and noble straight walk fully ten feet in width and nearly four hundred
feet long, between beds of flowers, and on either side beyond fruit trees
and vegetables. The garden terminates with a picturesque building,
pierced by a lofty archway, through which the walk passes. This garden
is about eighty feet wide and about twelve feet below the level of the
Down, being formed in an old quarry, besides which a lofty wall on either
side shelters it. One cannot describe one's sensations of comfort at
finding so delicious a spot in so unexpected a place. I said to the
gardener, "I understood Mr. Beckford had planted everything on the Down,
but you surely found those apple trees here. They are fifty years old."
"We found nothing here but an old quarry and a few nettles. Those apple
trees were great trees when we moved them, and moving them stopped their
bearing. They blossom in the spring and look pretty, and that is all
master cares about." We left this charming enclosure, passing under the
archway before mentioned. And here I must pause a moment and admire the
happy idea of placing this pretty building at the end of this cultivated
spot. It closes the kitchen garden, and as its front is similar on
either side, it harmonizes with the regular garden we have left, as well
as with the wilder spot which we next approach. This building forms a
complete termination to one of that succession of lovely scenes with
which we are presented on our walk to the Tower. Each scene is totally
distinct in character from the others, and yet with matchless taste they
are united by some harmonious link, as in the present case.
Having then passed through the archway of this building, we observed
before us a grotto, into which we entered. On the right is a pond of
gold and silver fish, which are fed every morning by the hands of the
gifted possessor of this charming place. On the opposite side thirty or
forty birds assemble at the same time to hail the appearance of St.
Anthony's devotee, and chirrup a song of gratitude for their morning
meal. The grotto is formed under a road, and is so ingeniously contrived
that hundreds have walked over it without ever dreaming of the
subterranean passage beneath. The grotto-like arch winds underground for
perhaps sixty or seventy feet. When coming to its termination we are
presented with a flight of rustic steps, which leads us again directly on
to the Down. Looking back you cannot but admire the natural appearance
of this work of art. The ground over the grotto is covered with tangled
shrubs and brambles. There is nothing formed, nothing apparently
artificial, and a young ash springs as if accidentally from between the
stones.
We pursued our way to the Tower by a path of a quarter of a mile on the
Down, along a walk parallel to the wall of the public road, gently curved
to take off the appearance of formality, yet so slightly that you can go
on in a straight line. On our right hand venerable bushes of lavender,
great plants of rosemary, and large rose trees perfume the air, all
growing as if indigenous to the smooth turf. In one place clusters of
rare and deeply crimsoned snapdragons, in another patches of aromatic
thyme and wild strawberries keep up the charm of the place. As we draw
nearer to the Tower the ground is laid out in a wilder and more
picturesque manner, the walks are more serpentine. We turned a corner,
and Mr. Beckford stood before us, attended by an aged servant, whose
hairs have whitened in his employment, and whose skill has laid out these
grounds in this beautiful manner. Mr. Beckford welcomed me in the
kindest way, and immediately began pointing out the various curious
plants and shrubs. How on this happy spot specimens of the productions
of every country in the world unite! Shrubs and trees, whose natural
climates are as opposite as the Antipodes, here flourish in the most
astonishing manner. We were shown a rose tree brought from Pekin and a
fir tree brought from the highest part of the Himalaya Mountains; many
have been brought to this country, but Mr. Beckford's is the only one
that has survived. Here are pine trees of every species and variety--a
tree that once vegetated at Larissa, in Greece, Italian pines, Siberian
pines, Scotch firs, a lovely specimen of Irish yew, and other trees which
it is impossible to describe. My astonishment was great at witnessing
the size of the trees, and I could scarcely believe my ears when told
that the whole of this wood had been raised on the bare Down within the
last thirteen years. The ground is broken and diversified in the most
agreeable manner: here a flight of easy and water worn steps leads to an
eminence, whence you have a view of the building and an old ruin
overgrown with shrubs, which looks as if it had seen five hundred
summers, but in reality no older than the rest of this creation. On
ascending the easy though ruined steps of this building, passing under an
archway, the view of the Tower burst upon us, and a long, straight walk
led us directly to the entrance. From this point the view is most
imposing. On your right is a continuation of the shrubberies I spoke of,
at the end of which is a lovely pine, most beautiful in form and colour,
which by hiding some of the lower buildings thus makes a picture of the
whole. The effect of the building is grand and stately beyond
description. The long line of flat distance and the flatness of the Down
here come in contact with the perpendicular lines of the Tower and lower
buildings, producing that strikingly peculiar combination which never
fails to produce a grand effect. This is the real secret of Claude's
seaports. His stately buildings, moles, and tall towers form a right
angle with the straight horizon; thus the whole is magnificent. Nothing
of the sort could be produced in the interior of a country but in a
situation like the present. Who but a man of extraordinary genius would
have thought of rearing in the desert such a structure as this, or
creating such an oasis? The colouring of the building reminded me of
Malta or Sicily, a rich mellow hue prevails; the ornaments of the Tower
are so clean, so distinct, such terseness. The windows, small and few
compared with modern buildings, give it the appearance of those early
Florentine edifices reared when security and defence were as much an
object as beauty. From every part of the ground the pile looks grand,
the lines producing the most beautiful effect. The windows have iron
gratings, which give it an Oriental character. We entered, and
immediately ascended the Tower. A circular staircase was round the wall.
The proportion of the interior is beautiful; you see from the bottom to
the top. From the apparent size of the three or four loopholes seen from
the outside I imagined it would be dark and gloomy from within, but I was
agreeably surprised to find the whole extremely light. The balustrade is
Egyptian in form, and banisters bronze. On reaching the top you find a
square apartment containing twelve windows, each a piece of plate glass,
the floor covered with red cloth and crimson window curtains. The effect
of distance seen through these apertures unobstructed by framework,
contrasted with the bronze balustrade without and crimson curtains
within, is truly enchanting. We were not happy in the weather. The
morning was sunny and promising, but at noon clouds obscured the heavens;
therefore we wanted that glow and splendour sunshine never fails to give
the landscape. The height is so great that everything looks quite
diminutive. The road running in a straight line across the Down reminds
one of a Roman work, and the whole expanse of country surrounding recalls
the Campagna. Two more flights of stairs, most ingeniously contrived and
to all appearance hanging on nothing, lead to two other apartments, the
top one lighted by glass all round, concealed on the outside by the open
ornament that runs round the very top of the cupola.
On descending the staircase, the door opening showed us at the end of a
small vaulted corridor a beautiful statue by Rossi of St. Anthony and the
infant Jesus. At the back, fixed in the wall, is a large slab of red
porphyry, circular at the top and surrounded by an elegant inlay of
Sienna verd, antique border surrounding the whole figure of the Saint,
and has a most rich effect; it is difficult to believe that the Sienna is
not gold. The light descending from above gives that fine effect which
sets off statues so much. On the left hand of the figure is a picture by
Pietro Perugino, which for centuries was in the Cathedral of Sienna,
having been painted for that building and never removed till Mr. Beckford
(I suppose by making an offer too tempting to be resisted) succeeded in
obtaining it. It is the Virgin and two pretty boys, admirably drawn,
very like Raphael, and in as fine preservation as the St. Catherine. The
execution is masterly, and though not so free as the Raphael still it is
forcible. The figure of the left hand boy is very graceful, face
beautiful and sweetly dimpled. Opposite are a Francesco Mola and a
Steinwych. The Mola is exceedingly fine, the sky and landscape much like
Mr. Beckford's Gaspar Poussin in colour and execution; the Steinwych,
interior of a Cathedral, one of the most wonderful finished pictures I
ever beheld. This picture was painted for an ancestor of Mr. Beckford's.
Here there is a little cabinet full of rare and curious manuscripts. We
were shown a small Bible in MS., including the Apocrypha, written 300
years before printing was introduced, and a very curious Missal.
We then entered a gorgeous room containing pictures and curiosities of
immense value. Its proportions seem exactly the same as the one on the
floor below, and decorations with its furniture pretty similar. The
windows in both are in one large plate, and the shutters of plain oak.
The colour of curtains and carpet crimson. In these rooms are a portrait
of the Doge out of the Grimaldi Palace, purchased by Mr. Beckford from
Lord Cawdor, who got it out of the Palace by an intrigue; this is a
splendid portrait; he has on the Dalmatica and the Phrygian Cap worn by
the Doges on occasions of State, and two lovely Polembergs, infinitely
finer and more like Claude than anything I ever saw; in fact, they were
ascribed to Claude by the German Waagen, architecture grand, foliage
light and elegant; the figures are by Le Soeur. Two fine portraits by De
Vos, wonderfully painted, execution and colouring reminded me of Vandyke,
particularly the latter, and not unlike the Gavertius in the National
Gallery. Then there is a magnificent Houdekoeta, the landscape part
painted by Both most inimitably. A beautiful cabinet designed by
Bernini, another with sculptured paintings, in the centre the story of
Adam and Eve. Two more candlesticks from the Alhambra, in shape and
execution similar to those at the house; two gold candlesticks after
designs by Holbein; some curious specimens of china; an Asiatic purple
glass vase, brought by St. Louis from the Holy Land, which contained at
St. Denis some holy fragments; a piece of china, the centre of which is
ornamented in a style totally different from the generality of china, in
eight or ten compartments, and painted in such a manner that the festoon
of leaves fall over and hide the fruit most picturesquely; two ivory
cups, one in alto, the other in basso relievo; the latter the finer and
most charmingly carved; a small group in bronze by John Bologna,
"Dejanira and the Centaur," admirably done. Here are tables of the
rarest marbles, one composed of a block from the Himalaya Mountains. In
one of the windows is a piece of African marble brought to this country
for George IV; also a small bath of Egyptian porphyry. In the lower room
was a vase containing the most lovely flowers, that perfumed the
apartment. In this room, from the judicious introduction of scarlet and
crimson, you have the effect of sunshine. The ceilings are belted; the
interstices painted crimson. It is impossible to give any idea of the
splendour of these two rooms, the finishing touch being cabinet looking
glasses, introduced most judiciously.
We now took leave of Mr. Beckford. His horses were waiting in the
courtyard, with two servants standing respectfully and uncovered at the
door, whilst two more held the horses. The stately and magnificent
tower, the terrace on which we lingered a few moments, whilst this
extraordinary man mounted his horse, all, all conspired to cast a
poetical feeling over the parting moment which I shall never forget. I
was reminded most forcibly of similar scenes in Scott's novels. In
particular the ancient Tower of Tillietudleni was presented to my mind's
eye, and I gazed for a moment on this gifted person with a melancholy
foreboding that it was for the last time, and experienced an elevation of
feeling connected with the scene which it is impossible to describe. Such
moments are worth whole years of everyday existence. We turned our heads
to look once more on a man who must always create the most intense
interest, and I repeated those lines of Petrarch, introduced by Mr.
Beckford himself in his "Italy" on a similar occasion--
O ora, o georno, o ultimo momento,
O stelle conjurate ad impoverime, &c.
I forgot to mention a cluster of heliotrope in blossom on the Down,
growing in such wild luxuriance that I could not believe it to be my
little darling flower. However, on stooping down I soon perceived by its
fragrance it was the same plant that I had been accustomed to admire in
greenhouses or in small pots.
October, 1838.
I have had another peep at the Tower. The day was auspicious. I ran up
the staircase and wonderfully enjoyed the prospect. Looking through the
middle window towards the west you have a delicious picture. The hills
undulate in the most picturesque manner, the motion of the clouds at one
moment threw a line of hills into shadow, which were the next minute
illumined by the sun, the Avon glittering in the sunbeams, the village of
Weston embedded in the valley, a rich cluster of large trees near the
town, variegated by the tints of autumn, united to form a charming
picture. The pieces of plate-glass that compose the twelve windows of
this beautiful room cannot be less than 5.5ft. high and 18in. wide.
On descending I was struck with the lovely effect of the corridor, at the
end of which is the statue of St. Anthony; on the pedestal (a block of
Sienna) are engraved in letters of gold these words, "Dominus illuminatio
mio." The Francesco Mola (the Magdalen in the Desert) is a lovely
landscape indeed; the rocks and their spirited execution, lightness of
the foliage, &c., in the foreground remind one of St. Rosa. A cluster of
cherubs hovers over the head of Mary. In the smaller room on the upper
floor is the picture by West of the Installation of the Knights of the
Garter. From the contemplation of this picture I entertain a higher
opinion of the genius of West than I ever did before. You can scarcely
believe it is his painting; there is nothing of his usual hard outline,
the shadows are rich, the background soft and mellow, the lights unite
sweetly, and it is touched in the free and juicy manner of the sketches
of Rubens or Paolo Veronese. It is difficult to believe that this
picture is not 200 years old. The head of a child by Parmigiano; a large
picture by Breughel. The enameled glass vase brought to Europe by St.
Louis; this must be of Arabian manufacture, for the figures on horseback
have turbans. A large cabinet by Franks, the panels most highly
finished, different passages in the history of Adam and Eve form small
pictural subjects. In the larger room is the cabinet by Bernini, inlaid
with mosaic work in the most finished manner, surrounded by three brass
figures; Bellini's two pictures of the Doges of Venice. Over Bernini's
cabinet a large piece of looking glass is most judiciously introduced. In
this and the lower room are two lovely crimson Wilton carpets; the
ceilings of both are painted purple and red. Holbein's candlesticks are
really gold! the chasing is elegance itself; an inscription states that
they were made in 1800 for the Abbey at Fonthill. A fine picture of the
infant St. John by Murillo; a curious one of St. Anthony by Civoli; an
exquisite interior, by Steynwich, very small, and being a night effect,
the shadows are amazingly rich. In the passage leading to the garden are
the two ivory cups by Frainingo. One is much better carved than the
other; it is copied from an antique vase. The figures are Bacchanalian.
The effect of this lower room from the vestibule, illumined by the rays
of the glorious sun, was more beautiful than anything of the sort I had
ever witnessed. Nothing can be more happy than the way the colour of
this apartment is managed. The walls are covered with scarlet cloth; the
curtains on each side of the window being a deep purple produce a
striking contrast, the colouring of the ceiling, crimson, purple and
gold, is admirable. In one window is a large table formed of a block of
Egyptian porphyry, on which were flowers in a large vase of ivory; in the
other recess, or rather tribune, is the small round Himalaya block. Over
the fireplace is a charming little Dietrich, and on either hand a
Polemberg. On this side of the room the two De Vos, two singularly
shaped cabinets of oak finely carved; on one is a gold teapot. On the
right hand of the door is a Simonini: sky and distance admirable, the
colouring of two large trees very rich and mellow, one a dark green, the
other pale yellow. A picture on the other side of the door by Canaletti.
On the opposite side of the room a large Pastel, ruins of foliage fine
but figures lanky. I had not before to-day seen the Tower from the road
entrance. The effect of the whole building is grand, and improved by the
arches which support the terrace. On the left the ground is admirably
broken and the foliage rich.
November 3rd, 1838.
Mr. Beckford showed me some sketches of St. Non's Sicily and harbour of
Malta, forty drawings, given by St. Non himself, each bearing the name in
pencil; he also showed me a MS. "Arabian Nights." He studied Arabic very
deeply in Paris, and had a Mussulman master. He read to me part of a
tale never put into the ordinary edition, translated into English tersely
and perspicuously. He is much indebted to Arabic MS. for "Vathek," and
reads Arabic to this day. He says Lord Byron and others are quite
mistaken as to the age when he wrote "Vathek," not seventeen but twenty-
three years of age. "Sir," says he, "if you want a description of
Persepolis read 'Vathek.'" He laughed heartily at the different sorts of
praise bestowed by Lord Byron on "Vathek," equal to Rasselas, like
Mackenzie. Lord Byron tried many times to get a sight of the Eps [?],
often intreated the Duchess to intercede with her father. He once called
with "Vathek" in his pocket, which he styled "his gospel." Moore's
"Lallah Rookh" has too much western sentimentality for an Oriental
romance, the common fault of most writers of such stories. Beckford
prefers Moore's Melodies, and likes the "Loves of Angels" least of all.
"Fudge Family" he thinks admirable.
Speaking of the triumph he achieved in writing as an Englishman a work
which was supposed for years to be by a Frenchman, he said: "Oh, my great
uncle did more than me. Did you never read 'Memories of the Duke of
Grammont?' Voltaire told me he was entirely indebted to my great uncle
for whatever beauty of style he might possess. French is just the same
as English to me. He showed me the Eps."
October 31.--Went out and accidentally met Mr. Beckford speaking in
praise of his West, who painted expressly for Mr. Beckford. I said, "How
did you get him to paint it so soft? I suppose you particularly
requested him to do so." "Oh no. Mr. West was a man who would stand no
dictation; had I uttered such a thought he would have kicked me out of
the house! Oh no, that would never have done. The only way to get him
to avoid his hard outline would be to entreat him to paint harder. West
came one day laughing to me, and said, "All London is in ecstasy
beholding the Lazarus in Sebo Deltz, painted they say by M. A. Ha! ha!
they don't know it is my painting. L., who brought the picture over,
came to me in the greatest distress, 'The set is ruined by the salt
water; you must try and restore the Lazarus.' I was shut up for two
days, and painted the Lazarus." On my asking if he believed it true, Mr.
Beckford replied, "Perfectly true, for I saw it lying on the floor and
the figure of Lazarus was quite gone." "Then you don't value that
picture much?" "All the rest is perfect, and I offered 12,000 pounds for
that and four more. I saw in the Escurial the marriage of Isaac and
Rebecca, now belonging to the Duke of Wellington. In fact, of all the
pictures in the collection there is not more than one in ten that has
escaped repainting. The picture given by H. Carr I cannot admire, the
outline of the hill is so hard. It is just the picture Satan would show
poor Claude, if he has him, which we charitably hope he has not."
November 10th, 1838.
How poor dear Mozart would be frightened (moralised Mr. Beckford) could
he hear some of our modern music! My father was very fond of music, and
invited Mozart to Fonthill. He was eight years old and I was six. It
was rather ludicrous one child being the pupil of another. He went to
Vienna, where he obtained vast celebrity, and wrote to me, saying, "Do
you remember that march you composed which I kept so long? Well, I have
just composed a new opera and I have introduced your air." "In what
opera?" asked I. "Why in the 'Nozze di Figaro.'" "Is it possible, sir,
and which then is your air?" "You shall hear it." Mr. Beckford opened a
piano, and immediately began what I thought a sort of march, but soon I
recognized "Non piu andrai." He struck the notes with energy and force,
he sang a few words, and seemed to enter into the music with the greatest
enthusiasm; his eye sparkled, and his countenance assumed an expression
which I had never noticed before.
Mr. Beckford showed me some very fine original drawings by Gaspar
Poussin, exceedingly delicate. On the back a profile most exquisitely
finished, another just begun, and another by his brother in admirable
style, sketch of a peacock by Houdekoeta. "When I was in Portugal," said
Mr. Beckford, "I had as much influence and power as if I had been the
King. The Prince Regent acknowledged me in public as his relation (which
indeed I was). I had the privilege of an entrance at all times, and
could visit the Royal Family in ordinary dress. Of course, on grand
occasions I wore Court costume." He showed me a letter from a rich
banker in Lisbon, a man in great esteem at the Palace; another letter
from one of the first noblemen in Portugal, entreating him to use his
influence with the Prince Regent for the reversion of the decree of
confiscation of some nobleman's estate; another from the Grand Prior of
Aviz (in French). Mr. Beckford was treated as a grandee of the first
rank in Germany; he showed me an autograph of the Emperor Joseph.
Voltaire said to him, "Je dois tout a votre oncle, Count Anthony H. The
Duchess was acknowledged in Paris by the Bourbon as Duchess de
Chatelrault. On going to Court I saw her sitting next the Royal Family
with the Duchess, whilst all the Court was standing. The Duchess has
fine taste for the arts, quite as strong a feeling as I have. The Duke
also is amazingly fond of the arts. The Marquis of D. has a spice of my
character."
The Claude looked more blooming and pearly than ever. I observed that I
had never seen such a tone in any Claude in existence. I know many
pictures which had that hue, but they have been so daubed and retouched
that they are no longer the same. He showed me the Episodes. One
begins, "Mes malheurs, O Caliphe sont encore plus grands que les votres,
aussi bien que mes crimes, tu a ete trompe en ecoutant un navis
malheureux; mais moi, pour me desobir d'une amitie la plus tendre, je
suis precipite dans ce lieu d'horreur."
The origin of Beckford's "Lives of Extraordinary Painters" was very odd.
When he was fifteen years old the housekeeper came to him, and said she
wished he would tell her something about the artists who painted his fine
pictures, as visitors were always questioning her, and she did not know
what to answer. "Oh, very well; I'll write down some particulars about
them." He instantly composed "Lives of Extraordinary Painters." The
housekeeper studied the manuscript attentively, and regaled her
astonished visitors with the marvellous incidents it contained; however,
finding many were sceptical, she came to her young master and told him
people would not believe what she told them. "Not believe? Ah, that's
because it is only in manuscript. Then we'll have it printed; they'll
believe when they see it in print." He sent the manuscript to a London
publisher, and inquired what the expense of printing it would be. The
publisher read it with delight, and instantly offered the youthful author
50 pounds for the manuscript. The housekeeper was now able to silence
all cavilers by producing the book itself.