
+Sir Gaston looked darkly on his accuser; his accuser directed his eyes
+to the King and then on high; but, in a short minute, he fell down, as
+though he were a dying man. The King, touched at his sufferings,
+commanded him from his chamber, that aid might be administered unto him.
+And then, that he might know whether this accusation of Sir Gaston were
+through malice, or mistake—for now pity inclined him to think the
+last—and also, that Sir Gaston might have mistaken, when he took this
+for the man, of whose deeds at Embrun he had talked; that he might know
+the truth on all this, he ordered the Prior to make inquiry in his
+community, whether the body of any person known to have been murdered in
+the forest of Ardenn, three years before, had been deposited in the
+chapel, or in the cemetery of the convent. Likewise, he commanded the
+Prior to have inquiry made in Kenilworth, whether any person remembered
+such an accident, or any house had received the dead body. And this he
+ordered, that it might always be seen he had desired to have justice
+done towards the wretched merchant, as well as for Sir Gaston de
+Blondeville.
+
+This being appointed, the King departed to his great chamber, there to
+keep his state; the Prior to his convent, to resume his spiritual
+musings; the accused lover to his mistress; and the merchant was
+conveyed to his prison tower.
+
+The King kept state, that night, with the Earl of Cornwall, the
+Archbishop of York, the Bishop of Winchester, the Bishop of Lincoln,
+Henry de Wernham, his chaplain, who also had the custody of the Great
+Seal, the Earl of Norfolk, the Earl of Hereford and a number of other
+nobles of the realm; but the Queen kept her state apart.
+
+The King’s great chamber was marvellous to behold. There were
+twenty-five wax-lights held by esquires of the household, all in the
+King’s livery, gentils as they were; also twenty-five wax torches were
+fixed high up over the tapestry. The walls were, that night, gorgeous
+with the story of Troy-town in ancient tapestries; there you might see
+the flames burning and the towers falling, and old King Priam, with
+beard as white as snow, his crown upon his head, and his Queen Hecuba
+tearing her dishevelled locks for grief. And there was that renowned
+son, who carried off his aged father, with his little child holding by
+his garment, and his wife following, all disconsolate. This was a
+piteous sight to see pourtrayed; but that it were nothing save a heathen
+story.
+
+The floor of that chamber was not strewed either with rushes or with
+litter of any sort, but was laid in little checquers of divers colours;
+and, where his Highness sat, under his cloth of state, was spread a
+silken carpet of full crimson, fringed about with gold, as likewise his
+chair and canopy of estate. But the finest sight was the cupboards,
+piled up with plates and cups of gold and silver, in readiness for the
+King, when he should take his VOIDE. These were in that great Oriel,
+which his Highness had newly made in this chamber, before the bay; and
+which was closed about with painted glass from the highest cup-board to
+the arched roof, where hung a silver lamp, that made the whole glow with
+its light.
+
+There were, that night, playing in the chamber, the King’s twelve
+minstrels, all clothed, for his honour and dignity, in sumptuous livery,
+with their virger to order their pipyngs and blowings. There were,
+besides, the children of the chapel singing, at times, from the brown
+gallery; so that, the doors being open, you might have heard them
+through all that side of the castle; and those, who sat afar off in the
+great hall, needed none other music.
+
+There also was Maister Henry, the versifier, whose ballad of the Giant
+of Cornwall was this night rehearsed to the harp by Richard, the King’s
+harper, as was his famous Chronicle of Charlemagne, which lasted, till
+his Highness was well nigh weary, when he jocularly called out, having
+tasted of his golden cup, that Henry should have a butt of wine with his
+wages, if he would shorten his ballads by one-half. Maister Henry, who
+was a Frenchman, took this in good part, and, having especial care ever
+after to make his ballads nigher to too short than too long, became, in
+time, a notable rhymer. But let those do so who can. Some are famous one
+way, some another; for mine own part, I must be circumstantial, or else
+nothing, as this “Trew Chronique” in due time must show.
+
+That night, the King played at “Checkere” with the Earl of Norfolk, on a
+board laid with jasper and chrystal, the check-men being of the same.
+Some said the king’s and queens were of ebony, studded over with jewels,
+but of this I know not.
+
+But, the finest sight of all was the going of the chamberlain to the
+cup-board, accompanied of three nobles of the highest estate in the
+realm, that were there present, (save the King’s family) to receive the
+King’s cup and spice-plates; and then the bringing up of the voide
+before his Highness. And, first, the usher, having assembled the King’s
+sewers, their towels about their necks, with the four esquires of the
+body and the knights and esquires of the household, to the number of
+seventeen; these, with divers other officers, being met at the
+cup-board, the Chamberlain took the King’s towel, and, having kissed it,
+as the custom is, delivered it to the Earl of Norfolk, he being of the
+highest estate, who reverently received the same, and laid it safely
+upon his shoulder. Then, the said chamberlain gave the gold spice-plates
+covered to the Earl of Hereford; and then the King’s cup of massive
+gold, covered also, to the Earl of Warwick. At the same time were given
+to the knights of the household the Archbishop’s spice-plate and cup,
+covered also, to be carried up, by the space of one minute after the
+King’s.
+
+And, certes, it was a goodly sight to see all these nobles and gentils
+marching up the great chamber (the minstrels playing the while),
+compassed about with esquires, bearing great lights to the number of
+thirteen, especial care being taken, as the manner all times has been at
+the voide, that the lights were odd in number.
+
+First, then, went the usher, with his torch and rod, making passage; the
+chamberlain, with his chain and wand of office; then the five esquires,
+of the body, bearing wax-lights before the Earl of Norfolk, with the
+towel; then, three esquires about the Lord of Hereford, bearing the
+spice-plates; then, other three before the Lord Warwick, bearing the
+King’s cup covered; then followed one knight of the household, bearing a
+single torch; so making up altogether the just number of lights. Amongst
+them went four knights of the household, well renowned for bravery and
+noble bearing, with the Archbishop’s spice-plate and cup.
+
+When this array drew near to the King, he, standing up under his cloth
+of estate, which was rolled up high, with the young Prince Edward on one
+hand and the Archbishop on the other, the Chamberlain taking the covers
+from off the spice-plates, gave assaye unto the Earl of Gloucester. The
+King, before he took his spice, made a beck to the Archbishop, that he
+should take his first; and the knights having advanced, as they well
+knew would be seemly, the Archbishop forthwith obeyed.
+
+But, when the Chamberlain uncovered the cup, all the minstrels in the
+chamber blew up louder than ever, and so held on till his Highness took
+the ypocras, so that every roof in the castle rung with joy.
+
+The King and Archbishop being served, his Highness’s cup and
+spice-plates were again covered, but not so the Archbishop’s. Then were
+the spice and cup carried to Prince Edward and the Earl of Cornwall, by
+the knights; to the bishops by the esquires of the household, and to the
+other estates by the esquires also. Which being done, his Highness
+forthwith departed for “all night,” the trumpets blowing before him.
+Then, were three healths drank, one to the King, one to the Queen, and
+one to the Prince Edward; after which it were not meet, that the
+assemblage should remain, and straight the great chamber was avoyded of
+all there present.
+
+The Queen, that night, sat in her bower with all her ladies. There were
+mynstrelsy and dancing to the harp and viol. The Lady Barbara was the
+marveil of all, that beheld her moving to the sound of viols like unto
+some sprite, rather than to a poor mortal. Prince Edward danced with her
+a round, and the Queen often honoured her with her pleasing speech. Sir
+Gaston, though he beheld her, showed not his wonted joy. He stood apart
+looking on, and, when her Highness spoke to him, he seemed nigh to
+senseless of the honour.
+
+The dancing being ended, Pierre, a Norman and the Queen’s chief
+minstrel, apparelled in the guise of his country, sang some of his
+ballads on the harp, in his own tongue, which, albeit, they were not
+esteemed like unto Maister Henry’s, yet did they not displease. The
+first tuning was in words which have been thus rendered into English by
+one, who had learned much of the new speech, not then familiar, except
+with some few.
+
+                          THE BRIDAL.
+
+            Lightly, lightly, bounded the roe,
+              The hind o’er the forest was fleeing;
+            The small birds tuned on every bough,
+              In sun and shade their gleeing.
+
+            And purple cups, and silver bells
+              From the green leaves were peeping;
+            The wild-rose smiled in the mossy dells:
+              Nought but the thorn was weeping.
+
+            And so bright in the sun its tears did shine,
+              They showed like tears of pleasure;
+            And the airs of May, through the budding spray,
+              Breathed joyance, without measure.
+
+            For this was Isabel’s bridal morn
+              Who loved each bud and flower,
+            The wild-wood shade, the mountain head,
+              The deep vale’s mead and bower.
+
+            And now was her festival gaily kept
+              By hagled brook and fountain,
+            From the low green bank, where the violet slept,
+              To the blue hill-top and mountain.
+
+            And lightly, lightly, bounded the roe,
+              His footstep wing’d with pleasure,
+            And small birds sang from every bough,
+              Welcomes beyond all measure.
+
+At the end of this ballad, the minstrel rang out his harp in full
+joyance; and then, falling note by note, he dropped into a faltering
+murmur, as of deep sorrow, and so continued for some space, till those
+who heard him, perceived the witch of melancholy stealing upon them.
+
+The Queen, deeming such strain unsuitable to the time, commanded him to
+change the measure, and sound forth one more gay, a lay of Provence, her
+native land, whither she knew he had been for his learning; but he,
+enthralled by the magic of his own mood, loving not to be commanded,
+still hung his head over the harp, listening to that pleasure-full
+melancholy and heeding nothing but its sweet sound.
+
+At last, being made to know fully her Highness’s will, he sang the song
+of a Troubadour; for, though he loved best the ditties of Normandy, his
+own land, there was scarce one of Provence, which he had not gained; and
+the Queen did not let him forget them, so often did she command those,
+which she affected best. And now he sang forth to his harp a “roundel”
+in the Provençal tongue, made by a knight of the “Order of Fine Eyes.”
+They, who then heard him, would have thought he loved any thing less
+than melancholy, so light and debonnaire was the music he rang out; and
+many could hardly keep their steps from dancing to that gallant measure.
+But it lasted not long; for, making a pause and looking wistfully at the
+Lady Barbara, he struck forth, on a sudden, some of his deepest tones,
+with a wild yet solemn grace, such as brought tears into the eyes of
+many a fair lady, and darted dread into the heart of one there present.
+It seemed as if the shadows of prophecy were moving over the strings,
+and calling from them some strange and fearful story yet to be. And then
+again did the harper’s voice steal trembling forth, as do the moon’s
+beams, when pale clouds pass over, saddening, but not fully obscuring
+their brightness: yet might every one hear plainly all his words. Here
+it is done into English by the same hand; but the verses be not all
+divided into equal numbers:—
+
+                              I.
+          O’er the high western wolds afar,
+            Glimmer’d some lights of yesterday;
+          And there, one bright, but trembling star
+            Among the streaky shadows lay,
+              The traveller’s lonely warning.
+          But soon the winds, that sing day’s dirge,
+          Did o’er that star the shadows urge,
+              And hung the night with mourning!
+
+
+                              II.
+
+          “What steps on the waste are beating?”
+            He listened not long on the ground,
+            ’Ere he fearfully heard a sound,
+          As of trampling hoofs retreating:
+          And a dismal cry and a foot draw nigh;
+          “Stand ho!” ’twas an armed man passed by:
+            But he spoke no sound of greeting,
+            And seemed like a death-shade fleeting.
+
+
+                              III.
+
+          O’er the lone mountains riding,
+            He gallop’d by gloomsome ways,
+          Where night-mists were abiding,
+            Round the witch of evil days:
+          Her name is written on the wind,
+          That speaks in cliffs and caves confin’d.
+            List there when the waning moon goes down,
+            And thou’lt hear the call her spirits own;
+              But as they pass, hold a chrystal glass,
+            Or thou’lt sorely rue the wild witch-tone.
+
+
+                              IV.
+
+          O’er the lone mountains riding,
+            From a distant land he came,
+          No step his dark step guiding;
+            But he thought he saw a flame,
+            That bright, or dim, would sport awhile;
+            Then vanish, as in very guile;
+          He heard, as he passed, the witch-name sound;
+          And his startled steed, at a single bound,
+          Bore him away from that evil ground.
+
+
+                              V.
+
+          But o’er the mountains pacing
+            As fast as he can flee,
+          Strange steps his steps are tracing,
+            And a shape he cannot see;
+          And, though he flee away, so prest,
+          Whether to north, or south or west,
+            Toward the past, or coming day,
+            (So dim the night he may not say)
+          Still oft by fits did ghastly gleam,
+          A corpse-light, all unknown to him.
+
+
+                              VI.
+
+          He followed the light o’er deserts wide,
+            Down in deep glens, where wild becks wail;
+          He followed by darkened forest side;
+            He followed with dread, though link’d in mail;
+          Till it stayed before an iron gate,
+          Where battled turrets kept their state,
+            O’er towers so high and massy strong,
+            They seemed to giant-king belong.
+
+
+                              VII.
+
+          Sir Adomar looked him all around:
+            Turret on turret hung on high,
+            Shaping black lines on the dim sky;
+          Sir Adomar looked him all around;
+            Nought, save this castle, could he spy,
+          Though, heavily clanged a death-bell’s sound;
+            And in each pause of the shuddering blast,
+            Moans were heard as of one from ’neath the ground!
+
+
+                              VIII.
+
+          He struck on the gate with his good sword:
+          “Ho! wardour, ho!” but never a word
+          Return’d the wardour from within.
+            “The storm is loud, the night is dark,
+            I hear from the woods the dog-wolf bark.
+          Up, wardour, up! it were a sin
+            To turn a traveller from your tower,
+            At such a lone and dreary hour;
+          A Saracen would let me in!”
+
+
+                              IX.
+
+          The wardour was watching through the loop,
+          How many were of the stranger’s troop.
+            He had left his torch in the cullis’ bar,
+          And it let down a light on the lonely night,
+            That showed him harnessed, as for war.
+          His coat was mail, his helm was steel;
+          His visor did his look reveal;
+          Yet o’er his brow it cast a shade,
+          That made the wardour more afraid,
+            Than did the crimsoned plume above,
+            Or the mighty grasp of his iron glove.
+          He would not let the stranger in,
+          Till one, awakened by the din—
+          One whom the wardour need obey—
+            Seeing a lonely knight stand there,
+            Bade the wardour nought to fear:
+          He feared still, but he said not Nay:
+          Yet he would not ope the portal gate
+          To an unknown knight, without his state;
+            For neither squire, nor page, he saw:
+            He bade him then to the postern draw.
+
+
+                              X.
+
+          The knight dismounted at the call;
+          The porter let him through the wall;
+          He turned the weary steed to stall,
+          And led the knight to the lordly hall.
+          I’ the lordly hall, so wide and dim,
+          One drowsy squire awaited him.
+          The ashy wood lay, white and cold,
+          On the raised hearth, where late was told,
+          With fiery eye and accent loud,
+          The deed of martial prowess proud;
+          Where late was told, in whispers low,
+          Some tale of terror and of woe,
+          The while each listener bent his head,
+          Nor lost a word the trouveur said:
+          Till fear crept o’er each nerve and vein,
+          That late had swell’d to martial strain;
+          And shadows crept along the wall,
+          Such as the sinful soul appal:
+          Till each, who heard, look’d round with dread,
+          And saw some phantom of the dead.
+
+
+                              XI.
+
+          Now silent was the hearth and lone,
+            Save that a stag-hound slumber’d there.
+            The tables in disorder were,
+            With relics of the evening fare;
+          The household to their rest were gone,
+          And now no light was seen but one,
+          The light that led the stranger on;
+          That show’d above steel armour gleaming,
+          And many a dusky banner streaming,
+            From the black rafters of the roof,
+            In the night-wind, far aloof,
+          Like to some flitting phantom seeming;
+            And, stalking o’er the rushy floor,
+            It showed the knight where steps of gore
+          Had stain’d its green, with foot-prints red.
+          And the stag-hound, as the knight passed by,
+          Sent forth a mournful fearful cry.
+
+
+                              XII.
+
+          The drowsy squire the stranger led;
+          (The wardour to his post was sped.)
+          They traversed the hall in silent march:
+          At the end was a door in a mitred arch.
+          The knight stood before that mitred door,
+            And gazed on a warrior shape above,
+          That seem’d to watch the passage o’er.
+            In his altered look strange passions strove!
+          The armoured shape leaned on its sword,
+            And downward bent its steely face,
+            As jealous who below might pace,
+          Or about to speak the challenge-word;
+          And it seemed the very form of one,
+          The knight perforce must look upon.
+
+
+                              XIII.
+
+          Thus, while he stood in wonder-trance,
+            The squire upheld the torch on high,
+            Viewing the guest with watchful eye;
+          And marvelling what strange mischance
+          So check’d his step, and fix’d his glance:—
+          “Sir knight, why gaze you on that steel?
+            It is a baron’s good and bold;
+            Had he been here, no welcome cold
+          Would he have shown a stranger-knight,
+          Who trusted to his towers at night.”
+
+
+                              XIV.
+
+          The spell of fant’sie loos’d awhile,
+          The knight return’d a grateful smile,
+          With thanks for this so courteous style;
+          And, then with thoughtful accent said,
+            While yet he stood, that shape before,
+          “The armour some resemblance had
+            To that of a dear friend no more!
+          A friend!”—he paus’d,—“a friend long dead!”
+          This, while he said, his colour fled.
+          The squire seem’d not to note his pain,
+          But, with fair speech, began again
+          Excuse to make for slender fare,
+          That it was night, and, not aware
+          Of honour’d guest approaching there,
+          The menials to their rest had gone;
+          A chamber should be fitted soon.
+          His squire and page should welcom’d be;
+          Right well he longed that squire to see.
+
+
+                              XV.
+
+          The wearied knight a gesture made,
+          And looked his thanks, but nothing said;
+          Save that, for rest alone he prayed.
+          He sighed, as through that guarded arch,
+          And vaulted gloom, he held his march;
+          And there, before his doubting sight,
+          Glided again a pale sad light,
+          Full often he had seen with fear,
+          Yet more he felt to meet it here.
+          Then came they to an iron door,
+          And the knight beheld that flame no more.
+          It opened to a second hall,
+          Where warriors frowned upon the wall;
+          And ladies smiled in portraiture,
+          With downcast eye and look demure.
+          An umbered flash the red torch threw,
+          Athwart each warrior’s steadfast brow;
+          And hardly might the gleam declare
+          A baron grim from lady fair.
+
+
+                              XVI.
+
+          There is no need that I should tell,
+            What hasty fare the stranger took;
+            Nor how the squire, with silent look,
+          Watched, wondering, what had him befell;
+          So strangely gleamed his hollow eyes,
+            From forth the lifted beaver’s shade
+          So wan his lips, like one that dies,
+            So few the words and thanks he paid!
+
+
+                              XVII.
+
+          Though round the hall his looks would steal,
+          Not well did torch or lamp reveal
+          The portraiture of warriors grim,
+          Or noble dames hung there so dim;
+          Their frowns and smiles were lost to him.
+          But once, when that he turned his head
+          Where the fix’d torch a gleaming shed,
+          A sable form, ill seen at most,
+            Went gliding up a stair, on high,
+            Passed through an open gallery,
+          And through a door-way there was lost,
+          That seemed to lead to antient rooms,
+          Such as where silence dwells, and glooms.
+          The knight, he felt a sudden chill,
+            Though nought he said of what had sped;
+            But the spicy draught he deeply quaff’d,
+          Whenever the page his cup did fill.
+          And from his spirits chaced the ill.
+
+
+                              XVIII.
+
+          The night-cheer o’er, the page led on
+            The stranger to his resting-place.
+          He led the way, that form had gone:
+            On the high stair he stood a space,
+            Waiting the knight’s reluctant pace,
+          Then, with mute reverence, marshalled him
+          Through many a gallery, long and dim,
+          Where helmets watched, in order grim;
+          Through many a chamber, wide and lorn,
+          Where wint’ry damps had half withdrawn
+          The storied paintings on the wall.
+          Electra, o’er her brother’s urn,
+          There bent the head, and seemed to mourn;
+          There, too, as meet in room and hall,
+          Troy’s tale[2] and Hector’s piteous fall:
+          Here Priam’s Court, in purple and pall,
+          Its golden splendour now had lost;
+            But Helen, on the rampart stood,
+          And pointed to the Grecian host,
+            Out-stretching to the briny flood.
+          Here Hector’s wife sat in her bower,
+          Waiting her lord’s returning hour;
+          And ‘broidering ’midst her maiden train,
+          While her infant played with silken skein.
+          There—but it boots not that I say,
+          What stories once, in long array,
+          Lived on those walls, now ghastly clay.
+
+Footnote 2:
+
+  The “Tale of Troy” appears to have been a very favourite subject in
+  ancient tapestry. It occurs often in old castles, and is mentioned
+  twice in this “Trew Chronique,” as adorning the walls of stately
+  chambers.
+
+XIX.
+
+            The knight would oft, as he strode by,
+            Cast on their shade a searching eye;
+            And pause, as list’ning some drear sound,
+            That rose within the glimmering bound:
+            And start, as though some fearful sight
+            Passed along this gloom of night;
+            But, at a lesser winding stair,
+            (The long drawn chambers ended there,)
+            When to that narrow stair he drew,
+            He thought a robe of mourning hue
+            Went fleeting up that winding way;
+            No glimpse had he of shape or ray;
+            No foot he heard the stair ascend.
+            Yet still that seeming garment passed,
+            As though some fiend, with evil haste,
+              Did up that lonely tower wend.
+
+
+                                XX.
+
+            The knight, he stood on the step below—
+            “Whither, my young page, dost thou go?
+              Who dwells within this lonely tower,
+            Passing with speed, in sable weed—
+              Passing with speed, at this dead hour?”
+            “Nobody, save the raven-crow,
+              Dwells within this lonely tower;
+              And here, Sir knight, is your resting-bower!”
+            “But in this tower I may not rest,
+            Till I know who that stair has pressed;
+            Did you not see that black weed wave?”
+              “Yes, knight, I saw the raven’s wing,
+              Glint up that wall with sudden spring:
+            And hark! you now may hear him crave!”
+
+
+                                XXI.
+
+            “It is not courteous, that my bower
+            Should be within this ruin’d tower!”
+            “But see, knight, ’tis not in decay;
+            The storm hath blown a bar away,
+            And the raven through the loop doth stray;
+            His nest is wet on the battlement grey:
+            Your chamber is a stately room,
+            Hung round with work of choicest loom;
+            And erst it was the resting-place
+            Of our dear Lady Baroness,
+            Before she went to stranger-land.
+            My lord yet strays on foreign strand.
+            The chamber has another stair,
+            Leading to many chambers fair;
+            But no step goes by night so far,
+            Since my lord baron went to war.”
+
+
+                                XXII.
+
+            The page stept on with torch before,
+            Far as that stately chamber’s door.
+            “Page! lift that light—fain would I know,
+            Whither that second flight doth go?”
+            “It goes to a battlement up on high,
+            And to a turret perching by.”
+            “Doth none keep watch on that turret high?”
+            “None, but the raven with his cry!
+            Your rest, Sir knight, he will not break;
+            To traitors only doth he speak.
+            They say he scents the new spilt blood.”
+            Upon the stair the raven stood!
+            He turn’d his dark eye on the knight,
+            And, screaming, upward winged his flight.
+            The wondering page looked back with fright,
+            And met the stranger’s fiery glance;
+            Then, hardly daring to advance,
+            Lingered he at that chamber-door;
+            “On,” said the knight, “with torch before!”
+            Scarce was the page the threshhold o’er,
+            When check he made, and pale he turn’d;
+            Dim and more dim the torch-flame burn’d.
+            The knight look’d on, but nothing saw,
+            That might explain this sudden awe.
+
+
+                                XXIII.
+
+            A spacious chamber there was spread,
+            And, for his rest, a stately bed;
+            Fresh rushes on the floor were strewn;
+            Faint on the arras’d walls were shown
+            The heroes of some antient story,
+            Now faded, like their mortal glory.
+            Another form, as dark as doom,
+            Stood within that chamber’s gloom,
+              Unseen by those who entered there.
+            His cause of dread the page thus said:
+              “Methought I saw, within that chair,
+            The baron’s self, my very lord;
+            I saw it, on a true man’s word:
+            I saw my lord return’d from far,
+            Arrayed, as he went forth to war!
+            He fixed his very eyes on me,
+              But looked not, as he wont to look.
+            Yet now no living shape I see,
+            And know that here he could not be;
+              For, long since, he these walls forsook:
+            Yet is it strange such visions pale,
+            Should o’er my waking sight prevail.”
+
+
+                                XXIV.
+
+            “Whose are these antient walls, I pray?”
+            The sullen stranger ’gan to say:
+            “Sir, know you not these towers and halls
+            Watch where the foaming Conway falls?
+            Who should these walls and towers own?
+            And the wide woods and forest round,
+            Even to Snowdon’s utmost bound,
+            Save the brave lord of Eglamore?”
+            The knight explained his ignorance,
+            He was a wanderer late from France.
+            The page surveyed him o’er again;
+            He thought the wily knight did feign:
+            A deadly hue was on his cheek;
+            His looks spoke more than words may speak.
+            Yet to the page, though much it told,
+            He read not all it might unfold.
+
+
+                                XXV.
+
+            The knight perceived his doubting thought,
+            And drew a badge forth from his breast;
+            Some noble Order’s golden crest,
+            Upon a field of silver wrought.
+            “This badge,” he said, “with blood was bought.”
+            He turn’d with haughty frown away.
+            The page did not more doubt betray;
+            But service offered to undo
+            His casque and linked harness true;
+            But the stranger gravely said him Nay,
+            And refused that night to disarray.
+
+
+                                XXVI.
+
+            Wondering, yet fearing to demand,
+            Why to these towers from distant land,
+            The knight had come, without his train,
+            Pondered the youth his doubts again;
+            Again, as though his thoughts he read,
+            The knight look’d sternly down and said,
+            “My squire and my foot-page I missed
+            At night-fall, when the woods betwixt.
+            But they perchance may shelter find,
+            From this bitter-blowing wind,
+            In the deep hollow of some hill,
+            Till the dawn break, and the storm be still.”
+
+
+                                XXVII.
+
+            “But the wolf bays in the blast afar;
+            Sir knight, how may they scape such war?
+            I hear him now—he nearer howls!
+            Mercy! mercy! save their souls!”
+            “Hark!” said the knight, and stood aghast;
+            It was no wolf-howl in the blast;
+            It was a blood-hound’s dreadful bay,
+            The stranger heard, with such dismay—
+            The blood-hound at the tower below;
+              That over pathless hill and dale,
+              Had tracked a murderer in the gale,
+            And came to claim his master’s foe.
+            While listening to the lengthen’d yell,
+            The stranger seemed to hear his knell.
+            “A blood-hound loose, and at this hour!
+              Your rest, sir knight, had ill been kept;
+              Nor one within these gates had slept,
+            Had I been in my distant tower.”
+            The page he lighted a lamp on high;
+            The stranger stifled scarce a sigh,
+            That heavily for utterance pressed.
+            He heard the page’s steps descend,
+            And go where the long chambers bend,
+              Down to the halls, and th’ outer walls.
+            The page knew not the chance he ran;
+            He was marked with the blood of a murder’d man!
+
+
+                                XXVIII.
+
+            The knight, he listened in silent dread,
+              Till now, the blood-hound’s voice was stilled;
+            But soon a low voice near him sped,
+              That every nerve with horror thrilled.
+            He looked the way that lone voice came,
+            And saw, by the lamp’s tall spiring flame,
+            A portraiture on the wall beneath,
+            Of noble dame, that seemed to breathe.
+            Robed in sable weeds was she:
+              The gleam fell on that lady’s brow;
+            There, written dimly, you might see,
+              The characters of hopeless woe.
+
+
+                                XXIX.
+
+            Soon as that lady’s face he saw,
+              All other dread his heart forsook;
+            He gazed with fixt and frenzied awe,
+              And vainly tried away to look:
+            For to his fearful sight it seemed,
+              As though her eyes on his were bent;
+            And, where the pale flame wavering gleamed,
+              As if her varying cheek were blent
+              With lights and shades of death;
+            While round her lips a grim smile drew,
+            And the rose paled that on them blew;
+              And, with faint lingering breath,
+            “Prepare,” she said, “thy hour is nigh!
+            Unpitying, thou hast seen me die;
+            Unpitied be thy mortal sigh!”
+
+
+                                XXX.
+
+            He heard the words—the words alone;
+            He heard not that deep solemn groan;
+            He heard not the clang of the ‘larum bell,
+            Nor from the gates that horn-blast swell;
+            Nor heard the many-trampling hoofs,
+              Nor voices calling in the gale,
+            And ringing round the castle roofs,
+              Till they made the ’battled raven quail;
+            Nor heard the funeral shriek, that broke
+            Through every hall and lofty tower;
+            He heard alone the words she spoke.
+
+
+                                XXXI.
+
+            Nor saw he in the court below,
+            By the torches’ umbered glow,
+            Borne upon his bleeding bier,
+              With wounds unclosed and open eyes,
+            A warrior stretched in death draw near;
+              Nor heard the loud and louder cries,
+            This piteous sight of horror drew
+            From every friend and vassal true.
+            But he knew that voice at his chamber-door,
+            And straight the witch-veil of glamour
+            Falls, and his wonder-trance is o’er.
+            He hears his summons in that sound;
+            It is the bark of the true blood-hound.
+            True to his murdered lord is he;
+            He has traced the steps he could not see—
+            Traced them o’er darkened miles and miles,
+            O’er glen and mountain, wood and moor,
+            Through all their swift and winding wiles,
+            Till he stopped before his master’s door,
+            And bayed the murderer in his bower.
+
+
+                                XXXII.
+
+            The castle gates were strait unbarred,
+            And he sprang before his bleeding lord;
+            He passed the page unheeded by,
+            And tracked the stranger’s steps on high;
+            Till at the door, that closed him in,
+            Loud and dread became his din.
+            The doors are burst, and the spectre-light
+            Betrayeth the form of the blood-tracked knight:
+            He was armed all over in coat of mail,
+            But nothing did steel that night avail;
+            He fell a torn corpse, beside that chair,
+            Whereunto the page did late appear,
+            By the dark glamour-art revealed,
+            His murdered lord with lance and shield.
+            The _murderer_ fell, and his death-wound found
+            In the terrible fangs of the true blood-hound.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Here the voice of the minstrel ceased; and, after striking a few notes
+of his harp, full and deep, he rested with a look of sorrow. His eyes
+dwelt on the Lady Barbara—but she heeded him not; but sat with head
+inclined, as if still listening to his dismal tale. There followed a
+dread silence in the room, as of expectation of that which was to
+follow. Some there were, who said the ditty was already ended; yet they
+would fain have heard something of the pitiful history of that unhappy
+lady, whose portraiture was in the tower-chamber, and would have known
+what was the guilty motive of the knight against the Lord of Eglamore;
+and how it chanced he came so unwittingly to his castle. Others there
+were then present, who, having noticed the young Gaston de Blondeville
+to be ill at ease, the while the minstrel sung, and being, perchance,
+already moved by the merchant’s strange accusation, scrupled not to
+think the story touched him nearly; and that Pierre rested, not because
+his ditty was at an end, or from weariness; but that he doubted whether
+it would be well to proceed to the second part.
+
+However this may be, he needed not have stayed his strain, for Sir
+Gaston was no longer in the chamber. Whether Pierre knew this or not, he
+began once more to strike upon the harp; when, on a sudden, the king’s
+trumpets were heard blowing up near the stair; and anon, his Highness
+entered the bower, it being almost time that he should go to his rest
+for “all-night.”
+
+There was no more harping; Pierre tuning not up his second fit; and
+belike, if his Highness had been there at first, he would have bidden
+him to shorten his ballad by one-half.
+
+The King looked about for Sir Gaston; and, espying him not, asked
+wherefore he was not there; but, before any answer could be given, the
+knight had returned, and now approached his Highness. He was then
+commanded to dance a round with the Lady Barbara, and he obeyed; but
+many there noted the sadness on his brow, though his steps were light
+and gay.
+
+A more pleasureful sight could not be than the Queen’s bower, as it was
+at that time, where she sat in estate, under a cloth of gold, her ladies
+standing about her chair, and her maidens on either hand, below the
+steps of her throne; and two young damsels of surpassing beauty and
+richly bedight, sitting on the first step, at her feet; the same, that
+were used so to sit, when her Highness kept state in the great hall at
+festivals.
+
+Behind them, half encircling the throne, stood twenty household
+esquires, holding great wax torches, right richly beseen in the king’s
+livery, and proud to wear it, gentils as they were, as I said before,
+and of ancient families in the countries from whence they came.
+
+The arched roof was curiously wrought in that fashion, which King Henry
+had newly brought into favour; and, besides these lights, a great
+crystal lamp, that hung from the roof, shone over the chamber and upon
+the goodly assemblage, as they looked upon the Lady Barbara, passing so
+winningly in the dance. That night, the Earl of Richmond bore the
+Queen’s spice-plate, and Sir Philip de Kinton her cup.
+
+When the Lady Barbara had ended her dance, the Queen called her to her
+chair; and, making her take of the sweetmeats from her own plate, spoke
+commendable words to her, as did his Highness King Henry. Then the
+Queen, turning to the Lady Gloucester, took from her hands a girdle,
+richly beset with jewels, and, clasping it on the Lady Barbara, kissed
+her, and bade her wear it ever, for her sake and for her honour. Her
+Highness then stretched out her hand to Sir Gaston, who, kneeling, put
+it to his lips. “May you, Sir knight,” said her Highness, “as well
+deserve this lady, as she deserves this token of my regard!”
+
+Then, the King said many gracious things, and seemed so merry of heart,
+that he made all around him gladsome; till, the Voide being ended, he
+went forth with the Queen, the trumpets blowing before them; and the
+chamber was then speedily avoided for all night.
+
+While these things were passing in the chambers of estate, there were
+divers wassailings and merriments making in other places of the castle.
+In the great hall were feasting and revelling, but not of estate. There
+were tumblers and jugglers and morrice-dancers and mimicks and mummers,
+with pipings and blowings, that made the roofs ring.
+
+The monks at the priory heard them afar, while at the last even-song,
+and long after; and well I wote, that had it not been the King’s castle,
+there had been some rebuke, as indeed due, for such noise made. The
+Prior in his chamber sat alone; listening, I guess, in gloomy mood to
+the revelry; and, all that night, only Edmund the monk and mass Peter
+with him: he came not forth to midnight-song.
+
+But now I must return, and so must ye that hear, or read, to the castle.
+In the hall there was a dancer on stilts, playing the while on a
+recorder; there were dancers on one leg, and dancers upon the head; but
+that which most rejoiced many of the beholders, were the disguisings and
+the quaint antics of the mummers. There came a whole troop, some wearing
+the heads of asses, some of bulls, some of calves, some of cats, who
+brayed and kicked, bellowed and tossed, scratched and mewed, to the very
+life. Others, like stags and hares, hounds and apes, kept not so
+pertinently to their pretended natures, but marched on with solemn
+state, as much as might be, hand in hand, as if they had been loving
+friends and neighbours; yet each with a dagger stuck in his girdle. And
+others again, with fools’ girdles and bells hanging to them; tossing
+their heads, and cutting such strange capers, to the noise of pipes and
+drums, as made the sides of many to shake with laughter, and roused up
+every hawk on perch there to shake his bells in concert.
+
+But all this was child’s play, though it was often done before the
+worshipfullest estates, in comparison of the sayer’s art; which, when he
+could be heard between whiles, when the loud revelry paused and held
+breath, was marvellous to hear: and, as soon as those mad-heads caught
+the words of that tale-teller, sooth to say, they soon were still and
+hushed, as though no living soul but he breathed there; listening to his
+dismal tradey, with tears in their eyes, or quaking for fear of the
+strange things he told them. He, the while, with solemn visage, showing
+as though he himself believed all the marvels he related, and not
+showing roguish smiles, as some do, kept on always to the far end of his
+long tale: though some learned clerks would oft-times comment to their
+neighbours upon his marvels, as if he had purported lofty matter worth
+their notice, and did not merely strive to while an idle tide away.
+
+In other parts of the castle were those gentils and honest gentlewomen,
+that, misliking the loud revelry of the hall, drew together in chambers
+apart; and delighted themselves with histories of times past, the sad
+hopes of lovers, or the deeds of brave knights, or otherwise in singing
+and harping, after their own manner.
+
+In the lower hall too was feasting, and the mirth did not stop short of
+the “Kuchane,” so that every man to the lowest degree was joyous; and
+each chamber and tower rung with song, or laughter, save the prison
+tower of the poor merchant. He, as he lay on his pallet-bed, heard those
+sounds of music and jollity, in confused uproar rising through the
+courts, while his heart was stricken with fear and sadness; for, whether
+he were right or not in believing Sir Gaston to be the murderer of his
+friend, it is certain, that he had seen his friend murdered, and that
+too, as he had said, in the woods of Ardenn.
+
+He was, at this time, far from his home and friends, and had been
+travelling, over these parts, a lonesome stranger, along the foss-way
+from Lincoln, southward; having been on his merchandize into the north
+seas, and having landed on the eastern coast. Coming again to that
+place, where, a few years back, he had buried his friend, the
+remembrance of him broke out in fresh grief; and, hearing that the king
+was coming to keep festival in Kenilworth, he resolved to break the
+matter to him; as well as to adventure to tell him, the times were such
+it was no longer safe to journey in any part of his kingdom.
+
+The most audacious robberies, certes, were then committed at noon-day
+with impunity; nay, the very thieves themselves feared not to be seen
+walking about, little attempt being made to seize them, or, in any wise,
+to suppress these scandalous outrages. Not only then did the sad fall of
+his friend, but also the fearful condition of the living, urge the
+merchant to make the truth known to the king.
+
+With this design he had rested at Kenilworth, but not at the house where
+he had formerly suffered such affliction; and, on the king’s arrival,
+had gone forth in the crowd to behold him, though he had not intended to
+present his petition in that time of turmoil. But, when he saw near his
+Highness, riding as it were in the top of favour, the very man, whom he
+thought to be the slayer of his kinsman; when he beheld that look, which
+he felt to dart into his heart, and to revive there all the horror he
+had felt at the aspect of the murderer, at the moment when his friend
+had been stricken down—then it was, that, overcome by the strength of
+his feelings, he dropped down senseless in the castle court, as hath
+been related.
+
+And now, what had he gained by his courageous demand of justice?
+Suspicion, contempt, fear, grief, a prison, and, perhaps, death. Yet did
+he not repent the effort he had made, so honest was his grief for the
+fate of his kinsman; so much was his mind possessed with the notion,
+that he had accused his very murderer; so confident was he that he was
+performing a duty; and, what is more, so sure was he, that to perform
+his duty in this world is the wisest, the most truly cunning thing a man
+can contrive to do. Whether his suspicions concerning the knight were
+just or not; these, his conclusions touching his own conduct, none but
+fools, or villains, that is, none but fools—will deny.
+
+Thus he lay on his pallet, alike deprived of sleep by the jollity of
+others and by his own grievous reflections. A lamp burned beside him,
+but it served only to show the forlornness of his condition, in this
+high and distant tower. Sometimes, he would rise and look through his
+grated window upon the inner court of the castle, listening there awhile
+to the distant minstrelsy and to the confusion of numberless voices,
+footsteps and closing doors, that rose from many a chamber below. Anon,
+a torch-bearer would pass the court, a page, perhaps, or a yeoman; and
+would show the gloomy towers above and the steps of the guest he led at
+their feet. But, this passed, nothing could the prisoner see, save here
+and there, a lamp burning through a casement of glass (and a goodly show
+there was of such windows now in this castle) like stars through a
+clouded sky; but mostly the glorious beams of the great hall, that
+struck through the windows and lighted the air above. Once he heard the
+trumpets blow, and thought the King was coming forth, and once he
+fancied he saw, in the person of one who followed a torch-bearer, Sir
+Gaston himself. Then turned he from the casement, looked no more, and
+fell upon his pallet.
+
+At last, every distant sound grew fainter; the noise of the dancers
+ceased; then the minstrelsy sunk low; the voices of the hall revellers
+became few; he heard less frequently the doors opened and shut; and then
+he heard the fastening of bolts and bars: and, afar off, the castle
+gates closed for the night; and soon all grew still, as though no living
+creature inhabited there.
+
+And thus it kept, until the wayte piped his second watch in all the
+courts. Then the stranger arose, and, looking again through his grate,
+saw him well, by the light his groom carried, piping the hour. And, when
+the man had finished his saye, he went round the court, his boy-groom
+holding up the torch, while he tried every door, and found that all was
+safe. By this light too, he perceived the wardour’s men on guard; but no
+living being else was seen. The windows of the great hall were dark;
+and, the torch being gone, nothing glimmered through the night, save one
+great star, which wizards say is evil. It stayed, at his hour, right
+over King Henry’s lodgings; but for whom it watched, who was there that
+might tell? The prisoner knew the star, and all that was thought of it,
+and he betook him to his pallet groaning heavily.
+
+He had not long been there, when, as he thought, a voice near him spoke
+his name. Now, there was a small grate looked out from his chamber upon
+the stair; and thence the voice seemed to come. The prisoner, raising
+himself from his pallet, turned, and saw there the figure of a man
+passing away. He kept his eyes fixed, for some space, upon the grate,
+but the figure appeared no more, and he sunk again on his pallet.
+
+The voice, faint and passing as it was, had thrilled him with dread.
+Whose it was, wherefore it had called him by a name known but to few,
+and had then passed away, without communing with him, he tried in vain
+to understand; yet seemed it not wholly new to him.
+
+
+                             END OF VOL. I.
+
+
+                                LONDON:
+              PRINTED BY S. AND R. BENTLEY, DORSET-STREET.
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
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+10. MEMOIRS of the COUNTESS DE GENLIS. Vols. 7 and 8. Being the
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+11. THE REMINISCENCES of MICHAEL KELLY, of the King’s Theatre; including
+a Period of nearly half a Century. With numerous original Anecdotes of
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+12. MATILDA; a TALE OF THE DAY.
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+                                      “Blush I not?
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+16. THE DIARY and CORRESPONDENCE of SAMUEL PEPYS, Esq. F.R.S. Secretary
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+
+                  Edited by RICHARD, LORD BRAYBROOKE.
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+
+  This very interesting Work will be found to contain a great number of
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+
+19. A PICTURE of GREECE in 1825; as exhibited in the Personal Narratives
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+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+                          TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
+
+
+ ● Fixed typos; non-standard spelling and dialect retained.
+ ● Renumbered footnotes.
+ ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
+ ● Enclosed blackletter font in =equals=.
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78468 ***