Recollections of the late William Beckford of Fonthill, Wilts and Lansdown, Bath | Page 7

they touch the Scagliola it is next to impossible to distinguish any difference. The ceiling is belted across and enriched with bands of Grecian tracery in relief, delicately painted and slightly touched with gold. On the walls are some gilded ornaments, enough to give to the whole richness of effect without heaviness. Between the windows is what I suppose may be termed a table, composed of an enormous slab of the rarest marble, supported by elegantly cast bronze legs. Over this a small cabinet (manufactured in Bath from drawings by Mr. Goodridge) full of extremely small books; it is carved in oak in the most elaborate manner. The fireplace, of Devonshire marble, is perfect in design and in its adaptation to the rest of the room; in fact, everything in this lovely chamber is in unison, everything soft, quiet, and subdued.
New wonders awaited me. Next to the library is a sort of vestibule leading to a staircase, which from its mysterious and crimson light, rich draperies, and latticed doors seemed to be the sanctum sanctorum of a heathen temple. To the left a long passage, whose termination not being seen allowed the imagination full play, led for aught I know to the Fortress of Akerman, to the Montagne du Caf or to the Halls of Argenti. Ou sout peintes toutes les createures raissonables, et les animaux qui ont habite la terre.
To the right two latticed doors, reminding you of Grand Cairo or Persepolis, ingeniously conceal the commonplace entrance from the Crescent. The singular and harmonious light of this mysterious vestibule is produced by crimson silk strained over the fanlight of the outer door. "This place," I observed, "puts one in mind of the Hall of Eblis." "You are quite right," he observed, "this is unquestionably the Hall of Eblis." "Those latticed doors," I continued, "seem to lead to the small apartment where the three princes, Alasi, Barkiarokh, and Kalilah, related to Vathek and Nouronchar their adventures." He seemed amused at my observations, and said, "Then you have read 'Vathek.' How do you like it?" "Vastly. I read it in English many years ago, but never in French." "Then read it in French," said Mr. Beckford. "The French edition is much finer than the English."
We mounted the staircase. Above you in open niches are Etruscan vases. The ceiling is arched and has belts at intervals. "I wished to exclude the draughts," said Mr. Beckford, "and to do away with the cold and uncomfortable appearance you generally have in staircases." The effect of the whole is so novel that you lose all idea of stairs, and seem merely going from one room to another. As you stand on the landing the vaulted and belted ceiling behind you has the appearance of a row of arches in perspective. The same solemn and mysterious gloom pervades the staircase. The architect has frequently entreated to be allowed to introduce a little more light, but in vain. The author of "Vathek" will not consent to the least alteration of the present mystical effect, and he is quite right. This warm and indefinite light produces not only the effect of air, but also of space, and makes the passage before noticed, seen through the latticed doors, apparently of lines of real dimensions.
Mr. Beckford drew aside a curtain. We entered the smaller of two lovely drawing rooms lately fitted up. Before us, over the mantelpiece, was suspended a magnificent full length portrait by Gaspar de Crayer of Philip II. of Spain. Just then my head was too full of the Hall of Eblis, of "Vathek" and its associations, for mere ordinary admiration of even one of the finest portraits painted, and on Mr. Beckford pointing out the whitefaced monarch I almost involuntarily ejaculated "Pale slave of Eblis." He burst out laughing. "Eh! eh! what? His face is pale indeed, but he was very proud of his complexion." This is a very fine group. Philip is represented dressed in a suit of black armour, elaborately chased in gold, standing on a throne covered with a crimson carpet. Near him is his dwarf, dressed in black, holding the helmet, adorned with a magnificent plume of feathers, and turning towards his master (the fountain of honour) a most expressive and intelligent face. "That dwarf," said Mr. Beckford, "was a man of great ability and exercised over his master a vast influence." Lower down you discover the head of a Mexican page, holding a horse, whose head, as well as that of the page, is all that is visible, their bodies being concealed by the steps of the throne. This is a noble picture; but in my eyes the extreme plainness of the steps of the throne and the unornamented war boots of the king have a bare and naked appearance. They