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

Recollections of the late William
Beckford,
by Henry Venn
Lansdown, Edited by Charlotte
Lansdown

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by Henry Venn Lansdown, Edited by Charlotte Lansdown
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Title: Recollections of the late William Beckford of Fonthill, Wilts and
Lansdown, Bath
Author: Henry Venn Lansdown
Editor: Charlotte Lansdown
Release Date: July 12, 2006 [eBook #18809]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)

***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK
RECOLLECTIONS OF THE LATE WILLIAM BECKFORD***

Transcribed from the 1893 edition by David Price, email
[email protected]

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE LATE WILLIAM BECKFORD OF
FONTHILL, WILTS and LANSDOWN, BATH
The Manuscript of the following Letters, written by my Father, has
been in my possession fifty years. He intended to publish it at the time
of Mr. Beckford's death, in 1844, but delayed the execution of the work,
and sixteen years afterwards was himself called to enter on the higher
life of the spiritual world.
Mr. Beckford and my Father were kindred spirits, conversant with the
same authors, had visited the same countries, and were both gifted with
extraordinary memories. Mr. Beckford said that he had never met with
a man possessed of such a memory as my Father; and many a time has
my Father told me that he never met a man who possessed such a
memory as Mr. Beckford.
If my Father had published the Reminiscences himself I think that
much misconception in the public mind respecting the character of Mr.
Beckford would have been prevented. For instance, I remember, when
a child, being warned that this great man was an infidel. When he
showed my Father the sarcophagus in which his body was to be placed,
he remarked, "There shall I lie, Lansdown, until the trump of God shall
rouse me on the Resurrection morn."
CHARLOTTE LANSDOWN.
8 Lower East Hayes, Bath; July, 1893.

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE LATE WILLIAM BECKFORD.
Bath, August 21, 1838.
MY DEAR CHARLOTTE,--I have this day seen such an astonishing
assemblage of works of art, so numerous and of so surprisingly rare a
description that I am literally what Lord Byron calls "Dazzled and
drunk with beauty." I feel so bewildered from beholding the rapid
succession of some of the very finest productions of the great masters
that the attempt to describe them seems an impossible task; however, I
will make an effort.
The collection of which I speak is that of Mr. Beckford, at his house in
Lansdown-crescent. Besides all this I have this day been introduced to
that extraordinary man, the author of "Vathek" and "Italy," the builder
of Fonthill, the contemporary of the mighty and departed dead, the
pupil of Mozart; in fact, to the formidable and inaccessible Vathek
himself! I have many times passed the house, and longed to see its
contents, and often have I wondered how a building with so plain and
unostentatious an exterior could suit the reception of the works it
contains, and the residence of so magnificent a personage.
I first called by appointment on his ingenious architect, Mr. Goodridge
(to whom I am indebted for this distinguished favour), and he
accompanied me to the house, which we reached at half-past twelve
o'clock. We were shown upstairs, passing many fine family pictures,
and were ushered into the neat library, where Mr. Beckford was waiting
to receive us. I confess I did at first feel somewhat embarrassed, but a
lovely spaniel ran playfully towards us, licking our hands in the most
affectionate and hospitable manner; "You are welcome" was the silent
language. I assure you I judge much, and often truly, of the character of
individuals from the deportment of their favourite dogs. I often find
them exactly indicative of their master's disposition. When you are
attacked by snarling, waspish curs is it at all wonderful if you find them
an echo of the proprietor? But this beautiful animal reassured me, and
gave me instantly a favourable idea of its master. My astonishment was
great at the spaciousness of the room, which had in length a
magnificent and palatial effect, nor did I immediately discover the

cause of its apparent grandeur. It opens into the gallery built over the
arch connecting the two houses, at the end of which an immense mirror
reflects the two apartments. The effect is most illusive, nor should I
have guessed the truth had I not seen the reflection of my own figure in
the glass.
The library, which is the whole length of the first house, cannot be
much less than fifty feet long.