Vathek; An Arabian Tale
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without them.
After the sale of Fonthill, our author lived a considerable time inPortugal, and hence Lord Byron, who was fond of casting the shadow of hisown imagination over every object, penned the well-known lines at Cintra:
“There thou, too, Vathek, England’s wealthiest son, Once formed thy paradise; as not aware Where wanton wealth her mightiest deeds hath done, Meek peace, voluptuous lures, was ever wont to shun.
Here didst thou dwell; here scenes of pleasure plan, Beneath yon mountain’s ever beauteous brow; But now, as if a thing unblest by man, Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as thou! Here giant weeds a passage scarce allow To halls deserted; portals gaping wide Fresh lessons to the thinking bosom; how Vain are the pleasaunces on earth supplied, Swept into wrecks anon by time’s ungentle tide.”
These sombre verses contrast strangely with Beckford’s saying to Mr.Cyrus Redding, in his seventy-sixth year, “that he had never felt amoments’ ennui in his life.”
Beckford was in person scarcely above the middle height, slender, andwell formed, with features indicating great intellectual power. He wasexactly one year younger than Pitt, the companion of his minority. Hispolitical principles were popular, though it is recorded, that at a courtball on the Queen’s birth-day, in 1782, he, with Miss North, led up acountry dance. He sat in parliament, in his early years, both for Wellsand Hendon, but retired on account of bad health. This, however, heovercame by careful diet and exercise, as testified by his great bodilyactivity almost to the last. He was a man of most extensive reading, andcultivated taste.
The last years of his life were passed at Bath—where he united two housesin Lansdown Crescent, by an arch thrown across the street, and containinghis library, which was well selected, and very extensive. Not far off,he again erected a tower, 180 feet high, of which the followingdescription was given at the time of his decease, by a correspondent ofthe Athenæum:—
“Mr. Beckford, at an early period of his residence there, erected a loftytower, in the apartments of which were placed many of his choicestpaintings and articles of virtu. Asiatic in its style, with gildedlattices and blinds, or curtains, of crimson cloth, its striped ceilings,its minaret, and other accessories, conveyed the idea that the being whodesigned the place and endeavoured to carry out the plan, was deeplyimbued with the spirit of that lonely grandeur and strict solitarinesswhich obtains through all countries and among all people of the East.The building was surrounded by a high wall, and entrance afforded to thegarden in which the tower stood, by a door of small dimensions. Thegarden itself was Eastern in its character. Though comparativelycircumscribed in its size, nevertheless were to be found within it,solitary walks and deep retiring shades, such as could be supposedVathek, the mournful and the magnificent, loved, and from the bowers ofwhich might be expected would suddenly fall upon the ear, sounds of thecymbal and the dulcimer. The building contained several apartmentscrowded with the finest paintings. At the time I made my inspection thewalls were crowded with the choicest productions of the easel. Thememory falls back upon ineffaceable impressions of Old Franks, Breughel,Cuyp, Titian, (a Holy Family), Hondekooter, Polemberg, and a host ofother painters whose works have immortalized Art. Ornaments of the mostexquisite gold fillagree, carvings in ivory and wood, Raphaelesque china,goblets formed of gems, others fashioned by the miraculous hands ofBenvenuto Cellini, filled the many cabinets and _recherché_ receptaclescreated for such things. The doors of the rooms were of finely polishedwood—the windows of single sweeps of plate glass—the cornices of gildedsilver; every part, both within and without, bespeaking the wealth, themagnificence, and the taste of him who had built this temple indedication to grandeur, solitariness, and the arts.”
From the summit of this tower, Mr. Beckford, and he alone without atelescope,—could behold that other tower of his youthful magnificence,Fonthill; on which he loved to gaze, with feelings which it would bedifficult to describe. His eyesight was wonderful; he could gaze uponthe sun like an eagle; and on the day that the great tower at Fonthillfell he missed it in the landscape long before the news of thecatastrophe reached Bath.
In conclusion, we have only to add, that our author, in his life-time,had all that wealth can give, and in his grave his memory will retainthat which no wealth can purchase. Whatever may have been his errors,they have died with him. His genius yet lives, and “Vathek,” now for thefirst time presented to the public in a popular form, will, whilstEnglish literature lasts, never want readers, and, while good tasteflourishes, admirers.