| “Suburban residence.” (See page 42.) |
The gardens slope down to the Avon, from whose banks there is a picturesque view of the river front of the castle, and here as well as in the park we see some fine old cedars of Lebanon, brought from the East by the Warwick Crusaders. In the main castle we enter a number of the apartments which are furnished in a style of regal splendor. The Great Entrance Hall, sixty two feet long and forty wide, is rich in dark old oak wainscoting, and curious ancient armor; and shields and coronets of the earls of many generations, as well as the “Bear and Ragged Staff,” of Robert Dudley’s crest are carved upon its Gothic ceiling. The Gilt Drawing-room contains a rare collection of the masterpieces of great artists. This room is so called from the richly gilded panels which cover its walls and ceiling. In the Cedar Drawing-room are wonderful antique vases, furniture and other curios, which would well repay a much longer inspection than we can give them. But all the rooms in this magnificent old feudal castle are filled with the finest specimens of works of ancient art in every line. The paintings alone fill us with despair, for they line the walls in close succession, and the artists’ names are Murillo, Rubens, Rembrandt, Vandyke, Sir Peter Lely, Guido, Andrea del Sarto, and many others of like celebrity. What an opportunity for those who have the time to linger in this atmosphere of lofty genius!
Many beautiful old shade trees surround the castle, and the restful silence inspires one with the desire to be alone and yield himself up to the spirit of the place, hallowed by such wealth of associations and the presence of immortal art.
A short distance from the castle, and outside the Warwick enclosure, stands an old mill upon the bank of the Avon. This ancient and picturesque structure was originally built for the purpose of grinding wheat, but the all-observing eye of the artist quickly discovered in it a mission of a higher order, and for years it has posed as the central figure in the romantic landscapes portrayed by the brush of the painter or the camera of the photographer.
Taking a drag and driving through Kenilworth, Coventry and Stoneleigh, will give one delightful views of some of the most beautiful portions of England. The roads are macadamized, and in good condition. This is a fine farming country, and here we see the typical English farmhouses, built of brick and stone, surrounded by well-cultivated fields, stretching away into a peacefully smiling landscape. The fields are separated by green hedges, and the whole scene is one that can hardly be surpassed throughout “Merrie England.”
From these lovely quiet homes, we pass through roads bordered with wild flowers to the ruins of one of the most magnificent castles in Great Britain. It is hardly necessary to say that Kenilworth is inseparably associated with Sir Walter Scott, and his graphic descriptions of the scenes and events that have taken place here in the days of its glory. This castle, one of the finest and most extensive baronial ruins in England, dates back to about 1120 A. D. It covered an area of seven acres, but is now a mass of ivy-covered ruins, from which one can form but a faint idea of its appearance in the height of its prosperity. Yet the hand of nature has invested it with another kind of beauty, and in place of the pomp and majesty of power, the brilliant pageants of the court of Queen Elizabeth, we behold the clinging robe of ivy, the daylight illuminating the gallery tower in place of the hundreds of wax torches which flashed their lights upon the royal cavalcade, and a little country road where once a stately avenue led to the tower, and listened to the court secrets, lovers’ vows and merry badinage uttered within its shades. The castle has passed through many changes, and experienced stormy days as well as those of prosperity and luxury, but the pen of Scott has immortalized it on the summit of its glory, and though the ages may cast their blight upon its visible form, it will ever live in the soul of the artist, the poet, the lover of beauty, as a scene of splendor, of sorrowful tragedy, of magnificent design.
But a few steps beyond the Kenilworth grounds is an old English inn—The King’s Arms. It is so picturesque and romantic-looking, that I feel like rechristening it: “The Entire Royal Family.”