Vathek and Other Stories

by William Beckford

  Its frontispiece, rich with allegorical figures, of which I never could obtain a satisfactory explanation, was distinguished from more vulgar entrances, and seats of coloured marble on each side added to its magnificence. Let my readers figure to themselves Monsieur Baise-le-main leading the obsequious Watersouchy thro’ several large halls and long passages, ’till they entered a rich apartment, where a circle of company, very splendidly attired, rose up to receive them. Half an hour was spent in presenting the artist to every individual. At length a pause in this ceremony ensued, and then the congratulations, with which he had been first received, were begun anew with redoubled ardour. Watersouchy, finding himself surrounded by so many solemn ruffs and consequential farthingales,1 was penetrated with the sublimity of etiquette, and thought himself in the very Athens of politeness. This service of rites and ceremonies, with which strangers in those times were ushered into Antwerp, being hardly ended, the company began at length to relax into some degree of familiarity.

  Mieris2 and Sibylla Merian3 were now announced. These two exquisite artists had carried the minute delicacy of the pencil to the highest pitch, and were pleased with an opportunity of conversing with one of the most promising disciples of Gerard Dow. Our artist was equally happy in their society, and a conversation was accordingly set on foot, in which Mons. Baise-le-main joining displayed infinite knowledge and precision. Having disserted previously upon his own collection, this great patron of the arts led them into his interior cabinet, where Elsheimers, Rowland Saveries, Albert Dürers, Brughels, and Polemburgs, collected at an immense expence, appeared on all sides. Mieris and Merian had also contributed to render it the most complete in the Netherlands. Their performances entirely engrossed the choicest corner in an apartment, which a profusion of gilding and carved work rendered superlatively fine. The chimney-piece was encrusted with the right old porcelain of China, and its aperture, in this season, was closed by a capital Pietâ of Julio Romano,4 which immediately struck Watersouchy as an eye sore. He detested such colossal representations, such bold limbs and woeful countenances: conscious they were out of his reach, he condemned them as out of nature. With such sentiments, we may suppose he did not bestow much attention of the Pietâ, but expatiated with delight on the faithful representation of an apothecary’s shop by Mieris, and a cupid, holding a garland of flowers, by Merian. This ingenious lady was high in his esteem. He adored the extreme nicety of her touch, and not a little admired that strict sense of propriety which had induced her to marriage; for it seems she had chosen Jean Graff of Nuremburg1 for her husband, merely to study the Nud in a modest way. After he had felicitated Madam Merian and Mieris upon their innumerable perfections, he took a cursory survey of the rest of the collection. He commended Albert Durer,2 but could not help expressing some discontent at Polemburg.3 The woody landscapes, which this painter imagined with so much happiness, were in general interspersed with the remains of antique temples, with rills and bathing nymphs in a style our artist could never taste. He liked their minuteness, but condemned the choice of subjects. ‘O!’said Monsieur Baise-la-main, ‘I love Polemburg; he is the essence of smoothness and suavity. But I agree, that there is something rather confused and unintelligible in his buildings, far unlike those comfortable habitations which our friend Mieris represents with such meritorious accuracy.’Mieris bowed, and Watersouchy, encouraged by Monsieur Baise-la-main’s coincidence with his opinion, continued his critique. He shook his head at a picture wherein Polemburg had introduced a group of ruins, and exclaimed – ‘Why not substitute, for example, the great church of Antwerp flourishing in the height of its perfection, in the room of those Roman lumps of confusion and decay? – Instead of representing the flowers of the parterre, he crouds his foreground with all manner of woods, and bestows as much pains on a dock leaf as I should on the most estimable carnation in your garden. Naked figures too I abhor: Madam Merian’s cupids excepted, they are unfit to be viewed by the eye of decorum. And what opportunities does an artist lose by the banishment of dress! In dress and drapery are displayed the glory of his pencil! In ear-rings and bracelets the perfection of his touch – in a carpet all his science is united – grouping, colouring, shading, effect, every thing! Polemburg might have been a delightful master, had he remained with us; but he removed to Italy, and quitting the manner of Elsheimer4 for the caprices of Raphael, no wonder his taste should have been corrupted.’ Monsieur Baise-la-main and the artists listened attentively to this harangue, and conceived great ideas of Watersouchy’s taste and abilities. The banker thought himself possessed of the eighth wonder of the world, and from this moment resolved to engross it entirely.

  Supper being served up, the company left the cabinet and entered a large hall, ornamented with the decollation of Holophernes by Mabuse,1 and a brawn’s2 head by Mierhop. – In the midst appeared a table covered with dainties, in dishes of massive plate, and illuminated by innumerable wax lights, around which the company was assembled. Watersouchy was placed betwixt Monsieur Baise-la-main and the Burgomaster Van Gulph, a solemn upright man of glowing nose and fair complexion. Our artist could not for some time take his eye from off the Burgomaster’s band, which was edged with the finest lace, and took an opportunity, whilst the other guests were closely engaged with the entertainment, to make a sketch from it, that did him honour and served to confirm him in his patron’s good opinion.

  The repast was conducted in the most orderly manner. By the time the Hippocras and Canary wines were handed about, universal satiety and good humour prevailed. The little disappointments of those, who were too late for one dish, or too full to taste another, were forgotten, and the respectable Van Gulph, having swallowed his usual portion of the good things of this world, began to expand, and pledged Watersouchy with much affability, who loudly descanted on the taste and discernment of Monsieur Baise-la-main, so apparent in his rare collection. Mieris taking the hint, seconded the observation, which was enforced by Madam Merian, whose example was followed by the rest of the ladies – Every one vied with his neighbour in steeping sugar’d cakes in sweet wine, and bestowing the amplest commendations on the cabinet of Monsieur Baise-la-main, who, in the midst of transport, exclaimed, ‘Now truly my pictures pay me interest for my money!’ The desert was ushered in with profusion of applause: All was smirk and compliment, whilst this sweetmeat was offered and that declined. At length it grew late, and the company separated after the accustomed formalities. – Watersouchy was conducted to his apartment, which corresponded with the magnificence of the mansion; and lulled asleep by the most flattering reflections, dreamt all the night of nothing but of painting the Burgomaster and his band. At breakfast next morning, he expressed to Monsieur Baise-la-main the ambition he had of distinguishing himself at Antwerp, and begged to seclude himself a small space from the world, that he might pursue his studies.

  Monsieur Baise-la-main approved of this idea, and assigned a room for his reception, where he soon arranged his pallet, pencils, &c. with all the precision of Gerard Dow. Nobody but the master of the house was allowed to enter this sanctuary. Here our artist remained six weeks in grinding his colours, composing an admirable varnish, and preparing his canvass, for a performance he intended as his chef d’oeuvre. A fortnight more passed before he decided upon a subject. At last he determined to commemorate the opulence of Monsieur Baise-la-main, by a perspective of his counting-house. He chose an interesting moment, when heaps of gold lay glittering on the counter, and citizens of distinction were soliciting a secure repository for their plate and jewels. A Muscovite wrapped in fur, and an Italian glistening in brocade, occupied the foreground. The eye glancing over these figures highly fininished, was directed thro’ the windows of the shop into the area in front of the cathedral; of which, however, nothing was discovered, except two sheds before its entrance, where several barbers were represented at their different occupations. An effect of sunshine upon the counter discovered 1 every coin that was scattered upon its surface. On these the painter had bestowed su
ch intense labour, that their very legends were distinguishable. It would be in vain to attempt conveying, by words, an idea adequate to this chef d’oeuvre, which must have been seen to have been duly admired. In three months it was far advanced; during which time our artist employed his leisure hours in practising jigs and minuets on the violin, and writing the first chapter of Genesis on a watch paper, which he adorned with a miniature of Adam and Eve, so exquisitely finished, that every ligament in their fig-leaves was visible. This little jeu d’ esprit he presented to Madam Merian.

  When the hour of publicity displaying his great performance was drawing near, Monsieur Baise-la-main invited a select party of connoisseurs to a splendid repast, and after they had well feasted, all joined in extolling the picture as much as they had done the entertainment itself. Were I not afraid of fatiguing my readers more than I have done, I should repeat, word for word, the exuberant encomiums this master-piece received upon this occasion; but I trust it will be fully sufficient to say, that none of the connoisseurs were uninterested, and every one had a pleasure in pointing out some new perfection. The ladies were in extasies. The Burgomaster Van Gulph was so charmed that he was resolved to have his portrait by this delicate hand, and Monsieur Baise-la-main immediately settled a pension upon the painter, merely to have the refusal of his pieces, paying largely at the same time for those he took.

  These were the golden days of Watersouchy, who, animated by so much encouragement, was every week producing some agreeable novelty. Attaching himself strongly to the manner of Mieris, he, if possible, excelled him: his lillies were more glossy, and his carnations softer, and so harmonious, that the Flemish ladies, ever renowned for their fresh complexions, declared they had now found a painter worthy of portraying their beauty. Thus our happy artist, blown forwards by a continued gale of applause, reached a degree of merit unknown to his contemporaries, and soon left Gerard Dow and Mieris behind him. His pictures were eagerly sought after by the first collectors, and purchased at so extravagant a rate, that he refused sketching a slipper, or designing an ear-ring under the sum of two hundred florins. Every body desirous of possessing one of these treasures approached him with purses of gold, and he was so universally caressed and admired, that I (as a faithful biographer) am obliged to say, he soon mistook his rank among the professors of the art, and grew intolerably vain.

  Become thus confident, he embraced, without hesitation, the proposal of drawing the Burgomaster Van Gulph. All his skill, all his minuteness was exhausted upon this occasion. The Burgomaster was presented in his formalities, sitting in his magisterial chair: his band was not forgotten; it was finished to the superlative degree. The very hairs of his eyelashes were numbered, and the pendent carbuncle below his nose, which had baffled Mieris and the first artists, was at length rendered with perfect exactitude and splendour. During the execution of this incomparable portrait, he absented himself from Monsieur Baise-la-main, and established his abode at Van Gulph’s, whose inflexible propriety surpassed even that of the banker. Watersouchy, flattered by the pomp and importance of this great character, exclaimed, ‘You are truly worthy to possess me!’ The Burgomaster’s lady, who was a witness to his matchless talents, soon expressed an ambition of being immortalized by his pencil, and begged to be honoured the next with his consideration. He having almost determined never to undertake another portrait after this chef d’oeuvre of her consort, with difficulty consented.

  At length he began. Ambitious of shewing his great versatility, and desirous of producing a contrast to the portrait just finished, he determined to put the lady in action. She was represented watering a capsacum, with an air of superior dignity mingled with ineffable sweetness. Every part of her dress was minutely attended to; her ruffle was admirable; but her hands and arms exceeded all idea. Gerard Dow had bestowed five days1 labour on this part of Madam Spiering’s person, whose portrait was one of his best performances. Watersouchy, that he might surpass his master, spent a month in giving only to his patroness’s fingers the last touch of perfection. Each had its ring, and so tinted, as almost at first sight to have deceived a discerning jeweller.

  When he had finished this last masterpiece, he found himself quite weak and exhausted. The profound study in which he had been absorbed, impaired his health, and his having neglected exercise for the two last years brought on a hectic and feverish complaint. The only circumstance that now cheared his spirits was the conversation of a circle of old ladies; the friends of Madame Gulph. These good people had ever some little incident to entertain him, some gossiping narration that soothed and unbended his mind. But all their endeavours to restore him could not prevent his growing weaker and weaker. At last he took to cordials by their recommendation, become fond of news and tulips, and for a time was a little mended; so much indeed, that he resumed his pallet, and painted little pieces for his kind comforters; such as a favourite dormouse for Madam Dozinburg, and a cheese in a China dish with mites in it for some other venerable lady, whose name has not descended to us. But these performances were not much relished by Monsieur Baise-la-main, who plainly saw in them the approaching extinction of his genius. One day at the Burgomaster’s, he found him laid on a couch, and wheezing from under a brocade nightgown. ‘I have been troubled with an asthma for some time,’ said the artist in a faint voice. ‘So I perceive,’ answered M.Baise-la-main. More of this interesting conversation has not been communicated to me, and I find an interval of three months in his memoirs, marked by no other occurrence than his painting a flea. After this last effort of genius, his sight grew dim, his oppression increased, he almost shrunk away to nothing, and in a few weeks dropped into his grave.

  SATIRES

  II

  From Modern Novel Writing or the Elegant Enthusiast, by Lady Harriet Malowy [i.e. William Beckford], 2 Vols, London, 1796. The extracts are given the volume number and the page reference.

  SENSIBILITY:

  THE GENERAL’S GRANDMOTHER DIES

  The grief, the anguish of the General, is not to be described: that heart alone can sympathize with such sensations, which has experienced such a loss. The revival of his grandmother’s virtues obliterated the impression of her failings: – he remembered only the dignity of her form, and the graces of her mind! – nor could all his philosophic resolution support with fortitude, this unexpected stroke of fortune! He felt, bereaved of every social joy, the comfort of his life– deserted and forlorn! Thus the fair blooming branches cropped from the venerable tree, are left unsheltered, to the rude elements and boisterous tempest!

  Scarce could the gentle force of friendship drag this heart-stricken General from the deformed remains of what was once his grandmother. Fixed like a statue, he gazed upon her face! then smote his gallant breast, and with a smile of anguish thus exclaimed.

  ‘Yes, it is past! the only tie of nature that remained to attach me to existence, is now dissolved! – Life has no more a charm, nor death a pang for me! O thou who lately wert so kind, so talkative, so venerable! – thou art fled for ever – the ravages of sickness have defaced thine awe-inspiring wrinkles, and left thee a spectacle of horror! O my grandmother! my grandmother!’

  Thus did the afflicted General vent his soul’s anguish; neither when borne from this scene of desolation, did his piercing lamentation cease: – still he addressed the invisible object of his sorrows, till overwhelmed with grief, he sunk into a silent stupor.

  [Vol. I, pp. 153–5]

  A SONG OF DEATH

  With blushing modestly she glows,

  And from her bosom takes a rose,

  Accept my Cordon!1 she cries,

  With sweetest look, and downcast eyes,

  Accept from me this fading flower -

  He scarce can live another hour,

  Yet while ’tis fresh, O let it be

  A dear remembrancer of me!

  Rash sleep,

  Slash deep,

  Loory loory loo.

  A loud and general applause testified the company’s delight
at this song, and in a little time afterwards, the principal male figure chaunted with a bass voice the ensuing stanza.

  The Muses nine,1 and Graces three,2

  Do all unanimous agree:

  The Muses first, that all they can impart

  Of excellence is in our heart

  That all their wit and sense is in your mind

  Pure as the olden ore, and as refined:

  The Graces next, with reverence declare,

  By merit you have ta’en their shape and air,

  Thus the Nine Muses in your mind we see,

  And in your lovel form the Graces, Three.

  Ever dare,

  Never spare,

  Hooly, cooly, kill.

  [Vol. I, pp. 115–7]

  SONNET

  O Wilhelmina! ’tis with double joy,

  I see thee here both as m friend and wife,

  My future hours m dear! I will emlo

  To make thee blest, I will upon my life.

  Ah! should’st thou nine months hence, produce a boy;

  To sing the cherub, I’d resume my fife,

  For then my happiness could never cloy,