Vathek and Other Stories

by William Beckford

  dryads and hamadryads,1 all classically adorned with emblems and symbols. This master-piece gained him the esteem of Podebrac and the whole court, to which was added a rich chain with the Duke’s picture, and a purse containing 1000 rixdollars. Encouraged by this liberality, Aldrovandus exerted himself more and more. It is from this time we may date some of his most capital productions. The tower of Babel,2 in which he expressed the confusion of languages, Lot’s wife, the Duchess of Bohemia, and two highly finished landscapes, since lost in the confusion of war, were all dispersed among the Bohemian nobles, who vied with each other in loading him with presents. His genius was now in its full vigour, his touch spirited, his colours harmonious, and his drawing correct. Italy envied the Bohemian court the possession of such an artist, and several of her Princes tried all possible means to engage him to visit them; but notwithstanding the great desire he had to behold the lovely prospects of Italy, the magnificence of Rome, and the remains of ancient grandeur so interesting to a picturesque eye,3 he refused every offer, and resolved never to quit a monarch, from whom he had experienced such generosity. Podebrac, charmed with these sentiments, decorated him with the order of the Ram, and gave him in marriage Joan Jablinouski, a young lady to whom nature and fortune had been lavish of their favours. Their nuptials were celebrated by torch light in one of the royal gardens, and their Majesties and the whole court graced the ceremony with their presence; but this entertainment was unfortunately interrupted by the sudden death of Hemmeline, who had long been troubled with a boulomee, or voracious appetite, which occasioned him to devour whatever was set before him with a frightful precipitation. He met his fate in a huge pike, which he soon reduced to a mere skeleton, and soon after feeling a death-like cold at his stomach, called feebly to Aldrovandus, squeezed his hand and expired. The bridegroom was dreadfully disconcerted by this event, for he sincerely esteemed his master, notwithstanding the reproofs he had often received from him; and indeed he had every reason to respect his memory, as all the wealth of Hemmeline now became his own.

  Aldrovandus was now arrived at the summit of prosperity: universally esteemed and admired, caressed by a puissant Prince, solaced by the blandishments of a lovely spouse, this happy painter had not a wish unsatisfied. He now began to enjoy his opulence in a palace he had built, and there divided his time between the delights of his art and the pleasures of society. Disciples flocked from very remote parts to seek his instructions; but he dismissed them all with handsome presents, two only excepted, whose conduct particularly won his esteem. The two elect were Andrew Guelph and Og of Basan,4 since so famous in the annals of painting. The assiduity of these young men was incredible, and their talents astonished Aldrovandus, who used always to be saying, ‘If Og had lived before the Deluge, he would certainly have obtained permission from Noah to have been of the party in the ark,’ Andrew Guelph he allowed to possess great merit, surprizing fire of genius, and an imagination tempered by science, and consequently super-excellent. In conversing with his chosen friends, and instructing his disciples, Aldrovandus passed many happy years, diversified by the birth of four children, to whom Ferdinand gave letters of nobility. At length fortune, tired with lavishing on him her gifts, clouded the evening of his life by an unforeseen misfortune. As he and his disciples worked night and day at a suite of paintings which was to contain the whole history of the Goths and Vandals, canvas began to grow exceedingly rare, and Ferdinand, touched with the lamentations of his favourite, summoned a solemn council, at which he ordered him to assist, with Andrew Guelph and Og of Basan bearing the sketches of part of the great historical work. The council assembled; Podebrac ascended the throne; the trumpets sounded; the painters arrived, and the paintings were exposed to the admiration of this august assembly, who conferred on Aldrovandus the title of Magnus, nem. con.1 Afterwards they proceeded to business, and voted a supply of canvas. Several of the nobles distinguished themselves by very elegant harangues, and his Highness issued forth a proclamation, whereby he declared it treason for any of his liege subjects to conceal, purloin, or alienate any roll, bundle, or fardel 2 of canvas within his dominions, thereby impeding the collection which the aforesaid Aldrovandus Magnus, Knight of the most noble order of the Ram, was empowered to make. Now waggons and sledges arrived from every quarter,

  bringing the tributary canvas to Aldrovandus’s palace. He, transported with gratitude, and fired by that enthusiasm to which we owe so many capital works, resolved to outdo his former outdoings, on the subject of Prince Drahomire, who in the year 921 was swallowed up by an earthquake in that spot where now stands the palace of Radzen. Animated by this glorious subject, he cried aloud for canvas, but instead of canvas, his disciples, with singed beards, brought the news of the conflagration of his warehouse, in which every thread of it was consumed. What a disappointment to collected genius! A paroxysm of grief ensued; and calling out continually ‘Drahomire! Canvas! and St Luke!’ Aldrovandus Magnus expired. There was hardly a dry eye in Prague. The Duke groaned; the courtiers wept; his disciples painted his catastrophe; the people put on black; the university composed epitaphs, and Professor Clod Lumpewitz3 exceeded them all. His performance happily escaped the wreck of time, and I have the pleasure of setting it before my readers, with a version, supposed to be made by the ingenious Master John Ogilby.4

  Aldrovandus Magnus

  Pictor Alexandri titulum gerit Aldrovandus;

  Pictor erat magnus; magnus erat Macedo.

  Mortis erat similis (sic fertur) causa duobus:

  Huic regna, autem illi cannaba deficiunt.1

  Magnus, the title of old Alexander,

  Was also that of Painter Aldrovand’ here:

  The one for want of2 worlds to conquer cried,

  T’other for lack of canvas nobly died.

  SUCREWASSER3 OF VIENNA

  Our readers must now be presented with scenes and occurrences widely differing from those which last we placed before them. They will no longer behold an artist, consumed by the fervour of his genius and bewildered by the charms of his imagination; but the most prudent and sage amongst them will admire the regular and consistent conduct of Sucrewasser, which forms a striking contrast to the eccentricity of Og.

  The family of the Sucrewassers had been long established at Vienna; they had kept a grocer’s shop, which descended from father to son thro’ a course of many generations. The father of our artist exercised his hereditary business with the same probity as his ancestors. His mother, the daughter of a Lombard pawnbroker, was the best sort of woman in the world, and had no other fault than loving wine and two or three men besides her husband. Young Sucrewasser was invested, at the age of six years, with the family apron, and after having performed errands for some time, was admitted to the desk at twelve; but discovering a much greater inclination for designing the passengers, which were walking to fro before the window where he was doomed to sit, then noting the articles of his father’s commerce in his book, he was bound apprentice to an uncle of his mother, who painted heraldry for the Imperial Court, and his brother was promoted to the desk in his room. Sucrewasser took great delight in his new situation, and learnt, with success, to bestow due strength on a lion’s paw, and give a courtly flourish to a dragon’s tail. His eagles began to be remarked for the justness of their proportions and the neatness of their plumage; in short, an Italian painter, by name Insignificanti,4 remarked the delicacy of his pencil, and was resolved to obtain him for his scholar. The youth, finding himself in a comfortable habitation with a kind uncle, who was in a thriving way, and who offered him a share in his business when the time of his apprenticeship should expire, expressed no great desire to place himself under the tuition of Insignificanti; but as that painter had acquired a very splendid reputation, and was esteemed exceedingly rich, his parents commanded him to accept the offer, and Sucrewasser never disobeyed. He remained two or three years with this master, which he employed in faithfully copying his works; generally small landscapes, with shepherds and shepherdess
es feeding their flocks, or piping under Arcadian shades.1 These pieces pleased the world in general and sold well, which was all Insignificanti desired, and Sucrewasser had no other ambition than that of his master. The greatest harmony subsisted between them till three years were expired.

  About this time the Princess Dolgoruki,2 then at the Court of Vienna, selected Insignificanti and his pupil to paint her favourite lap dog, whose pendent ears and beautifully curling tail seemed to call loudly for a portrait. Insignificanti, before he began the picture, asked his pupil, with all the mildness of condescension, Whether he did not approve his intentions of placing the dog on a red velvet cushion. Sucrewasser replied gently, that he presumed a blue one would produce a much finer effect. His master, surprized to find this difference of opinion, elevated his voice, and exlaimed, ‘Aye, but I propose adding a gold fringe, which shall display all the perfection of my art; all the feeling of delicacy of my pencil; but, hark you! I desire you will abstain from spoiling this part of the picture with your gross touch, and never maintain again that blue will admit of half the splendor of red.’ These last words were pronounced with such energy, that Sucrewasser laid down his pencil, and begged leave to quit his master; who soon consented, as he feared Sucrewasser would surpass him in a very short space of time. The young man was but coolly received by his parents, who chided him for abandoning his master; but when they perceived his performances sold as well as before this rupture, their anger ceased, and they permitted him to travel to Venice, after having bestowed on him their benediction with the greatest cordiality.

  His route lay through some very romantic country, which he never deigned to regard, modestly conjecturing he was not yet worthy to copy nature; so without straying either to the right or to the left, he arrived at Venice in perfect health, and recommended himself first to the public by painting in fresco on the walls of some casinos. The subjects were either the four Seasons or the three Graces.3 Now and then a few blind Cupids,4 and sometimes a lean Fury,5 by way of variety. The colouring was gay and tender, and the drawing correct. The faces were pretty uniform and had all the most delightful smirk imaginable; even his Furies looked as if they were half inclined to throw their torches into the water, and the serpents around their temples were as mild aseels. Many ladies stiled him Pittore amabile,1 and many gentlemen had their snuff-boxes painted by his hand. He lived happily and contentedly till he became acquainted with Soorcrout,2 who was a great admirer of Titian,3 and advised him by all means to copy his performances; and as he generally followed the advice of those who thought it worth their while to give him any, he immediately set about it, but did not profit so much as he expected. It was Soorcrout who engaged him in that unlucky dispute with Og of Basan and Andrew Guelph; a controversy which lowered them considerably in the eyes of the world, and forfeited them the protection of Signor Boccadolce.4

  After this disgrace, Soorcrout went to England, and Sucrewasser loitered in the environs of Venice till the storm was blown over. He then returned, lived peaceably there many years, and died at length of a cold he caught at a party on the water. His most splendid performance, Salome,5 mother of the Mac-cabees, which he imitated from Titian, was sold by Soorcrout in England.

  BLUNDERBUSSIANA

  It was with difficulty we can ascertain the place or even the country where this artist was born; but we have most reason to imagine it was in Dalmatia,6 towards the confines of Croatia. Rouzinski Blunderbussiana, father of him whose adventures will be the subject of the following pages, was captain of some banditti, for many years the terror of Dalmatia and the neighbouring countries. This formidable band exercised the most unlimited depredations, and as they were very numerous, nothing but an army could oppose them. Finding, however, security in defiles amongst the mountains, known but to themselves, the Venetian and Hungarian soldiery attempted their extirpation in vain. Rouzinski, their leader, was one of the haughtiest of mankind; his uncommon stature, matchless intrepidity, and wonderful success, had raised him to the despotic command of these brave savages, to whom no enterprize seemed impossible, and who executed their projects almost as soon as they were conceived. The caves in which they resided were hollowed in the rocks, forming the summit of a mountain in the wild province of the Morlakes, which they had in a manner subdued; no one daring to approach the spot where they had established their habitations. The peak of this mountain, seen from afar, was regarded by the Dalmatians with horror. Had they known what scenes it concealed, they would have trembled indeed. The plan of this work will not admit a particular description of this mountain and its caves, or else I should certainly have lain before my readers some particulars concerning the residence of these banditti, which, perhaps, might have been worthy their attention; but at present I must confine myself merely to what relates to the life of Blunderbussiana. His father returning with a rich booty from Turky, brought with him a lady of some distinction, who had fallen unfortunately into his hands. He conveyed her to his cave, attempted to amuse her with the sight of those magazines (immense grottos) which contained his treasures, and by degrees falling deeply in love with her, laid them all at her feet.

  The young Turk, who had seen but little of the world, was charmed with the manly aspect of her admirer, and dazzled by his liberality, after some time forgot the disgust his savage profession inspired. She at length consented to make him happy; and our hero sprung from this connection, which was celebrated with tumultuous festivity throughout all the subterraneous empire. Blunderbussiana’s first ideas, caught from the objects around, cannot be supposed of the gentlest nature. He beheld gloomy caverns hollowed in craggy rocks, which threatened every instant to fall upon his head. He heard each right dreadful relations of combats which had happened in the day, and often, when wandering about the entrance of the caves, he spied his father and his companions stripping the slain, and letting down their bodies into pits and fissures which had never been fathomed. Being long inured to such ghastly sights, he by degrees grew pleased with them, and his inclination for painting first manifested itself in the desire he had of imitating the figures of his father’s warriors.

  Rouzinski, as soon as his son was able to dart a javelin or bear a musket, led him to the chace, and exulted in the activity with which he pursued the boar, and the alacrity with which he murdered the trembling stag.1 After he had spent a year in these sanguinary amusements, his father thought him worthy to partake his expeditions, and led him first to the rencounter of a pretty large body of Turks, who escorted some Hungarian merchants. ‘Such for the future must be your game,’ said the ruthless robber to his son, who performed prodigies of cruelty and valour. But let me draw a veil over such frightful pictures. Though the truth forbids me entirely to conceal them, humanity pleads strongly for the abridgment of their relation. Two summers passed away in continual rapines and eternal scenes of active oppression. The winter was the season of repose, and the young Rouzinski employed it in recollecting the adventures of the summer months and fixing them by his pencil. Sometimes he read a treatise upon painting, found amongst the spoils of some Italians, which assisted him infinitely. They much recommended the study of anatomy, and he did not hesitate to follow the advice they gave. His father’s band frequently bringing bodies to their caves, he amused himself with dissecting and imitating the several parts, till he attained such a perfection in muscular expression as is rarely seen in the works of the greatest masters. His application was surprizing; for his curiosity to examine the structure of the human frame being inflamed, he pursued the study with such eagerness as those who are not amateurs cannot easily imagine. Every day discovered some new artery, or tendon to his view; every hour produced some masterly design, and though without any person to guide him, he made a progress which would have done credit to the most eminent artists. He now began to put his figures together in a great manner, and to group them with judgment; but colours were wanting, and without materials, Michael Angelo would have conceived the dome of St Peter’s in vain.1 He had read in his tre
atise of the works of Italian painters, which he languished to behold, and was determined, if possible, in the ensuing summer, to escape from his father and fly to a country, where he might indulge his inclinations; however, for the present he was charmed with the opportunities of perfecting himself in anatomy, and that occupation diverted his intention of taking flight for some time. In the spring he used early in the morning to quit his cave, and frequently trussing a body over his shoulders, repaired to a wood, and delighted himself in exploring it. Instead of carrying with him, in his walks, a nice pocket edition of some Elzevir2 classic, he never was without a leg or an arm, which he went slicing along, and generally accompanied his operations with a melodious whistling; for he was of a chearful disposition, and, if he had had a different education would have been an ornament to societ.