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 ST. ALBAN'S ABBEY 
 
 POETICAL ROMANCE. 
 
 VOL. I
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE, 
 
 OR 
 
 THE COURT OF HENRY III. 
 KEEPING FESTIVAL IN ARDENNE, 
 
 & nominee. 
 
 ST. ALBANS ABBEY, 
 
 A METRICAL TALE; 
 WITH SOME POETICAL PIECES. 
 
 BY ANNE RADCLIFFE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE MYSTERIES OF UDOLPHO," " ROMANCE OF THE FOREST, '&«. 
 TO WHICH IS PREFIXED 
 
 A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR, 
 WITH EXTRACTS FROM HER JOURNALS. 
 
 IN FOUR VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1826.
 
 
 
 
 LONDON : 
 „IH» *Y S. AND E. BENTL.V, MMHT-.TMM.
 
 5 
 
 
 h 
 
 CONTENTS 
 OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 «- 
 
 
 Page. 
 
 
 Memoir of the Life and Writings of Mrs. Radcliffe 
 
 i 
 
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 
 Jo 
 
 Introduction ..... 
 
 3 
 
 )$ 
 
 The First Day . ... 
 
 • 79 
 
 
 The Second Day ..... 
 
 . 105 
 
 
 177898
 
 MEMOIR 
 
 or THE 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 MRS. RADCLIFFE. 
 
 VOL. I,
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 MRS. RADCLIFFE. 
 
 The Life of Mrs. Radcliffe is a pleasing phe- 
 nomenon in the literature of her time. During a 
 period, in which the spirit of personality has ex- 
 tended its influence, till it has rendered the habits 
 and conversation of authors almost as public as their 
 compositions, she confined herself, with delicate ap- 
 prehensiveness, 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 en- 
 chantress was still an inhabitant of this "bright 
 and breathing world.'' 1 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 
 b2
 
 4 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 ground- 
 less 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 ex- 
 tended 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 can- 
 not 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. RadclinVs 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
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 5 
 
 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 Go- 
 vernment, to execute a plan for draining the fens 
 of Lincolnshire. The project was interrupted bv 
 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. RadclinVs male 
 ancestors. Her paternal grandmother was the 
 sister of Cheselden, the celebrated Surgeon, of 
 whose kindness her father retained a lively recolr
 
 6 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 lection. Her maternal grandmother was Ann 
 Oates, the sister of Doctor Samuel Jebb, of Strat- 
 ford, 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 affec- 
 tion 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 
 Wedge wood 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, 1 '' 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 mar- 
 riage. She had been educated among members of 
 the old school, in manners and morals, whose no- 
 tions, while they prompted the most considerate
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 7 
 
 kindness towards their young charge, did not per- 
 haps 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 mas- 
 sive 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 rela- 
 tives cherished, a natural repugnance to author- 
 ship, 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 ro- 
 mances. 
 
 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 cere- 
 mony was performed at Bath, where her parents 
 then resided, and she afterwards proceeded with 
 her husband to live in the neighbourhood of Lon- 
 don. Encouraged by him, she soon began to em- 
 ploy 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 Chroni- 
 cle,' 1 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 
 
 md
 
 8 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 compo- 
 sition, 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 pow- 
 er. If in the mere perusal of novels we lose our 
 painful sense of the realities of " this unimaginable 
 world, 1 ' and delightedly participate in the sorrows, 
 the joys, and the struggles of the persons, how far 
 more intensely must an authoress like Mrs. Rad- 
 cliffe feel that outgoing of the heart, by which in- 
 dividuality is multiplied, and we seem to pass a 
 hundred lives ! She spreads out many threads of
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 9 
 
 sympathy and lives along every line. The passions, 
 the affections, the hopes of her character are essen- 
 tially her's ; born out of her own heart ; figured 
 from the tracings of her own brain ; and reflecting 
 back again, in shape and form, the images and 
 thoughts, which work indistinctly in the fancies of 
 others. There is a perpetual exercise of that 
 plastic power, which realizes the conceptions of the 
 mind to itself, and gives back to it its own ima- 
 ginations 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 ap- 
 pears more enviable than that of forming the out- 
 line of a great tale, like " The Mysteries of Udol- 
 pho ;"" 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 al- 
 ready, as through all the pulses of -the soul, the 
 curiosity, the terror, the pity and the admiration, 
 b5
 
 10 LTFE AND WHITINGS 
 
 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 Ro- 
 mance," in 1790 ; the " Romance of the Forest," 
 in 1791 ; " The Mysteries of Udolpho," in 
 1794 ; and " The Italian," in 1797. It is pleas- 
 ing 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, sub- 
 terraneous 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 a quaintance with its re- 
 cesses 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 sum- 
 mer 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 ap- 
 proaches 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
 
 OF MBS. RADCLIFFE. 11 
 
 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 so- 
 lemn 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 immedi- 
 ately 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 11 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 pur- 
 pose. 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 publi- 
 cation of "The Italian,"" spoke of Mrs. Radcliffe's 
 works in terms of high praise, and entered into a
 
 12 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 somewhat particular examination and compari- 
 son of the respective merits of the " Mysteries of 
 Udolpho" and " The Italian/' The author of the 
 Pursuits of Literature, not much given to com- 
 mend, 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 super- 
 stition, and in all the dreariness of enchant- 
 ment : a poetess, whom Ariosto would, with rap- 
 ture, have acknowledged as 
 
 La nudrita 
 
 Damigella Trivulzia al sacro speco." 
 
 The pecuniary advantages, which she derived 
 from her works, though they have been exagge- 
 rated, 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 mat- 
 ters, 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 re- 
 tirement, in which they were written. Although, 
 as she had no children, the duties of a family did 
 not engross her attention, she declined entering
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 13 
 
 into the society she was so well calculated to adorn. 
 Nothing but entire reciprocity in all the accom- 
 paniments of society could satisfy her ideas of 
 the independence it became her to preserve. She 
 would, indeed, have conferred honour and obliga- 
 tion on any circle, which she could prevail on her- 
 self to join ; but a scrupulous self-respect, almost 
 too nice to be appreciated in these days, induced 
 her sedulously to avoid the appearance of recep- 
 tion, 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 con- 
 strained 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 re- 
 markably free and cheerful with her relatives and 
 intimate friends, she preferred the more formal po- 
 liteness of the old school among strangers. Be- 
 sides these reasons for preserving her seclusion, 
 she enjoyed, with peculiar relish, the elegant plea- 
 sures 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 en- 
 tertainments, the necessity for which, according to
 
 14 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 her feelings, was connected with a participation in 
 general society, she sought the comforts of resi- 
 ding in airy and pleasant situations, of unbroken 
 leisure and frequent travelling; and, as her in- 
 come 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 pub- 
 lication of " The Mysteries of Udolpho," Mrs. 
 Radcliffe accompanied her husband on a tour 
 through Holland and the western frontier of Ger- 
 many, returning down the Rhine. This was the 
 first and only occasion, on which she quitted Eng- 
 land ; 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 per- 
 sonal observation ; and it was asserted in the 
 "Edinburgh Review" for May 1823, that she ac- 
 companied her husband to Italy, when he was at- 
 tached 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 su- 
 perstitions of mouldering castles, of which she has 
 made so beautiful a use in her romances. 1 ' After 
 their return from the Continent, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Radcliffe made a tour to the English Lakes, and
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 15 
 
 were highly gratified by the excursion. On these 
 journeys, Mrs. Radcliffe almost invariably employ- 
 ed 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 fre- 
 quently introspective, or " sickly o'er" our enjoy- 
 ments 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 feel- 
 ing and thought, to find fi a glass which shows 
 us many more. 1 ' After Mrs. RadclifiVs 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 jour- 
 ney through some beautiful or interesting country, 
 limiting themselves to no particular course, but en- 
 joying the perfect freedom, which was most agree- 
 able to their tastes. Mrs. Radcliffe continued her 
 little diary of these pleasant rovings, but without 
 the slightest idea of publication, from which she ge- 
 nerally shrunk as an evil. Some specimen of these
 
 16 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 exist- 
 ing 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 memo- 
 randa 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. Rad- 
 cliffe rode to Folkstone. 
 
 " September 1st. Began our tour to the sea- 
 side. Between Gravesend and Rochester, the road, 
 though farther from the river than about North- 
 fleet, 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 vil- 
 lages ; 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 MRS. RADCLIFFE. 17 
 
 of the castle, with its square ghastly walls and their 
 h ollow eyes, rising over a bank of the Med way, 
 g rey and massive and floorless ; nothing remain- 
 ing but the shell. From the bridge looked on 
 the right, up the Med way, winding broad be- 
 tween woody picturesque heights, sometimes shelv- 
 ing 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 nar- 
 row 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. Fur- 
 ther on, mounted Chatham Hill; the view wonder- 
 fully grand and various. The vale of the Med- 
 way, 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,
 
 18 LIFE AND WHITINGS 
 
 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 Sitting- 
 bourn, through orchards, pastures and fragrant 
 villages ; the road frequently rose and fell, but 
 the prospects were not considerable, except at Sit- 
 tingbourn, an open, pleasant town. 
 
 " September 2. — Set out about eleven for Can- 
 terbury. The road very hilly, but through a most 
 rich country of orchards, hop-grounds and pas- 
 tures, 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 re- 
 warded 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 Can- 
 terbury 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 build- 
 ings. The cathedral itself looked very tall and 
 solemn, like a spectre of ancient times, and seem- 
 ed to hint of what it had witnessed. As we ap-
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 19 
 
 proached 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 fre- 
 quently on the rising grounds. 
 
 " September 3. — Walked on the beach, watch- 
 ing the retiring and returning waves, and attend- 
 ing to the bursting thunder of the surge. 
 
 " Afterwards stood on a fortified point below the 
 castle, immediately and high over the beach, com- 
 manding 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 vil- 
 lage, 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 sha- 
 dowed ; the cliffs above us broken and encumbered 
 with fortifications ; the sea viewed bevond them,
 
 20 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 inex- 
 pressibly grand ; the sound more solemn and hol- 
 low 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 dowi^ 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 be- 
 come 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 be- 
 low. Coast of France visible ; though always 
 most clearly seen about sunset, when the west-
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 21 
 
 era 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 sink- 
 ing 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, run- 
 ning 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, Folk- 
 stone 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
 
 22 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 broken and wild, though small hills. The best cir- 
 cumstances 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 mid- 
 way 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 sink- 
 ing 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 en- 
 chanting 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 situ- 
 ated. Proceeded in the dusk for Sandgate. De- 
 scended 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
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 23 
 
 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, accom- 
 panied by her husband, visited Portsmouth, the 
 Isle of Wight and Winchester. Her journal on 
 this little tour, which she seems to have particu- 
 larly 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 tran- 
 quil. 
 
 " September 21, 1798. Sweet fresh morning. 
 Left Cobham between seven and eight. Passed
 
 24 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 ; after- 
 wards, many miles of heath, of a dull purple and 
 dusty iron brown, with, sometimes, sudden knolls 
 planted with firs; sometimes distances let in be- 
 tween 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 coun- 
 try, 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 culti- 
 vated ; 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 efful- 
 gence, 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
 
 OF MRS. RADCL1FFE. 25 
 
 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 South- 
 ampton ; retrospect of Bere forest in the valley, and 
 ascending among the Hampshire hills most beau- 
 tifully. 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 land- 
 locked harbours, which break the scene with com- 
 parative littlenesses. The shipping at Spithead 
 appeared beyond the town, on the left, where a low 
 
 vol. i. c
 
 26 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 South- 
 ampton water, and admits within its concave a 
 tract of low coast, that extends towards the chan- 
 nel. 
 
 (i Descend, and pass through the village of Co- 
 sham, at its foot. The road now becomes ani- 
 mated, and shows symptoms of a populous place ; 
 carts, coaches, horsemen, private carriages, sol- 
 diers, 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 Bom- 
 mel, in Holland. On the right, a view over the 
 harbour, with huge, black prison-ships moored 
 upon it. Passed through the long dusty old sub- 
 urbs. The town itself old, level and somewhat 
 mean, except the High-street, and about the sea- 
 ward 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 wait- 
 ing 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
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 27 
 
 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. Ad- 
 verse 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 chan- 
 nel, 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 har- 
 bour, 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 sweep- 
 ing 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 
 c2
 
 28 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 steeply from the shore ; many vessels at anchor in 
 the bay; its slopes of scattered wood and pas- 
 ture 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. In- 
 numerable vessels and little sails, whose whiteness 
 w r as just softened with the azure tint. It is im- 
 possible to express the beauty of those soft melt- 
 ing tints, that painted the distant perspective, 
 towards Spithead, where sea and sky united, and 
 where the dark masts and shapes of shipping, draw- 
 ing themselves on the horizon, gave this softness 
 its utmost effect.
 
 OF MltS. HADCLIFFE. 29 
 
 rt Returned to dine at the Vine. Hired a good 
 sailing-boat, to take us to Ryde ; and, after din- 
 ner, 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 
 anions: 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, some- 
 times opening into sweet valleys, at others, ad- 
 vancing gently, with all their " green delights," to 
 meet the passing sails. The coast immediately 
 opposite is uninteresting and flat; the chalky ridge 
 of Vortsdown 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 diffi- 
 cult 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,
 
 30 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 imagi- 
 nation 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 Ports- 
 mouth. 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
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFfi. 31 
 
 Hsing 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 deep- 
 ened, 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 Monck- 
 ton Fort. Landed after an hour and a half, at the 
 rampart steps. Walk by moonlight on the ram- 
 part. Supped and slept at the Fountain, after a 
 day the most delightful of the whole tour."' 1 
 
 From Portsmouth Mr. and Mrs. Radcliffe pro- 
 ceeded 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 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 Ports- 
 mouth, sending forth her people to the whole world ;
 
 32 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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. An- 
 gelica 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 pa- 
 lace. 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 employ- 
 ed 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 win- 
 dows poor, but the choir affords the most beauti- 
 ful coup cfail I ever saw ; the carving of the dark 
 stalls, and of the pulpit exquisitely fine ; but 
 the white flligranne-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 ex- 
 presses 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 counte-
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. llli 
 
 nance 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 suf- 
 ficiently 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. Rad- 
 clifFe 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 moun- 
 tainous hills and promontories, covered nearly to 
 their summits with thick, woody inclosurcs ; when- 
 ever 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, ve- 
 getation seems in the utmost luxuriance ; every 
 c 5
 
 34 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 cottage-window arboured with rose, or wood- 
 bine. 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 toil- 
 some 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. Gran- 
 deur, 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 is- 
 land 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
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 35 
 
 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, man- 
 tled with ivy, looked well in the dark perspec- 
 tive of the trees. Low arched doors in the gate- 
 way, at the sides ; loops for archers and abun- 
 dance 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, hand- 
 some, 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 vi- 
 sible from this side of the castle. We passed 
 through several noble apartments, not quite finish- 
 ed, and others indifferently furnished ; the walls of
 
 36 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 several, however, wainscoted, chair-high, with beau- 
 tiful 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 dis- 
 covered the sweep of grey downs about Brighton, 
 that form a back-ground 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 conse- 
 quence, 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 : alto- 
 gether 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
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 37 
 
 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 dark-- 
 ened 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 south- 
 ern 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 Sea- 
 ford 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
 
 38 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 Ports- 
 mouth. 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 re- 
 flections, 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 Al-
 
 OP MRS. RADCLIFFE. 39 
 
 friston, 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 emi- 
 nence 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 si- 
 lent course over this great scene awful — the de- 
 parture melancholy. Oh God ! thy great laws 
 will one day be more fully known by thy crea- 
 tures ; 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 neg- 
 lect 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 East- 
 bourne, and visited Beachy Head. The journal 
 contains the following short description, which
 
 40 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 places a striking scene before us, with a few strokes 
 of a masterly pencil. 
 
 " July 20.— Dined at the little village of Fris- 
 ton, 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 Prus- 
 sian 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. No- 
 thing 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 pe- 
 culiar 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
 
 OF MRS. RADCLITFE. 41 
 
 near the beach, to the summit of the Cape. Large 
 blocks of granite imbedded on the shore, and ex- 
 tending 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 possi- 
 ble 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* 
 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, be- 
 yond 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 dis- 
 tances by these great objects ; after one remote 
 point gained, another and another succeeded, and 
 still the great cliff was unattained ; the white pre- 
 cipices 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 
 
 * Her favourite Dog.
 
 42 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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." 
 
 The same afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Radcliffe 
 continued their tour to Hastings. The following 
 is the picturesque view of their journey from Bex- 
 hill 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 honey- 
 suckles 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 New- 
 ark castle. Near eleven, before we reached Hast- 
 ings ; no moon ; starlight ; milky- way very lucid ; 
 seemed to rise out of the sea. Solemn and pleasing 
 night-scene. Glow-worms, in great numbers, shone 
 silently and faintly on the dewy banks, like some- 
 thing 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 Hast- 
 ings? Three miles. Farther on had a narrow 
 escape : horse and chaise suddenly plunged down 
 a bank into the pebbles ; nearly overtuned. Hap-
 
 OP MRS. EADCLIFFE. 43 
 
 pily 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 ex- 
 tremely partial, and thence by Feversham to Lon- 
 don. After minutely detailing her little adven- 
 tures, she thus concludes her journey: — 
 
 " In all our tour saw nothing so fine and beau- 
 tiful 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 be- 
 tween 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 return- 
 ing by Haslemere, thus describes the country 
 immediately southward of that place. 
 
 u Three miles of continual ascent, or descent of 
 almost tremendous hills, long and steep opening 
 to vast distances, now obscured in ruin, but sub- 
 lime in their obscurity — 
 
 • Where wilds immeasurably spread, 
 Seem lengthening, as we go/ — Goldsmith.
 
 44 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 ' 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. 
 
 f 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 com- 
 fortable cottages lie snug beneath noble trees, and 
 ruddy children play under the branches, among 
 the huge timber felled on the ground, the Wood- 
 man's implements and the thatched hove]. Sylvan, 
 or other rural industry appeared in every ham- 
 let. Clouds of smoke from places, where wood was 
 charred, sometimes darkened the air. This is the 
 most woody tract in Sussex, and probably in Eng- 
 land. 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
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 45 
 
 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 shadow- 
 ing the road ; wherever the woods opened, espe- 
 cially 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 ex- 
 tremely 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. Fassed 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
 
 46 LIFE AND WAITINGS 
 
 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 in- 
 describable. 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 diversi- 
 fied by the light green of pastures and by fre- 
 quent 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 South- 
 ampton 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 be- 
 tween open lawns and woods, capping every little 
 eminence, and spreading round like those of Ken- 
 sington Gardens. Longed for the speed of a stag
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 47 
 
 to bound along these lawns and endless forest- 
 glades. Dined at the Crown, in a parlour oppo- 
 site to the inn, which was full ; some forest-com- 
 missioners here. The Princess Sophia of Glou- 
 cester expected at the King's House ; shown to us 
 by an elderly woman. Good rooms ; ancient fur- 
 niture. 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, to- 
 wards 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 re- 
 tire round lawns. Hence to Lymington : the coun- 
 try 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
 
 48 LIFE AND WHITINGS 
 
 many charming residences among the woody banks 
 on the left. Glided smoothly under a light sum- 
 mer 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 sun-set, 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. Land- 
 ed on Yarmouth quay, small, and crowded with 
 people. Dutch sentinels on the little fort over 
 the quay and rampart of the old casle. 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.
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 49 
 
 M 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 Dor- 
 setshire, 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 peep- 
 ing 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. 1 The whole country, from 
 the neighbourhood of Southampton to the West, 
 rises gradually from the shore into a line of hori- 
 zon little varied ; but the richness and cheerful 
 beauty of this widely extending amphitheatre, 
 geen 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" 1 Point. The 
 
 vol. T. D
 
 50 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 splinter- 
 ed 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 disap- 
 pointed 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. Re- 
 turned to Yarmouth at five."" 
 
 The following is Mrs. Radcliffe's account of a 
 visit to the tract called Undercliffe.
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 51 
 
 "Oct. 6. Set off for the Undercliffe, a tract 
 of shore formed by fallen cliffs, and closely barri- 
 cadoed by a wall of rock of vast height. Entered 
 upon it about a mile from Kniton, and found our- 
 selves 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 hori- 
 zontal strata, with frequent perpendicular fissures, 
 which threaten the trravelle 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 irre- 
 gular 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. Some- 
 times 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 threaten- 
 d2
 
 52 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 ing 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. Beauti- 
 ful 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 be- 
 hind it, having below them, on the other hand, the 
 little woody village of St. Boniface, with its beauti- 
 ful cottages and villas.*" 
 
 The remaining memoranda of. the visit to Steep- 
 hill, 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. 1 '' Again, " Sun- 
 lights on the sea, and, now and then, bright green 
 spots between black shadows;" — in the evening 
 " a fiery sun-set with sullen clouds." The follow- 
 ing short recollection of a storm is full of feeling 
 and power : — 
 " After dark, a storm, with thunder and lightning;
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 53 
 
 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 dis- 
 tinguished 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 sub- 
 sided, the thunder rolled away towards the Sussex 
 coast. This display of the elements was the grand- 
 est 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 conti- 
 nuance of t sure power, without effort." 
 
 From Steephill the travellers proceeded to Ryde, 
 where Mrs. Radcliffe made the following charac- 
 teristic 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 hori- 
 zon from it, is often very grand. Upon the whole,
 
 54 LIFE AND WHITINGS 
 
 I prefer rich beauty to wild beauty, unless accom- 
 panied by such shapes of grandeur as verge upon 
 the sublime. Lovely sun-set ; a roseate, melting 
 into saffron and shades of blue ; some light purple 
 streaks. Below, the dark woody line of shore bend- 
 ing 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 love- 
 ly 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,
 
 OF MRS. RADJLIFFE. 55 
 
 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 Canter- 
 bury. 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 termi- 
 nates 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.
 
 56 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 "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 nar- 
 row vein of open work running near the oitfer 
 edge, which gives lightness to them.* 
 
 After an attempt to visit Stonehenge, which was 
 frustrated by a violent storm, Mr. and Mrs. Rad- 
 clifFe 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 re- 
 turned by Woodstock and Oxford. From the 
 journal kept during that tour, the following de- 
 scriptions of Kenil worth, 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 charac- 
 teristic of the writer's feelings and tastes. 
 
 Kenilworth. 
 
 " Left Coventry at half past twelve, and passed 
 through a pleasant well-wooded country to Kenil- 
 worth. Almost every village over-topped with 
 lofty trees. Passed for some miles over Kenil- 
 worth Chase, by a straight road of noble breadth,
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 57 
 
 bordered with forest. Part of this forest was, in 
 former times, cut down, in order to dislodge rob- 
 bers. 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 resi- 
 dence, 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 thick- 
 est 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 Caesar'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 Caesar's Tower is 
 the grandest. This was once the great hall, or 
 banquet! rig-room. Its three beautiful pointed 
 d5
 
 58 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 dra- 
 pery of ivy. The trunk of some of this ivy is of 
 great thickness, and it is so old, that fti 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 inter- 
 mingled and crowned with alder and ash plants. 
 This view of the ruin was very striking ; the three 
 chief masses great and solemn, without being beau- 
 tiful. They spoke at once to the imagination, 
 with the force and simplicity of truth, the nothing- 
 ness 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, com- 
 municating by small Gothic doorways, and ex-
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 59 
 
 tending, 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 sud- 
 den turn into the tower that terminates the cas- 
 tle), where appeared before me a broad, yet dark 
 staircase of oak, and at the foot of it, as if guard- 
 ing 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 break- 
 ing through the painted window at the foot of the 
 stair-case, and touching the bronze, gave full effect 
 to this scene, and heightened the obscurity of the 
 stairs, in perspective. This armour came from Ger- 
 many ; 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 com- 
 plete suit of black armour, the knees with pro- 
 jecting 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,
 
 60 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 Cas- 
 tle, the rivers and the country far and wide, re- 
 ceived 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 ap- 
 propriate 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
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 61 
 
 over clumps of trees, appears to greater advan- 
 tage than when more distinctly viewed : its many 
 turrets, now beheld in clusters, have an air of 
 grandeur, which they want when separately ob_ 
 servable. As we advance, the groves on the 
 left thicken and have a forest-like shade ; but 
 the view on the rising ground, including the ce- 
 lebrated 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 com- 
 parable 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 ave- 
 nue 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
 
 62 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 circum- 
 ference; a very extraordinary tree for size. De- 
 lighted 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 laugh- 
 ing behind it, as she frightens her sister, who 
 draws back in doubt and with some apprehension
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 63 
 
 but calmly. The figure of Lady C. has all the 
 natural, playful grace of a child, though the atti- 
 tude 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 ex- 
 cels the interior decorations of other great man- 
 sions. 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 charac- 
 ter. 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 ad- 
 mirable; 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
 
 64 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 wait- 
 ing beside him." 
 
 In June 1805, Mrs. Radcliffe went to see Bel- 
 vedere 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 visi- 
 ble 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 en- 
 trance is to a light, elegant hall, or vestibule, of 
 French grey stucco, as are all the extensive pas- 
 sages of the house, the floors covered with oil- 
 cloth, of a small pattern, in shades of blue. On 
 ■the right, through an ante-room of elegant simpli- 
 city, pass to a dining-room ; the walls of French- 
 grey ; silk-moreen curtains, orange ; chocolate-co- 
 loured fringe. Over the door, two exquisite views 
 of Venice, by Canaletti ; the Alchymist, Teniers, 
 in a corner near the fire ; then Rembrandt (by him- 
 self), looking out of the picture, with a broad
 
 OF MRS. HADCLIFFE. 65 
 
 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 Na- 
 ture. 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 luxu- 
 rious 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 ■win- 
 dow looks down upon a noble sweep of the 
 Thames, with the well-wooded sloping hills of
 
 66 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 visi- 
 ble 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 ele- 
 gantly swelling sails at their heads and above them, 
 and skiffs, or other boats, with their little sprit- 
 sails, too often bending low :— these, with the hills 
 of Essex bending into bluish distance, form alto- 
 gether 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 impa- 
 tiently for admittance, their horses rearing and 
 prancing ; upon the high, shadowing walls, shrubs 
 appear against the light sky, and above them is
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 67 
 
 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, whe- 
 ther 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 sweet- 
 ness. 
 
 t 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
 
 68 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 
 semi-circular 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 curi- 
 osity. We did not see the woody grounds ex- 
 tending very far along the brow over the Thames, 
 nor the tower of the Belvedere, nearly at the ex- 
 tremity 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 west- 
 ern point lies near the foot of this eminence, con- 
 cealed by the woods. But from a window of this 
 lofty tower I doubt not the eye extends to Graves- 
 end in the east, and probably further. Its south-
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 69 
 
 em 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 re- 
 miniscences of the house, and especially of its pic- 
 tures. 
 
 " We were astonished at the extent of this 
 mansion, and at its vast collection of portraits. 
 Warwick Castle has the greatest number of Van- 
 dyke'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.
 
 70 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 It was bought by the late Duke in Italy, for 
 seven hundred pounds. The brown gallery is al- 
 most covered with portraits by Holbein, the great- 
 est 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 con- 
 taining three portraits, that in the middle is of 
 Luther. His bluff, blunt, strong habits of ex- 
 pression ; his dauntless and persevering mind ; his 
 consciousness of the truth and importance of his 
 cause, and his resolution to maintain it, are well ex- 
 pressed : 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 se- 
 veral 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 melan- 
 choly. No very fine pictures in what is called Lady 
 Betty Germain's room, which looks delightfullv 
 upon the green and stately alleys of the garden.
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 71 
 
 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, 
 phvsician to James the First, and to two of his 
 successors, by Vandyke : he is seated in an arm- 
 chair, 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, Hoppners 
 copy of his portrait of Mr. Pitt, a strong, and, 
 I think, not a flattering likeness. Fletcher, in- 
 telligent, thoughtful, and tender ; brown com- 
 plexion, 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 eye- 
 brows not bent, like Johnson's, firmly and evenly
 
 72 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 ten- 
 der countenance, but not so squalid as one we for- 
 merly 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 state- 
 rooms. 
 
 " 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
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 73 
 
 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, sen- 
 sible woman ; a little too much care in the attitude. 
 
 u In one room a head of Louis the Fourteenth, 
 all flutter and fume. 
 
 lC 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. 
 
 u 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 gran- 
 deur. 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 bole, 
 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 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 gate- 
 way of Portsea. Went to the George Inn, a very 
 large handsome house, with many galleries and 
 staircases. Handsome furniture and excellent ac- 
 commodation, except that you could get nothing 
 when you wanted it. We had fish brought with- 
 out plates, and then plates without bread. All 
 this owing to a vast throng of company, two hun- 
 dred 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
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 75 
 
 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, accord- 
 ing 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 an- 
 swered ; also the increasing impatience of the ring- 
 er, till, at the third, or fourth summons, the bell 
 was in a downright passion. There was a mis- 
 chievous 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 de- 
 lightful sail, festooning among all the fleet at Spit- 
 head. 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 P 1 — ' The Rover.' Every body
 
 76 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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, Cap- 
 tain 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 stronds 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 
 (i so far to leeward." They talked of parts of 
 Smyrna, Constantinople, and other ports beyond
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 77 
 
 the Straights, as familiarly as they could of Lon- 
 don 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 cap- 
 tain of the packet, formerly a pilot, had a keen, 
 steady, dark eye, with a brow low-bent, from at- 
 tention 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 cli-
 
 78 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 mate 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 con- 
 fusion, as if by an earthquake, and stretching into 
 the sea, which spreads its vast circumference be- 
 yond, 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 
 Bon church, 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 tremen- 
 dous — steeps below steeps, to the surge beating and 
 whitening below all. Followed, for some time
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 79 
 
 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 re- 
 turned home. The sea a desert, except that a 
 fine frigate sailed majestically at a distance, and 
 one brio: was also in sip;ht. 
 
 " How sweet is the cadence of the distant surjre ! 
 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 whi ch Ariel also com- 
 memorates, together with the sea-wave : — 
 
 1 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."
 
 80 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 From several walks in the neighbourhood of 
 Steephill, we select the following: — 
 
 " Passed Lord Dysarfs beautiful cottage. It 
 stands at some distance from the shore, and has 
 several distinct roofs, well thatched : a large con- 
 servatory 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 haw- 
 thorn 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 ; im- 
 mediately beyond which, we entered upon a scene 
 of extreme wildness, grandeur and solitude. Many 
 of the ruinous precipices of the upper cliffs pro- 
 ject in horizontal strata, yet have perpendicular 
 rents. Some of the shattered masses give most 
 clear echoes: we stood before one, which re- 
 peated 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 V 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 V 
 and again it gave every word, as if in sport or
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 81 
 
 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 in- 
 describable; 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. 
 e 5
 
 OZ LIFE AMD WRITINGS 
 
 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. 
 Prom some very extensive notes upon this an- 
 cient seat of the Sydneys, we extract the follow- 
 ing :— 
 
 " As we drew near, the woods began to thin ; 
 and an old latticed wooden gate showed one en- 
 trance 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 climb- 
 ed, 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 con- 
 siderable 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
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 85 
 
 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 
 tt should be, and than it really is, one of the late
 
 84 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 owners, to remedy this defect, had a painted per- 
 spective placed at one end — a most unsuitable ex- 
 pedient 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 look- 
 ing 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 at- 
 tended 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 4 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. c Was she 
 Lady Perry p 1 £ Yes. sir,' rather sharply, as if asto- 
 nished that we could doubt it. s Was she a Lady 
 by birth P 1 s Yes, sir, 1 more sharply, 6 she Was 
 a Lady indeed.' She led us down a modernized
 
 OF MRS. BADCLIFFE. 85 
 
 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-par- 
 lour, a staircase leads past many rooms lined with 
 oak panels, worm-eaten ; among them the nur- 
 sery, 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
 
 86 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 and lofty chimney piece and round the roof, 
 e 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 man- 
 sion but Lady Perry. As to Sir Philip and the 
 rest of the Sydney* 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, tea- 
 cakes and crumpets were baked, and related, with 
 pride, that she used to assist in turning them." 
 
 In October 1812, Mrs. RadclifFe visited Mal- 
 vern. 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 zig- 
 zag 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
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFF. 87 
 
 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, whicli 
 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 strik- 
 ing, 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 glimmer- 
 ing 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. Hav- 
 ing, at length, turned into a sort of intrenchment, 
 which runs up to the summit, and divides Wor- 
 cestershire and Herefordshire, we walked in this 
 securely, and with some little shelter from the 
 winds, till we reached the highest point of Mal- 
 vern, and beheld a vast horizon circling at our
 
 88 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 impress- 
 ive effect. Even Breedon-hill, that broad feature 
 in the vale of the Severn, was here too much low- 
 ered.. Towns and villages were often distinguish- 
 able 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 coun- 
 ties, 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 Cathe- 
 dral 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 cathe- 
 drals — Gloucester, Worcester, and Hereford, to 
 say nothing of the fine abbey-church of Tewks- 
 bury. The tower of Malvern church, once a 
 priory-church, is also a venerable feature in the 
 scene. One of the most striking circumstances
 
 OF MRS. EADCLIFFE. 89 
 
 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 surpris- 
 ingly ; and many are most charmingly seated.* 
 
 Mrs. Radcliffe was particularly interested by 
 Kenil worth Castle, and spent much time in explor- 
 ing 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 Blonde- 
 ville, now for the first time given to the world. 
 After this, she undertook no work of magnitude, 
 but occasionaly 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 impossi- 
 ble to surpass her M Mysteries of Udolpho" and her 
 " Italian," declined again to subject herself to criti- 
 cism 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
 
 90 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 in- 
 terest 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 affect- 
 ed by a passage of Miss Seward's correspondence, 
 which seemed, to her apprehensive feelings, to con- 
 vey an imputation that she had allowed the dramas 
 afterwards avowed by Miss Baillie to be attribut- 
 ed 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
 
 OF MRS. KADCLIFFE. 91 
 
 much of the power and defects of Mrs RadeliftVs 
 compositions in these dramas, as to believe them 
 her's, 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 preced- 
 ing events. Still she always takes hold of the 
 reader's feeling-, 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. Rad- 
 clinVs ;" 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 li- 
 terary 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 pro- 
 priety and honour. She made inquiries after Mrs. 
 Jackson, the ladv mentioned as Miss Seward's
 
 92 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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. Jack- 
 son 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 circum- 
 stances, 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 facti- 
 tious 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, 
 <c O grant an honest fame, or grant me nonei" 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 writ- 
 ing 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 ascrip- 
 tion of those powerful compositions to her pen,
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 93 
 
 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 sanc- 
 tioned ; and the same susceptible delicacy, which 
 made her feel it so deeply, compelled her to bear 
 it in silence. The subject, which was always pain- 
 ful 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
 
 94 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 acquaintance. The fact, indeed, was exactly the 
 reverse; for, in the spring of 1799, Mrs. Carter 
 sent to Mrs. Radcliffe a letter of introduction frorr> 
 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 re- 
 quired country air, was obliged respectfully to de- 
 cline the intended honour. The correspondence 
 appeared in the Annual Biography for 1834, 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 cordi- 
 ally, the admiration and personal respect, with 
 which Mrs. Carter thought and spoke of Mrs. 
 Radcliffe. 
 
 With more i*eason, 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
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 95 
 
 a Tour through England, in noticing the Duke of 
 Rutland's venerable and romantic seat, called Had- 
 don 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, 
 ami was under confinement in Derbyshire : — the 
 fact being, not only that the main assertion was 
 false, but that all its accompaniments were desti- 
 tute 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 author- 
 ess, 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 illustra- 
 tion. It also supplied materials for poetry ; as in 
 an " Ode to Terror," with other effusions, pub- 
 lished 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 en- 
 dure 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 con- 
 finement, and the charity of others, who had kindly 
 permitted her to find a release in death from her 
 supposed intellectual sufferings.
 
 96 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 sa- 
 tiated with exploring all the finest country within 
 100 miles of London, and she became more at- 
 tached 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 beau- 
 tiful spots in the neighbourhood of London, where 
 they dined and spent the day at some good inn, and 
 returned in the evening. Esher, Stanmore, Rich- 
 mond, Southgate, and Harrow, were their favourite 
 places of resort, especially the latter, where they 
 chose the room, not the largest, but which com- 
 mands 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. 
 
 u 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 MRS. RADCLIFFE. 97 
 
 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 fan- 
 cied to the lines of monarch s, with which they might 
 be coeval, she described the trees separately as Plan- 
 tagenet 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 chro- 
 nicled 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 thg 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 ap- 
 peared with a very sublime effect. No sound but 
 
 vol. i. /
 
 98 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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, appear- 
 ing 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? 
 
 u What particularly strikes at Windsor is the 
 length of terrace in the east, thus seen by moon- 
 light; 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 appear- 
 ance 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 think- 
 ing with Schiller, that, after all, one of the best 
 enjoyments of life arises from the exact perform-
 
 OF MHS. RADCL1FFE. 99 
 
 ancc 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 ■' Wavedey," 
 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 ro- 
 mances. 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 heme 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 af- 
 fected by sacred music, and occasionally went to 
 the oratorios, when they afforded her the opportu- 
 nity 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 ac- 
 tress, before the commencement of her splendid
 
 100 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 career in London, going to Church with her little 
 son Henry, and was struck by her exceeding dig- 
 nity 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, how- 
 ever 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 af- 
 fectionate 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, oppo- 
 site to our windows, were but dim and almost shape-
 
 OF MRS. BADCLIJrFE. 101 
 
 less hints of what they were. Many vessels, with sails 
 -et, 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 har- 
 bour. The little black boats around them often 
 sunk 10 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 im-
 
 102 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 proved 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. Scu- 
 damore, to whose care she had formerly been in- 
 debted, 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 mur- 
 der recently perpetrated, pressed on her memory, 
 and joined with the natural operation of the dis- 
 ease 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 re- 
 freshment, which she took with apparent satisfac- 
 tion, her last words being, " There is some sub- 
 stance 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 be- 
 tween two and three o'clock in the morning of the
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 103 
 
 seventh of February, 1823, being in the 59th year 
 of her age. Her countenance after death was de- 
 lightfully 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. RadclinVs 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 state- 
 ment, which he has kindly given, and which must 
 set such idle reports entirely at rest. It is as 
 follows : 
 
 " Mrs. Radeliffe had been for several years sub- 
 ject to severe catarrhal coughs, and also was occa- 
 sionally afflicted with asthma. 
 
 " In March 1822, she was ill with inflamma- 
 tion 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 conse- 
 quence of exposure to cold, she was again attacked 
 with inflammation of the lungs, and much more 
 severely than before. Active treatment was im- 
 mediately 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
 
 104 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 was so decided, as to present a slight prospect of 
 recovery. 
 
 " Alas ! our hopes were soon disappointed. Sud- 
 denly, in the very moment of seeming calm from 
 the previous violence of disease, a new inflamma- 
 tion 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, so- 
 ciety was deprived of a most amiable and valua- 
 ble 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 inflamma- 
 tion 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 neces- 
 sary ally of her fine genius ; but this quality would
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 105 
 
 serve to increase the warmth of the social feel- 
 ings, and effectually prevent the insulation of the 
 mind, either as regards the temper or the under- 
 standing." 
 
 T\Irs. 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 pre- 
 vented by serious indisposition, regularly attended 
 its services. Her piety, though cheerful, was deep 
 and sincere. Although perfectly well bred, and en- 
 dowed 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 some- 
 thing of the delicacy of feeling, which marked her 
 character. If, in her retirement, she was some- 
 times 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. Hadciiffe may fairly be considered as the 
 inventor of a new style of romance; equally dis- 
 tinct from the old tales of chivalry and magic, and 
 from modern representations of credible incidents
 
 106 LIFE AND WRTTiXi- 
 
 and living manners. Her works partially exhibit 
 the charms of each species of composition ; inter- 
 weaving the miraculous with the probable, in con- 
 sistent 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 cu- 
 riosity, 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 adven- 
 ture ; 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 im- 
 pression, 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 twi- 
 light of the imagination harmonizes with the lux- 
 urious and uncertain light cast on their wonders. 
 By those, who come at such an age to their pe- 
 rusal, they will never be forgotten. 
 
 The principal means, which Mrs. RadcllfFe em- 
 ployed to raise up her enchantments on the bor- 
 ders of truth, are, first, her faculty of awakening
 
 OF MHS. RADCL1FFE. 107 
 
 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 develope- 
 ment 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 extreme? 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 confes- 
 sion. 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 un- 
 earthly, our Curiosity and Fear assume the gran- 
 deur of passions. We might well doubt our own im- 
 mortality, if we felt no restless desire to forestal the
 
 108 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 knowledge of its great secret, and held no obsti- 
 nate 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 as- 
 sociations ; and, on the other, to clothe the affec- 
 tions 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 super- 
 natural 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 pic- 
 tures are consistent with themselves, without any 
 reference to the prejudices, or passions, of those, be- 
 fore 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
 
 01 MRS. RADCLIFFE. ] 09 
 
 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 mo- 
 dern 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 accumu- 
 lated on horrors. Beyond the precincts of the nur- 
 sery, they are nothing but a succession of scenic re- 
 presentations — 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. 1 ' 
 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 the}- may possess, 
 have the power to fascinate and appal, by touch- 
 ing those secret strings of mortal apprehension, 
 which, connect our earthly with our spiritual being.
 
 110 LIFE AMD WRITINGS 
 
 In these later days, it, no doubt, requires a fine 
 knowledge of the human heart to employ the su- 
 pernatural, 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 busi- 
 ness of life, but of the cold and shuddering sym- 
 pathy 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 preparations 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 be- 
 yond Shakspeare's skill. A few short sentences 
 only prepare the way for the ghost of the muiv 
 dered 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, be- 
 longed 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 associ- 
 ated their superstitions with the solemnities of 
 nature, and contrived to interweave them in the 
 very texture of life, without making themselves re-
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. Ill 
 
 sponsible for the feelings they excite: or they have, 
 by mysterious hints and skilful contrivances, exci- 
 ted 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 them- 
 selves in the obscurity fearful shapes, and to feel 
 the presence of invisible horrors. 
 
 Those, who seek to create a species of superna- 
 tural 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 expe- 
 rience of all reflecting minds, which may scarcely 
 be referred to their mere mortal nature, and which 
 sometimes force on the coldest sceptic a convic- 
 tion, that he is " fearfully 1 '' as well as " wonder- 
 fully 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 visi tings of serious thought, gently agita- 
 ting the soul like the wind " that bloweth where 
 it listeth," suggesting to it holy fancies, and 
 awakening its first sympathy with a world of sor- 
 row and of tears. Who has not felt, or believed 
 that he has felt, a sure presentiment of approach- 
 ing 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
 
 112 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 remem- 
 ber moments of inspiration, when statelier images 
 than his common intellect can embody, hopes and 
 assurances brighter than his constitutional tem- 
 perament, 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 dis- 
 cerned, 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 \ oices more solemn than from 
 old superstitions, to which lie may bid us hearken. 
 In his works, prophecies may be fulfilled ; presenti- 
 ments justified; the history of manhood may an- 
 swer to the dreams of the nursery ; and he may 
 leave his readers to assert if they can, " These 
 have their causes ; they are natural. 1 ' Let him 
 only give due effect to the problem, and he may 
 safely trust their hearts to supply the answer !
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 113 
 
 The other mode of exciting terror requires, per- 
 haps, greater delicacy and skill, as the author 
 purposes to influence the mind directly from with- 
 out, instead of leaving it, after receiving a certain 
 clue, to its own workings. In this style, up to 
 the point where Mrs. Radcliffe chooses t,> nause 
 and explain, she has no rival. She knows the 
 string of feeling she must touch, and exactly pro- 
 portions 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 ima- 
 gination, 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 in- 
 cantations, or accumulated butcheries. " Pluck 
 out the heart of her mystery P — 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 perpe-
 
 114 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 trated 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 cap- 
 tives ; 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 remark- 
 able, 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 ri- 
 vets 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 fa- 
 culty, 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
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 115 
 
 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 trans- 
 gressed 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 in- 
 vented. To the imagination it is not only pos- 
 sible, 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 al- 
 together, and introduce, in its stead, a variety of 
 startling phenomena, which are resolved at last
 
 118 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 exist- 
 ence ; and " The Mysteries of Udolpho" would 
 have fallen still-born from the press ! Why then 
 should the author turn traitor to her own u 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. ltadclhTe's works, especially on a second 
 perusal, sets off, in the strongest light, the wizard 
 power of her genius. Even when she has dis- 
 solved mystery after mystery, and abjured spell
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 117 
 
 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. RadclimVs 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 amuse-
 
 118 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 ment, abundantly prove. In the first, the bold- 
 ness 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 sim- 
 plicity 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 tempta- 
 tion 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
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 119 
 
 imaged in her transparent style. Perhaps no 
 writer in prose, or verse, has been so happy in de- 
 scribing 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. RadcliffrVs 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 charac- 
 ters. No writer ever produced so powerful an 
 effect, without the aid of sympathy. Her machi- 
 nery acts directly on her readers, and makes them 
 tremble and weep, not for others, but for them- 
 selves. Adeline, Emily, Vivaldi, and Ellena, are 
 nothing to us, except as filling up the scene ; but 
 it is we ourselves, w T ho discover the manuscript in 
 the deserted abbey ; we, who are prisoners in the 
 castle of Udolpho ; we, who are inmates of Spa- 
 latro's cottage; we, who stand before the secret 
 tribunal of the Inquisition, and even there are
 
 120 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 startled by the mysterious voice deepening its hor- 
 rors. The whole is prodigious painting, so entire 
 as to surround us with illusion ; so cunningly ar- 
 ranged 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 pre- 
 sent 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 enchant- 
 ment would have been dissolved, as spells are 
 broken by a holy word, or as the ghost of Pro- 
 tesilaus vanished before the earthly passion of his 
 enamoured widow. 
 
 As the absence of discriminated feeling and cha- 
 racter was necessary to the completeness of the effect 
 Mrs. Radcliffe sought to produce, so she was rather 
 assisted by manners peculiarly straight-laced and
 
 OF MRS. RADCLTFFE. 121 
 
 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 pru- 
 dence of her heroines do not abstract them from 
 the scenes of loveliness and terror through 
 which we desire to follow them. If her scru- 
 pulous sense of propriety had not restrained her 
 comic powers, Mrs. Radcliffe would probably 
 have displayed considerable talent for the hu- 
 morous. 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 o/Udolpho" and " The Pa/ian}' 
 in which alone the chief peculiarities of Mrs. Rad- 
 cliffe's genius are decidedly marked. In her first 
 work, " The Castles of At hi hi and Dunbayne? 'it is 
 scarcely possible to discover their germ. Its scene 
 
 vol. i. g
 
 122 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 is laid " in the most romantic part of the Highlands 
 of Scotland,'' yet it is without local truth or strik- 
 ing picture. It is at once extravagant and cold. 
 Except one scene, where the Earl of Athlin pur- 
 sues 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 mi- 
 nuteness of Mrs. RadclifiVs descriptions, should 
 read this work, where every thing passes with head- 
 long 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 percept- 
 ible 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 spi- 
 rit 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. RadclinVs productions. The flight
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE. 123 
 
 of her heroine is like a strain of "lengthened 
 sweetness long drawn out ;" — as one series of deli- 
 cious 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 sus- 
 pense 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 suf- 
 fice. — 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 dis- 
 covers 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,
 
 124 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 wit- 
 nesses 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,' 1 where, as in that great romance, they 
 should not only be told, but painted ; and where 
 reality and grandeur should be given to their ter- 
 rors. 
 
 In " The Romance of the Forest," Mrs. Rad- 
 cliffe, 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
 
 OF MRS. ItADCLlFFE. 125 
 
 excellence. There is a just proportion between 
 all its parts ; its mysteries are adequately explain- 
 ed ; it excites and gratifies a very pleasant degree 
 of curiosity; but it does not seem to dilate the ima- 
 gination, nor does it curdle the blood. Its open- 
 ing after a sentence of marvellous common-place, 
 is striking; the midnight journey of La Motte and 
 his family they know not whither, and the intro- 
 duction of the heroine, under extraordinary cir- 
 cumstances, 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 out- 
 law; 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 na- 
 tural 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 supernatu- 
 ral ; but the skeleton in the chest of the vaulted 
 chamber ; the dagger, spotted with rust ; the manu- 
 script of the prisoner, which Adeline reads by the 
 fitful light of her lamp, and which proves to be
 
 126 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 written by her own father, possess us with the ap- 
 prehension 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 commence- 
 ment ; but they gratify by affording a worthy so- 
 lution 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 pre- 
 eminence 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 har- 
 monizes all its scenes, and renders its fascination
 
 OF MHS. RADCL1FFE. 127 
 
 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. Au- 
 bert, 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 Pyre- 
 nees, where we trace out every variety of moun- 
 tain grandeur ; the richly-coloured scene of vin- 
 tage gaiety among the woods of the chateau ; 
 and the death of St. Aubert in the neighbour- 
 hood of a place, which we understand to be con- 
 nected with his destiny, and where strains of un- 
 earthly music are heard in sad accordance with 
 human sorrow. When Emily's aunt, to Avhose 
 care she is consigned, marries the desperate Mon- 
 toni, 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
 
 1£S LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 isUdolpho !" 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 won- 
 ders, 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' 1 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 in- 
 vested ; 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 per- 
 haps they are even more touching ; at least, the 
 visit of Emily to the chamber where the Mar- 
 chioness 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 life- 
 time of their owner ; her veil, which hand had
 
 OF MRS. ItADCLIFFE. 129 
 
 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 spec- 
 tral, 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 house- 
 keeper 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 ex- 
 plained by circumstances provokingly trivial. What 
 reader would bear to be told that the black veil, 
 from which his imagination has scarcely been al- 
 lowed 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 wan- 
 der 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 Uldopho ;" and its pictures are more 
 individual and distinct ; but it has far less tender- 
 ness and beauty. Its very introduction, unlike 
 the gentle opening of the former romance, im-
 
 130 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 presses 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 com- 
 partments ; 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 sea- 
 shore ; and the whole representation of the Inquisi- 
 tion, which fills the mind when Schedonrs suprema- 
 cy 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 essen- 
 tially fearful ; and all the circumstances are con- 
 trived with admirable effect to heighten, vary and 
 prolong the feeling of curiosity and terror. The 
 dreary horrors of the fisherman's cottage are ad- 
 mirably 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
 
 OF MRS. RADCLIFFE, 131 
 
 eclat ; with the equally unaccountable delay in 
 performing the deed ; the strange relentings of 
 the ruffian ; and the long preparation, which pre- 
 cedes 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 sug- 
 gest 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 impa- 
 tient 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 pro- 
 duced only cumbrous caricatures, in which the ter- 
 rors were without decorum, and the explanations ab- 
 solutely farcical. No successful writer has followed
 
 132 LIFE AND WRITINGS. 
 
 her without calling to aid other means, which she 
 would not condescend to use. The Author of 
 4 ' The Monk" mingled a sickly voluptuousness 
 with his terrors ; and Maturin, full of " rich con- 
 ceit s," 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 un- 
 seen, 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 authen- 
 ticity ; and that fact, he apprehends, will be suffici- 
 ently 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 say- 
 ing, that they will audit his account of that distribu- 
 tion.
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE; 
 
 OR THE 
 
 COURT OF HENRY THE THIRD 
 KEEPING FESTIVAL IN ARDEN. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 " Well ! now are we in Arden," said 
 an English traveller to his companion, as 
 they passed between Coventry and War- 
 wick, over ground, which his dear Shaks- 
 peare had made classic. As he uttered 
 this exclamation of Rosalind, he looked for- 
 ward 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 
 B 2
 
 4 GASTON DE BLOND F.VILLE. 
 
 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 way- 
 faring 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 ne- 
 glect the creeping hours of time," while he 
 sadly sympathized with the poor stag, that, 
 escaped from the pursuit of man, came to
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEV1LLE. 5 
 
 drop his tears into the running brook, and 
 to die in quiet. Not even a grove appear- 
 ed, 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 listen- 
 ing 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 re- 
 presented to him for the forest of Arden. 
 
 " Alas!' 1 said he, " that enchanting vi- 
 sion 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
 
 O GASTON DE ELONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 Mil- 
 ton, 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 Wilioughton's 
 increased earnestness had rendered him less 
 and less S3nsible 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, fortu- 
 nately concealing how nearly he had ap- 
 proached to a nap, answered, " No, no ; I 
 do not recollect any thing of what you tell 
 me ; but you were talking a little while
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 7 
 
 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 prepar- 
 ing, and you will find, on the terrace or 
 platform before the gates, towers frown- 
 ing 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," re- 
 plied Willoughton, laughing : " Though I 
 am not so fond of ghosts in general, as you 
 seem to think. It is only for a few of par- 
 ticular 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
 
 8 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 land of Arden, the ground of Shakspeare, 
 had led. Sunk in reverie, he was no longer 
 in the living scene, hut 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
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. J 
 
 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 west era sun 
 throws along the ground, beyond those 
 low-hung boughs on our left.'* 
 
 As the travellers advanced upon Kenil- 
 worth-chace, the country assumed a mere 
 forest-like appearance, and a new train of 
 ideas engaged Willoughton, on approach- 
 ing the venerable ruins of the once magnifi- 
 cent castle, at one period its prison, and at 
 another, the plaisance of royalty, where 
 Edward the II. groaned under the traiter- 
 ous power of Mortimer, and his abandoned 
 Queen ; and where the crafty Leicester 
 entertained Elizabeth, with princely splen- 
 dour. 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 
 b 5
 
 10 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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, accord- 
 ing to Dugdale, who observes of the castle 
 and its territory, that "the like, both for 
 strength, state, and pleasure, was not with- 
 in the realm of England." 
 
 Recollections of the long and varied his- 
 tory 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, be- 
 neath 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
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 11 
 
 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. Simp- 
 son, who immediately directed the posti- 
 lion 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 en- 
 trance 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 Willongh- 
 ton became tempered with a gentle and
 
 12 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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.
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 13 
 
 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 war- 
 der's bench lurked within the gloom, nor 
 portcullis hung in the arch. The war- 
 den's chamber for those, who, by military 
 tenure, kept guard on certain nights of 
 the year, was transformed into a light par- 
 lour, 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 no- 
 ble mass of ruins that yet stand proudly 
 on their rocky knoll, and form three ir- 
 regular 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,
 
 14 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 call- 
 ed 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 Caesar'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 ap- 
 pears 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 no- 
 ble tower is built, is of closer texture and 
 of a greyer hue, than that in any other 
 part of the building; and this hue har-
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 15 
 
 monizes beautifully with the ivy towers, 
 which overshadow its arches and door- 
 cases, and with the ashlings and elder 
 crowning its summit, which highly over- 
 tops 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 in- 
 former, and saw a tall, thin man, who ap-
 
 6 
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 peared to be a villager, and who, without 
 waiting for encouragement, proceeded : " I 
 have heard say, they destroyed all that 
 stood between Caesar's and John O'Gaunt's 
 tower there, at the end of the great hall, 
 and a deal on the other side of the court, 
 between the Whitehall and Lord Leices- 
 ter'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 Eli- 
 zabeth," 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
 
 GASTON BE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 17 
 
 now slopes its rays through the arch, as if 
 purposely to show the beauty of its pro- 
 portion and the grace of the vine that 
 entwines it." 
 
 " Ay," said Mr. Simpson, " many a pit- 
 cher of wine and many a baron of beef 
 have been earned under that arch by the 
 kings 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. How- 
 ever, it is probable, that, before the ap- 
 pointment 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 dou- 
 ble row, with wine ewers in their hands."
 
 18 
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVTLLE. 
 
 " 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 si- 
 news 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
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 19 
 
 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 distin- 
 guished the upper end of that magnificent 
 banqueting-room, the very spot where the 
 dels, or high table, had stood, which had 
 feasted kings and princes, its lords, or vi- 
 sitors ; where Henry the Third had sit- 
 ten, 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, open- 
 ing 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 occa-
 
 20 
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 sions, had probably held a plate-board, or 
 cup-board, and, on others, had been oc- 
 cupied 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 frag- 
 ment of either roof, or floor, remaining ; 
 the ground, upon which Willoughton im- 
 mediately looked, having been the foun- 
 dation 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 
 door-ways and of beautiful gothic win- 
 dows, that had admitted the light of the 
 same sun, which at this moment sent the 
 last gleam of another day upon Willough- 
 ton, and warned him, that another portion 
 of his life too was departing.
 
 GASTON DE I3LOXDF.VILLE. -1 
 
 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 re- 
 velled beneath us, the pomp of power, the 
 magnificence of wealth, the grace of beauty, 
 the joy of hope, the interests of high pas- 
 sion and of low pursuits have passed from 
 this scene for ever ; yet we remain, the 
 spectres of departed years and shall re- 
 main, 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
 
 ** GASTON DE BLONDEV1LLE. 
 
 bench has outlived all the trappings of the 
 castle, though, I dare say, it was little va- 
 lued 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 neigh- 
 bourhood, 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
 
 GASTON BE BLONDEVILLE. 23 
 
 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,
 
 24 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 dis- 
 cover 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
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 25 
 
 which might have supplied me with a 
 floating island, moving to rv the sound of 
 invisible music, or to the shells of sur- 
 rounding tritons and sea-nymphs. Nay, 
 I cannot even catch a gleam of the tor- 
 ches, 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.'* 
 
 w 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 
 
 vol. i. c 

 
 26 
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 indig- 
 nant admirer of antiquity had allowed 
 himself to speak of a military operation, 
 as though it had been a popular com- 
 motion. 
 
 " 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," ex- 
 claimed Willoughton, " with lawns and 
 woods sloping to its margin and reflected 
 on its surface !" 
 
 " Yes, Sir ; all that on the opposite side
 
 GASTOX DE BLONDEVILLE. 27 
 
 was a deer-park then, as I Ve heard from 
 the account of some book, except that 
 low ground further on, and that was pas- 
 ture 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; u when, on a sum- 
 mer'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, yon- 
 der," said the aged historian. 
 
 " The Pleasant /" 
 
 " Yes, Sir ; if you look this way, I will 
 tell you where it stood : — it was a ban- 
 queting-house on the lake." 
 
 " O! the Plaisance!" 
 
 " It stood on the walls there, down in 
 c 2
 
 28 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEYILLE. 29 
 
 took such a fancy to it ; and it was plea- 
 sant 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 con- 
 duct 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 ?"
 
 30 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 " 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 sit- 
 ting 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 pro- 
 priety in the ghost-costume ;" and again 
 the roar of laughter rolled round every 
 turret of the castle.
 
 GASTON DE BLOND EVILL E. <?1 
 
 " Why does that strike you as so ab- 
 surd ?" 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 ob- 
 ject 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/' 
 
 u Perhaps I might," said Mr. Simpson, 
 M if vou had not let me so much into the
 
 32 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 secret of effect in these cases. Yet I ques- 
 tion whether it would have been possible 
 for Elizabeth's picture, arrayed in that ri- 
 diculous 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 mo- 
 tion with her hand — thus — as much as to 
 say, s 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 !"
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 33 
 
 " Well, friend," said Willoughton, " and 
 what followed ?" 
 
 ff 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 pre- 
 sently he saw her, all on a sudden, stand- 
 ing 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 Willough- 
 ton, 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 
 C 5
 
 34 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 mi- 
 nute or two, in this very window." 
 
 " And have you never been fortunate 
 enough/' said Mr. Simpson, u 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 /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."
 
 GASTON DE BLONDKVILLE. 35 
 
 %i 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 no- 
 thing 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
 
 36 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE, 
 
 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 spel- 
 ling." 
 
 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 Kenil worth, 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
 
 GASTON DE BLOXDEViLLE. 37 
 
 one day going to dig a grave there, lie 
 lighted upon a coffin, or the chest, or 
 whatever it was, that held a many things 
 hesides this strange book." 
 
 " Indeed !" said Willoughton, eagerly ; 
 u 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 morn- 
 ing ; but whether it was October or No- 
 vember, 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 Kenil worth." 
 
 " Well, Sir, I cannot be sure exactly of 
 the time, only it had been a dismal day ; 
 but the rain was over, when old Guv came
 
 38 GASTON DE BL0XDEV1LLE. 
 
 running to me in as great a fright as ever 
 I saw a man, and said he had found some- 
 thing 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
 
 GASTON DE BLONDE VILLE. 39 
 
 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 to- 
 gether, 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
 
 40 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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, no- 
 thing 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
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 41 
 
 to that book, though I could not read it, 
 for I coidd 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 Wil- 
 loughton ; " 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 com- 
 panion, that they were probably the leiger-
 
 42 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 book and some other muniments of the 
 Priory, hidden when the terrors of Henry 
 the Eighth first prevailed in the monas- 
 teries, 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, 
 M found what sort of treasure he had got- 
 ten, 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 pic- 
 tures ; and Guy took the old staff, and then 
 we did lay the trunk in the earth again." 
 
 Willoughton made many inquiries con- 
 cerning the parchments with the seals, and 
 the seals themselves, and whether his in- 
 formant could find again the spot where 
 they were deposited.
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 43 
 
 " Come, come,' 1 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 circum- 
 stance, 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,
 
 44 
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEV1LLE. 
 
 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 Willough- 
 ton, " 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 Willough- 
 ton, " 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
 
 GASTON DE BLOXDEVILLE. 45 
 
 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 — " 
 
 u I must see this manuscript," inter- 
 rupted Willoughton; "it apppears to be 
 a curious one." 
 
 " Come," said Mr. Simpson, " it is al- 
 ready so dark, we can hardly see our way 
 hence. There is scarce a gleam of light 
 left on the horizon." 
 
 " Xo, Sir, but the moon is rising yon- 
 der, and some gentry have a fancy to see 
 this place by moon-light." 
 
 " O ! we have seen enough of it."
 
 46 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 " 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 arch-way ; 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 anti- 
 quary ; 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
 
 GASTON DE BLOXDEVILLE. 47 
 
 you for your pain : I have all possible in- 
 clination to deserve the title, in its best 
 sense ; at least by cherishing those in- 
 quiries, which make us intimate with the 
 characters and habits of our fellow crea- 
 tures in past ages, which show them to 
 us in their halls, their ceremonies, their 
 tournaments, their banquets, their do- 
 mestic 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 ren- 
 der antiquity, of all studies, the least lia- 
 ble 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 re-
 
 48 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 member, 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 gen- 
 tleman 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 Wil- 
 loughton ; " 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
 
 m 
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 49 
 
 much to brag on ; but, if you please, gen- 
 tlemen, 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 con- 
 ductor, after having directed the posti- 
 lion 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 Willough- 
 ton, " and that about as closely as if it 
 *were printed. The date, which forms the 
 ftpex of the reversed triangle, I cannot 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 pro- 
 bably, 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 cus- 
 toms and manners of that period, and were 
 traced, with more knowledge of perspec- 
 tive and more attention to proportion, than 
 Wilioughton 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 be- 
 low, 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
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 51 
 
 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 ap- 
 peared 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 
 D 2
 
 52 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 of the castle for his own use, during his 
 occasional residence there. 
 
 There was a representation of a mar- 
 riage 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 appear- 
 ed 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 
 dieting alone near a lamp, In the back.
 
 GASTON DE BLOXDEVILLE. 53 
 
 ground 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 cha- 
 pel, 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.
 
 54 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLK. 
 
 While Wiiloughton 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." 
 
 Wiiloughton turned over the leaves near 
 the drawing ; the language, the orthogra- 
 phy and the characters were all so an- 
 cient, that he hesitated much. What he did 
 make out, however, fixed his attention so 
 deeply, that his friend lost the small re- 
 mains of his patience, and declared he 
 would set off without him. Wiiloughton 
 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.
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 55 
 
 u 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 mat- 
 ter, 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, Sii', I don't know, I am sure ; 
 I don't know the value of such things.
 
 56 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 express- 
 ed 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 an- 
 cient 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.
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 57 
 
 " 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 letter 
 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 comers with brass ; the marks of 
 
 d5
 
 58 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE, 
 
 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 ear- 
 liest hooks that came from the press in 
 England, It appears also by its contents, 
 to have been intended to assist the pur- 
 poses of the monks of that dark age.' 1 
 
 " A Boke of Sprites !" exclaimed Simp- 
 son, 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 Willough- 
 ton ; " 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 !"
 
 GASTON DE BLOXDEVILLE. 59 
 
 M 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 tak- 
 ing his friend by the arm, desired his host 
 to direct them to the chaise. 
 
 u 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." 
 
 <k My good friend here," said Willough- 
 ton, " 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
 
 60 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 unsea- 
 sonable hour ; I, whose brain never hatched 
 any of those ' high and unimaginable fanta- 
 sies,' 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 re- 
 monstrating 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 ?"
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 61 
 
 • 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 monas- 
 teries. 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 hetero- 
 geneous 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 Pa- 
 pal school, ought not to have had such 
 companions. You may recollect, that War-
 
 b# GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 ton, 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 Am- 
 dion,' '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 Wil- 
 loughton, " 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 crumb- 
 ling into ruin, that were once so magnifi-
 
 GASTON BE BLONDEVILLE 6$ 
 
 cent, and that inclosed beings with passions 
 as warm as our own — beings, who have so 
 long since vanished from the earth, one can- 
 not 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 adven- 
 tures ; 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 
 Caesar's tower and several other towers,
 
 64 GASTON DB BLOND EVILLE. 
 
 such as those where the moonlight falls, 
 beheld the very court of Henry the Third, 
 ay, and Montfort, on whom he had be- 
 stowed Kenilworth, and who added in- 
 gratitude to treason, by holding the for- 
 tress 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 warn- 
 ing murmurs of one, who, in his mortal 
 state, had lived within these walls, and now 
 haunted the scene where it had once re- 
 velled, or, perhaps, suffered. It seemed like 
 a voice imperfectly uttering forth some dark 
 prophecy, and telling of the illusion of life
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 65 
 
 and the certainty of death. To Willough- 
 ton's recollection this spectacle of the re- 
 mains 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
 
 66 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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."
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 6? 
 
 * 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 triumphant- 
 ly. " Better and better ; your feelings are 
 true to my arguments, in spite of your 
 own. I desire no farther proof of the ef- 
 fects of time and circumstances — of soli- 
 tude and obscurity on the imagination." 
 
 As they passed by Caesar's tower, and 
 inquired where the line of the castle-ditch 
 had been traced, he observed, that proba- 
 bly the chief entrance had at first been
 
 68 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 over a draw-bridge to that tower, though 
 now no sign of it could be distinguished. 
 
 When the travellers were once more seat- 
 ed in the chaise, Mr. Simpson betook him- 
 self 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, re- 
 posing under this soft and beautiful shade. 
 The air was so still that scarcely a leaf 
 trembled of the lofty boughs that oversha- 
 dowed 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
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 69 
 
 on woods and green plains ; and such Wil- 
 loughton experienced during this short 
 ride, till he drew near Warwick, w T hen the 
 beautiful towers of Saint Mary's appear- 
 ed 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. Simp- 
 son, 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 preci- 
 pice, delighted Willoughton more than nny
 
 70 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 har- 
 mony with this tower, and gave very dif- 
 ferent ideas of the character and man- 
 ners of the respective ages to which they 
 belonged. The moonlight touched this 
 tower with a fine solemnity, and felPon 
 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 mar- 
 gin 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
 
 GASTON DE BLOXDEVILLE. 71 
 
 seen, and which recalled to him that 
 state of holy peace he had so lately ex- 
 perienced. 
 
 Amidst the stillness of this scene, there 
 arose a strain, as if commanded by Shaks- 
 peare's wand, and to which his words might 
 have been applied. u 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, accom- 
 panied 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."
 
 72 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 me- 
 mory 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 mo- 
 ments, 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 un-
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 73 
 
 usual 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 gloo- 
 my clouds, sat down to examine his manu- 
 scripts, 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 deci- 
 phered than the " Trew Chronique," and 
 Willoughton left it for the present, and 
 took the " Boke of Sprites." 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 As he turned over the leaves, curious to 
 see the thraldom of superstition to which 
 the peolpe 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 ve- 
 nality of the monks. Yet he sometimes 
 found his attention seized, in spite of him- 
 self, 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 stvle, in
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 75 
 
 which they might be shadowed forth. The 
 mere spelling did not render this so diffi- 
 cult, as the character in which it was writ- 
 ten, 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 endea- 
 voured 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 sim- 
 plicity, brevity and quaintness of the an- 
 cient manner. However, he often retained 
 the old words, where they did not seem to 
 form too glaring a contrast with the mo- 
 dern style, and, now and then, somewhat 
 e 2
 
 76 GASTON DE BLOKDEVTLLE. 
 
 of the quaintness of the original, the title 
 of which ran thus : — 
 
 Conteumxge a treto tfjromciue of foijat pa^sictr at 
 Btlltngtoorti), in ffrfcenn, tot)eu <©ur J*>oberen 
 £ovfc, tfje %»n&> kept tt)er $te fest of 
 J?en$t fHtriiei ; fotti) ne marbenlous 
 accftent, tt)at tljct btfcl, at ti;e £0= 
 lempntesa^ion of tt)c marriage 
 of 4§a$ton tie 23lonttcutUe. 
 rait!) tftoerS tfjtngs, cu* 
 rtouS to be fenoion, 
 tfjercunto purtamv 
 tng. EHttf) an 
 account of tf)e 
 grcteCurnei), 
 tijer fjcXtr 
 tntfjc 
 
 MCCLVI. 
 
 Cijangetf out of tfje Gorman tongue 
 
 33j> (^rpmbaltJ, tfSonk of &zn\t $larie 
 
 priori in &(Utngfoortf).
 
 THE FIRST DAY.
 
 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 ar- 
 rived : and it was a goodly sight to see 
 this noble company coming over the fo- 
 rest, 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
 
 80 GASTON DE ELONDEVILLE* 
 
 their horses and trumpets, with their ban- 
 ners 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 bro- 
 ken lines of the great aqueduct, stretch- 
 ing 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
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 81 
 
 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 
 
 pikemen, and attended by divers nobles 
 
 of the realm and by knights and gentils, 
 
 e 5
 
 82 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 coun- 
 tenance 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 Biondeville, 
 a young Prove^al; whom King Henry had 
 raised, for some daring exploits in his do-
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 83 
 
 minions 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 'ha- 
 viour. 
 
 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 lit- 
 ter, tapestried with cloth of gold, and she
 
 84 GASTON DE BLONDEV1LLE, 
 
 was compassed all about with her ladies 
 and her nobles and esquires. Her lit- 
 ter 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 emp- 
 ty, drawn by six horses, led by pages in 
 jackets of scarlet damask, with the Eng-
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 85 
 
 lish crown 'broidered on their backs. They 
 bore in their caps a white feather ; drop- 
 ping aside, in the manner of France, where- 
 at 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 to- 
 wards 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 Coun- 
 tess 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 sump- 
 tuously attended by noble dames and gen- 
 tils ; and a sight of people followed, in the 
 different liveries of their masters. 
 
 Before the Queen, went her mynstrdls
 
 86 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 Isa- 
 bel, 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 Isa- 
 bel 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 show- 
 ed 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 wood- 
 tops, — soon as they appeared, some half-
 
 GASTON DE BLOXDEV1LLE. 87 
 
 score of the foresters rode forward with 
 their bugles, to give sign of the King's ap- 
 proach ; 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 trum- 
 peters would stop. 
 
 Then his Highness courteously com- 
 manded, 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
 
 88 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 Ke- 
 nilworth. 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 val- 
 ley 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, coining down 
 from the keep, followed by a posse of his
 
 GASTON DE BLOXDEVILLE. 89 
 
 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 pro- 
 cessioning, 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 coun- 
 try 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 
 
 ^
 
 90 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 them- 
 selves in procession, with banners, and 
 chaunting sweet anthems, and his High- 
 ness 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 bless- 
 ings on your sweet-favoured visage !" 
 
 Then, they threw forth on the air, for
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 91 
 
 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 grin- 
 ders of corn : but they held their peace, 
 as needs must, passing on in solemn state- 
 liness. 
 
 Before the cjstle-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
 
 92 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 be- 
 neath them, and, for a season, was not 
 heard at all. 
 
 Certes, the noise of the trumpets and 
 cornets, the clanging of bells, the tramp- 
 ling of horses over the bridge, the striking 
 of swords upon shields, with, ever and 
 anon, the shouts of the multitude, as- 
 tounded 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 Kenil- 
 worth, as those, who had journeyed thi- 
 ther 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
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 93 
 
 he watched the minutes of the coming 
 twilight, and reckoned on the booty he 
 should seize from careless travellers, re- 
 turning, at night, to distant towns. 
 
 Some too there were, who, in the path- 
 less 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
 
 94 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 counte- 
 nance, 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 arch- 
 way of the great tower, leading into the 
 base court. 
 
 Beyond, in the sunshine, could be seen
 
 GASTON DE BLOXDEVILLE. 95 
 
 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 ram- 
 part 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 be- 
 yond the deep portal, under which stood, 
 on either hand, the wardours in their ni- 
 ches, to the number of eight ; so dim, they 
 showed like shadows more than substance,
 
 96 
 
 GASTON DE BLOND EVILLE. 
 
 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, ail 
 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 arch-way. 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
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 97 
 
 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 dark- 
 ened 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 cer- 
 tainty, 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 confu- 
 sion a shield was seen raised upon the tra- 
 versed 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 
 
 vol. I. F
 
 98 GASTON DE BLONDEVTLLE. 
 
 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 suspect- 
 ing 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.
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 99 
 
 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 him- 
 self a little, he stared wildly ; and, rais- 
 ing 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 impossi- 
 ble for me ever to forget him." Then he 
 f 2
 
 100 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 shook from limb to limb, and was nigh 
 going off into a swoon again. The peo- 
 ple, meanwhile, pressed upon the soldiers 
 to know what all this meant ; and curio- 
 sity 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 con- 
 vulsions, 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 ad- 
 ministered to him ; and this was all the 
 soldiers could tell.
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 101 
 
 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.
 
 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 im- 
 pressive 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 Kenihvorth, there was tilting in the 
 great yard of the castle, at which his High- 
 ness, 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 sur- 
 passed for beauty the lady Barbara, daugh- 
 ter of the Earl of Huntingdon and a fa- 
 vourite damsel of the Queen ; her the King 
 intended to bestow in marriage, during 
 F 5
 
 106 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 his sojourn in Ardenn. She was innocent 
 and graceful, as the fawns that bound in 
 our forest, and excelled in all the accom- 
 plishments 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 ex- 
 ploits, 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
 
 GASTOX DE BLONDEVILLE. 107 
 
 so well how to command the earl, that he 
 consented to give his daugher to the knight, 
 and his Highness determined the marriage 
 should be solemnized forthwith. 
 
 But, on this very first day, after his ar- 
 rival, his spirit was ruffled by a strange 
 accident. As his Highness was return- 
 ing 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
 
 108 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 murderers who infested the highways of 
 his kingdom with more violence and fre- 
 quency 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 par- 
 ticular grievance he had to complain,
 
 GASTON DE BLONPEVILLE, 
 
 109 
 
 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 Keniiworth, 
 and robbed of nearly ail 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 direct- 
 ed 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
 
 110 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 ready to sink. His Highness, having de- 
 clared his indignation at this villany, as- 
 sured 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 Blonde ville, 
 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
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. Ill 
 
 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, u 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 

 
 112 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 ac- 
 cuse is a knight of my household, ad- 
 vanced to honour for his valour ?" 
 
 " Yea, noble King Henry," replied the 
 merchant, " I have heard so ; but, I re- 
 peat, he is the man who killed my kins- 
 man ! 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 disho- 
 nour a gentleman and a knight."
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 113 
 
 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 com- 
 mitted in a very extraordinary manner on 
 the highways) — King Henry, though asto- 
 nished, 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 High- 
 ness was commanding, that the stranger 
 should be removed ; and, for the present,
 
 114 GASTON DE BLONDEVTLLE. 
 
 confined in the castle ; when Prince Ed- 
 ward, who, young as he was, had closely 
 observed all that had passed, craved hum- 
 bly 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 com- 
 mitted. 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 War- 
 wick and on the edge of the forest, and
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 115 
 
 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 mind- 
 ful of the condition of disgrace, in which 
 I must stand, if you seem to give coun- 
 tenance 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
 
 116 
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 for- 
 sake him : he then answered, " the num- 
 ber 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
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 117 
 
 sword you shall not escape. I give you 
 one more warning, to stop before you to- 
 tally plunge into your ruin." 
 
 At these words, delivered with vehe- 
 mence, the paleness left Sir Gaston's face, 
 and he made a profound obeisance, show- 
 ing his gratitude to the King. The ac- 
 cuser, 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
 
 118 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 to begin his tale anew, and to tell, one 
 by one, every particular he could bring to 
 mind of the alleged adventure ; but be- 
 fore he began, Sir Gaston, surveying him, 
 asked whether, about four years back, he 
 was not at Embrun, in the Dauphin6. 
 
 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 sun-set 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 mo» 
 ment —
 
 GASTON DE BLONDE VILLE. 119 
 
 " 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 tho 
 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 pro- 
 ceed with his story : 
 
 " My kinsman," said he, " was the ops- 
 one of us, who was well-armed ; and a 
 braver spirit never lived. He fought with 
 his sword that man, who now stands be- 
 side your Highness ; it was a trusty wea- 
 pon, 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,
 
 120 2 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE, 
 
 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 pene- 
 trated the head of my unfortunate kins- 
 man, Reginald de Folville." 
 
 The merchant paused, seemingly over- 
 come 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
 
 GASTON DE BLOXDEVILLE. 121 
 
 were so strong and sufficient, they beheld 
 in his countenance paleness and consterna- 
 tion. 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 ; u and 
 I must ever remember the kindness he 
 showed me after the death of my father ; 
 I owe him much. He went from Pro- 
 vence 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 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 him- 
 self. 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 de- 
 livered 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
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 123 
 
 it, a date, with the Roman letters, H, A., 
 remarking, that probably these letters al- 
 luded 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, 
 g 2
 
 124 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 vil- 
 lain 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 in- 
 stantly thought this sorrow of the mer- 
 chant 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 an- 
 swer, that the robber, on wrenching the 
 sword from his friend, struck him his 
 death-wound with it. The King, return-
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 125 
 
 ing the sword to the young knight, bade 
 him keep it forthcoming till he should de- 
 mand 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 in- 
 credible. You have related your story, 
 and I have waited patiently for some evi- 
 dence, that the murderer of your kinsman, 
 if, in truth, he were ever destroyed by vio- 
 lence, 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 coun- 
 tenance was obtained only from the sud- 
 den (and, therefore, the uncertain) light of
 
 126 GASTON DE BLO^DEVILLE. 
 
 a torch lying on the ground, at a moment, 
 when the danger you were yourself ex- 
 posed 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 remem- 
 bering 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 re- 
 collection of my kinsman's fate, On see- 
 ing the same face, I was seized with the
 
 GASTON DE BLOXDEVILLE. 127 
 
 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 mer- 
 chant 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 repeat- 
 ing, 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. 
 
 u Then," said the King, " it appears you
 
 128 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 cannot bring any evidence of the truth of 
 your story ; even so far, as that a robbery 
 was actually committed. Your accusa- 
 tion 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
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE, 129 
 
 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 or- 
 g 5
 
 130 GASTON DE ELONDEVILLE. 
 
 dered 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 re- 
 collect your story : let him be sent for. It 
 is strange you should have said you were 
 unknown : you are either guilty of false- 
 hood, 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 mam" 
 
 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
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 131 
 
 i 
 
 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 pass- 
 ing 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 wit- 
 nessed 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 marri- 
 age, which neither his English heart, nor 
 his pride of ancient blood, had suffered 
 him to approve. His daughter, the lady
 
 132 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 in- 
 nocence, she would have thrown herself at 
 the King's feet, had that seemed always, 
 as it did at first, proper, to urge his High- 
 ness 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 in- 
 clination was sufficient ; and so angered 
 was his generous spirit by what he held 
 to be not only a false, but a malicious ac- 
 cusation, 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 proceed- 
 ing from private motives, but to reprove 
 and caution those of his subjects, who had 
 a public prejudice against strangers, and
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 183 
 
 were too likely to delight in the ruin of 
 such especially as had risen to honours. 
 
 The King, therefore, willingly gave au- 
 dience privately to the young knight, that 
 he might explain to him the circum- 
 stances, 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 mat- 
 ter, some on the other : there was not one 
 witness of what passed. Who then might 
 know, unless they could guess by the coun- 
 tenances, 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
 
 154 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 de- 
 lay. 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 dis- 
 avowal 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
 
 GASTON* I)E BLONDEVILLE. 135 
 
 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 opi- 
 nion, and, it maybe, by that promise of re- 
 gard 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 
 Caesar'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
 
 136 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 mer- 
 chant, 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 commit- 
 ted, 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 ? " 
 
 ;t His name was Ewdwyn," replied the 
 merchant.
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 137 
 
 " He died yesternight !" said the Prior. 
 
 At this there was a pause, and a dead 
 silence throughout the chamber. Sir Gas- 
 ton 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, com- 
 manded him from his chamber, that aid 
 might be administered unto him. And 
 then, that he might know whether this ac- 
 cusation 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 in- 
 quiry in his community, whether the body 
 of any person known to have been mur- 
 dered in the forest of Ardenn, three years 
 before, had been deposited in the chapel, 
 or in the cemetery of the convent. Like-
 
 138 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 wise, 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 con- 
 veyed 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 Here- 
 ford and a number of other nobles of the 
 realm ; but the Queen kept her state apart.
 
 GASTON DE BLOXDEVILLE. 139 
 
 The King's great chamber was marvel- 
 lous to behold. There were twenty-five 
 wax-lights held by esquires of the house- 
 hold, 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 
 heard 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
 
 140 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 cup- 
 boards, 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, piaying 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
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 141 
 
 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 ver- 
 sifier, whose ballad of the Giant of Corn- 
 wall 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, hav- 
 ing tasted of his golden cup, that Henry 
 should have a butt of wine w ith 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 " Check-
 
 142 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 ere" 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 cupboard, ac- 
 companied of three nobles of the highest 
 estate in the realm, that were there pre- 
 sent, (save the King's family) to receive the 
 King's cup and spice-plates ; and then the 
 bringing up of the voide before his High- 
 ness. And, first, the usher, having assem- 
 bled 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,
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 143 
 
 who reverently received the same, and laid 
 it safely upon his shoulder. Then, the said 
 chamberlain gave the gold spice-plates co- 
 vered 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 play- 
 ing the while), compassed about with es- 
 quires, 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
 
 144 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 office ; then the five esquires, of the body, 
 bearing wax-lights before the Earl of Nor- 
 folk, 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 co- 
 vered ; 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 brav- 
 ery and noble bearing, with the Archbish- 
 op'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
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. s 145 
 
 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 Corn- 
 wall, 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 
 vol. I. H
 
 146 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 mynstrel- 
 sy 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
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 147 
 
 was in words which have been thus ren- 
 dered 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. 
 H 2
 
 148 GASTON DE BLOXDEVILLE. 
 
 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 me- 
 lancholy stealing upon them. 
 
 The Queen, deeming such strain unsuit- 
 able 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
 
 GASTON DE HLONDEVILLE. 149 
 
 of his own mood, loving not to be com- 
 manded, 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 affect- 
 ed best. And now he sang forth to 
 his harp a " roundel" in the Provencal 
 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
 
 150 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 har- 
 per'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 plain- 
 ly 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.
 
 GASTON DE BLOXDEVILLE. 151 
 
 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 ! 
 
 " 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. 
 
 in. 
 
 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 'It hear the call her spirits own ; 
 But as they pass, hold a chrystal glass, 
 
 Or thou 'It sorely rue the wild witch-tone.
 
 152 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 He followed the light o'er deserts wide, 
 
 Down in deep glens, where wild becks wail :
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 153 
 
 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. 
 
 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 !" 
 
 h 5
 
 154 GASTON DE BLONDE VILLE, 
 
 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 ;
 
 GASTON DE BLOXDEVILLE. 155 
 
 He turned the weary steed to stall, 
 
 And led the knight to the lordly hall. 
 
 P 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, 
 
 Xor 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,
 
 156 GASTON DE BLONDEVTLLE. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 ;
 
 GASTON DE BLONDE VI LLE. 15' 
 
 And it seemed the very form of one, 
 The knight perforce must look upon. 
 
 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
 
 158 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 welcomed 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 ;
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 159 
 
 And hardly might the gleam declare 
 A baron grim from lady fair. 
 
 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.
 
 160 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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* and Hector's piteous fall : 
 Here Priam's Court, in purple and pall, 
 
 * The " Tale of Troy" appears to have been a very fa- 
 vourite subject in ancient tapestry. It occurs often in old 
 castles, and is mentioned twice in this " Trew Chronicle," 
 as adorning the walls of stately chambers.
 
 GASTOX DE BLOXDEVILLE. 161 
 
 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. 
 
 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.
 
 162 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 Yet still that seeming garment passed, 
 As though some fiend, with evil haste, 
 Did up that lonely tower wend. 
 
 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 ?" 
 1 ' 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 !" 
 
 " 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 :
 
 GASTON DE BLOXDEVILLE. 163 
 
 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?" 
 
 u 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,
 
 164 GASTON DK BLOXDEVILLE. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 !
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLK. 165 
 
 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.
 
 166 GASTON DE BLONDEV1LLE. 
 
 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."
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 167 
 
 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.
 
 168 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 The page knew not the chance he ran ; 
 
 He was marked with the blood of a murder'd man ! 
 
 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
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 169 
 
 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, 
 Xor from the gates that horn -blast swell ; 
 Xor heard the many-trampling hoofs, 
 
 Xor voices calling in the gale, 
 And ringing round the castle roofs, 
 
 Till they made the 'battled raven quail ; 
 Xor heard the funeral shriek, that broke 
 Through every hall and lofty tower ; 
 He heard alone the words she spoke. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Xor saw he in the court below, 
 Bv 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, 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE 
 
 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,
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 171 
 
 By the dark glarnour-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 Lad}- 
 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 un- 
 happy 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 
 I 2
 
 172 GASTON DE BLOND EVILLE. 
 
 castle. Others there were then present, 
 who, having noticed the young Gaston 
 de Blondeville to he ill at ease, the 
 while the minstrel sung, and being, per- 
 chance, 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 al- 
 most time that he should go to his rest 
 for " all-night." 
 
 There was no more harping : Pierre
 
 GASTON DE BLOND EVILLE. 17o 
 
 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
 
 374 GASTON DE BLONDE VILLE. 
 
 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 cham- 
 ber 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 Kin- 
 ton her cup. 
 
 When the Lady Barbara had ended
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 175 
 
 her dance, the Queen called her to her 
 chair ; and, making her take of the sweet- 
 meats from her own plate, spoke com- 
 mendable words to her, as did his High- 
 ness King Henry. Then the Queen, turn- 
 ing 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 High- 
 ness then stretched out her hand to Sir 
 Gaston, who, kneeling, put it to his lips. 
 " May you, Sir knight," said her High- 
 ness, "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.
 
 176 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 jug- 
 glers 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 mid- 
 night-song. 
 
 But now I must return, and so must 
 ye that hear, or read, to the castle. In
 
 GASTON DE BLOXDEVILLE. 177 
 
 the hall there was a dancer on stilts, play- 
 ing 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 sucli 
 strange capers, to the noise of pipes and 
 drums, as made the sides of many to
 
 178 GASTON DE BLONDE VILLE. 
 
 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 ; lis- 
 tening 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 mar- 
 vels 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
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 179 
 
 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, mis- 
 liking 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 low- 
 est degree was joyous ; and each chamber 
 and tower rung with song, or laughter, 
 save the prison tower of the poor mer- 
 chant. 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
 
 180 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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 Ken- 
 ilworth, 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,
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 181 
 
 were then committed at noon-day with 
 impunity ; nay, the very thieves them- 
 selves feared not to be seen walking about, 
 little attempt being made to seize them, 
 or, in any wise, to suppress these scan- 
 dalous 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 
 Kenil worth, 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 kins- 
 man ; when he beheld that look, which 
 he felt to dart into his heart, and to re- 
 vive there all the horror he had felt at the
 
 182 
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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, per- 
 haps, 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 perform- 
 ing a duty ; and, what is more, so sure 
 was he, that to perform his duty in this 
 world is the wisest, the most truly cun- 
 ning thing a man can contrive to do. 
 Whether his suspicions concerning the 
 knight were just or not ; these, his con- 
 clusions touching his own conduct, none
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 183 
 
 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, listen- 
 ing there awhile to the distant min- 
 strelsy and to the confusion of number- 
 less voices, footsteps and closing doc^s, 
 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 pri- 
 soner see, save here and there, a lamp 
 burning through a casement of glass (and
 
 184 GASTON DE BLOXDEVILLE. 
 
 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. 
 
 j.^t last, every distant sound grew faint- 
 er ; 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.
 
 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 185 
 
 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, no- 
 thing 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 watch- 
 ed, 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
 
 186 GASTON DE BLONDEVILLE. 
 
 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. 
 
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