The greatest sight, and perhaps one of the most unique in Europe, is St. Michael’s Mount, as it is stupidly called, for the term mount, gives one no idea of vastness, but the contrary; and who would expect to find a place called a mount—a rock, a mountain, and a castle? Yet, such is St. Michael’s Mount; one of the seats of Sir John St. Aubyn; where I passed two days and two nights alone, last week; and where I had leave to stay as long as I liked, but I felt a scruple against taking possession of a man’s house in his absence, and putting his housekeeper to the trouble of waiting upon me, and cooking for me; she said she wished me to stay a week, but I thought she would, in her heart, be very glad to get rid of a crazy old gentlewoman, who came to look at the moon from the ramparts of the castle, as if she had no moon in her own country! and I don’t doubt but she fancied me moonstruck, which idea was, I dare say, confirmed, by her catching me drawing the faces and figures I saw in the fire; a new, but I assure thee, a very amusing occupation. I advise Lucy to set about it directly. The sea is closed round this magnificent mountain, with its masses of rock frowning midway down its verdant sides, during greater part of the day, and such a sea as it is in winter! They are shipless waters, for no vessel could live in them; and I did enjoy to see the waves of the Atlantic rolling proudly on, on one side of the castle, telling of greater and more fearful power beyond, where my eye could not penetrate. The first night I was there, the weather was so rough, that I went to bed supposing the moon would not shine; but when the tide unclosed, as the saying is, the moon shone, and I, on waking past midnight, saw her light, but could not see her; so the next night I sat up till she rose, and, leaning on the balcony, witnessed her fight with the wind and rain, and her ultimate victory. Such was the roughness of the sea, that the white foam made the “darkness light about it,” without the aid of the moon; but where she did not shine on their jutting points, dark as Erebus were the turrets, the ramparts, and the walls of the castle; while the little town at the foot of the mountain, and the more distant town beyond, lay in a sort of half tint of moonshine, and the noble rocks over which I leaned, were softened into beauty by the mellowing rays that rested on them! It was interesting to watch the lights from the habitations, far and near, as they gradually disappeared; and to feel that I, probably, was the only being awake and moving, in that vast space of land and water. I walked and gazed, and leaned on the ramparts, till the consciousness of my solitude became oppressive to me, and I hastened along that corridor, so often trodden, in times long past, by the monk or the warrior, to my repose. This castle was once a monastery, and I entered a dungeon which was found, a few years ago, bricked up, and the skeleton of a large man in it, no doubt that of an offending monk, left there to die by inches. * *
Thy attached Friend,
A. Opie.
(2nd mo. 10th.) A day of storm and rain. To meeting, which was still and solemn, though a very small gathering. I was there first, and enjoyed the opportunity of solitary worship. Anne T. was favoured much in her ministry. It was a privilege which it is long since we enjoyed before. At three, to meeting again; a notice given to those not in society with us; afterwards all came to me—a pleasant evening. (13th.) Went to meeting, a quiet one, only four persons present. Afternoon netted, and sat watching the sun, and the heavens, and the sea; the sun setting in radiance though not in glory; rain, like hail, pattering against the window at the same time, and the wind roaring as loud as the foaming sea.
(15th.) Rose early, and again worked on my Lays. Letters. Shocked to hear of my dear friend, Sarah Rose’s death; but, a mercy to her! Still, I grieve to see her no more, a friend so long attached. I long to hear more, and expect to learn that she had more than a peaceful end. (17th.) Can’t sleep after five, till time to rise; a bad habit. Forgot it was the day of Marazion meeting, so I went here; quite alone, but I did so enjoy it! Wrote all my Lays on my six pictures—very poor, but hope to improve them. To bed much cheered.
(19th.) Finished my purses—packed up; a day of fearful wind and rain! forced to have a chaise to get to the coach for Falmouth. Felt glad, on arriving, to be in this kind home again. Drew all the evening.[[37]]
After a short stay with her friends, Mrs. Opie returned to her solitary lodging, and in her diary, records her progress with her “Lays,” and some short pieces; there are frequent notices too of the domestic joys and sorrow of friends with whom she corresponded, and verses addressed to them on these events. The weather was exceedingly stormy during the latter part of her stay; she writes:—
(2nd mo., 28th.) Rose amidst such a storm of wind and rain; the maid fears for the chimney, so do I! The sea a succession of foaming billows, and the white horses galloping towards us. * * What a change since the scene of an hour ago! The sea a succession of circling green waves, seemingly flowing the other way; and the sun in dazzling brightness, edging every wave with silver. Oh! the ever-varying beauty of the ocean. I think I must live near it whenever I fix again. If the brightness did not make my eyes ache, I could not keep from the window. * * The beauty all gone again. Now to work on my Lays. I have added to, and corrected, and written in my book, all my lines on my portraits; 192 lines of blank verse; and I think I must add a few more to those on my dear father. I fear no one will read them! * * The wind, rain, and hail are all abroad again, spite of the moon and stars. * * No, there they are again, making the bay so bright! * * To bed peaceful, grâce à Dieu. (1st day.) A good night, but dared not go to the meeting, so went here, knowing I should be alone—enjoyed it. Rain again! “The rain it remaineth every day!” (2nd day.) Went to the workhouse and jail; found one of the committee there, who was very civil, and, with the governor, went about with me. The workhouse well-conducted and comfortable indeed—mad patients there also; saw one poor woman. In the prison not one person, but a woman debtor—going out soon. Gave 5s. to the fund and 2s. 6d. to the poor woman; they promised to send me an account of the average expense of the establishment per week, to the fund collected by poor’s rates; he thinks it not more than two shillings and a few pence, each person. This gentleman called to tell me that what I had given, with a little added, would give the poor people a treat of cake and tea, at five, next fourth day, and asked me to go and see them enjoy it. It was kindly meant, but I should think it ostentatious. * * Went to the shore, to see the Mount by moonlight. I saw that poor young Irishman, A., at No. 1, walk to-day, and I met him; he looks thinner and weaker, but, his colour grows more and more brilliant! how I wish I dare speak to him, and ask him how he does; he comes from the north of Ireland. It is a comfort his brother is with him. I have read through “Anecdotes of the Court of Napoleon,” some of them true, I doubt not, but many disgusting! To bed, so low, and haunted with painful images. (5th.) Read the paper of yesterday; what times! what speeches! admired many, but most Sir R. Peel’s, I think. Still, am incompetent to judge on the propriety, or rather absolute necessity, of the Irish Bill. (6th.) An almost sleepless night, the storm raging! Thought of the poor souls at sea; hoped Captain Rosewall had not sailed. A day of incessant rain and howling. This weather is very trying to the nerves, and will reconcile me to leaving Penzance! The sounds of wind and rain are bad companions for a lone person, and impede one’s progress in anything; still I am sometimes too much absorbed to mind them. (9th.) A fine, blue, windy, frosty day. Went to the Land’s end, to the Logan-rock first, a magnificent amphitheatre of rocks indeed! walked up to it with my nephew, Tom Opie; ascended, and proved it. The position and the movement, make this piece of rock (which weighs 92 tons) very curious; but the fine sight is the mass of varied rocks around! The Land’s End in sea, was a grievous disappointment; no swell at all; the wind blew from land, but the sea was green and blue and beautiful, and Cape Cormorant grand; and the strange rock in the sea, called the Prisons, very fine; and the the very Land’s End, and its rocks—oh! it was very fine; and I consoled myself on hearing that had there been a great swell and wind, we could not have approached as we did. We then drove to Whitsand bay; the hills that guard it are strewed with immense pieces of rock, some worn round like a bowl; I never saw grander desolation. The sand there is white, and the little shells which abound there are beautiful. (19th.) Set off in a heavy, dark, dirty vehicle, with Thomas Opie, for St. Ives! day bright, but cold; hills steep, rocky, rugged! car jolting; horse going a foot’s pace; and two hours and a half going through a barren, rocky country, full of mines, and desolate. Sublimely ugly! Halstown, a curious place; four and thirty double cottages of white stone, abodes of miners, placed in shelves on the edge of a rocky, steep, high hill. The bay and sea at St. Ives lovely. (22nd.) My last day at Penzance! I felt quitting a spot so endeared to me by hours of refreshing, and, I trust, beneficial solitude. A pleasing note from poor young B. A., (the lame invalid I saw daily from my window,) returning my books and regretting my departure.[[38]]
Mrs. Opie returned from Penzance to Falmouth, where she remained for some weeks, visiting her friends, and enjoying their kind hospitality and true friendship. She makes daily entries in her Journal, and details the domestic every-day life, and the occasional fêtes or troubles of her friends. Especially she dwells, with evident delight and cordial satisfaction on the religious services of the Friends, and expresses her “entire unity” of sentiment with them.
At length, on the 29th of April, she writes:—