Vathek and Other Stories

by William Beckford

  to the accomplishment of their pious ceremonies; when one of our company, who thought me lost, returned with impatience, and, calling me off to some new object, put an end to my strange reverie. We were now summoned to pay some attention to the scene and corridor of a theatre, not far from the temple. Little more of its remains being yet cleared away, we hastened back to a small house and garden, in the neighbourhood of Isis. Sir W. Hamilton (in his account of Pompeii, communicated to the Society of Antiquaries) 1 when speaking of this house, having taken occasion to give a general idea of the private mansions of the ancient citizens, I shall take the liberty of transcribing the whole passage. ‘A covered cloister, supported by columns, goes round the house, as was customary in many of the houses at Pompeii. The rooms in general are very small; and, in one, where an iron bedstead was found, the wall had not been pared away to make room for this bedstead; so that it was not six feet square, and yet this room was most elegantly painted, and had a tesselated, or mosaic floor. The weight of the matter erupted from Mount Vesuvius, has universally damaged the upper parts of the houses; the lower parts are mostly found as fresh as at the moment they were buried. The plan of most of the houses at Pompeii is a square court, with a fountain in the middle, and small rooms round, communicating with that court. By the construction and distribution of the houses, it seems, the inhabitants of Pompeii were fond of privacy. They had few windows towards the street,

  except where, from the nature of the plan, they could not avoid it; but, even in that case, the windows were placed too high for any one in the streets to overlook them. Their houses nearly resemble each other, both as to distribution of plan, and in the manner of finishing the apartments. The rooms are in general small, from ten to twelve feet, and from fourteen to eighteen feet; few communications between room and room; almost all without windows, except the apartments situated to the garden, which are thought to have been allotted to the women. Their cortiles, or courts, were often surrounded by porticos, even in very small houses. Not but there were covered galleries before the doors of their apartments, to afford shade and shelter. No timber was used in finishing their apartments, except in doors and windows. The floors were generally laid in mosaic work. One general taste prevailed, of painting the sides and ceilings of the rooms. Small figures, and medallions of low relief, were sometimes introduced. Their great variety consisted in the colours, and in the choice and delicacy of the ornaments, in which they displayed great harmony and taste. Their houses were some two, others three stones high.’

  wide, each paved, irregularly enough, with small stones. There are guard-stones, at equal intervals, to defend the foot-passengers from carriages and horses. I cannot say I found any thing either elegant or pleasant in the effect of this open street. But, as the houses in general present little more than a dead wall toward it, I do not imagine any views, beyond mere use and convenience, were consulted in the plan. It led us, however, through the principal gate, or entrance, to a sort of Villa Rustica, without the limits of the city; which amply recompensed our curiosity. The arcade, surrounding a square garden, or court-yard, offers itself first to the observer’s notice. Into this, open a number of coved rooms, adorned with paintings of figures, and arabesque. These rooms, though small, have a rich and elegant appearance, their ornaments being very well executed, and retaining still their original freshness. On the top of the arcade runs a walk, or open terrace, leading to the larger apartments of the higher story. One of the rooms below, has a capacious bow-window, where several panes of glass, somewhat shattered, were found; but in sufficient preservation to shew, that the antients were not without knowledge of this species of manufacture. As Horace,1 and most of the old Latin Poets, dwell much on the praises of antient conviviality, and appear to have valued themselves considerably on their connoisseurship in wine, it was with great pleasure I descended into the spacious cellars, sunk and vaulted beneath the arcade above-mentioned. Several earthen amphorae were standing in rows against the walls; but the Massic and Falernian,2 with which they were once stored, had probably long been totally absorbed by the earth and ashes, which were now the sole contents of these venerable jars. The antients are thought to have used oil instead of corks; and that the stoppers were of some matter that could make but little resistance, seems confirmed by the entrance of that, which now supplied the place of wine. The skeletons of several of the family, who had possessed this villa, were discovered in the cellar; together with brass and silver coins, and many such ornaments of dress as were of more durable materials. On re-ascending, we went to the hot and cold baths; thence, to the back of the villa, separated by a passage from the more elegant parts of the house: we were shewn some rooms which had been occupied by the farmer, and from whence several implements of agriculture had been carried, to enrich the collection at Portici. On the whole, the plan and construction of this villa are extremely curious, and its situation very happily chosen. I could not, however, help feeling some regret, in not having had the good fortune to be present at the first discovery. It must have been highly interesting to see all its antient relics (the greatest part of which are now removed) each in its proper place; or, at least, in the place they had possessed for so long a course of years. His Sicilian majesty has ordered a correct draught of this villa to be taken, which, it is hoped, will one day be published, with a complete account of all the discoveries at Pompeii.

  We now pursued our way through, what is with some probability thought to have been, the principal street. Its narrowness, however, surprised me. It is scarcely eleven feet wide, clear of the foot-ways raised on each side of it. The pavement is formed of a large sort of flattish-surfaced pebbles; not laid down with the greatest evenness, or regularity. The side-ways may be about a yard

  Our next walk was to see the Columbarium, a very solemn-looking edifice, where probably the families of higher rank only at Pompeii, deposited the urns of their deceased kindred. Several of these urns, with their ashes, and one, among the rest, of glass inclosed in another of earth, were dug out of the sepulchral vaults. A quantity of marble statues, of but ordinary execution, and colossal masks of terra cotta, constituted the chief ornaments of the Columbarium. It is situated without the gates, on the same side of the city with the villa, just described. There is something characteristically sad in its aspect. It threw my mind into a melancholy, but not disagreeable, tone. Under the mixed sentiments it inspired, I cast one lingering look back on the whole affecting scene of ruins, over which I had, for several hours, been rambling; and quitted it to return to Naples, not without great reluctance.

  TRAVEL DIARIES

  II

  From The Journal of 1787. This extract is prepared from the Manuscript Beckford, d.5 fols 73–90, in the Beckford Papers, Bodleian Library, Oxford, with the kind permission of the Library. The last entry in this extract, dated 9th September, describes a visit to Cork Convent near Sintra. So that the reader may compare styles, the account of the same visit forms the first entry of the extract from the Sketches, Letter XXVIII which follows as the text after the Journal.

  THE PORTUGUESE JOURNAL

  1787

  Friday, August 24th

  Wind and sun cooling and broiling alternately, I remained at home all the morning reading a new history of Mexico translated from the Italian of the Abbade1 Clavigero by Cullen, and full of very curious information.2 The author stands up resolutely for the splendor and magnificence of Montezuma, the immense size of his palace and the admirable construction of his aviaries. Robertson3 and M. de pauw4 are made very free with for treating the Americans with contempt, and Solis5 accused, not without reason I believe, of a strong partiality for Cortes, who, according to this history, seems to have been guilty of the most wanton and unwarrantable acts of cruelty and oppression.

  We were eight at dinner– Horne,6 the Miss Sills 7 and their brother, Bezerra 8 and Aguilar.9 The wind, which in spite of all my curtains still finds a thousand ways of entering the lanthorn apartment, gave me an uncomfortable feel i
n my head very like the headache. I was prevailed on however to walk out, but grumbled all the way at finding every alley in the quinta thick strewn with fallen leaves. Had I but a large chimney like that in the great hall at Evian, I should have no objection to these signs of approaching winter, and I would soon make a cheerful blaze and warm myself with good humour. At Ramalháo,10 there is not except in the kitchen, a single chimney; I shiver already at the idea of being fireless. Whilst we were straying about the thickets of bay and laurel, the Marquis 11 arrived and entered into close conversation with Bezerra. I am in hopes I have prejudiced him in his favor, and that he will do him essential service by explaining to the Queen12 a law affair in which.he is deeply concerned. Monsignor Gomes Freire and his young cousin paid me a visit. They stayed but a short time, being on their way to Lisbon. In a few days they return, and I have invited them to come often to see me. Horne and his family went away at nine. The Marquis and sat talking together upon the affairs of Portugal for two hours. The Archbishop 1 has suffered himself to be pressed into the Cabinet, and may perhaps consent ere long to be declared Prime Minister, though his natural laziness and monkish love of ease makes him heartily averse to so tempestuous a situation.

  Saturday, August 25th

  If I am sick of writing about the wind, how much more tired must I be of feeling it. I cannot put my nose out of my lanthorn2 without having it ripped and reddened by a keen blast right worthy of the month of November. And yet the trees are in leaf, the flowers in blow, and the sun in splendor, and we are in the month of August, under the boasted sky of Portugal. Were there ever such contradictions? M. Verdeil3 persuaded me to get on horseback and try whether the climate on the other side of the peaks of Sintra4 would not prove more tolerable. He was in the right. I had no sooner turned the corner of the rock than we entered snug shady lanes, and rode unmolested by the wind almost the whole way to Colares. It was a clear transparent day like those I have enjoyed in Italy.

  Lima, who came from Lisbon to ask me some further questions about my musicians, dined with us. In the evening came the Duke de Lafoes5 and the Marquis. This is the identical personage so well known in every part of Europe by the name, style and title of Duke of Braganza. He is no business however [to be styled] with that illustrious dukedom which is merged with the crown. If he was called Duchess Dowager of Braganza I should think everyone would agree [that] the title was well bestowed. He is so like an old Lady of the Bedchamber, so fiddle-faddle, and so coquettish and so gossiping. He had put on rouge and patches and a solitaire, and though he has seen seventy years winters, contrived to turn on his heel and glide about with juvenile agility. I was much surprised at the ease of his motions, having been told he was almost crippled with the gout. After lisping French with a most refined accent, complaining of the wind and the roads and the state of our architecture etc., he departed – thank God! – to mark out a spot for the encampment of the Cavalry, who are to guard the Queen’s sacred person during her residence amongst these mountains. The Marquis was in duty bound to accompany him, but soon returned. I made him write out an order to expedite Lima’s1 aviso.2 We passed the evening in earnest conversation and agreed to go to Mafra the day after tomorrow. To avoid the importunities of the monks we shall lodge at the Capitāo-mor’s,3 an old servant of the Marialva’s and the companion of my friend’s infancy.

  Sunday, August 26th

  No care being taken to fasten my windows, they rattled all night and kept me awake an hour or two. I cannot complain of the air of Sintra; it may be sharp, but it is very wholesome, and enables me to eat my breakfast with appetite. I walked in the quinta,4 and visited my vases of flowers. Vegetation is so rapid in this climate that the oleanders, heliotropes, and geraniums, which in their way here from Lisbon were almost stripped naked, are again covered with leaves and blossoms. I went to dine at Horne’s with D. José de Brito5 and his homely spouse. Bezerra, who was also of the party, took a ramble with me in the evening up lofty crags and slopes of slippery greensward, from whence you look down upon the villa of Penha Verde and its groves. The rocks are covered with Latin inscriptions in honour of Pombal,6 not inelegantly imagined. Upon our return to Horne’s we found the Marquis waiting for me. He got into my carriage and we drove to his villa. Who should I find there but the Grand Prior7 just arrived, wrapped up in an ample capote and execrating the cool breezes of Sintra. In these maledictions I heartily joined, and being fatigued with rock climbing, returned to Ramalháo and reposed till supper time on my sofas.

  Monday, August 27th

  We set off for Mafra8 at nine in spite of the wind which blew full in our faces. The distance from the villa I inhabit to this stupendous convent is about fourteen English miles, and the road, which by good luck has been lately mended, conducted across a parched open country thinly scattered with windmills and villages. The look backwards on the woody hills and pointed rocks is pleasant enough, but when you look forwards nothing can be more bleak or barren than the prospect. Three relays of mules being stationed on the road, we advanced full speed, and in less than an hour and a quarter found ourselves under a strong wall which winds boldly across the hills and encloses the park of Mafra. We now caught a glimpse of the marble towers and dome of the convent, relieved by an expanse of ocean rising above the brow of heathy eminences, diversified here and there by the green heads of Italian pines and the tall spires of cypress. The roofs of the edifice were not yet visible and we continued for some time winding about the swells in the park before we discovered them. A detachment of lay brothers were waiting to open the gates of the royal enclosure, which is sadly blackened by a fire which about a month ago consumed a great part of its wood and verdure. Our approach spread a terrible alarm amongst the herds of deer; which were peacefully browsing on a rather greener slope; off they scudded and took refuge in a thicket of half-burnt pines.

  After coasting the wall of the great garden, we turned suddenly and discovered one of the vast fronts of the convent, appearing like a street of palaces. I cannot pretend that the style of the building is such as a lover of pure Grecian architecture would approve; the windows and doors are fantastically shaped, but at least tolerably well proportioned. I was admiring their ample range as we drove rapidly along, when upon wheeling round the lofty square pavilion which flanks the edifice, the grand facade extending above eight hundred feet opened to my view. The middle is formed by the porticos of the church, richly adorned with columns, niches and bas-reliefs of marble. On each side two towers, somewhat resembling those of St Paul’s in London, rise to the height of two hundred feet and join onto the enormous corps de logis of the palace terminated to the right and left by its stately pavilions. These towers are light and clustered with pillars remarkably elegant, but their shape borders too much on a gothic or what is still worse, a pagoda-ish style, and wants solemnity. They contain many bells of the largest dimensions and a famous chime which cost several hundred thousand crusados,1 and which was set a-playing the moment our arrival was notified. The platform and flight of steps before the columned entrances of the church is strikingly grand and the dome which lifts itself up so proudly above the pediment of the portico merits great praise for its highness and elegance.

  My eyes ranged along the vast extent of palace on each side till they were tired, and I was glad to turn them from the glare of marble and confusion of sculptured ornaments to the blue expanse of the distant ocean. A wide level space extends before the front of this colossal structure, at the extremity of which several white houses lie dispersed. Though these buildings are by no means inconsiderable, they appear when contrasted with the immense pile in their neighbourhood like the booths of workmen. For such I took them upon taking my first survey, and upon a nearer approach was quite surprised at their real dimensions. Few objects render the prospect from the platform of Mafra interesting. You look over the roofs of an indifferent village and the summits of sandy acclivities back by a boundless stretch of sea. On the left your view is terminated by the craggy mountains of Si
ntra; to the right a forest of pines in the Viscount of Ponte de Lima’s1 extensive garden affords the eye a refreshment.

  To screen ourselves from the sun, which darted powerfully on our heads, we entered the church, passing through its magnificent portico, which reminded me of the entrance to St Peter’s, and is crowded by colossal statues of saints and martyrs carved with infinite delicacy out of blocks of the purest white marble. The first coup d’oeil of the church is very striking. The chief altar, supported by two majestic columns of reddish variegated marble, each a single block above thirty feet in height, immediately fixes the attention. Trevisani has painted the altar-piece in a masterly manner. It represents St Anthony1 in the ecstasy of beholding the infant Jesus descending into his cell amidst an effulgence of glory. Tomorrow being the festival of St Augustine, whose followers are the actual possessors of this monastery, all the golden candelabras were displayed and tapers lighted. We knelt a few minutes in the midst of this bright illumination whilst the monks came forth bowing and cringing with their usual courtesy. Rising up, we visited the collateral chapels, each adorned with highly finished bas-relief and stately portals of black and yellow marble richly veined and so highly polished as to reflect objects like a mirror. Never did I behold such a profusion of beautiful marble as gleamed above, below and around me. The pavement, the roof, the dome,