Delphi Complete Works of Ann Radcliffe (Illustrated) (342 page)

“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 Highstreet, 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, accomodations 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 cm rising ground. Found out at last, through the dusk, the venerable Cathedral, with it’s 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 Highstreet; 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 langour of death; and of surprize and joyful hope, on beholding our SAVIOUR. The attitude of Lazarus is indeed such, that he might be taken for a person dying lather 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 w as 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.