Part 4

“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.

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