Recollections of the late William Beckford of Fonthill, Wilts and Lansdown, Bath | Page 9

cupboard with
glass in front is a little ivory reliquior, four or five hundred years old. It
was given to Mr. Beckford by the late Mr. Hope. It is in the shape of a
small chapel; on opening the doors, the fastenings of which were two

small dogs or monkeys, you found in a recess the Virgin and Child,
surrounded by various effigies, all carved in the most astonishingly
minute manner.
The mention of Mr. Hope's name produced an observation about
"Anastasius," of which Mr. Beckford affirmed he was confident Mr.
Hope had written very little; he was, he positively asserted, assisted by
Spence. My companion here observed, "Had Mr. Beckford heard of the
recent discoveries made of the ruins of Carthage?" "Of Carthage?" he
said, "it must be New Carthage. It cannot be the old town, that is
impossible. If it were, I would start to-morrow to see it. I should think
myself on the road to Babylon half-way." "Babylon must have been a
glorious place," observed my companion, "if we can place any reliance
on Mr. Martin's long line of distances about that famous city." "Oh,
Martin. Martin is very clever, but a friend of mine, Danby, in my
opinion far surpasses him." I cannot agree with Mr. Beckford in this.
Martin was undoubtedly the inventor of the singular style of painting in
question, and I do not believe that Danby ever produced anything equal
to some of the illustrations of "Paradise Lost," in particular "The Fall of
the Apostate Angels," which is as fine a conception as any painter,
ancient or modern, ever produced.
Mr. Beckford then, taking off a glass cover, showed us what is, I
should imagine, one of the greatest curiosities in existence, a vase
about ten inches high, composed of one entire block of chalcedonian
onyx. It is of Greek workmanship, most probably about the time of
Alexander the Great. The stone is full of veins, as usual with onyxes.
"Do observe," said he, "these satyrs' heads. Imagine the number of
diamonds it must have taken to make any impression on such a hard
substance. Rubens made a drawing of it, for it was pawned in his time
for a large sum. I possess an engraving from his drawing," and opening
a portfolio he immediately presented it to my wondering eyes.
Over the fireplace is a magnificent picture by Roberts, representing the
tombs of Ferdinand and Isabella in the Alhambra. What I had always
imagined a small chapel is, I find, really of gigantic proportions, and
looks like a Cathedral in solemn grandeur and softness; the two

sarcophagi are of white marble. The light streams through enormous
painted windows, and at the extremity of the edifice is an altar
surrounded by figures in different attitudes. "I should never have
dreamt, from what Washington Irving says of the chapel of Ferdinand
and Isabella, that it was such a plan as this." "Oh, Washington Irving,"
he replied, "is very poor in his descriptions; he does not do justice to
Spain." I wished he had spoken with a little more enthusiasm of a
favourite author, but I imagine that the author of the "Sketch Book" is
scarcely aristocratic enough for Mr. Beckford.
On the right hand of the fireplace is a very large landscape by Lee,
which Mr. Beckford eulogised warmly. "That silvery stream," he
observed, "winding amongst those gentle undulating hills must be
intended to represent Berkshire," or he pronounced it Barkshire. With
all due deference to the taste of the author of "Vathek," and his
admiration of this picture, which he compared to a Wouvermann, it is
in my eyes a very uninteresting scene, though certainly strictly natural.
"I don't in general like Lee's pictures," he said, "but that is an
exception." In the corresponding recess is a fine sea piece by Chambers.
On the opposite side of the room are rows of the most valuable books,
which almost reach the ceiling. I hinted that I was really afraid we were
trespassing on his leisure, as our visit was lengthened out most
prodigiously. "Not at all," he replied, "I am delighted to see you. It is a
pleasure to show these things to those who really appreciate them, for I
assure you that I find very few who do." We now returned through the
apartments. He accompanied us as far as the dining room door, when
he inquired if I had seen the Tower? On my answering in the negative
he said, "Then you must come up again." He shook hands with my
friend, and bowing politely to me was retiring, when stepping back he
held out his hand in the kindest manner, repeating the words "Come up
again." We found we had spent three hours in his company.
We paused an instant before leaving the