Grand tours: Eeek! Here comes the original Gothic novel

To modern readers, 'The Castle of Otranto' by Horace Walpole (1717-1797) seems a bizarre period piece, with a plot that is as fantastic and preposterous as the writing style. But the effect of this tale of the tyrannical prince Manfred and the death of his son Conrad under a giant plumed helmet was striking. 'Otranto' is often called the first Gothic novel. It certainly inspired a whole genre, of which 'The Mysteries of Udolpho' (and many more) by Ann Radclyffe and 'Vathek' by William Beckford are among the best known. This is literature inspired by architecture: full of secret passages, mysterious panels, dark towers and crepuscular cellars. Even at the time, the genre had its critics and it was ruthlessly satirised by Jane Austen in 'Northanger Abbey'.

To modern readers, 'The Castle of Otranto' by Horace Walpole (1717-1797) seems a bizarre period piece, with a plot that is as fantastic and preposterous as the writing style. But the effect of this tale of the tyrannical prince Manfred and the death of his son Conrad under a giant plumed helmet was striking. 'Otranto' is often called the first Gothic novel. It certainly inspired a whole genre, of which 'The Mysteries of Udolpho' (and many more) by Ann Radclyffe and 'Vathek' by William Beckford are among the best known. This is literature inspired by architecture: full of secret passages, mysterious panels, dark towers and crepuscular cellars. Even at the time, the genre had its critics and it was ruthlessly satirised by Jane Austen in 'Northanger Abbey'.

As it was now evening, the servant who conducted Isabella bore a torch before her. When they came to Manfred, who was walking impatiently about the gallery, he started and said hastily, "Take away that light, and begone." Then shutting the door impetuously, he flung himself upon a bench against the wall, and bade Isabella sit by him. She obeyed, trembling. "I sent for you, lady," said he, and then stopped under great appearance of confusion. "Yes, I sent for you on a matter of great moment," resumed he, "Dry your tears, young lady – you have lost your bridegroom. Yes, cruel fate! and I have lost the hopes of my race! but Conrad was not worthy of your beauty."

Words cannot paint the astonishment of Isabella. At first she apprehended that grief had disordered Manfred's understanding. Her next thought suggested that this strange discourse was designed to ensnare her: she feared that Manfred had perceived her indifference for his son: and in consequence of that idea she replied, "Good my lord, do not doubt my tenderness: my heart would have accompanied my hand. Conrad would have engrossed all my care; and wherever fate shall dispose of me, I shall always cherish his memory, and regard your highness and the virtuous Hippolita as my parents."

"Curse on Hippolita!" cried Manfred: "forget her from this moment as I do. In short, lady, you have missed a husband undeserving of your charms: they shall now be better disposed of. Instead of a sickly boy, you shall have a husband in the prime of his age, who will know how to value your beauties, and who may expect a numerous offspring. In short, Isabella, since I cannot give you my son, I offer you myself."

"Heavens!" cried Isabella, "what do I hear! You! My lord! You! My father-in-law! the father of Conrad! the husband of the virtuous and tender Hippolita!"

"I tell you," said Manfred imperiously, "Hippolita is no longer my wife; I divorce her from this hour. Too long has she cursed me by her unfruitfulness: my fate depends on having sons, – and this night I trust will give a new date to my hopes." At those words he seized the cold hand of Isabella, who was half-dead with fright and horror. She shrieked and started from him.

Manfred rose to pursue her, when the moon, which was now up and gleamed in at the opposite casement, presented to his sight the plumes of the fatal helmet, which rose to the height of the windows, waving backwards and forwards in a tempestuous manner, and accompanied with a hollow and rustling sound.

Isabella, who gathered courage from her situation, and who dreaded nothing so much as Manfred's pursuit of his declaration, cried, "Look! my lord; see, heaven itself declares against your impious intentions!" – "Heaven nor hell shall impede my designs," said Manfred, advancing again to seize the princess.

At that instant the portrait of his grandfather, which hung over the bench where they had been sitting, uttered a deep sigh, and heaved its breast. Isabella, whose back was turned to the picture, saw not the motion, nor knew whence the sound came, but started, and said, "Hark, my lord! What sound was that?" and at the same time made towards the door.

Manfred, distracted between the flight of Isabella, who had now reached the stairs, and yet unable to keep his eyes from the picture, which began to move, had however advanced some steps after her, still looking backwards on the portrait, when he saw it quit its panel, and descend on the floor with a grave and melancholy air.

"Do I dream?" cried Manfred returning, "or are the devils themselves in league against me? Speak, infernal spectre! or, if thou art my grandsire, why dost thou too conspire against thy wretched descendant, who too dearly pays for ..." Ere he could finish the sentence the vision sighed again, and made a sign to Manfred to follow him. "Lead on!" cried Manfred; "I will follow thee to the gulf of perdition." The spectre marched sedately, but dejected, to the end of the gallery, and turned into a chamber on the right hand. Manfred accompanied him at a little distance.

As he would have entered the chamber, the door was clapped to with violence by an invisible hand. The prince, collecting courage from this delay, would have forcibly burst open the door with his foot, but found that it resisted his utmost efforts. "Since hell will not satisfy my curiosity," said Manfred, "I will use the human means in my power for preserving my race; Isabella shall not escape me."

Follow in the footsteps of Horace Walpole
Within these castle walls...

The author, letter writer and art collector Horace Walpole bought Strawberry Hill House on the banks of the Thames at Twickenham in 1747. He spent the rest of his life transforming it from an ordinary country house into a Gothic castle, "imprinting the gloomth of abbeys and cathedrals". A group of his friends formed a Committee of Taste to advise on the new designs, and battlements, bay windows, pinnacles, turrets and arched windows were added. Later Walpole extended the house by a floor, building a picture gallery, a round tower and a cloister.

The art of deception

Inside there are endless examples of theatrical fakery. Cavernous doors open into tiny cupboards, yet if you stoop through the smallest door you'll discover the enormous dining room. Many architectural features such as lattice work and archways turn out to be merely painted effects and false perspective.

Walpole entertained lavishly, holding feasts in his dining room and dances in the long gallery. Here guests could admire the vaulted ceiling, which looks like stone but is made entirely out of papier-mâché.

Deliberate doom and gloom

The library, with books protected by intricate wooden lattices, is where Walpole wrote The Castle of Otranto. It is little wonder that the tone of the novel is dark and eerie, as it was written in a room where trees, purposely planted close to the house, shade the light from the window. The windows are in stained glass and the light filters bluely into the rooms, giving the impression of twilight even on a sunny day.

Walpole even threw his castle open to the public. The original house rules are on display in the hall, and visitors today would do well to remember that "no person shall be admitted after dinner", and that anyone "touching the eagle" will be banned from the house. Sadly many of the original furnishings have been sold but some remain, including Holbein drawings.

Walpole's printing press, originally in a separate building, was connected to the main building when Lady Waldegrave built a ballroom extension in 1856. This room can be used for conferences and the large garden with its fountains and statues is often used for weddings.

Can we go Gothic?

The house, in Waldegrave Road, Twickenham, is owned by Saint Mary's College, but it is open to the public on Sundays from 2pm to 3.30pm from April to October. Admission costs £5. Pre-booked tours are run by enthusiastic volunteers (020-8240 4224 for opening hours, 020-8240 4044 for details on tours and conferences).

Trains leave from Waterloo to Strawberry Hill Station every 15 minutes. Parking is free. Make a donation to the Friends of Strawberry Hill to enable them to fund repairs, before it gets bought by some big hotel chain and Walpole's masterpiece is lost for ever.

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