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 Sœur. 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.