Ann Radcliffe
Ann Radcliffe
Ann Radcliffe
by Ruth Facer
ry
Ann Radcliffe will always be remembered as the great exponent of Gothic fiction.
Though Jane Austen would parody her novels in Northanger Abbey (1818), Radcliffes
wild, often bleak, landscapes, dark threatening men, and gothic mysteries lived on in the
works of Keats, Mary Shelley, the Brontes, Dickens, and Bram Stoker and many others.
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Contemporary readers and modern day critics have variously dubbed Radcliffe the
Mistress of Udolpho, The Great Enchantress, and the Mother of the Gothic, but
these are misleadingly exotic titles to bestow upon such a private person with such a
prosaic life history. According to The Edinburgh Review (May 1823), She never
appeared in public, nor mingled in private society, but kept herself apart, like the sweet
bird that sings its solitary notes, shrouded and unseen. In fact, so little was known about
Radcliffes life in the nineteenth century that Christina Rossetti abandoned a projected
biography due to a lack of material.
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We do know, however, that Ann Ward Radcliffe was born in Holborn, London, on 9 July
1764. She was the only child of William Ward, a haberdasher, and his wife Ann Oates.
Her mother was relatively well connected. Oatess cousin was Sir Richard Jebb,
physician to George III, while her brother-in-law, Thomas Bentley, was the partner of
Josiah Wedgwood. In 1772, William Ward moved with his wife and young daughter to
Bath, where he would manage a china shop partly owned by Wedgwood. The young Ann
was reasonably well educated, read widely and had opportunities to meet literary figures
of the day, including Hester Thrale and Elizabeth Montagu. Physically, she was said to be
exquisitely proportioned - quite short, complexion beautiful as was her whole
countenance, especially her eyes, eyebrows and mouth.[1] In 1787 Ann married William
Radcliffe, a hardworking Oxford law graduate who became part-editor and owner of The
English Chronicle. He often came home late and in order to occupy her time, Radcliffe
began to write, reading aloud the lines she had written during the day on his return. She
completed six novels in all. Her last, Gaston de Blondeville (1826), was published
posthumously.
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The Radcliffes marriage, though childless, appears to have been happy. In her Preface to
A Journey made in the Summer of 1794 through Holland and the Western Frontiers of
Germany (1795) Radcliffe touchingly referred to her husband as her nearest relative and
friend and acknowledged that the account of the journey had been written so much from
their mutual observation, that there would be a deception in permitting the book to
appear, without some acknowledgement, which may distinguish it from works entirely
her own. The couple loved travelling together and used some of the money made from
the publication of Radcliffes novels to finance their trips. They went to the Rhine and
Lake District in 1794 and later made tours in Southern England, during which her
beloved dog Chance chased wheatears on the beach.
According to Sir Thomas Noon Talfourds Memoir of the Author, prefixed to Gaston de
Blondeville, Radcliffe kept daily accounts and spent her days reading poetry and novels.
She sang with exquisite taste: her voice, though 'remarkably sweet, was limited in
compass. She was a frequent visitor to the Opera and enjoyed sacred music, especially
Handel oratorios. She admired Mrs Siddons and occasionally accompanied her husband
to the theatre where she sat in the pit because it was warmer and she was less likely to be
recognised. According to the Memoir, the very thought of appearing in person as the
author of her romances shocked the delicacy of her mind.
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Like her novels, Radcliffes last years are shrouded in mystery. She was said to be
depressed in 1797. By the end of her life, rumours abounded that she had become insane
as a result of her Gothic fantasies and had been incarcerated in a Derbyshire asylum. The
truth may never be known. Radcliffe had suffered from asthma for the past twelve years
and her death on 7 February 1823 may well have been the result of a fatal attack.
Talfourds Memoir of the Author, undoubtedly written under the instruction of
Radcliffes husband, categorically denies that she was insane: while some spoke of her
as dead, and others represented her as afflicted with mental alienation, she was thankfully
enjoying the choicest of blessings of life. Her doctor issued a statement after her death,
maintaining that she was in perfect mental health. Ann Radcliffe was buried in a vault in
the Chapel of Ease belonging to St. Georges, Hanover Square, in Bayswater, London.
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Radcliffes novels commonly feature oppressed young females, passionate, but flawed,
young lovers, overwhelming patriarchal villains, faithful, talkative servants, ivy-clad
Gothic buildings with sinister vaults, wild romantic scenery and mysteries to be
unravelled. Her plots assert traditional moral values such as honour and integrity while
making strong political statements on the oppression of women in patriarchal society. She
was not, however, the first practitioner of the Gothic. Horace Walpoles The Castle of
Otranto (1764), written in the year Ann Radcliffe was born, and Clara Reeves The Old
English Baron (1777) were popular early examples of the form. Nevertheless, it was
Radcliffe who was acknowledged by Sir Walter Scott as the true founder of a class or
school. Her writing was influenced by the ideas of Edmund Burke, who, in A
Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful (1757),
proposed that terror was a source of the sublime capable of producing the strongest
emotion which the mind is capable of feeling. In her essay On the Supernatural in
Poetry, Radcliffe was careful to distinguish terror from horror:
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Terror and Horror are so far opposite, that the first expands the soul and awakens
the faculties to a high degree of life; the other contracts, freezes and nearly
annihilates them. I apprehend, that neither Shakespeare nor Milton by their
fictions, nor Mr. Burke by his reasoning, anywhere looked to positive horror as a
source of the sublime, though they all agree that terror is a very high one.[2]
Where horror paralyses the individual, the experience of terror sublimely awakens the
soul to its power. Radcliffes heroines often experience the sublime in wild, rugged
landscapes which brings them closer to the awe-inspiring presence of God.
Radcliffes first novel, the anonymously published The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne
(1789), is in some ways an experimental work which relates the story of two warring
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Scottish clans. It is here that she first articulated the theories on the sublime and
picturesque - viewing a landscape as if it were a painting - she would develop in her later
work and introduces the subject of the imprisoned woman deprived of her property rights.
Her second novel, A Sicilian Romance (1790), features a spirited young lady of
sensibility, Julia, who confronts the destiny of a marriage imposed by her tyrannical
father, the Marquis of Mazzini. Some of Radcliffes recurring themes are developed in
this novel: the heroines search for a lost mother and incarceration, and womans
subjection to the impossible choice of a forced marriage or the veil.
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Neither of these works were to capture the publics imagination in the way that
Radcliffes subsequent novels would. In her popular Romance of the Forest (1791), the
authors descriptive abilities reached their full maturity. A Gothic castle almost takes on
the role of a central character: The lofty battlements, thickly enwreathed with ivy, were
half demolished, and become the residence of birds of prey. Huge fragments of the
eastern tower, which was almost demolished, lay scattered amid the high grass, that
waved slowly to the breeze. Descriptions of landscape were likewise enriched by a
poetic intensity lacking in her early works. Radcliffe had never seen the mountains or
lush Italian countryside she described, but was inspired by the landscape paintings of
Claude Lorraine and Salvator Rosa. In describing a house she had visited, she wrote,
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In a shaded corner, near the chimney, a most exquisite Claude, an evening view,
perhaps over the Campagna of Rome. The sight of this picture imparted much of
the luxurious repose and satisfaction, which we derive from contemplating the
finest scenes of nature. Here was the poet, as well as the painter, touching the
imagination, and making you see more than the picture contained. You saw the
real light of the sun, you breathed the air of the country, you felt all the
circumstances of a luxurious climate on the most serene and beautiful landscape;
and the mind thus softened, you almost fancied you hear Italian music in the
air.[3]
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Radcliffes next novel, The Mysteries of Udolpho (1794), earned its author 500. It
remains the best-known of her novels today, not least because it was Udolpho that caused
Catherine Morelands imagination to run riot as she approaches Northanger Abbey in
Jane Austens novel:
With all the chances against her of house, hall, place, park, court, and cottage,
Northanger turned up an abbey, and she was to be its inhabitant. Its long, damp
passages, its narrow cells and ruined chapel, were to be within her daily reach,
and she could not entirely subdue the hope of some traditional legends, some
awful memorials of an injured and ill-fated nun.[4]
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Despite the long damp passages and awful memorials, reason prevails in the end of
Radcliffes novel. Emily St. Aubert, the heroine, is sorely tried as she is incarcerated in
the villainous Montonis dark castle, in which she manages to rise to each new challenge
with strength and rationality after temporarily giving in to superstition and an excess of
feeling. A girl of spirit, she retorts to Montoni: You may find, perhaps, Signor, that the
strength of my mind is equal to the justice of my cause; and that I can endure with
fortitude, when it is in resistance of oppression. In Ann Radcliffes particular form of
Gothic, of which Udolpho is perhaps the best example, mysteries may confound for
pages, spectral figures, distant groans and ghostly music may haunt the heroine, but
eventually all is explained and reason prevails.
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The Italian (1797) was the last of Ann Radcliffes novels to be published in her lifetime.
She was paid 800 for it and it is considered by many to be her best work. The novel is
dominated by the dark, glowering figure of the monk Schedoni. Radcliffes earlier works
had already demonstrated that she possessed a strong ability to portray character, often of
servants and minor players in the plot, but in this work she surpassed her previous efforts.
Schedoni, who embodies the spirit of the Inquisition and the Terror in France, is vividly
described thus:
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His figure was striking, but not so from grace; it was tall, and, though extremely
thin, his limbs were large and uncouth, and as he stalked along, wrapt in the black
garments of his order, there was something terrible in its air; something almost
super-human. His cowl, too, as it threw a shade over the livid paleness of his face,
increased its severe character, and gave an effect to his large melancholy eye,
which approached to horror.[5]
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It is probable that Radcliffe wrote The Italian in an attempt to rescue the Gothic from the
ravages of hell into which it was plunged by Matthew Lewiss scandalous horror work
The Monk (1796). It has been suggested that Radcliffes disgust with other Gothic writers
was the principle reason for her decision to stop writing after The Italian.
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Ann Radcliffes final novel was written in 1802 but never published in her lifetime.
Gaston de Blondeville (1826) is a thirteenth-century tale set within a modern story. The
book is drawn out and sometimes rambling, the plot lacking in impetus. It is partly
redeemed by colourful descriptions of banquets and court ceremonial with remarkable
detail. The second course at a feast included joly amber potage; jiggots of venison,
stopped with cloves; lamprey, with galentine, marchpane; fritter-dolphin; lecheflorentine.
Although Radcliffe will always be remembered as one of the most gifted, exciting and
popular novelists of the late eighteenth century, she was also a poet. A few of her minor
poems are interspersed in her novels, but she also wrote a longer piece, St. Albans Abbey
(1826), which was published posthumously. It does her no justice; it is long, rambling
and tedious. The rhyme scheme is extremely variable and verses such as
A sigh - the first she long had known Burst from her breast, and fell a tear;
But twas not grief she felt, nor fear:
Twas desolation, hopeless, drear!
bear little relation to her rich prose style.
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